The Quailwood Journal

I’m heading to Tampa for a golf weekend with guys I’ve known for years, and for the first time, I don’t feel automatic walking into it. Nothing about the trip itself is different. Same group, same kind of weekend, same rhythm we’ve all done before. But I can feel something in me that isn’t settling the way it normally would. A few weeks ago, I said things publicly that I had kept controlled for a long time. Not hidden exactly—just managed. Framed. Shared in pieces. This was d

I got sober from drugs and alcohol long before I ever admitted I had a problem with sex. That part of my recovery followed a path that made sense to people. There were meetings, steps, sponsors, and the slow rebuilding of a life that had once been dominated by substances. It was a version of recovery that felt visible and measurable. Progress could be tracked. Stability could be demonstrated. From the outside — and often from my own perspective — it looked like I had done wha

There was a time when the definition of sober was simple. No alcohol. No drugs. No exceptions. It was clean. Binary. Undebatable. Today, that clarity is beginning to crack. A former heroin user who no longer overdoses but uses cannabis daily. A patient stabilized on medication-assisted treatment for years. Someone who hasn’t touched alcohol in a decade but still relies on prescribed stimulants. Are they sober? Depending on who you ask, the answer changes. And that should make

It’s Super Bowl Sunday — the one day a year where excess isn’t just tolerated, it’s catered. Today, moderation is suspicious behavior. Hydration is weakness. And if you say you’re skipping the booze, someone looks at you like you just insulted their team and their childhood. This isn’t just a football game anymore. It’s a nationally televised dopamine buffet. Alcohol. Gambling. Sex. Screens. Noise. Permission. If relapse had a mascot, it would be double-fisting wings. The Dop