This Year I’ll Finally Stop Lying to Myself

(A recovery story told by a guy who’s still figuring it out)

I don’t know who decided January was the month we’re all supposed to become better people, but every year it sneaks up on me like a supervisor who’s been watching me pretend to look busy. Suddenly everyone’s talking about resolutions.  Running marathons, drinking green smoothies, organizing their garages… Meanwhile, I’m over here just trying to keep my coffee cup from sliding off the dashboard.

But this year, something hit different. Maybe it’s the fact that I’m actually clean and sober enough to notice things now, or maybe it was the way my buddy Earl announced he was “giving up negativity” while actively yelling at the gas pump. Maybe it was just time. Either way, I found myself thinking about goals. Real ones, not the kind you write on a sticky note and lose under the truck seat.

So here’s the truth: last year, I spent a lot of time lying to myself. Not big lies,  just the small, slippery ones. “I’m fine.” “I don’t need help.” “I’ll deal with that later.” “I can handle this on my own.”

Turns out, those little lies pile up like scrap metal behind the shop. You don’t notice how bad it’s until you trip over it.

So this year, I decided my goal was simple: stop lying to myself. Just tell the truth, even when it’s uncomfortable, when it makes me look human, when it means admitting I don’t have a clue what I’m doing.

And let me tell you, it’s been… humbling.

Day 1 I told my sister I was overwhelmed instead of pretending I had everything under control. On morning 2 I admitted to my sponsor that I was craving so hard I could’ve chewed through drywall. On the 3rd night, when I told a friend I was lonely, which for a guy who used to think feelings were optional, it felt like confessing to a felony.

But here’s the wild part: every time I told the truth, something got lighter. Not easier, just lighter. Like I wasn’t dragging around a toolbox full of secrets anymore.

I’m not saying honesty magically fixes your life. If that were true, my truck would start on the first try and my boss would stop scheduling meetings at 7 a.m. But honesty does something better: it gives you a fighting chance. It keeps you grounded and connected. It keeps you from drifting back into that old life where everything was smoke and mirrors and “I’m fine” was the only sentence in your pocket.

So if you’re staring down this new year feeling like everyone else has a color‑coded plan and you’re just trying to keep your head above water, let me offer this: pick one goal that actually matters to you. Not the fancy one. Not the impressive one. The real one.

Maybe it’s staying clean and sober one more day. Maybe it’s calling someone back. Maybe it’s eating something green that didn’t come from a vending machine. Maybe it’s telling the truth, even just once, when you’d normally hide.

Whatever it is, start there. Start small. Start messy. Start honest.

Because if a stubborn, sarcastic knucklehead like me can make progress, I promise you’re not too far gone.

And hey, if all else fails, you can just start over any time.  You don’t have to wait for next January.