The Nose Guard Gospel

Recovery ain’t pretty. It’s trench work. Hold the damn line.

You ever watch a football game and notice the guy in the middle of the line, crouched so low he’s practically chewing dirt?
No?
Exactly.

That’s the nose guard.
The least glamorous position on the field.
No touchdowns. No dances. No highlight reels.
Just bone-on-bone contact, double teams, busted knuckles, and zero thanks.

But you know what?
The whole defense collapses without him.

And that’s what being abstinent feels like some days.
It’s not sexy.
It’s not clean.
It’s not something you slap on Instagram with a sunset and a quote.
It’s holding the line when everything in your addict brain is screaming quit, cave, just take the damn bite.

Recovery—real recovery—is nose guard work.

It’s waking up and weighing your food when no one sees.
It’s making calls you don’t want to make.
It’s dragging your butt to a meeting when your bed feels like a coffin lined with excuses.
It’s staying in the middle when the middle feels like quicksand.

You’re not chasing glory.
You’re plugging the emotional A-gap so the binge doesn’t break through.

That nose guard knows a few things:

• Stay low. Humility isn’t cute—it’s armor.

• Take the hit. The cravings will come. You don’t have to move.

• Be the anchor. Others may fall off. Don’t be one of them.

• Let go of applause. Nobody’s clapping for you eating your green beans. That’s not the point.

Some days, abstinence feels like a win.
Other days, it’s just one more yard gained by not giving in.

But even on the ugliest days—when you’re bone-tired and the food is calling your name from the pantry—you’ve still got a choice:

Head down. Hand in the dirt.
Hold the damn line.

Because if you don’t…
The defense breaks.
The flood comes in.
And everything you’ve built gets buried under it.

Don’t chase glory.
Chase truth.
Chase freedom.
Chase the next 24 hours clean.

You’re the nose guard.
Act like it.

—Dave B (aka DeeBo)