Six years sober, six years of learning that broken things can still hold light.
Blog: https://lauraleacupp.wordpress.com/
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/aporchandapen
Recovery date: 11/09/2019
Drug of choice: Alcohol
November 9th is stitched into my bones. Six years ago, I shouldn’t have walked away. I smashed my ribs, cracked my jaw, bled inside my brain, broke my neck, had a stroke, and died twice. But that wreck didn’t just break me—it remade me. It was the day I laid down the bottle. The day God and Berry pulled me back into the living. Six years sober, six years of learning that broken things can still hold light.
Sobriety didn’t come easy. It came with shaking hands, long nights, and the kind of honesty that strips you bare. But it also came with grace. With Berry’s steady love. With God’s whisper that my story wasn’t finished.
In those six years, I’ve carried more than sobriety. I’ve carried loss. I’ve said goodbye to aunts and uncles, cousins, and even more painfully, to both my Mom and my Dad. Grief has a way of sneaking into the quiet places, settling heavy beside me. Some days it feels like too much to hold. But even in that pain, I’ve stayed sober. Even in that pain, I’ve learned that love doesn’t leave—it lingers in handwriting on my wrist, in the broken blade and 26 cents in my pocket, in the stories I tell, and in the way I keep showing up. Sobriety gave me the strength to sit with grief instead of drowning it. It gave me the chance to honor them with a life that’s still being lived.
Broken ribs, a cracked jaw, a broken neck, and a stroke should have been the end of me, but they became the beginning. Sobriety has been my porch—steady, weathered, and wide enough to hold the mess and the miracle. Six years on, I’ve learned that wholeness isn’t about being unscarred. It’s about letting the scars tell the truth.
I don’t tell this story for sympathy. I tell it because somebody out there is still in the wreck, still reaching for the bottle, still wondering if light can break through. I’m here to say it can. Six years ago, I should have been buried. Instead, I was raised up—by God, by Berry, by people that refused to let me go. If my brokenness could be turned into a testimony, then so can yours.
What looked like the end became the beginning—wreck to resurrection.
So on November 9th, I don’t just remember the wreck. I remember the resurrection. Six years sober, and I’m still learning how to live whole. And this celebration? It doesn’t just belong to me—it belongs to Berry too, because he carries the weight right alongside me.
Describe your experience in addiction: For me, addiction wasn’t loud at first—it was quiet erosion. Alcohol became the way I numbed the ache. What started as a coping tool turned into a trap. I didn’t realize how much of myself I was losing until the people I loved couldn’t reach me anymore. Addiction stripped away my voice, my humor, my truth. It left me hollow, but it also set the stage for the reckoning that came later.
When did you realize your life had become unmanageable? I had known for a long time that my life was unmanageable. I couldn’t see a way out, and I truly believed I was too far gone to be loved and too broken to be repaired.
What did your recovery look like? Recovery was slow and hard. I didn’t drive for more than two years, and I spent months in a cervical collar. The brain injury left me with memory problems, stuttering, and headaches that lingered. Through it all, I counted every single day sober—because each one mattered.
How are you doing now? I’m doing well. I still live with some lingering effects from the neck break and the brain injury, but overall, I’m doing well.
What do you do to maintain recovery? To maintain my recovery, I remind myself that I’m only one drink away from the Devil. I remember the promise I made to my parents—though they’re gone, I still want to honor it. I remember the promise I made to my husband—he’s here, and I will keep it. I remind myself how much better life is without alcohol, and I never forget the wreck… or the resurrection.
What are you grateful for? I am grateful, first and foremost, to God—for His mercy and grace. I am grateful to my husband, Berry, who has stood by me. And I am grateful for those who no longer see me as I once was, but as I am today.
Any goals or aspirations you’d like to share? My goal is simple: to live sober, and to show others that no matter how far you’ve fallen, you can rise again in victory.
Any advice you’d give to newly sober folks? My advice is simple: temptation is everywhere, so you have to step away from the places and situations that pull you back. Remember the pain it caused—not just for you, but for those you love. And hold on to this truth: there is a better life waiting, and it is not beyond your reach.