Stacking Wins
Recovery doesn’t announce itself with a single, dramatic moment. There’s rarely one instant when everything suddenly falls into place, no matter how much we might wish for one. Instead, lasting change happens quietly, built from countless small victories that accumulate like snowflakes, each one so light you hardly notice until they form something solid underfoot.
Robert Collier wrote, “Success is the sum of small efforts, repeated day in and day out,” and nowhere is this truer than in recovery. Progress isn’t about conquering everything at once. It’s about finding the courage to take the next small step, again and again, until gradually the path ahead becomes clearer.
Big milestones matter — choosing to enter treatment, opening up in a therapy session, or walking into a first 12-step meeting deserve to be celebrated. But what stays with me most are the quiet moments in between.
I think of the resident who noticed a newcomer standing awkwardly and walked over to say hello. He helped unpack his luggage, explained the house routines, and stayed up late just talking. On the surface, it looked like a simple gesture. But to someone just starting this journey, it was proof they weren’t alone.
And I’ll never forget my own loved one leaning against our kitchen counter one evening and saying, “I think I’ll go to a meeting tonight.” Seven simple words that held so much weight — a quiet shift toward connection when isolation would have been easier. Or the first time he decided to sponsor someone himself — a small, brave commitment to give back even as he was still finding his own way.
There was also a young man who hadn’t picked up a book in years, who one afternoon lost himself in a recovery memoir. Later, he showed me pages filled with his notes and underlines. When he shared those reflections, it felt like a small win that held the promise of new beginnings.
And I remember the parents preparing for their son’s first home visit after months away. They were anxious, hoping the progress they’d seen would hold up in the familiar chaos of home. Together they set clear goals and expectations. When he came back and was able to say he’d kept every commitment, it was more than a successful visit. It was a cornerstone in rebuilding trust.
And then there was the son who paused during a phone call home to ask his mother, “And how was your day, Mom?” It was just a simple question, but she told me through tears that it felt like getting a part of her child back.
That’s the quiet power of small wins. They rarely come with certificates or headlines. But one honest choice stacks on the next. One vulnerable moment opens the door for deeper connections. One kept commitment rebuilds a little more self-trust.
My friend Mike often calls it “stacking the wins,” and it’s exactly that. It’s one small victory on top of another until something larger than we can see in any one moment begins to take shape.
I’ve sat with parents who, early in their loved one’s recovery, searched for big proof that everything was okay. One father told me, “I just don’t see the big changes.” Together we listed the small wins his son had stacked — joining group without prompting, reaching out to a peer, navigating dinner without an argument — and I watched his face change as he began to recognize the pattern. The progress had been there all along.
Recovery isn’t a straight path. Hard days still come. Old habits sometimes resurface. Even then, small wins matter — choosing honesty after a stumble, reaching out instead of withdrawing, recommitting to the process when it feels daunting.
That’s what we encourage each other to do. To recognize small victories and celebrate them. And to help parents do the same. To notice not just the big milestones but the quiet, daily signs of growth.
Some parents keep a simple journal of the wins they see. Others share one hopeful moment together at dinner. These habits help everyone recognize that recovery is unfolding beneath the surface, one small win at a time.
And that’s the beauty of this work. The wins might seem modest individually. But over time they stack into something powerful — showing that recovery is built not on grand gestures, but on steady, heartfelt steps forward.
In the end, it’s these small wins — chosen again and again, day after ordinary day — that lay the foundation for lasting change. They may not make headlines, but they make something better: a life worth living.
