Josie’s last few boxes sat by the front door.
After months of talking about moving, saving money, searching for an apartment, and preparing Sabrina to take over, moving day had finally arrived.
Sabrina stood in the doorway of the House Manager’s room as Josie took one last look around.
“This opportunity changed my life,” Josie said. “It wasn’t always easy, though.”
Sabrina smiled. “I know.”
“No, you don’t,” Josie laughed. “Not yet.”
She looked around the room.
“The hardest part for me was going from being everyone’s roommate to suddenly being responsible for the house. You’re still living with the same women. You’re still eating dinner together, watching TV together, going to meetings together—but now you’re the one who has to hold everyone accountable.”
Sabrina nodded.
She was a hard worker. She always had been. Responsibility didn’t scare her.
But this was a different kind of responsibility.
“Communication is going to be everything,” Josie continued. “You’re living in a house full of women who are all in early recovery. You’re not always going to agree, and they’re definitely not always going to like the decisions you make.”
Sabrina had already started to realize that.
Being House Manager meant some of her decisions were going to affect her relationships with the other women. There would be times when someone she considered a friend wouldn’t be happy with her.
Rae had already warned her about that.
“It’s better to hurt someone’s feelings than go to their funeral.”
The words were harsh.
But so was the reality of addiction.
Accountability was part of everyday life in a sober living house. Curfews mattered. Drug screens mattered. Medication procedures mattered. House rules mattered.
Not because anyone wanted to control the women living there.
Because everyone wanted to see them recover.
Josie picked up the last of her things.
“You’re going to do fine,” she told Sabrina. “Just remember—you can’t always be their friend and their House Manager at the same time.”
Sabrina looked around her new room.
For the first time since coming to Daughter’s House, she wouldn’t have a roommate.
The House Manager’s room was private, with a lock on the door and a safe where residents’ medication bags were securely stored.
Sabrina smiled.
At least there were a few perks that came with all that responsibility.
She wouldn’t have to share her space with anyone.
Josie laughed when she saw Sabrina’s expression.
“Enjoy it.”
Then she picked up her last box.
It was time for Josie to leave Daughter’s House.
And time for Sabrina to take over.
September was National Recovery Month, and there was no shortage of things happening around the house—or throughout the recovery community.
At the next house meeting, Rae started going through the list.
Bingo. Chalk the Walk. Home Runs for Hope. Paint nights. Treatment center alumni reunions. Annual galas. There was even a First Responders Appreciation Lunch.
“You are all going to participate in at least one Recovery Month activity,” Rae told them.
A few faces immediately changed.
“Buddy up and enjoy yourselves,” she continued. “These events are about recovery and celebrating the hard work you put into it. There are things happening all month long. Pick something.”
Ronnie looked down at the ankle monitor strapped around her leg.
“I really don’t feel like going out into the community any more than I have to sporting this thing.”
A few of the women laughed.
Ronnie didn’t.
She had learned to joke about the ankle monitor, but that didn’t mean she was comfortable with everyone seeing it.
“What if we don’t have money to do all this stuff?” someone else asked.
“These events are free,” Rae replied. “And Ronnie, you only have to go to one.”
Ronnie leaned back in her chair.
“One?”
“One.”
“Fine.”
Rae smiled.
“And you might even have fun.”
“Let’s not get carried away.”
That got a laugh out of the room.
But Rae’s point wasn’t really about filling their calendars.
Recovery Month gave the women an opportunity to see something they didn’t always get to see from inside the walls of Daughter’s House.
A recovery community.
People celebrating sobriety openly. People reconnecting with treatment centers and old friends. Families showing up. First responders, treatment providers, advocates, alumni, and people at every stage of recovery coming together.
For some of the women, walking into those spaces would be easy.
For others, it would take a little courage.
But Rae only asked them to show up once.
Before the house meeting ended, there was one more thing to celebrate.
Jenny had gotten her 60-day chip.
The women congratulated her, and Jenny smiled as she held it in her hand.
Sixty days.
She could hardly believe it.
This was the first time she had ever really committed to something for herself.
Was it hard?
Hell yes, it was hard.
When the house meeting was over, Jenny went back to her room and pulled out her journal and her Three, Six, Nine, Twelve Recovery Companion.
She thought about how far she had come in such a short amount of time.
Emotionally, she was still fragile, but that was to be expected. She hadn’t really felt her feelings in years. Now she was learning how to sit with them instead of immediately trying to escape them.
Socially, she was beginning to connect with other women in the recovery community—something she never thought she would be able to do.
Mostly because there was so much about herself she never thought she would want anyone else to know.
But when she started sharing those pieces of herself, there wasn’t judgment.
There was support.
She had a job.
A good job.
She was building relationships.
She had 60 days sober.
They might have seemed like small things to someone else, but to Jenny, they were milestones. Building blocks for her future if she could stay focused.
There was still a lot of healing that needed to be done.
She knew that.
And she was beginning to understand that healing was going to take time.
Jenny thought back to treatment.
She had been ready to run.
And she meant it.
She remembered sitting there, trying to figure out how she could leave, when one of the counselors sat down beside her.
“I can’t do this,” Jenny told her. “I just can’t. I want to use.”
The counselor didn’t say anything.
Instead, she took off her watch and handed it to Jenny.
Jenny looked at her, confused.
“Sometimes it’s one second or one minute before we can get to one day at a time,” the counselor said. “Sit here as long as you need to and watch the second hand. When the urge passes, you can return the watch.”
And just like that, she got up and walked away.
Jenny sat there staring at the second hand.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
It felt like a lifetime.
Until eventually, Jenny realized something.
The moment had passed.
She looked at the watch.
Seven minutes.
Seven minutes was all it had taken for her to decide she wasn’t going to leave.
Not forever.
She wasn’t ready to promise forever.
She was just going to stay.
For now.
Jenny looked down at the 60-day chip sitting beside her Recovery Companion.
Sixty days had started with seven minutes.
A Recovery Month Reflection
September is National Recovery Month—a time to shine a light on recovery and for our communities to recognize, celebrate, and support those doing the hard work of rebuilding their lives.
But recovery isn’t always easy, and support doesn’t always come through celebrations or big events.
Sometimes, it comes in small moments of kindness. Someone sitting beside you. Someone believing in you. Someone reminding you to hold on for just one more minute.
Recovery is about progress, not perfection.
Day one matters just as much as day 30, day 60, or day 365.
Every day in recovery is worth recognizing.
And sometimes, 60 days starts with seven minutes.
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