Walking into my probation officer’s office is one of the most nerve-wracking experiences I face regularly. Every time I step through that door, my anxiety skyrockets, even though I know I’ve done nothing wrong. It’s not about guilt; it’s about the overwhelming fear of judgment, of authority, and the pressure to be perfect in a situation where perfection feels impossible.
I’ve spent countless hours analyzing why I feel this way. Maybe it’s rooted in the power dynamics—she holds the ability to make decisions that directly impact my life. Or perhaps it’s the lingering shame of my past, the fear that no matter how hard I try, I’ll always be seen as the person I once was. Either way, these appointments trigger a cascade of anxiety that’s hard to shake, even after I’ve left her office.
Despite this struggle, I recently took a big step forward in my recovery and personal growth: I wrote her a letter. This wasn’t just any letter; it was my way of taking accountability for my past wrongdoings, a fundamental part of my journey in Alcoholics Anonymous.
Writing the letter wasn’t easy. Every word felt like peeling back a layer of armor I’ve built to protect myself from the judgment of others—and myself. I apologized for the mistakes I made that brought me to this point, for the pain I caused others, and for the ways my actions affected my life and theirs.
Taking accountability is a cornerstone of recovery, but it’s also one of the hardest parts. Admitting that I was wrong, that I hurt people, and that I have to work every day to make amends—it’s humbling and freeing all at once.
What surprised me most was my probation officer’s reaction. She wasn’t dismissive or harsh; instead, she acknowledged my effort. In that moment, I realized that while she is an authority figure, she’s also human. She sees my progress, not just my past.
This experience has taught me something important: fear of authority often comes from within. It’s the remnants of shame and guilt, the little voice that says, “What if they don’t believe in you?” But by taking steps to own my story and my actions, I’m beginning to rewrite that narrative.
I still feel anxious every time I report to her office, but now I see it as another opportunity to prove—to myself, most importantly—that I am not my past. I am a person in progress, someone who is learning, growing, and showing up even when it’s hard.
If you’re reading this and you’ve ever felt that paralyzing fear of authority, know this: it’s okay to feel afraid, but don’t let that fear hold you back. Take accountability where it’s due, show up for yourself, and trust in the process. Growth isn’t linear, but every step forward is a victory.
For me, writing that letter wasn’t just part of my AA journey—it was a step toward healing, toward proving that I’m not just surviving this process, but thriving in it. And for that, I am proud.
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