Promises….The Accidental Sitcom Episode 1
A sober living comedy based on very real events.
People picture sober living as peaceful. Calm. Structured. Maybe some soft music playing while women journal and sip herbal tea.
Not here.
Running Promises Sober Living is a mix of:
recovery work
emotional growth
spiritual healing
federal-grade chaos
and moments where I look into an imaginary camera like I’m on The Office.
Let me walk you through a single week — a very real, very Promises week.
ACT I — “Fix Your Fucking Face”
One of the women is about to hop onto an important Zoom meeting with professionals.
She’s dressed fine.
She’s on time.
Her paperwork is together.
But her face?
Her face is giving:
“I am not emotionally available.”
“Try me and see what happens.”
“I woke up in fight-or-flight and stayed there.”
I could feel the caseworker on the other end preparing for battle, and the meeting hadn’t even started yet.
So, in a moment of pure instinct and spiritual intervention, I said:
“Fix your fucking face.”
She froze.
Then burst out laughing.
Then actually softened.
She entered the Zoom as a functioning human instead of an unpaid MMA fighter.
Therapeutic? Maybe not.
Effective? Absolutely.
ACT II — The Thanksgiving Turkey Crisis: A Midnight Special
It’s the night before Thanksgiving.
Someone — with zero irony — asks:
“Should we take the turkey out of the freezer?”
I turned around slowly like a horror movie character who just heard footsteps.
The turkey.
Is.
A.
FROZEN.
BOULDER.
If you dropped it on the floor, it would fall through all levels of the home like a cartoon safe.
The whole house goes into meltdown mode:
“Put it in the sink!”
“No, the bathtub!”
“Microwave it?”
“I’m going to cry.”
“Should we just… cancel Thanksgiving?”
Meanwhile someone is whispering positive affirmations to the turkey like it’s going to thaw out of gratitude.
AND THEN — the plot twist of the century:
Two of the women panic, run to the store, buy a fresh turkey, and stay up ALL NIGHT cooking.
I’m talking:
seasoning
basting
arguing
bonding
trauma-processing
checking it every 7 minutes like exhausted culinary soldiers
They cooked that turkey like the fate of the free world depended on it.
By morning?
It was PERFECT.
Golden.
Gorgeous.
A Thanksgiving miracle created by caffeine and panic.
ACT III — The Door That No One Locks
We do not have a bathroom key.
We do, however, have a universal challenge:
No one locks the damn bathroom door.
Daily:
Someone forgets.
Daily:
Someone else walks in and screams like they just witnessed a crime.
Then begins the debate:
“I DID lock it!”
“The lock is broken!”
“You don’t know how to knock!”
“Why would you open it that hard?!”
“I swear I thought you were downstairs!”
At this point the lock itself needs trauma therapy.
ACT IV — The Spoon That Will Outlive Us All
Every house has a mystery.
Ours?
THE SPOON.
Every. Single. Day.
The same spoon appears in the sink.
Covered in a new mystery substance.
No one used it.
No one knows where it came from.
No one understands why it’s always THERE.
The spoon is basically a spiritual entity now.
It has rights.
It has opinions.
It has a storyline.
I fear it more than DHS.
ACT V — Why I Stay, Why I Laugh, Why It Matters
Here’s the truth beneath the comedy:
These women are healing in real time.
They’re learning emotional sobriety.
They’re parenting.
They’re confronting trauma.
They’re figuring out how to show up to life — even when their face needs adjusting first.
The laughter?
It’s part of the medicine.
Part of the bonding.
Part of the recovery.
Promises is messy.
It’s loud.
It’s chaotic.
It’s beautiful.
And it absolutely deserves to be told like the sitcom it is.
Roll credits.
Cue soft emotional outro music.
Fade out as someone in the kitchen yells:
“WHO USED THIS SPOON AGAIN?!”
✨ Want more episodes?
Because oh… there will be more.
The material writes itself.
When you’re ready, we’ll drop Episode 2.