My Guilt, Shame, and Remorse

Last week at the Wednesday meeting, we celebrated John’s 13 years of sobriety. Thirteen years. That’s huge. But honestly, what stayed with me wasn’t the number. It was what he said about what he called “his box.”

He said when we’re drinking, we’re packing a box full of three things: remorse, shame, and guilt. We don’t realize we’re doing it at the time. Every lie, every mistake, every time we knew better but drank anyway—it all goes in. And the kicker is, even when we stop drinking, the box is still there. We keep carrying it around.

That’s what hit me. Because lately I’ve been saying I’m depressed. I even wrote that in my last post. But I don’t think it is depression. Maybe it’s this box. This box of Guilt, Shame, and Remorse—that’s what’s been weighing me down.

Sometimes, my wife noticed my drinking. I told myself she didn’t, but she did. She’d say, “John, you’re slurring your words!” and I’d lie—“Oh, I just used your vape. I’ll be fine.” What a joke. I actually convinced myself she believed me. And then there was the night I passed out on the couch during dinner–with guests in the house. She had to carry that embarrassment because of me. I hate that memory. I hate the version of myself who let it happen. And yeah, I guess that was part of the lying. Pretending she didn’t notice, pretending it wasn’t that bad. Lying to her. Lying to myself.

Sobriety has its gifts, no doubt. But it doesn’t erase those memories. They come to me every day. And that’s the box.

What John reminded me is that the AA fellowship is where we start unpacking that box. Each meeting gives us a chance to take something out—maybe just a small piece of guilt or shame—and set it down where others can see it. Sharing is the way we lighten the load. And listening to others helps too. When I hear someone else tell a story that sounds like mine, I feel less alone. My shame becomes something shared instead of something hidden.

What I’m learning is that sobriety is more than just putting down the drink. It’s being vulnerable enough to open the box and deal with what’s inside. It’s admitting that guilt and shame are there, instead of pretending they aren’t. And most importantly, it’s doing that in a room full of people who are unpacking their own boxes right alongside me.

John’s 13 years of sobriety are proof that the process works. He’s not free from the past—none of us are—but he’s lighter because he’s been willing to share it, piece by piece. That gives me hope that I can keep going, that I can keep unpacking, that one day the box I carry won’t feel so heavy.

Sobriety isn’t about perfection. It’s about progress. And for me, that progress begins with honesty—with Nina, with AA, and with myself. Every time I open my mouth in a meeting and tell the truth, I set something down. And little by little, that’s how the box gets lighter.

The story doesn’t end there.  I was enjoying a conversation on Saturday morning with a fellow AA’er, Stuart.  He said that he likes to think of it as “effervescence.”   All those things that we did when we were drinking, filling the box, were like carbonating a beverage.  If you get a liquid cold enough, it can hold quite a bit of carbon dioxide.  But as we sober up, the beverage warms and loses its capacity to hold carbon dioxide.   We slowly lose all those feelings and secrets.  With a bit of burping, we can relieve ourselves of the remorse and just be.