I tried meditation for years before getting sober. I'd download apps, set intentions, maybe stick with it for a week before life got busy and I'd drift away. I thought the problem was me. That I wasn't disciplined enough, wasn't spiritual enough, wasn't calm enough for meditation to "work." Then I got sober. And suddenly, everything about meditation made sense in a way it never had before.

What I Was Actually Doing Before

Looking back now, I can see what was really happening: I was using meditation as another form of escape. I wanted it to make me feel peaceful so I wouldn't have to feel anxious. I wanted it to quiet my mind so I wouldn't have to hear my own thoughts. I wanted it to fix me so I wouldn't have to actually change anything about my life. I tried to make my yoga and meditation the thing that made me me, found me a way out of discomfort like drinking had been.

When it didn't work that way (because that's not how meditation works), I'd get frustrated and quit. Then I'd pour a glass of wine from the bottle I’d eventually finish, and tell myself I'd try again.

The Brutal Truth Sobriety Taught Me

In early sobriety, you can't run anymore. You can't numb out. You can't escape yourself. You have to sit with the anxiety, the boredom, the grief, the rage, the fear. all of it. Raw and unfiltered. And that's when meditation finally clicked for me. Because I realized: meditation isn't about feeling better. It's about feeling, period.

It's not a tool to escape discomfort. It's a practice of being present with whatever's actually here, comfortable or not. When I approached it that way, everything changed.

The Meditation Practice Sobriety Demanded

In those early months of sobriety, my meditation practice looked nothing like the peaceful, blissed-out vision I'd had before. Some days I'd sit down to meditate and immediately start crying. Other days I'd be so restless I could barely make it through five minutes. Sometimes I'd feel anger bubbling up, or shame, or terror about facing life without my coping mechanism.

But here's what was different: I stayed. I didn't try to fix those feelings or breathe them away or transcend them. I just acknowledged them. "Oh, there's anxiety." "There's sadness." "There's the urge to run." And then I'd breathe. Not to make the feelings go away, but to be present with them.

That was the meditation practice sobriety taught me. Not escaping, but witnessing.

Why This Changed Everything

Before, when difficult emotions came up in meditation (or in life), my pattern was: feel uncomfortable → judge myself for feeling uncomfortable → try to fix it → get frustrated → give up. Drink.

In sobriety, I learned a different pattern: feel uncomfortable → notice I'm uncomfortable → breathe → stay.

It sounds simple, but it was revolutionary.

Because for the first time, I was building trust with myself. I was proving to myself that I could sit with hard things and survive them. That I didn't need to numb or escape or avoid. That the feelings wouldn't destroy me. Every time I sat in meditation with discomfort and didn't run, I got stronger. Not in a "power through it" way, but in a "I can be with myself no matter what" way.

The Practice That Saved Me

Here's the meditation that became my anchor in early sobriety:

I'd sit down and place my hand on my heart. Then I'd ask myself: "What's here right now?" Sometimes the answer was: anxiety, exhaustion, craving, fear, loneliness.

Instead of trying to change it, I'd just name it. "This is what anxiety feels like in my body." "This is grief." "This is the urge to escape."

I'd notice where I felt it. The tightness in my chest, the churning in my stomach, the tension in my shoulders. And then I'd breathe with it. Not to fix it, but to be with it. Like sitting with a friend who's hurting. You don't try to solve their problems, you just show up.

That became my practice: showing up for myself, exactly as I was, without trying to be different.

What Meditation Taught Me About Sobriety (And Vice Versa)

The parallels between meditation and sobriety became impossible to ignore:

Both require you to be present with discomfort. You can't meditate your way out of difficult feelings, and you can't stay sober by avoiding them. You have to be willing to feel.

Both are about coming back, not being perfect. In meditation, your mind wanders and you bring it back. In sobriety, you have hard days and you recommit. The practice is in the returning.

Both teach you that you are not your thoughts. You can watch cravings arise in meditation the same way you watch anxious thoughts arise - with curiosity instead of identification. You don't have to act on every thought that crosses your mind. (Life changing a ha moment for me right there in a nutshell!).

Both are a daily practice, not a destination. You don't "finish" meditation or "complete" sobriety. You just keep showing up.

Honestly, I don't know if I could have stayed sober without meditation. And I don't think I would have understood meditation without sobriety.

For Anyone Struggling With Both

If you're newly sober and trying to meditate, please know: it's supposed to feel hard right now.

You don't need to achieve some zen state. You don't need to feel peaceful or calm or blissed out. You don't need to do it "right." You just need to show up. Sit down. Notice what's here. Breathe.

Some days that will feel manageable. Other days it will feel impossible. Both are okay. The practice isn't about feeling better, it's about being willing to feel, period. And that willingness is everything. It's how you stay sober. It's how you heal. It's how you rebuild trust with yourself.

One breath at a time. One moment at a time. One day at a time.

That's the practice. That's the path. That's enough.

If you're navigating sobriety and looking for meditation practices that actually address the real, messy, hard parts of recovery, I've created resources specifically for this journey: no spiritual bypassing, no toxic positivity, just honest tools for staying present when everything in you wants to escape.