“Between stimulus and response, there is a space. In that space is our power to choose our response. In our response lies our growth and our freedom.”
—Victor Frankl
I celebrated three years of sobriety earlier this year. It’s been a long, circuitous path, marked by seeking help, practicing acceptance, and diligently working a twelve-step recovery program.
Brené Brown, who’s been sober for twenty-seven years, shared in a 2019 article that her sobriety was the secret to her success, declaring it her “superpower,” and I couldn’t agree more. One phrase that I heard many times in treatment was, “It’s not a drinking problem, it’s a thinking problem.” After receiving treatment and being abstinent for some time, I was tasked with the more challenging work of addressing the underlying issues—the distorted thinking and deeply ingrained behavioral patterns that later led to addiction. Recovery has not only guided me to live in alignment with my core values, but it’s also given me tools to navigate life’s inevitable disruptions and disappointments—from minor frustrations to major life-altering setbacks.
My growth in early sobriety was marked by taking accountability for my disease and doing the next right thing, which was reinforced by a series of personal and professional “wins.” But at the two-year mark, I learned what “life on life’s terms” meant, including some professional setbacks that provided a litmus test for the quality of my recovery. After a long period of adversity, things seemed to be improving on the career front—until another unexpected disappointment hit. I had accepted a job I loved, and after months of preparation to fulfill all requirements, I finally had a path back to the operating room and relocated over one thousand miles with my family. But instead of the relief I had anticipated, I was met with an even greater emotional toll.
A couple of months ago, while waiting in a church parking lot before my weekly Caduceus meeting, I received a phone call with yet another disappointing development in what has been one whammy of a career disappointment. Familiar emotions—shock, powerlessness, anxiety, rage—came rushing back. I listened in disbelief as the person on the phone made the situation about him. My frustration and anger intensified while hearing multiple unsubstantiated jabs at my competency, judgment, and training. At this point, I instinctively clutched the silver pause button pendant hanging from my neck. It was a gift from my sponsor—a reminder of the power of pausing when the urge to respond from a place of anger strikes. So, I paused.
The individual continued on, but I disembarked from the self-pity train. Instead, I took a mental detour and consciously chose to use this disappointment as an opportunity to reflect with gratitude on the amount of progress I’ve made in my recovery journey. Undoubtedly, those familiar negative emotions surfaced, but some old offenders—shame, self-pity, hopelessness—were missing in action. In that moment in the church parking lot, and in several preceding moments that piled into one heaping dumpster fire of disappointment, I recognized recovery is not my strength. It is my superpower.
In the past, an obstacle like this would have mentally and emotionally derailed me. Now, my recovery tools allow me to respond with resilience, grace, and serenity. I can’t avoid pain or negative emotions, but I can control my response—and in situations like this, sometimes that is the only thing I do have control of. By practicing acceptance, self-compassion, and gratitude, asking for help, and acting with humility, I’ve become better equipped to handle life’s ups and downs. Consequently, setbacks become nothing more than opportunities for growth—this one certainly has. There’s always another path forward, sometimes a better one than we originally imagined.
I clenched my fists and cried briefly, allowing myself to feel the raw emotions—but the temptation to numb, repress, or run away from them was gone. Instead, I did what I’d been taught after pausing—the next right thing. I called my mentor, updated her, and then walked into the Caduceus meeting, where I processed the situation with fellow recovering physicians. They empathized but didn’t coddle, offering feedback and encouraging me to focus on areas within my control.
Despite the turmoil and uncertainty, I am proud of how I used my interpersonal effectiveness skills earned through recovery to respond and interact with others, taking action when aspects were within my control, but leaning on radical acceptance for the many parts that were not. I am incredibly fortunate to have a strong support system, both personally and professionally:
- New colleagues and staff who’ve welcomed me with open arms
- My new partner/mentor, who has my back and fought for me in rooms I wasn’t allowed to be in, despite the high emotional toll. Through her unwavering support, she has shown me in a million different ways that she believes in me and that I belong here.
- Old mentors and friends who continue to show up for me in countless ways.
- Even the old “villains” in my story became unexpected allies, thanks to the amends process. After taking accountability for how I showed up in the past and owning the role I played, it became clear that these individuals were never really villains.
- My husband, ever supportive, stands by my side, as does my family (when I let them).
- My recovery sponsor, who has guided me from my earliest days of sobriety, has been a critical resource through tough times. When I am really worked up over something, she can take me down from “60 to 0” like no one’s business.
Recovery has given me the humility to accept help from these individuals. Instead of listening to the “not good enough” chorus on repeat, I hear the people around me saying, “You are worthy. We will get through this together.” I believe them now, because I’m singing the same tune, no longer constantly dependent on external validation.
That night, after the meeting, I drove home feeling at peace, my resilience reservoir full. I slept better than I had all week. The next morning at work, we course-corrected and charted a new path forward together.
Courtney Barrows McKeown is a surgeon.
