Let’s just clear something up right away: if you’ve relapsed, you haven’t failed. You’re not broken. You’re not back at square one, and in some cases, you may not even be back at square one. You’re still in recovery, even if it doesn’t feel like it right now. My most recent relapse was a game changer for me. I remember this mix of fog and clarity, not being able to put the bottle down, but having this understanding of what I was doing. It was the first time I think I actually watched myself unravel. Coming out of it, I wasn’t at square one. The difference was that I had a community in recovery; I knew what I needed to do. For the most part, I had the answer, but I just didn’t quite have the willpower to execute it.
Relapse in addiction recovery is one of those things we don’t always want to talk about. It’s scary. It’s shame-inducing. Sometimes it makes us feel like we’re the only ones who’ve ever slipped. But the truth? It’s more common than most people think, and it doesn’t have to define you.
Let’s talk about it honestly. Let’s take some of the power out of the shame. And if you’re here because you’ve just gone through a relapse, or you’re afraid of one coming, I want you to know you’re not alone, and there are real, tangible steps you can take to move forward.
Relapse in addiction recovery is a reality in many people’s stories. It doesn’t have to mean you have failed or you're never going to be sober, it just means you still have work to do.
Most studies show that relapse rates for addiction are similar to those of other chronic illnesses like diabetes or hypertension, somewhere between 40-60%. That’s not an excuse. But it is a reminder that recovery, like any long-term change, comes with some setbacks.
But the shame that follows? That part is almost worse than the relapse itself. We tend to spiral. We beat ourselves up. We imagine people are going to judge us or give up on us. And sometimes, unfortunately, they do.
That’s what makes this so hard. Not just the actual return to substance use, but all the internal baggage that comes with it and the rebuild after.
When we view relapse as “the end,” we often stay stuck in it longer than we need to.
Here’s how it goes for a lot of people: They slip. Maybe it’s a drink, maybe it’s something more. Then the guilt kicks in. The brain starts screaming: “You blew it.” The shame says: “Why bother now?” And instead of reaching out, we isolate. That isolation feeds the addiction all over again.
But here’s what’s true: relapse is not the opposite of recovery. It’s often a detour, yes, but one you can come back from. And sometimes, it even becomes a turning point. I’ve seen that again and again. I’ve lived it.
I experienced multiple relapses in my recovery journey. It wasn’t until the “last” or most recent one that I really learned and began to understand. You see, my relapses before I just chalked up as a setback or blamed someone or something. The truth was that I just wasn’t ready to look at the lesson in the relapse. After my most recent relapse, I decided I needed to do something different. Every time before, I just sobered up and walked the same path. Insane, right? The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results. So, this time I tried a new path. Really, it was the path that had been suggested to me many, many times.
This is one of those questions with no clean answer.
Some people say yes, relapse is part of recovery. Others say no, it’s a sign that something in recovery wasn’t working. Both are kind of right.
It’s not inevitable. Many people do find long-term recovery without relapsing. But for others, relapse becomes part of the learning process. You touch the stove, so to speak, and suddenly all the things you were taking for granted become real again.
What matters more than whether it “should” be part of recovery is how you respond to it. Is relapse part of recovery? It might be for you, and if it is, it can still be a stepping stone, not a dead end.
So, if you’ve relapsed, you don’t need to ask, “Did I fail?” The better question is: “What do I do now?”
Relapse can feel like falling through a trapdoor you didn’t know was there. One minute you’re doing fine, maybe even better than fine, and then suddenly, you’re not. The momentum you had? It’s gone, and now you’re sitting in the aftermath, trying to make sense of it.
I’ve heard a lot of people say relapse is part of recovery. And maybe that’s true. Or maybe it’s something we just say because we don’t know what else to do with the pain and shame that shows up afterward. Either way, the point isn’t to debate whether relapse is “normal,” or “bad,” or “expected.” The point is: what do you do next?
Here’s one version of that. Five steps. Not rules, just things that seem to help.
First, call it what it is. You relapsed.
You don’t need to dress it up or down. Not “I just slipped,” not “it wasn’t that bad,” not “it doesn’t count because...” It happened. You drank. You used. It’s okay to say it out loud.
It doesn't mean you failed. That’s important. It just means you need to make a turn. A small course correction, maybe, or something bigger. But pretending it didn’t happen? That almost always makes it worse.
The truth, even when it’s heavy, is better than carrying around a lie. I’ve seen people try to white-knuckle their way past this part, and they usually end up back in the same place again.
I get it. This one feels brutal.
There’s this immediate temptation to isolate, to disappear for a while, maybe just until the guilt wears off. Or until you feel like you can show your face again.
But the longer you wait to reach out, the louder the shame gets. And the harder it is to come back.
So text someone. Call your sponsor if you have one. Show up at a meeting, even if you're late or haven’t showered. Especially if you haven't showered. Sit in the back if you have to. Or speak up. Whatever works. Just don’t go it alone.
That silence you’re hearing in your head? That voice telling you nobody wants to hear from you now? It’s lying.
Not in a punishing way. This isn’t about self-blame or dissecting every bad decision. But give yourself some space to look back.
Was it stress? Isolation? Were you feeling fine, maybe even too fine? Sometimes people relapse when things are going great—when the pain that brought them to recovery in the first place feels far away.
Or maybe you stopped doing the things that were helping. Skipped meetings. Avoided hard conversations. Pushed emotions down until they started leaking out sideways.
You don’t need a perfect explanation. Honestly, there probably isn’t one. But if you can spot a pattern—or even a moment where things started to unravel—it helps. That’s something you can work with.
Go back to your basics. Ask yourself what was working before things went sideways. Meetings? Journaling? Calling someone when the urge hits?
Were you using those tools, or just keeping them in your back pocket? Sometimes I think we forget that prevention isn’t a one-time thing. It’s ongoing maintenance. Like brushing your teeth—neglect it for a few days, and things start to decay. Slowly, then suddenly.
This is also a good time to ask: Do you need something new? Would a therapist help? Maybe a change in environment, like sober living or a different daily routine?
Some tools wear out. Some never really fit. You get to make adjustments. That’s not failure. That’s just being alive.
So what now?
You’ve acknowledged the relapse. You’ve reached out. You’ve done some reflection, maybe dusted off a few tools. Now it’s time to look forward again, even if you're still shaky.
You don’t need to map out your next year. But what about today? Or this week? Can you schedule some meetings? Block out time for things that keep you grounded? Make a short list, things like “call a friend after work,” or “walk before dinner,” or even just “drink water.”
It doesn’t have to be impressive. It just needs to be real.
Recovery after relapse isn’t about starting over from scratch. It’s more like stepping back into something familiar, but with new eyes. Maybe a little more caution. Maybe a little more humility.
Or maybe, just maybe, a little more determination.
And if none of this feels doable yet? That’s okay too. Sit with that. Then, when you're ready, reach out. Someone will answer. Probably faster than you think.
Let’s get practical for a minute. Whether you’re bouncing back from relapse or trying to avoid one, here are some tools that can actually make a difference.
This might sound obvious, but it’s worth revisiting often. Relapse doesn’t start with the drink or the drug. It typically begins days or weeks prior to that.
Triggers can be emotional (stress, resentment, grief), physical (being exhausted, hungry), environmental (going back to old places), or social (toxic relationships, isolation, feeling like you don’t fit in). My sponsor always reminds me of HALT: Hungry, Angry, Lonely, Tired. If I’m hungry, eat. If I’m angry, pray or go to a meeting. If I’m lonely, call a friend, a sponsor, or go to a meeting. If i’m tired, sleep.
Addiction relapse prevention strategies always start with awareness.
Build a Real Support Network
I can’t say this enough: you cannot do recovery alone.
You need people. Meetings, therapy, sober living, accountability partners—whatever that looks like for you. A support network isn’t just about people cheering you on. It’s about people who notice when you’re slipping. People you can text at midnight. People who know the version of you that wants to stay clean, even when you don’t feel like it yourself.
If you’re in Colorado, that’s a big part of what we do at Step One Recovery Resources—helping people connect with recovery communities, treatment, or sober housing that actually fits.
Addiction relapse prevention strategies that work long-term include flexibility. Have structure, yes, but don’t be rigid.
What will you do when cravings hit? Who will you call? What helps you calm down, re-center, or redirect the energy when you’re in danger?
Recovery tools only work if you can actually use them in real life. That means they need to adjust when life throws curveballs. And life will throw curveballs.
Recovery isn’t about being perfect. It’s about growing. If you’re learning, if you’re showing up again, even if it’s messy, you’re doing it.
Don’t let one mistake erase a hundred days of effort. Does relapse mean failure? No. It means something wasn’t working, and now you get a chance to find what does.
Recovery is still possible. Your story isn’t over. You're still writing it.
If you’ve made it this far into this post, I want to say this directly: You belong here. Still. Always.
Does relapse mean failure? Absolutely not. It doesn’t mean you’re not serious about recovery. It doesn’t mean you don’t want it bad enough. It doesn’t make you less worthy of support or community or love.
Relapse is part of recovery for many people, and it doesn’t take away what you’ve already built. You can pick up right where you left off. You can recommit. You can try something new.
Relapse in addiction recovery is not the end. It's a chapter. And you get to decide what happens next.
