I confess I had doubts about the wisdom of writing this piece. As an alcoholic, I am
aware that disclosure may have unpredictable consequences. I’ve had advice both pro
and con. But in the final analysis, the reasons for writing outweighed those for not. First,
my history with alcohol has not been pretty. Few are. Most of the people I’ve lived and
worked with already know about my situation only too well. Second, as Harold Hughes,
the late senator and governor of Iowa, once noted, so many alcoholics and addicts are
“hidden within society,” unaware that they suffer from a very treatable disease. Studies
have found that lawyers suffer from alcoholism and drug addiction at much higher rates
than non-lawyers. One group determined that the rate of alcoholism among lawyers is
twice that among adults generally.1 Hopefully, this article may help others understand
that they aren’t alone.
But the chief factor in my decision is personal. It’s based on a belief that I have the best
chance of remaining sober if I live with few secrets about who and what I am. Like many
others, my story is one of sharp peaks and valleys, long periods of sobriety but
numerous and sometimes catastrophic relapses. Each relapse was in part the result of
my failure to honestly admit that I was truly an alcoholic and that as a result, there are
things I need to do daily to address my problem. Though I don’t necessarily recommend
the approach for everyone, the more candid I am about my alcoholism, the less likely I’ll
fool myself.
A Pattern Takes Root
Like many, I was a teenager when I had my first drink. But unlike most, my reaction was
magical. It gave me a feeling of comfort and confidence I had never before experienced.
With that drink, I became everything I feared I wasn’t—smooth, good looking and tall.
And as I continued to drink, I became better looking, downright cocky and a lot taller.
But it didn’t last. Later that night I was to get into a fight, forget most of the evening
and stumble home to throw up on my father’s shoes. In the morning I did what I’ve
done many times since: I swore off alcohol forever. Secretly, however, I couldn’t wait to
do it again.
As time passed, I worked hard to control my drinking and for years succeeded at
enjoying its benefits while minimizing its negative side effects. I’d always had a high
degree of anxiety and alcohol was the perfect cure. For a while, alcohol worked its magic
and eventually, I couldn’t imagine life without it.
But in my late 20’s alcohol turned on me. The side effects—missed work, driving arrests
and a very unhappy and frightened family—began to take their toll. Still, I wasn’t about
to let go. My compromise was to “go on the wagon” for lengthy periods to get my life in
order or to complete tasks that were important to me. Somewhere along the way, I had
developed a strong drive to succeed and I was able to put the bottle down long enough
to achieve many of my goals.
A "Cure" Becomes A Necessity
My dry spells began in law school. Entering law school after having worked for a few
years after college, I felt that those around me seemed smarter and more articulate than
I was. So I studied hard and stayed dry and ended my first year with commendable
grades. After that year, I could take a deep breath, ease up a bit and drink again.
After school, I joined a small firm and started to associate with a drinking crowd.
Typically, after a dry period, I didn’t pick up where I left off but farther down the road. In
my early thirties, I drank in ways that I wouldn’t admit to anyone—hidden bottles,
morning start-me-up’s, three-day solitary dry outs. Eventually, much to my shame and
embarrassment, I found myself hopelessly consumed with round the clock drinking.
What had started out years earlier as a simple cure for anxiety was now a necessity.
There Are No Easy Answers--Not Even Rehab
With the help of friends and family, I entered my first treatment center. To this point, I
had never entertained the thought that I was a true alcoholic. I hadn’t lost everything.
My wife and two daughters were still with me and I wasn’t sleeping under a park bench—
yet. But I learned that I’d probably been an alcoholic from the beginning and the
progression of the disease would continue. Without help, it was just a matter of time
before all those “yets” would become my life.
I left rehab with a strong desire to stay sober and dove into recommended support
groups and counseling. With renewed confidence, I joined a well- respected litigation firm
and set out to make up for lost time. Little by little, with the help of many friends in and
out of recovery, I made partner and soon was traveling around the country representing
important clients.
The time arrived, however, when I forgot that sobriety had really been my key to
success. I began to take the credit myself, spending less time with recovering friends
and more time with work and travel. As a lawyer, I had been trained to solve problems
for others. Surely I could manage my own drinking. One day, after a particularly
rewarding verdict, I told myself that one drink wouldn’t hurt. How could it? I had money
and status now, things I’d never had before. I certainly wouldn’t throw all this away. I
had no doubt that I could control my drinking.
I was wrong. That single drink launched a pattern that was to haunt me for the next 20
years. I was off and running but now I had to do my drinking in secret. In the morning,
when the commuters would leave the train and walk east to the Chicago loop, I walked
west to a bar on West Madison Street, where I sipped vodka through a straw to hide my
shaking hands. It all crumbled eventually; I was back in a hospital, no longer a partner.
I straightened myself out, again, and miraculously found a position as in-house counsel
with a Fortune 100 company. This time I stayed sober for seven years. I experienced
successes I couldn’t have imagined from the bar on West Madison and I accepted a
prestigious assignment in Asia but left my humility in the states. It wasn’t long before I
relapsed again and the results were disastrous for my company, my family and me.
Sometimes, After You Touch Bottom, You Can Recreate Your Life
Sadly, I was to repeat this pattern several more times: hard, often compulsive work;
success, and then temptation by another drink. I couldn’t deny the power of that first
drink, but couldn’t resist it. One day five years ago, after leaving yet another hospital, I
knew I was at the end of the line. Those who knew me best suggested I go away for a
long while. Honestly, I had few choices. Unemployable, I’d bottomed out financially, my
wife was threatening to leave and my children had no time for me.
I entered a house for recovering men and worked as a front desk clerk for $7.50 an hour
in the small town’s hotel where I occasionally catered to other attorneys enjoying a get-
away weekend. I lived with men from all walks of life, many who had spent long periods
sleeping under park benches. We had nothing in common but the most important fact of
our lives—that alcohol and drugs had taken from us those things that we valued most
and none of us had found a way to do anything about it on our own. I remained for
more than a year.
I am very grateful today to be working as a real estate broker. Despite the treacherous
market that many complain about, I know that I’m very lucky to have another shot at
life. Many of my friends have not survived with this disease. Of course I wonder if I’ll ever
return to the practice of law but I’m not focused on that now. I’ve lost most of my
material trappings but they aren’t so important anymore. I’m sober today and my family
is relatively happy. Today, I am very aware that I have a disease that I will die with but
don’t have to die from. And I know more than anything else that I can’t stay sober by
myself; I need help and help is all around me.
I started by saying that I believe it important to be as transparent as I can about my
alcoholism. This may not be the answer for everyone. One of the most productive and
happiest periods in my legal career was with a Fortune 100 company that had a very
strong Employee Assistance Program. I took advantage of it. The day I arrived, I went to
the Director and told her in confidence exactly who I was and through her I met many
others at the company with the same problem. Every day I had people around me in
recovery and the support was vital. To those who are today alone with an addiction, in
law school, firm, corporation or court, I urge you to reach out to your local Lawyers’
Assistance Program, EAP, AA or religious home. Help is there and you will find yourself
welcomed like you’ve never been away.
____________
FOOTNOTES
1. Notre Dame Magazine, Autumn, 1999.
This article was originally published in The Complete Lawyer, Vol. IV, No. 2 (2008)
aware that disclosure may have unpredictable consequences. I’ve had advice both pro
and con. But in the final analysis, the reasons for writing outweighed those for not. First,
my history with alcohol has not been pretty. Few are. Most of the people I’ve lived and
worked with already know about my situation only too well. Second, as Harold Hughes,
the late senator and governor of Iowa, once noted, so many alcoholics and addicts are
“hidden within society,” unaware that they suffer from a very treatable disease. Studies
have found that lawyers suffer from alcoholism and drug addiction at much higher rates
than non-lawyers. One group determined that the rate of alcoholism among lawyers is
twice that among adults generally.1 Hopefully, this article may help others understand
that they aren’t alone.
But the chief factor in my decision is personal. It’s based on a belief that I have the best
chance of remaining sober if I live with few secrets about who and what I am. Like many
others, my story is one of sharp peaks and valleys, long periods of sobriety but
numerous and sometimes catastrophic relapses. Each relapse was in part the result of
my failure to honestly admit that I was truly an alcoholic and that as a result, there are
things I need to do daily to address my problem. Though I don’t necessarily recommend
the approach for everyone, the more candid I am about my alcoholism, the less likely I’ll
fool myself.
A Pattern Takes Root
Like many, I was a teenager when I had my first drink. But unlike most, my reaction was
magical. It gave me a feeling of comfort and confidence I had never before experienced.
With that drink, I became everything I feared I wasn’t—smooth, good looking and tall.
And as I continued to drink, I became better looking, downright cocky and a lot taller.
But it didn’t last. Later that night I was to get into a fight, forget most of the evening
and stumble home to throw up on my father’s shoes. In the morning I did what I’ve
done many times since: I swore off alcohol forever. Secretly, however, I couldn’t wait to
do it again.
As time passed, I worked hard to control my drinking and for years succeeded at
enjoying its benefits while minimizing its negative side effects. I’d always had a high
degree of anxiety and alcohol was the perfect cure. For a while, alcohol worked its magic
and eventually, I couldn’t imagine life without it.
But in my late 20’s alcohol turned on me. The side effects—missed work, driving arrests
and a very unhappy and frightened family—began to take their toll. Still, I wasn’t about
to let go. My compromise was to “go on the wagon” for lengthy periods to get my life in
order or to complete tasks that were important to me. Somewhere along the way, I had
developed a strong drive to succeed and I was able to put the bottle down long enough
to achieve many of my goals.
A "Cure" Becomes A Necessity
My dry spells began in law school. Entering law school after having worked for a few
years after college, I felt that those around me seemed smarter and more articulate than
I was. So I studied hard and stayed dry and ended my first year with commendable
grades. After that year, I could take a deep breath, ease up a bit and drink again.
After school, I joined a small firm and started to associate with a drinking crowd.
Typically, after a dry period, I didn’t pick up where I left off but farther down the road. In
my early thirties, I drank in ways that I wouldn’t admit to anyone—hidden bottles,
morning start-me-up’s, three-day solitary dry outs. Eventually, much to my shame and
embarrassment, I found myself hopelessly consumed with round the clock drinking.
What had started out years earlier as a simple cure for anxiety was now a necessity.
There Are No Easy Answers--Not Even Rehab
With the help of friends and family, I entered my first treatment center. To this point, I
had never entertained the thought that I was a true alcoholic. I hadn’t lost everything.
My wife and two daughters were still with me and I wasn’t sleeping under a park bench—
yet. But I learned that I’d probably been an alcoholic from the beginning and the
progression of the disease would continue. Without help, it was just a matter of time
before all those “yets” would become my life.
I left rehab with a strong desire to stay sober and dove into recommended support
groups and counseling. With renewed confidence, I joined a well- respected litigation firm
and set out to make up for lost time. Little by little, with the help of many friends in and
out of recovery, I made partner and soon was traveling around the country representing
important clients.
The time arrived, however, when I forgot that sobriety had really been my key to
success. I began to take the credit myself, spending less time with recovering friends
and more time with work and travel. As a lawyer, I had been trained to solve problems
for others. Surely I could manage my own drinking. One day, after a particularly
rewarding verdict, I told myself that one drink wouldn’t hurt. How could it? I had money
and status now, things I’d never had before. I certainly wouldn’t throw all this away. I
had no doubt that I could control my drinking.
I was wrong. That single drink launched a pattern that was to haunt me for the next 20
years. I was off and running but now I had to do my drinking in secret. In the morning,
when the commuters would leave the train and walk east to the Chicago loop, I walked
west to a bar on West Madison Street, where I sipped vodka through a straw to hide my
shaking hands. It all crumbled eventually; I was back in a hospital, no longer a partner.
I straightened myself out, again, and miraculously found a position as in-house counsel
with a Fortune 100 company. This time I stayed sober for seven years. I experienced
successes I couldn’t have imagined from the bar on West Madison and I accepted a
prestigious assignment in Asia but left my humility in the states. It wasn’t long before I
relapsed again and the results were disastrous for my company, my family and me.
Sometimes, After You Touch Bottom, You Can Recreate Your Life
Sadly, I was to repeat this pattern several more times: hard, often compulsive work;
success, and then temptation by another drink. I couldn’t deny the power of that first
drink, but couldn’t resist it. One day five years ago, after leaving yet another hospital, I
knew I was at the end of the line. Those who knew me best suggested I go away for a
long while. Honestly, I had few choices. Unemployable, I’d bottomed out financially, my
wife was threatening to leave and my children had no time for me.
I entered a house for recovering men and worked as a front desk clerk for $7.50 an hour
in the small town’s hotel where I occasionally catered to other attorneys enjoying a get-
away weekend. I lived with men from all walks of life, many who had spent long periods
sleeping under park benches. We had nothing in common but the most important fact of
our lives—that alcohol and drugs had taken from us those things that we valued most
and none of us had found a way to do anything about it on our own. I remained for
more than a year.
I am very grateful today to be working as a real estate broker. Despite the treacherous
market that many complain about, I know that I’m very lucky to have another shot at
life. Many of my friends have not survived with this disease. Of course I wonder if I’ll ever
return to the practice of law but I’m not focused on that now. I’ve lost most of my
material trappings but they aren’t so important anymore. I’m sober today and my family
is relatively happy. Today, I am very aware that I have a disease that I will die with but
don’t have to die from. And I know more than anything else that I can’t stay sober by
myself; I need help and help is all around me.
I started by saying that I believe it important to be as transparent as I can about my
alcoholism. This may not be the answer for everyone. One of the most productive and
happiest periods in my legal career was with a Fortune 100 company that had a very
strong Employee Assistance Program. I took advantage of it. The day I arrived, I went to
the Director and told her in confidence exactly who I was and through her I met many
others at the company with the same problem. Every day I had people around me in
recovery and the support was vital. To those who are today alone with an addiction, in
law school, firm, corporation or court, I urge you to reach out to your local Lawyers’
Assistance Program, EAP, AA or religious home. Help is there and you will find yourself
welcomed like you’ve never been away.
____________
FOOTNOTES
1. Notre Dame Magazine, Autumn, 1999.
This article was originally published in The Complete Lawyer, Vol. IV, No. 2 (2008)
r.kv.r.y. quarterly literary journal
spring 2008 non-fiction
i know i'm not alone by rick hoel
spring 2008 non-fiction
i know i'm not alone by rick hoel
