There’s a specific brand of chaos that comes with summer when you’re in recovery. Something about the mix of longer daylight, too many unstructured weekends, and that intoxicating sense that everyone else is letting loose can mess with your grip on the quiet routines that help you stay grounded. People love to pretend summer is pure joy, pure ease—but if you’re battling addiction, it can feel more like an open season on your resolve.
The pressure to say yes to every barbecue, every vacation invite, every cousin’s wedding where the open bar starts at 3 p.m. sharp, it piles up. Even if no one’s pushing drinks in your hand or handing you a pill in the bathroom, there’s this constant hum of expectation. That you’ll “celebrate,” that you’ll “just have one,” that you’re somehow missing out if you’re not riding the same reckless tide as everyone else.
But you’re not missing out. You’re opting in—to something better. Even if some days that choice feels like standing still while everyone else floats away.
Why Summer Messes With Your Head
Summer has a reputation for being light and breezy, but that can be misleading. Without the structure of school schedules, busy work seasons, or the general hibernation that colder months demand, there’s more time and space for impulsive behavior to creep in. And time and space, when poorly filled, are gasoline on an already shaky recovery.
A lot of people don’t talk about the fact that recovery often thrives in boredom. That boredom can be safe. The quiet repetition of your routines, your meetings, your Tuesday night dinners with the same three people who get it—those aren’t throwaway moments. They’re lifelines. So when summer rolls around and throws off your schedule or encourages a spontaneous trip or weekend away, it can subtly chip at your defenses. You might not even realize you’ve slipped until you’re two drinks in, wondering how you got there.
If that sounds dramatic, it’s because for people in recovery, it absolutely is. There’s no such thing as “just relaxing” in the same way there used to be. Not without some conscious work. Not without a plan.
What Help Looks Like Now
The way we talk about treatment is evolving, but access is still all over the map. Some people need full hospitalization. Others just need someone to pick up the phone. What’s important is knowing that help doesn’t have to look like one specific thing. You don’t have to disappear for 90 days unless that’s what your situation truly demands.
Sometimes it’s about finding a space where people know how to listen without sugarcoating things. Or figuring out how to say no to your childhood friend who’s visiting and keeps referencing that one summer in high school like it’s a shared inside joke instead of the gateway moment it actually was. Whether it’s 12-step in D.C., rehab in Madison or medical detox in Boston – the important thing is that you do something. Not everything, not perfectly, not forever. Just something, today.
You don’t owe anyone an explanation for needing help. You don’t need to justify stepping out of a party, declining a trip, skipping a brunch that promises bottomless anything. Saying “this doesn’t work for me right now” is enough. Full stop.
The People You Need Around You
It’s uncomfortable to admit, but some friendships just don’t make it through recovery. Not because you’ve outgrown them in some smug self-help kind of way, but because they represent a version of you that you’re actively trying to move away from. And even when the intentions are good, not everyone is ready to come with you.
The people who get it won’t make you sobriety about them. They won’t ask leading questions or treat you like a ticking time bomb. They’ll sit with you on a porch and drink sparkling water without making it a big deal. They’ll text you after a tough dinner or show up when you say you’re not doing great, even if you can’t articulate why.
You don’t need an army, just a few humans who don’t need to be convinced of your progress. Who isn’t measuring your recovery by how normal you look or how “fun” you still are. Who aren’t secretly rooting for the old version of you to resurface just to make things feel more familiar.
The Real Work Happens Between the Big Stuff
There’s a lot of drama wrapped up in the way we talk about addiction. Rock bottoms. Miraculous turnarounds. That whole phoenix-from-the-ashes narrative. And sure, those moments exist. But the work of recovery doesn’t usually look like a movie montage. It looks like waking up early on a Saturday and choosing oatmeal and a walk instead of numbing out. It looks like leaving a beach house early because you feel the urge building and you know better than to let it fester. It looks like calling someone instead of white-knuckling it.
Lifestyle changes might sound dull, but they’re often where the most honest transformation happens. You stop building your week around escape. You start noticing which foods, people, sounds, and spaces actually help you breathe easier. You find rituals that feel sacred not because they’re fancy, but because they work. They hold you when nothing else does.
The point isn’t perfection. The point is presence. You don’t have to love every moment of it. You just have to stay in it.
Letting the Season Be What It Is
You’re allowed to hate summer. You’re allowed to love it and still feel off. You’re allowed to skip weddings and boat days and Fourth of July plans if it means keeping your footing. And you’re also allowed to find your own ways to enjoy it. Go for the night swim. Light every candle in the house. Make the weird cold salad your mom always made even if no one else likes it. Dance barefoot in your driveway because your neighbors are inside and you feel like it.
Recovery doesn’t have to be a punishment. It’s not about saying no to everything. It’s about saying yes to the things that feel right and whole and honest for you. That might not look like anyone else’s version of summer. That’s okay. That’s better than okay.
What Comes After
Some seasons are about surviving more than thriving. That doesn’t mean you’ve failed or backslid or lost your edge. It means you’re human, and this particular stretch of sun and sweat and expectation hit a little harder than others.
If you’re still here—sober, healing, or somewhere in between—you’re doing the thing. That’s the win. And when the heat finally breaks, when the late nights fade and the chill creeps back in, you’ll know something not everyone else does: how to hold on when everything around you says let go.
Recent Comments