One month ago, I (in my normal dance party fashion) Irish-goodbyed the IT sector—and my colleagues—following a profound realization that had been building for years. It all came to a head during a late Thursday afternoon phone call. In the span of five bizarre minutes, my integrity, ethics, and values were questioned.
I was being unfairly judged.
Again.
The moment I hung up, I felt physically ill.
I’ve spent decades working across industries, and I’ve put up with a lot. But I’m 41 now—physically and emotionally exhausted just trying to maintain my health. Continuing to tolerate conditions that undermine that effort? That’s for the birds.
What finally clicked that day was this: I’m on a quest for emotional sobriety. And staying in the IT sector—especially with my previous employer—was threatening to destroy the progress I’ve made.
It no longer mattered that the job paid well, had great benefits, incredible customers, a cool mission, and cutting-edge tech. What mattered was the steady decline of my emotional and physical health. My tires were getting bald, and I needed to hit the brakes and take the next exit before they shredded completely.
That exit was a practice of emotional sobriety—the ability to manage emotions in a balanced, healthy way, especially under stress. It meant staying grounded, self-aware, and resilient without relying on substances, unhealthy coping mechanisms, or emotional extremes. Many see it as the next step after physical sobriety—a deeper focus on emotional maturity, inner peace, and personal growth. I am working hard on both. Struggling with cannabis sobriety but taking steps to quit
I don’t know what kind of tires this old station wagon will have next—or which road it’ll travel down—but I know one thing: it won’t be the same path.
In the last month, I’ve started exploring higher education in substance abuse counseling. I’ve applied for a local program that could start this fall, and also submitted an application to a nine-month community leadership cohort.
I’ve also been brainstorming new paths of entrepreneurship—commercial drone piloting, recovery coaching, and photography among them.
In the meantime, I’ve spent over ten hours connecting with fellow veterans. I’ve given more than twenty hours in service to those experiencing poverty in my community. I’ve shown up to meetings full of strangers and met dozens of people actively changing their lives—and the lives of others.
Leaving the IT industry wasn’t an impulsive decision. It was an act of radical self-love. My internal family system recognized my personal leadership, and the response has been a chorus of support—curiosity, hope, and excitement.
Emotional sobriety doesn’t mean I’ve “arrived.” It doesn’t mean my chronic physical and mental health challenges are gone. It doesn’t erase responsibility or hardship.
But I’m learning to steer with awareness. To listen under the hood.
And like any well-loved 41-year-old car, I still need care, occasional repairs, and a bit of modernization.
The paint may be dull. There are some dings and dents.
But she always starts.
And she never quits.
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If I can be of any support to you on your journey of healing, please reach out. Sending you love and compassion!