If It Hurts, It Helps.

When I got sober in 2010, I was 39. From the outside, my life seemed pretty perfect—a beautiful family, a successful business, a popular blog, a nice house, two cars, and, for God's sake, over 3,000 Facebook friends. But on the inside, I was unraveling like a sweater from Temu. My anxiety and depression were off the charts. Work felt suffocating, and my wife was fed up with my drinking, saying she never knew which version of me would walk through the door at the end of the day. I thought my drinking was only hurting me, but it had seeped into every corner of my life, especially my family. At that time, my wife and I were in marriage counseling. Eventually, I asked to meet with our therapist one-on-one. I felt like I was hanging on by a thread. I was desperate. When I sat down with her, it all came pouring out. I was miserable. I told her I couldn’t stop drinking, and I didn’t want to live that way anymore. For the first time in my life, I was brutally honest with a therapist.

The other day, I was browsing my LinkedIn feed and came across an illustration that caught my eye. There were three glass jars, all the same size. Each jar had a black ball inside. The first jar's ball was big enough to occupy the whole jar. The second jar's ball was smaller, and the third was tiny. It appeared that the ball in the jars was shrinking over time. A caption underneath the illustration read, "People tend to believe that grief shrinks over time." Underneath the illustration was a second set of jars. This time, the jars increased from the smallest to the largest. Like the previous illustration, a black ball was inside each jar, but the balls were all the same size. The ball filled the entire space in the first jar, but as the jars increased, the space inside became larger, as if the jar was growing around the ball. The caption underneath this illustration read, "What really happens is that we grow around our grief." I've experienced grief. We

I just Googled, "What are human beings most afraid of?" I was expecting death to be at the top of the list, but it isn't. It isn't even on the list.  What the heck is wrong with people today? Is the world so fucked up that even death isn't the scariest thing out there? Have people become so desensitized that eternal darkness has been reduced to an afterthought?   Has anyone seen the Grim Reaper lately? Maybe he's too busy making TikToks or sitting in an abandoned storefront underneath a sign that says, "Closed for business." Someone should check on him.  If you wonder what scares people more than death, here's the unofficial list. Thunder and lightning come in at number ten. Already, I have a problem, and we're only at number ten. I know zero humans over 12 who are afraid of thunder and lightning. I do know several afraid dogs, and you can squash that fear with a Thunder Shirt for $39.95. The rest of the list could not be less impressive. Dog

Getting sober can be tough. It took me 25 years to finally realize how much my drinking was affecting not only me but, most importantly, my family. With the help and support of my wife and a 12-step program , I was able to get the help I needed to begin my recovery journey. Initially, it was about navigating everyday life and all its challenges.   At the time, my wife and I had two young daughters who weren't old enough to comprehend the gravity of the situation or why there was a sudden shift in my behavior and daily routine. That said, kids are way more perceptive than you would think. They might not understand everything, but they notice just about EVERYTHING.  One of the things they picked up on was how often I would leave the house for an hour or so at a time. It would happen a few nights a week and on the weekends in the morning. I was going to 12-step meetings regularly, almost every day, for the first year, so it was impossible not to notice. It didn't take my oldes

One hundred thirty-one days, eleven hours, seventeen minutes, and thirty-two seconds. No. I am not singing that song from RENT. Even though it's catchy as fuck.  The countdown is officially on—the countdown for what, you ask? Hannukah? Nope. Christmas? Nope. Boxing Day? I'm not even sure what Boxing Day is. I am an alcoholic in long-term recovery. To me, this means I live with substance use disorder. One day at a time, I have learned to modify my behavior. This enables me to live a healthy, productive, and sober life without having to drink or use any substances. It took me about twenty-five years to figure that out.  If you're a member of any 12-step program , you know that the first and perhaps the most important step is the first. It reads, "We admitted we were powerless over alcohol-that our lives had become unmanageable." It's pretty straightforward. It wasn't always easy to recognize or come to terms with that in my active addiction. It took a

An old saying always comes to mind when I think about my recovery.  "It takes a village." I had so much love and support from so many people when I first got sober. I was fortunate. It would have been impossible to accomplish that on my own.  My village was as much bustling as it was desolate. It was vast, and it was small. My village was sometimes accessible and sometimes remote. My village was populated with family, friends, doctors, co-workers, peers, and mentors. My village was filled with love and patience, encouragement and understanding. It was also filled with music. It was everywhere. Music became the soundtrack to my life. It followed me, blasting from a boombox on my shoulder. There weren't many artists on the soundtrack. As a matter of fact, it was composed, in its entirety, by one band. Creed. Before I continue, I need all Creed haters to chill. I know there are a lot of you out there. I admit, their lead singer, Scott Stapp seemed kind of douchey, and yes,

Before I got sober, everything I did revolved around alcohol. I drank during the week. There was always a client dinner, a happy hour, or a special event. I also might have installed a beer tap at the office as a "perk" for staff and clients. My friends and I had season tickets for the Rangers and what is a hockey game without a few $12 beers, a hotdog, and a knish? On the weekends, my wife and I always hosted get-togethers for our friends. Preparing the cooler was an accustomed ritual I took pride in. If we went out to dinner, having drinks was the norm. Vacations were extra special because indulging on the beach during the day and then again in the evening at dinner was acceptable or at the very least, defensible.  My  wife  was never much of a drinker, so I certainly did not make it easy for her. Babysitting a grown-ass man when you already have two kids is not something anyone would have willingly signed up for. All of that considered you can imagine the culture sho