“That’s a significant accomplishment, Kaden,” she replies, her tone gentle and encouraging. “I know that hasn’t been easy for you to do. What have you noticed in yourself, either emotionally or physically, since you stopped drinking?”
“Well, I don’t feel like I’m dying anymore, that’s for sure. I used to wake up feeling heavy and foggy, like I’d drunk my own weight the night before. I have a lot more energy these days. Emotionally, I’m still up and down, but it’s a little more manageable, especially now that I can channel it into theprojects I’ve been working on. It’s the only thing these days that brings me instant relief.”
“It sounds like you’re reconnecting with parts of yourself you hadn’t felt in a long time. That’s a big shift. I’m curious about what those projects give you that drinking used to.”
“Well, I suppose everything I felt was constantly buried beneath the alcohol. But it never fixed anything, just numbed it temporarily. These projects, however… it’s different. They don’t erase the feelings completely, but they give me a sense of control, a sense of accomplishment. It makes me feel capable again. Like I’m not this big fuck-up or failure all the time, and that’s something I never got from drinking.”
“That’s wonderful to hear, Kaden. You’ve found a way to cope that’s more sustainable and that doesn’t harm you, and that’s huge. How does it feel to notice that for yourself?”
“It’s freeing, in a way. I never thought I’d feel this kind of relief without drinking. But… there’s still a part of me that feels like I don’t deserve to feel this way.”
Dr. Carroll nods, and scribbles something down quickly on her notepad. “In our first session, you spoke about feeling invalid and unworthy of your wife… and what you’re describing now reflects a similar burden. Often, these core beliefs we carry about who we are and what we deserve start much earlier than we realise. Can you think of a time in your childhood that may have planted these feelings.”
“Well… there’s something I haven’t been fully honest about. “I guess it comes from years of shame and resentment that I’ve felt over who I am and how I came to be.”
“Take your time, Kaden. This is a safe space, and you won’t be judged for anything you share.”
“There are only a few people in my life who know my family history… and my ex-wife was never one of them. I was always too afraid of what she’d think of me if she knew. But… long story short, I’m the product of my father’s infidelity. He’d been married for twelve years when he met my mother at the company they both worked in. He and his wife couldn’t have kids because she had a serious accident when she was just a child, and he always claimed he’d come to terms with that. But after he cheated with my mum and she became pregnant with me, I guess his feelings about having kids shifted.”
I pause, momentarily recalling what my mother once told me about how she and my dad met—and the circumstances surrounding my conception. To know you were a mistake, conceived out of sin has a way of gnawing at your very core. It’s something I’ve always struggled with my entire life.
“My dad separated from his wife shortly after telling her the truth. And less than one and a half years later, he married my mum and went on to have one more child with her. But their marriage was a disaster from the start. When I was six, my father found out that my mother had been cheating on him with another man at the company. He tried to leave, but she threatened to take my brother and me away, and drain him of everything he had. From that moment on, he stayed… mostly out of fear of losing his kids. They stayed together despite their unhappiness, even as the marriage slowly turned them into the bitter, miserable people they are today.”
“It makes sense why you carried a lot of shame and resentment over the years.You were raised in a home where betrayal and manipulation were normalised. Children who grow up around that kind of environment often internalise those patterns without realising it,” Dr. Carroll explains.
“But Kaden, it’s important to remember that what your parents did, and the circumstances of your upbringing, doesn’t have to define who you are. Their actions, and even the choices you made in your own marriage, don’t determine your worth or the kind of partner and father you can be going forward. You have the power to understand your past, learn from it, and forge a new path for yourself.”
I nod slowly, letting her words hang in the air for a moment.
“I never want to be that version of myself again,” I admit softly. “For almost a decade, I was faithful and loyal to my wife, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t controlling or manipulative at times. No matter how hard I tried not to be like my parents, and God, I really did try, eventually it all caught up with me. It was as if those patterns had been conditioned into me from the start.”
Dr. Carroll hums as she nods. “It sounds like you were very aware of your parents’ patterns and worked hard to avoid repeating them. But even if some of those behaviours still surfaced in the end, that doesn’t make you a bad person, Kaden—it makes you human. What’s important is that you learn from them and start making conscious choices moving forward so they don’t happen again.”
“Yeah,” I murmur, sighing as I let her words sink in.
“In our last session, we focused on some practical ways to channel your emotions and negative thoughts into healthier coping mechanisms. I want you to continue with your projects and journaling, as they seem to be really helping with your recovery.”
I nod, silently.
“For your homework this week,” Dr. Carroll continues. “I’d like you to write a letter to Skylar. You will never send it, but I want you to include everything you’ve shared with me—your deep apologies, reflections, regrets, your upbringing, everything that helps you take responsibility for your actions and what you’ve learned from them. But most importantly, I want you to work on letting go of the past and to finally forgive yourself. Take care of yourself this week, Kaden, and we’ll pick up from here in our next session.”
Chapter 8
Kaden
Jason pours us a fresh glass of lemon soda, the bubbles rising and sizzling as he slides mine across the bar to where I’m settled on the stool opposite him. It’s been six weeks since I’ve had a single drop of alcohol, six weeks of beating the addiction and choosing to stay sober.
I wish I could say the transition has been smooth, but the truth is, some days the urges hit harder than I expect. In those quiet, difficult moments, which are becoming increasingly rare—I find myself wondering how much longer I can truly hold on to my sobriety.
Thankfully, Dr. Carroll’s breathing exercises, the building projects, and the journaling has all helped in their own ways. They’ve provided a much-needed release, while also keeping me grounded and focused on the present whenever my mind starts drifting into darker places.
And on top of that, the furniture has been coming along really well. The dining and coffee tables are finished, and theTV unit and shelves just need another coat of paint. Other than that, the apartment is starting to look pretty damn fantastic.
One thing I still haven’t been able to bring myself to do is write the letter to my ex-wife—not for the lack of trying, but because I don’t even know where to begin.There were so many mistakes I made, so many wrong choices I still need to face, that I’m afraid there won’t be enough space on the page to fit them all.
More than anything, I want the words to be sincere, to show the full weight of my pain, fear, guilt, and remorse, even if she’ll never read it.
I was assigned that homework two weeks ago, but every time I pick up the pen, my mind turns into a jumbled mess, an unorganised box of sentences and half-formed thoughts I can’t seem to lay down neatly on the page. So, for now, I’ve decided to wait. Wait until the words come out on their own—more organically, more meaningfully, more honestly.
