Let’s be honest:
Hope is not always the easy choice.
Peace isn’t always comfortable.
And abundance — the real, grounded, spiritual kind — can feel terrifying when you’ve spent most of your life living in chaos.
People don’t talk about this enough.
We like to imagine that the moment we get sober or start healing, we suddenly feel hopeful and calm and open to joy. But the truth is far messier. For many of us, chaos wasn’t just familiar — it felt like home. Dysfunction was predictable. Shame was comforting in its own twisted way. Self-doubt and fear were the lenses through which we understood the world and our place in it.
So when peace shows up?
When life gets quiet?
When healing starts to take root?
It can feel boring.
Uncomfortable.
Foreign.
Even unsafe.
I used to sabotage peace without even realizing what I was doing.
The quiet felt threatening.
The stillness made me restless.
The absence of chaos made my nervous system light up like something was wrong.
It takes a massive mind shift to move from survival mode into a life built on abundance — and it does not happen overnight.
When you’ve spent years drowning in shame, believing you’re not enough, or assuming the worst is always around the corner, abundance feels unnatural.
Abundance says, “You’re worthy.”
Shame says, “Prove it.”
Abundance says, “There’s space for you.”
Fear says, “Stay small.”
Abundance says, “You are safe.”
Chaos says, “Don’t let your guard down.”
Of course abundance feels overwhelming at first.
Of course peace feels boring.
Of course hope feels like a risk.
Healing is asking us to relearn what safety even is.
And some days, that is a moment-by-moment choice.
Trying to make these shifts in isolation is nearly impossible.
Our minds — especially the ones shaped by addiction, trauma, or codependency — are full of old stories that are eager to pull us back into familiar pain.
That’s why accountability is everything.
Alone in our heads, we can justify anything.
Alone, we can convince ourselves that chaos is safer than consistency.
Alone, we can decide that abundance is “too much” and shrink back into what’s familiar.
But in community?
We get reminders of who we’re becoming — not who we used to be.
We get perspective when our emotions want to hijack us.
We get encouragement when peace feels foreign and hope feels like a battle.
We were never meant to heal in isolation.
Our growth depends on connection.
Some days, hope comes easily — like sunlight.
Other days, choosing hope feels like pushing a boulder uphill.
Some days peace feels grounding.
Other days it feels like a trap.
That doesn’t mean you’re doing recovery wrong.
It means you’re human.
It means you’re rewiring your entire way of being.
It means you’re healing.
Hope is a practice.
Peace is a practice.
Abundance is a practice.
And every time you choose them — even shakily, even imperfectly, even through gritted teeth — you are building a new life.
This week, pay attention to one area where peace feels uncomfortable or abundance feels overwhelming.
Ask yourself gently:
“What old story is being activated here?”
“What would choosing hope look like in this moment?”
Share your reflection in the comments or write it in your journal.
And don’t forget to reach out to your people — the ones who remind you that the life you’re building is worth every uncomfortable step.
You’re learning to choose hope.
You’re learning to let peace in.
You’re learning to live abundantly — one moment at a time.
Radiant Redemption 
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