Fifteen years sober, and the language about addiction has completely changed. That's progress.

When I got sober in 2011, addiction was still a character flaw. I was a "junkie." A "drunk." An addict—said with disgust, said as a category I'd always belong to, said like I'd chosen this and deserved it.

My sponsor said something that cracked me open: "You're not an addict. You're a person who struggled with addiction. That's not your identity—it's something that happened to you."

It took me years to believe that.

Over the past fifteen years, I've watched the conversation shift. We talk about "substance use disorder" now. We understand that addiction is a disease, not a moral failing. We see people in recovery on magazine covers, in leadership positions, in our communities—not hidden away, but present.

But the shift hasn't been universal. I still hear people talk about "addicts" like we're a different species. I still see employers discriminate. I still see people newly in recovery internalize shame that belongs to society, not to them.

What's changed is that recovery is less lonely now. When I got sober, I knew maybe one other person in recovery. Now I know dozens—working professionals, parents, athletes, artists. The stigma is lifting, but not fast enough for everyone.

I'm grateful my kids grew up in a world where they could talk about their mom's recovery without as much shame. Where their friends' parents understood that addiction is a public health issue, not a personal failure.

Fifteen years in, I don't call myself an "addict" anymore. I'm in recovery. That's not just semantics—it's the difference between being defined by my worst moment and being defined by my comeback.

The language is changing. And that's everything.