Addiction thrives in the dark. Bring it into the light.
Everything looked fine on the surface. It’s kind of like when the house gets really quiet. That’s when you should be worried your kids are tearing the next room apart.
I was a fast-rising, celebrated journalist. I’m fortunate enough to still have an incredible wife and brilliant twin daughters. I was training for my fifth marathon, and you could find me at church every Sunday morning.
Hours after church, though, I was often funneling beer or whiskey in the quiet, dark corners of our house. Yet another domino tipped. Another week of drinking every day was officially underway. Another stretch of getting violently sick in the shower every morning, skipping
We’re living in a time where we can either let pain be our undoing, or our opportunity to come back better and stronger. I recommend the latter.
meals, or quietly considering suicide while lying wide awake in the middle of the night.
As I’ve walked through the horrifying details with my wife as I pitch a memoir I’ve written on my experience, I can’t believe that person was me. I’m no saint, but I no longer drive over stop signs, leave my 5-year-olds alone at the house while I dash out for beer, or attend AA meetings while half in the bag.
With nearly 500 days of sobriety under my belt, I start every day with gratitude. Among the things I’m most thankful for is the fact that I didn’t have to try to get clean during a pandemic. Because I tried and failed numerous times while things were perceivably good. It took checking into rehab to get on the path to long-term recovery. And even after that, I lapsed multiple times before I finally got over the hump.
It’s National Recovery Month, and the best thing I have to offer is a promise that I’m worth it. That you’re worth it, and that the person you love, who’s suffering in silence, is worth it. And that there’s hope.
I didn’t want to admit to myself, or anyone else, that I had a drinking problem, the same way I didn’t want to talk about my often-crippling battles with
Christopher Heimerman with his twin daughters Elise (left) and Anna. anxiety and depression. I felt trapped. That I was a lost cause, and that there was no way out. I couldn’t get the help I needed or find a new job. My job, my family, our bills, and the world’s expectations wouldn’t wait for me. Or so I told myself.
It turns out I had far more support than I thought. As soon as I told my closest friends and family what I was living through, a different domino fell. Finally being honest with everyone, including myself, was the most liberating feeling I’ve ever had. Only then could I start doing the work. And trust me, it’s work. But the paydays are unlike anything I’d ever experienced.
While in treatment, I began creating a new sort of cocktail: the mix of tools that keep me sober every day. I began seeing a therapist to get to the root of my problem: the mental illness. I saw a psychiatrist to make sure I stayed on the right meds (I can’t emphasize this enough: A psychiatrist, not a therapist, should be prescribing your meds). I reunited with God, and also got way into meditation and mindfulness. I made physical fitness a priority and set achievable goals (emphasis on “achievable”). I got a gratifying job, and I reconnected with long-lost friends.
I attend meetings — I prefer the SMART program (Self-Management and Recovery Training) over AA. SMART is more secular and more forum-based, meaning you can share ideas and discuss sobriety tools in realtime.
But I maintain that the most important thing I did was step out of the darkness and into the healing light of being honest.
The moment I started being completely honest, something incredible happened. Rather than running from addiction, I began running toward a fulfilling, happy life. That paradigm shift, going from trying to avoid pain to relishing a good life, made all the difference in the world. I began sleeping through the night. I saw the glint in my eyes return. I connected deeply with my wife and those I loved most.
Being an open-book advocate is obviously not for everyone, but for me it’s therapeutic, and the thought of my success story helping save a life is beyond humbling.
You don’t need to blast your story on social media like I did. If we simply talk about these taboo issues — substance abuse and mental illness — to just one person, we’ve taken a step toward the healing our society so badly needs. The stigma surrounding these afflictions is keeping millions from living their best lives. In many heartbreaking cases, it’s kept them from living, period.
It’s more important now than ever that we talk to each other, that we take a minute and check in with each other and, perhaps more important, be honest when someone asks how we are. Don’t deny yourself the opportunity to feel pain. That Buddha guy knew his stuff, and this quote is exactly what we need to hear and embrace:
“Pain is a gift. Instead of avoiding it, learn to embrace it. Without pain, there is no growth.”
We’re living in a time where we can either let pain be our undoing, or our opportunity to come back better and stronger. I recommend the latter.
Christopher Heimerman is a former newspaper editor and author of the unpublished memoir "40,000 Steps." He lives in DeKalb, Illinois, with his wife and their twin daughters. He is a graduate of the University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee.