The Last Day I Drank–Maggie

The following is the transcript of Maggie’s speech at NCPSG’s 10th Annual Addiction Awareness Vigil at 6 South Avenue in New Canaan, held on September 2, 2026. To view the video of her speech, just CLICK HERE.

The last day I drank I woke up with the shakes again, already withdrawing from the days and nights before.

The last day I drank I realized I had yet to go to a class that semester, regardless of the homework, the papers, and the tests that had come and gone. I had a 2.07 GPA, and even I recognized that that wasn’t great.

The last day I drank I planned to take one day off. I thought that was all I needed; that one day off would fix things, and I thought that one day off was something I could do.

I was wrong.

Taking one day off was not, in fact, something I could do. It’s not that I didn’t want to, I did want to take that one day off, it was that I wasn’t capable of it. I couldn’t say no to that bottle of bourbon. My friend passed it to me, and I couldn’t say no. Even though I didn’t want it, I couldn’t say no. I didn’t know how.

The last day I drank I was scared. I was scared to continue drinking, I was scared to stop drinking, and suddenly I was scared that, regardless, I wouldn’t be able to stop drinking. So, I called my parents and asked for help.

The last day I drank I blacked out, like I had every day for the past year and a half. I drank and I blacked out because I wanted to forget the cacophony in my head, my memories, my pain, and myself.

See, alcohol was never my problem. Alcohol was my solution; I was my problem. I needed a new solution, but I didn’t know that then.

My parents took me home. I detoxed on the couch. I had delirium tremens: shaking, shivering, sweating, all of the things all at once. We called it the flu.

My parents had no idea what to do or how to do it, and they did a lot of things wrong, yet I was 20 years old and completely at their mercy.

What they absolutely did right, however, is what made all the difference: they sought professional help and took the advice, even though it wasn’t easy. They said: “Rehab or homelessness.” I went to rehab. “Sober house or homelessness.” I went to the sober house. “Meetings or homelessness.” I went to meetings.

I created a master plan: stay sober long enough to get them off my back, then I could drink the way I wanted to. I looked around the meetings and realized it was the transitive property: if A=B and B=C, then A=C. If I want to complete my plan, I need to stay sober. The people staying sober are the ones who do the work. So, if I do the work, I’ll complete my plan. “Okay. Let’s do that.” and I did.

The problem with the work is it works. 15 years later, I’m still standing here. I’m still living. I’m still sober, simply because I joined a recovery community and did the work.

And wow, what a 15 years it has been…

I went back to school, and I stayed sober. I wrote and published peer-reviewed research in undergrad before graduating with a 3.7 GPA in my major plus two minors, and I stayed sober. I backpacked alone through 14 countries in Europe, and I stayed sober. Then I backpacked alone through another 5 countries in Southeast Asia, and I still stayed sober. I earned two master’s degrees: an MBA and a Master of Public Policy. At the same time. Sober.  I fell in love with a wonderful man. I got married. I didn’t drink at my wedding; I stayed sober. With my recovery community cheering me on every step of the way, I won the game of life a lot.

I also lost the game of life a lot and, again, my community surrounded me and carried me through everything.

I fought harrowing and life-threatening health issues, but I stayed sober. My kidneys failed, complete renal failure, and I stayed sober. My epilepsy went haywire and I don’t remember years of my life from the brain damage, mirroring the years I lost to blackouts, yet I stayed sober. People died. I stayed sober. I had depressive episodes and, even while battling suicidal ideation, I stayed sober.

I thought being sober meant life would be perfect. But I learned that life still happens on life’s terms, and life is hardly perfect. It’s wonderful, but it’s not perfect.

If you or a loved one happens to be getting sober, and if you happen to believe that sobriety means life will be unicorns, butterflies, and glitter, I’m sorry to tell you that you’re wrong. Life is still life.

The miracle of recovery isn’t that life becomes perfect. The miracle of recovery is that, even when life is really hard, we don’t have to drink over it anymore. I don’t have to drink over it anymore. For this alcoholic, that is the miracle.

The last day I drank, I thought my life was over. Done. Finished. The end.

Yet, the last day I drank, I had no idea that it was just my beginning.