Five‑Year Summary

Over the last few years, I’ve been moving through more major life stressors than I ever really pulled together into one view. From 2021 through late 2023, I was in a daily alcohol cycle—finishing a bottle of vodka every two days, my main goal every day was to pull my shit together enough to do it again every night—while living in a marriage defined by emotional and verbal abuse. The constant ridicule, control, and chronic volatility slowly eroded my sense of self and kept me in a state of permanent vigilance. Nothing I said or did was right or safe. It’s a strange kind of heartbreak when the person you love most becomes the source of your deepest pain and self‑doubt.

At the same time, I was dealing with two serious vascular medical events: a carotid artery dissection and, later, a basilar artery scare that required an angiogram. Both were genuinely life‑threatening. The fear of those events still sits in the background of my mind—not in a dramatic way, but as a quiet reminder of how fragile everything can be.

Getting sober cold turkey, ending the marriage, navigating separation and now divorce, and managing those medical crises all happened at once. And yet I kept functioning. I kept working. I kept showing up. I kept rebuilding. But psychologically, it was a prolonged stretch of survival mode without any real recovery window. Only now am I realizing that the exhaustion I feel isn’t a lack of drive—it’s my system finally coming out of crisis, finally sensing some safety, and asking for stability, rest, and a chance to recalibrate for the next phase of my life.

In the middle of all of this, my father died. He and I were extremely close, and I was the one managing his healthcare, finances, and day‑to‑day needs. Losing him created a kind of pain I didn’t know was possible. People talk about a “broken heart” as a metaphor; I now understand it as something that can feel physically real.

And for the record, when I say my marriage was abusive, I mean it in the clinical sense: control, manipulation, ridicule, chronic nagging, mocking my personal characteristics and feelings, gaslighting—regularly, almost daily. Not occasional conflict. Not “we had communication issues.” Abuse.

For a long time, all I wanted was rest. That was the daydream that kept me going: my own space, no more chaos, no more alcohol, no more walking on eggshells. Just sleeping, reading, watching TV, breathing. The basics of being human.

This summary still feels inadequate. There’s no way to fully convey the deep struggle of lying in bed at night, wondering if the drinks I just had would kill me by morning, or wanting to literally run away from my marriage when breaking down felt seconds away—only to be pulled back by compassion, loyalty, and the hope that things might change.

And yet, even in the middle of all this, I didn’t collapse. I learned tennis. I excelled at work. I traveled. I kept friendships alive. I rebuilt my routines, and I got help with therapy and a coach. I kept moving forward, even when everything in my life was pulling me backward.

Now, with the divorce filed and a new life emerging, I’m learning to listen to my inner voice and take my foot off the gas. That’s the plan: move into the new penthouse, finalize the divorce, organize my finances, build study routines, get back to church, and treat the spring and early summer as a kind of nervous‑system sabbatical. April, May, and June are designated as semi‑vacation, semi‑recovery. Tennis, sun, the pool, quiet mornings, and a home that finally feels like a sanctuary.

These three months are where I intend to find myself again—or maybe meet the new version of myself for the first time. The headwind will be the constant internal push to optimize, improve, and never rest out of fear of slipping backward. But I’m choosing rest anyway.

One of the hardest parts of all this has been the loneliness. Very few people can truly comprehend what I’m describing. I know my suffering isn’t unique, but the timing and the stacking of everything made it particularly intense. Still, I’m here. I’m standing. And I’m building a life that finally reflects who I am, and with living in joy as my #1 goal for 2026!

Reflecting this back is not living in victimhood; it’s confronting it. I am not hiding. I am not backing down. I am grateful for my life!

Spring, summer, and rest are coming!