Sterling Goudeau

As of this month, it's been a solid three years since I’ve had a drink — and I’m still surprised when I say that out loud. Not because I didn’t think I could do it. Because for a long time, I never really gave myself the chance to try. Recovery didn’t come wrapped in confetti. It didn’t show up with balloons. At first, it was just a decision. Then another one and another one, and then life started showing me those little victories, and I celebrate every single one of them.

Before I got sober, I used to celebrate my victories by popping bottles. That behavior got me stuck in a cycle of waking up every day not handling my responsibilities, spiraling deeper into depression, and numbing myself with alcohol. I wasn’t happy. I kept shooting myself 

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in the foot and wondering why I couldn’t move forward. I was searching for peace at the bottom of a bottle, but all I found there was a deeper hole.

One of the turning points for me happened in a McDonald's. I’d just been kicked out of my dad’s place for drinking again. I was sitting alone in the corner when a group of high school football players came in. And it hit me—I used to be them. Life ahead of me, full of promise. And in that corner booth, with life falling apart, I felt like any hope for that promise had passed me by. That memory drives me to this day. I never want to feel like that again.

I’ve learned that celebration comes after struggle.

In the early days of my sobriety, there were nights I felt like I was just spinning my wheels. No girlfriend. No job worth bragging about. No big “aha” moment. But I kept showing up. I worked that job that barely paid. I saved what little I could. I said no when it would’ve been easier to say yes. And you know what? That urge? Gone. Not because I’m some superhero, but because I spent enough time doing the work at Grandview to retrain my instincts. That took time. It took reps. And yeah, it got repetitive. But it worked.

I didn’t take the traditional route. No AA, no 12 steps. What worked for others didn’t click with me, and I realized that was OK! Grandview gave me everything I needed to be on my journey, and I found my path through accountability, consistency, and a little faith in something bigger than myself. My relationship with God and my Christian roots helped give me a foundation to build on, but so did something else: I don’t want to lose anymore.

I’ve always been competitive. I like to win. And when I realized that I was constantly losing to alcohol, I decided to fight back. I do that by staying accountable to myself, to God, and to the people who believed in me before I believed in myself. I’m not trying to be perfect, but I am doing my best to make one good decision at a time and to trust that those choices will build something better.

Because of this strong belief and vision, I was able to move out of Grandview’s outpatient and sober living programs into my very first apartment and the first time living on my own. No roommates, no curfews, no one checking in on me. Just me, my keys, and my peace.

The biggest gift recovery gave me was the ability to face myself in the mirror again. I’d been running from that reflection for years. But now? I wake up and I can look myself in the eye and say, “You’re showing up. You’re doing the work.” I’m not chasing happiness anymore. That used to be the goal—but happiness is fleeting. What I’m chasing now is stability. The kind where you come home after a long shift, sit in a quiet apartment, and feel okay in your own skin.

I still have tough moments. The overthinking creeps in. But I’ve learned to talk myself down by reviewing the facts: Did I show up today? Did I work hard? Did I stay sober? Yes? Then I’m good. It’s not about being perfect. It’s about doing the next right thing. And when I string enough of those together? That’s something to celebrate.

If you’re reading this and wondering when the celebration comes--keep going. It's not instant. It’s not loud. And it won’t always feel like a party. But every time you make the hard choice, every time you don’t give up, that’s a celebration.

Life will still hit you. Breakups. Accidents. Bad shifts at work. But you’ll have tools. You’ll have vision. And you’ll know how to fight through it without numbing out.

Take your time. Build character. Celebrate the grind. Celebrate the growth. The good stuff will come.

Celebration isn’t just a chip at a meeting or a party once a year. It’s the daily joy of freedom. It’s the peace of walking into your own apartment and knowing you paid for it, sober. It’s being able to say, “No one saved me—I showed up for myself.” A year from now? I don’t need a parade. I just want to be healthy. Still standing. Still stable. I’m not chasing constant joy, because I know joy comes and goes. What I am chasing is a grounded, purpose-filled life. And I want to keep giving back to the place that helped me get here.

That’s why I said yes to this alumni interview and to joining the Alumni Association Committee. I’m not always the guy who jumps up to speak—but I’m learning that staying connected is part of giving back. Grandview helped change my life. I owe them that.

So yeah, I’m celebrating. Not just my sobriety, but the man I’ve become because of it.
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Thanks, Grandview. I’ll always be grateful.

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