From Sober to Free: How to See Again After Your World Becomes Small
Fifteen years ago, newly sober and deeply unhappy, I first learned the power of gratitude.
My sponsor told me to keep a gratitude journal. She instructed me to write down three things each day that I was thankful for. The eye roll came immediately. Angry, bitter, and disconnected from God, the last thing I wanted was another assignment that felt naïve and forced. Gratitude felt like a platitude for people who had easier lives than mine.
In those early weeks, my list never changed. I wrote the same three things—my dog, my house, and my job—over and over because I couldn’t think of anything else. My world had grown painfully small while battling addiction.
Without alcohol to numb my fear, my grief, or my anger, I was fully standing inside the reality of my life for the first time, and it hurt. I felt exposed, scared, and deeply alone. But that willingness to remain awake—to feel instead of flee—created space. And into that space, grace entered. Not all at once. Not dramatically. But quietly, faithfully, day after day.
Eventually, I grew tired of feeling angry and alone, and of reading the same three lines in my journal. In that place of desperation, I began sincerely praying for God to help me. I also began actively searching for things to be grateful for each day. That was the shift.
Faith did not arrive all at once, nor did a sudden feeling of thankfulness. Each time I got down on my knees to pray, each time I noticed something new to write in my gratitude journal, something loosened. I began walking through my days with a different lens. What I learned is simple and enduring: when you look for beauty and grace, you begin to see how present God already is.
Scripture says it plainly: “Those who look to him are radiant; their faces are never covered with shame” (Psalm 34:5). When I stopped focusing on everything that was missing or unfair and began searching for grace and beauty, I began seeing God, love, and beauty everywhere. My circumstances didn’t immediately change, but my attention did.
Paul writes, “Give thanks in all circumstances; for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you” (1 Thessalonians 5:18). For years, that verse read like a demand from a God who expected gratitude regardless of how painful life felt. Now it reads as an invitation into a more faithful and beautiful way of living. Gratitude was not a moral requirement; it was a way back into relationship with God when my old ways of coping had collapsed.
That daily practice my sponsor required taught me something I am still learning: gratitude does not erase pain. It gives us somewhere to stand inside it.
Where Gratitude Lives Now
This past week, I found myself standing on a snow-covered mountain in skis. At forty-eight, I’d never skied before. There are several good reasons for this. I am afraid of heights. Chronic back pain is a constant companion. The cold and I are not friends. Seeking adrenaline rushes in freezing temperatures has never been my idea of a good time. So what was I doing there, shaking in my boots?
I was there so my children, nine and eleven, could learn to ski. I stood on the bunny slopes, heart pounding, legs shaking, shoulders pulled so tight toward my ears they ached before the first run even began, taking deep breaths and praying for more bravery than I could hold alone.
And yet, in that fear, beauty was everywhere.
I saw it in my children’s faces as joy filled their eyes. In the snow falling softly from the sky. And, unexpectedly, in myself—in the simple act of trying. Of being willing to be slow, awkward, and visibly bad at something brand new.
The slowest skier on the hill? Quite possibly. But maybe also the proudest.
Fifteen years ago, gratitude was a discipline I resented. Today, it is how I see. How I meet heavy moments and hard choices. How I remain present to God and to my life, even when I am shaking. Gratitude may not remove my fear, but it reminds me I am never alone inside it.
An Invitation
If you are in a season where gratitude feels impossible or naïve, I understand. Start small. Start bored. Start with the same three things if that is all you can find. But start looking—and stay present.
You will find what you look for. And over time, what begins as practice becomes sight. Not the kind that denies reality, but the kind that meets it fully and begins to recognize God in everyday moments.
And that changes everything.
Meet Priscilla Harvey
Priscilla Harvey is a writer living in Little Rock, Arkansas. She writes about sobriety, spiritual surrender, and the journey back to wholeness. Her path through recovery revealed not just freedom from alcohol, but a deeper invitation into faith, humility, and connection with the Divine.
For sixteen years she served as a federal law clerk, work that trained her in careful attention to language and truth—disciplines that later shaped her writing and spiritual life.
She is currently completing a memoir that explores recovery as a spiritual path, and writes regularly on her Substack, Living the Questions, where she reflects on faith, sobriety, and the long work of coming home to oneself. Priscilla lives with her husband and children and remains grateful for a life continually shaped by grace.
Where to find her . . .
Begin Within is a series to inspire a year-round lifestyle of gratitude that will impact not only your own life, but the lives of your neighbors as well. Gratitude is a theme we talk about often around here because it ties so closely into other missional living rhythms. Practicing gratitude reminds to keep our hearts soft and expectant and our eyes open. Therefore, the more we embrace gratitude, the easier it becomes to truly see our neighbors and where we can join what God is already doing in our neighborhoods.
If you would like to contribute to Begin Within, you can find the submission guidelines here.
