Radiant Redemption

If I’m honest, this is still one of the hardest parts of recovery for me — letting people get close.

It’s one thing to talk about vulnerability in theory, but it’s another thing entirely to practice it. To let someone see you — not the version of you that has it all together, but the raw, unfiltered you who’s still learning, still healing, still figuring out how to stay open when every instinct says to shut down.

I still struggle with that.

Even now, years into recovery, I find myself pulling away the moment someone gets too close. It’s like this reflex I can’t fully shake. My fear kicks in and whispers, If they really knew you, they’d leave. So I start to isolate. I build quiet walls. I tell myself I’m just “needing space,” but deep down I know what’s happening — I’m protecting myself from the possibility of being hurt.

Because somewhere along the way, I learned that closeness equals danger. That vulnerability always ends in pain. And unlearning that… well, it’s a lifelong process.

But here’s the beautiful part: I don’t have to do it perfectly.

Recovery — real recovery — is about learning to take this a day at a time. It’s about recognizing the patterns when they show up and naming them instead of pretending they aren’t there. It’s about working a solid program, staying accountable, and being honest with the people who walk alongside you.

When I notice myself slipping back into old traps — codependency, hiding, performing, people-pleasing — I have a choice now. I can either isolate and feed the shame… or I can reach out to someone safe and say, “Hey, I’m struggling right now.”

And every time I choose honesty over hiding, I strengthen the muscle of authentic connection.

The truth is, building real relationships in recovery means learning to sit in discomfort. It means not running when someone sees a part of you that’s still tender. It means allowing yourself to be known — fully — and loved anyway.

My counselor once said something that stopped me in my tracks:

“I’ve never met anyone who doesn’t want to be loved, but I’ve met a lot of people who are scared to be known.”

That line hit me hard. Because that’s me. I want love, but sometimes I’m terrified of what it might cost me to actually receive it.

But this is where the work happens. In the awkward conversations. The honest check-ins. The small, daily choices to stay when I want to run.

Connection isn’t about perfection — it’s about presence.

And every time we show up, even imperfectly, we’re building the kind of relationships that make healing possible.

Take some time this week to reflect on the relationships in your life. Where do you find yourself pulling away or performing? Where might fear be keeping you from real connection?

Then reach out to one person — a sponsor, friend, or safe support — and let them see just a little bit more of the real you. It doesn’t have to be huge. Just honest.

Because the truth is, we don’t heal alone. We heal in the presence of people who see us, love us, and remind us that we’re worth staying for.