Why I Don't Hide Any of It
I’ve been asked recently why I’m so open about everything - especially when doing things like applying, quite publicly, to a company like Substack. The addiction. The felony. All of it.
And honestly, until recently I didn’t fully understand the answer myself, and wanted to share. If you read me just for the data and stock picks - this ain’t that, sorry.
April 27, 2021
I didn’t know the date until recently. That’s when Chelsea Clinton’s podcast dropped an episode called “Substance Use Disorders and Addiction” featuring Dax Shepard. I never would have picked that up on purpose. I don’t even remember how it ended up in my ears.
But I know where I was when I heard it. I was mowing a lawn. 2 weeks later.
A lone figure pushing a lawn mower across a sun-bleached field, earbuds in, golden hour light, slightly overexposed, documentary style photography
This was not your 'oh I was doing yard work on a Saturday.' I was mowing lawns on a work crew, earning extra time off a jail sentence. I’d be sentenced the first week of May - a week after that episode dropped. A few days from finding out exactly how much of my life a judge was going to take. And I’m pushing a mower in the heat with headphones in, listening to Dax Shepard talk about being an alcoholic.
The Part That Wrecked Me
Dax is talking about his kids. His oldest daughter was about 3. He’s heading out the door to his AA meeting and she asks where he’s going.
“I’m going to AA.”
- “Why do you have to go?”
“Because I’m an alcoholic, and if I don’t go there, then I’ll drink and then I’ll be a terrible dad.”
- “Can I go?”
“Well, no. You gotta be an alcoholic.”
- “I’m going to be an alcoholic.”
“You know, you might become one. The odds are not in your favor. But you’re not there yet.”
Wanna know how hard it is to walk in a straight line mowing a lawn when the salt from both sweat and tears is flooding your eyes?
Because that little girl didn’t hear “alcoholic” and think “broken.” She didn’t hear “disease” and think “weak.” She heard her dad say he goes somewhere to get better, and she wanted to go too. If her Dad was one, she wanted to be one too, because at 3 years old, you are the hero of your child’s life.
Did I mention my own child was a month away from being 3 at the time?
That’s what honesty looks like when you don’t put shame on it.
A father holding hands with a small child walking toward an open doorway filled with warm light, shot from behind, soft focus, film grain
The Thing About Making Excuses
I used to make up excuses all the time when first trying to get sober. I wasn’t feeling well, dieting, the works. They got as exhausting as hiding the drinking itself. The day I have told either of my prior 2 bosses were also 2 of the most relieving days of my life. It help me get rid of..
Dax said something I've carried ever since and I use it all the time:
Guilt is “I did something bad.” Shame is “I am bad.”
Guilt is useful. It motivates apologies, amends, change. Shame just tells you you’re not worthy of love. Nothing constructive comes out of shame.
I lived in shame for years. I couldn’t put down the bottle. I was a felon. I was an addict. I was the guy who couldn’t get his shit together. And shame kept me right there, because if you believe you ARE the problem, why would you ever try to fix anything?
At some point I just stopped. Not because I got brave. Because I got tired. It’s so much easier to just be honest. For me, at least, that’s what it took - I’m not telling anyone else to go scream their problems to the internet :)
But, I don’t have to remember which version of myself I told which person. I don’t have to make up a doctor’s appointment to go to a meeting. I don’t have to explain gaps in my resume with creative fiction.
I just say: I have a felony, I’m in recovery, I build trading tools, and I am awesome. All four are true at the same time.
A cracked mirror reflecting multiple versions of the same person, one in work clothes, one at a computer with trading charts, one sitting in a circle of folding chairs, moody lighting, conceptual photography*
My Kid
I’m not going to hide it from my son either. Not because I’m trying to be some parenting guru. Because Dax showed me what it looks like when you don’t hide it, and his three-year-old didn’t think less of him. She wanted to go with him.
If I tell my kid the truth about who I am and what I’ve been through, and he grows up thinking that honesty is normal and getting help is normal, then maybe he never has to learn the hard way that lies are heavier than the truth.
That’s not a guarantee. But it’s a better shot than pretending.
Step 12
In recovery, the twelfth step is about carrying the message. You take what you’ve learned and you share it with people who might need to hear it.
I don’t know if this Substack counts. I don’t know if some guy mowing lawns before his sentencing is going to stumble across this the way I stumbled across Dax’s episode. Probably not. But maybe someone reads this and thinks, “okay, maybe I don’t have to hide it either.” Maybe that’s enough.
Dax’s friend told him something when he was scared to admit his relapse publicly:
“If your goal is actually to help people, it’s so much more helpful that you relapsed than it is you being sixteen years sober and married to Kristen Bell. That’s not relatable. But lying to the people you love? That’s relatable to almost everyone.”
He’s right. The polished version of recovery doesn’t help anyone. The real one does.
A folding chair in an empty church basement, single overhead light casting a warm pool on a worn linoleum floor, one coffee cup on the chair, quiet and still, analog film aesthetic