1,182 Days: A Journey Through Addiction, Recovery, and the Healing Power of Music

1,182 Days: A Journey Through Addiction, Recovery, and Healing—With a Little Help From Jelly Roll

1,182 days ago, my husband made the life-altering decision to enter rehab. That same day, I began my journey: learning how to support and love someone determined to recover after 20 years of battling addiction. Neither of us had an easy road ahead.

My husband’s addiction began in middle school, a response to a traumatic childhood he couldn’t escape. He turned to methamphetamines and spent years numbing his pain, avoiding feelings he didn’t know how to process. When I’ve spoken with others in active addiction or recovery, the refrain is heartbreakingly similar: “I don’t want to feel the pain anymore. I don’t like the feelings.”

Through my experience of loving someone in recovery and supporting others, I’ve come to understand the critical importance of giving feelings the space they need. Ignored emotions don’t disappear—they linger, waiting to resurface when we least expect them. Processing those feelings, as uncomfortable as it might be, is the only way to move forward.

But it’s not always easy to sit with pain. That’s where music—specifically Jelly Roll’s music—has been a lifeline for me. His songs speak directly to the raw realities of addiction, pain, and redemption, and they’ve been a source of comfort on my darkest days. When my family disowned me, Jelly Roll’s words carried me through. When my husband walked into rehab, his music became my companion, giving me strength when I felt alone.

The Long Road to Recovery

My husband’s journey to sobriety wasn’t straightforward. Before rehab, he tried to quit on his own. He participated in a court-ordered drug program. He made countless attempts to get clean, but nothing stuck. Then, he found Narcotics Anonymous (NA). The program, with its structured steps and community support, changed his life. It may not be the solution for everyone, but for him, it was the answer. With the guidance of an incredible sponsor, he has worked through the steps diligently over the past 1,182 days.

Then came Step 9: making amends.

The Pain of Step 9

Step 9 is about facing the wreckage of the past. It requires acknowledging the harm done to others and taking responsibility in a way that feels authentic and meaningful. For my husband, that meant writing a letter of amends to my family. It was heartfelt and sincere and left the next steps up to them.

And then his sponsor said the next person he needed to make amends to was… me.

As someone who prides herself on being the fixer, this step has brought me to my knees. I’m the one who helps others, who puts my feelings on the back burner to make sure everyone else is okay. But now, my husband stands before me, apologizing—not just the surface-level “I’m sorry” I’ve heard before, but genuinely seeking to take responsibility for the pain he caused. And I don’t know how to respond.

How do you mend a broken heart? How do you fix the wounds left by years of betrayal, fear, and loss? How do you heal the parts of yourself that still ache from the memory of mowing the lawn, eight months pregnant, while your husband was off getting high? Or the nights when he disappeared, unreachable, only to later discover he was with someone else?

I’ve forgiven my husband for the things he did before he entered recovery. But forgiving doesn’t erase the pain. It doesn’t magically make me whole.

When I feel overwhelmed, I turn back to Jelly Roll’s music. His lyrics remind me that pain and healing are part of the same journey. Songs like "Save Me" or "Son of a Sinner" have a way of putting my feelings into words when I can’t find them myself. His music creates a space where it’s okay not to have all the answers, where it’s okay to cry, to feel broken, and to piece yourself back together slowly.

Acknowledging My Own Needs

As my husband works through his steps, I’m realizing I need to revisit my own needs. Early in his recovery, I joined an online support group through The Herren Project @herrenproject. It became my lifeline—a place where I could cry, laugh, and share without fear of judgment. Those weekly meetings reminded me I wasn’t alone and that others understood the unique struggles of loving someone in addiction and recovery.

But as life settled into a rhythm, I stopped attending. My husband was doing well, and we were working through couples therapy. For a while, everything felt manageable. Now, Step 9 has reminded me that I still have healing to do. I need that support system again, the space to process my feelings and figure out how to respond to my husband’s amends in a way that is honest and constructive.

Moving Forward, One Day at a Time

If you’re reading this and find yourself in a similar situation, know this: it’s okay not to have all the answers. It’s okay to feel broken, lost, or overwhelmed. Healing—whether for the person in recovery or their loved ones—isn’t linear. It’s messy, painful, and, at times, exhausting.

For now, I’m taking it one day at a time. I’m permitting myself to feel, process, and seek the support I need. My husband and I have come so far, but we still have a long way to go. And that’s okay. Every step, no matter how hard, is a step toward something better.

If you’re on this journey, too, know you’re not alone. There’s a community out there that understands and will give you the space to feel and be heard. And in that space, healing can begin. And when it feels too heavy to bear, maybe Jelly Roll’s words can bring you comfort, just as they have for me. Sometimes, it takes a song to remind you that it’s okay not to be okay—and that brighter days are ahead.

Herren Project: https://herrenproject.org

Narcotics Anonymous USA: https://usa-na.org

@jellyroll615

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