When Will I Want to Be Alive?

There’s a question most people don’t always say out loud, even in recovery spaces where honesty is supposed to be safe:

When will I be happy?
When will I actually want to be alive?
When will the thought that I’d be better off dead finally leave me alone?

Sobriety doesn’t magically erase that question. If anything, it made it louder.

Because once the numbing stops, the feelings show up on time and without mercy. The days get quieter, and in the quiet, the ache speaks. I used to believe that if I stayed sober long enough, there would be a clear moment—some finish line—where life would suddenly feel worth it. Like I’d wake up one day and think, Oh. This is it. I’m glad I’m here.

But recovery doesn’t work like that.

Sometimes the wanting-to-be-dead feeling doesn’t mean you actually want to die. Sometimes it means you’re exhausted. Overwhelmed. Tired of fighting your own mind every day. It means you don’t want this version of life anymore—the pain, the loneliness, the constant effort to stay afloat.

That distinction matters.

Because shame loves to tell us that if we still feel this way, we’re failing at sobriety. That something is wrong with us. That we should be “better by now.”

But healing isn’t linear. And being sober doesn’t make you immune to depression, trauma, or intrusive thoughts. It just means you’re finally facing them without anesthesia.

Sometimes the question isn’t When will I be happy?
It’s Can I stay alive today?

Just today.

Can I drink my coke zero, take my meds, answer one text, breathe through the heaviness without making a permanent decision about a temporary state?

For a long time, I thought happiness was the goal. Now I think safety comes first. Stability. Moments of peace. Flickers of okay. The kind of okay that doesn’t sparkle, but doesn’t crush you either.

The feeling that you’d be better off dead doesn’t disappear all at once. It fades in pieces. It loses volume. It visits less often. One day you notice it hasn’t shown up in a while. And when it does come back, it doesn’t have the same authority it used to.

You don’t stop because life suddenly feels amazing.

You stop because something in you believes there might be more.

Sobriety isn’t about proving you love life. It’s about choosing to stay—even when you’re not sure you do yet. It’s about trusting that the version of you who wants to be alive is still forming.

You’re not broken because you’re asking these questions.

You’re becoming.

And sometimes becoming looks like staying alive long enough to find out what happens next.