For the past 364 days, I’ve been taking life one day at a time.

Starting tomorrow, my life, my sobriety, will be measured in years.

I looked over my shoulder as I hit the period on my keyboard, making sure for the hundredth time that none of my coworkers at Richter & Thomas Financial Consulting could see what I was doing. I should have been finding the best shade of green for our newest Facebook ad. That was my charge in my critical role as Marketing Assistant #2. To the three colleagues I shared an office with, it was an average Thursday. But to me, it was a very special day. And this very special day required a top secret Word document.

The marketing-and-communications office was a repurposed, windowless conference room tucked away on the twelfth floor of a building in the Flatiron district of Manhattan. We had four desks shoved into the center of the room. Vanessa Zhao, Marketing Assistant #1, sat beside me. Our boss, Jermaine Johnson, sat across from me. And across from Vanessa was Colin Taft, who worked on video and kept his headphones on all day. My desk was the closest to the door, which meant that if anyone had to get up and go to the bathroom, they’d be able to glance at my computer. So writing a top secret speech was a risky choice. But I couldn’t help it—there was no other time I’d be able to collect my thoughts.

When I woke up tomorrow morning, I’d be one year sober. And tonight, to celebrate that feat, my AA group was having a party for me, a party where I’d be expected to speak from the heart. The thing was, I was terrible at speaking from the heart. My heart was shy. It didn’t like crowds. And while my sponsor, Lola, had told me I didn’t need to write anything down, I couldn’t help myself. I wanted to say the right thing, and after living with myself for twenty-six years, I knew I’d never be able to say the right thing off-the-cuff. Maybe someday, I’d get there. Maybe that day would even be tomorrow.