What Have I Learned?
Before I explain the lessons from abandoning self-medication, I will describe the man who depended on it.
Empathy was not absent from my life so much as it had been buried beneath it. I had become a man who mistook intentions for character and words for virtue. My values existed comfortably in conversation, but they rarely survived contact with reality. Advice came easily, but compassion did not.
By the time someone needed more than my opinion, by the time they needed someone to rely on, I had already begun retreating inward. Cruelty did not define me, but vacancy did. My absence in both mind and body left behind a version that looked convincing enough to fool almost everyone, including me.
In many ways, I was consumed by the image of who I believed I was rather than confronting who I had become. It was not until four years ago today that I finally challenged those illusions, and others began holding me accountable. The strangeness of that day put everything into perspective. I will not bother you with the granola laden imagery of energy and spirituality, but what I will tell you is if you choose to avoid what is in front of you, it will eventually make itself known.
I recall standing in front of a mirror, a disheveled mess after a week-long binge of drinking a bottle of liquor each day, asking, “is this the life I want for myself? Is this the man I wish to be?” The night leading up to this point was a level of carelessness I had never reached before. I lost control until I became someone I no longer recognized, or so I thought. As I stared into the mirror, my eyes darted back and forth while my mind was brooding, a conflict that can only be described by the allegory of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.
In that moment, I began to realize something I had never understood before: I had neglected the suffering of others because I had spent so long neglecting my own. Until I faced my own pain, I had no real capacity to see the pain of anyone else. That realization left me with an ultimatum: commit to sobriety, or surrender to the will of my own destruction.
These four years have been both brief and enduring, yet they have taught me more than I ever expected. They brought lessons I wish I had begun learning a decade earlier. My temperament has changed. I no longer carry myself like some caricature of machismo or a self-made villain. I move through life with greater gentleness.
Patience remains a work in progress, but it has become the central thesis of my masculinity. I have grown to understand empathy, to acknowledge and correct my wrongs, and to redirect my aggression toward healthy boundaries, self-advocacy, and defending those who have not yet found their voice. I now understand that strength is found in standing with someone through their suffering, not in remaining complicit with it.
Listening is the foundation of meaningful communication, and not every moment requires a response. Not every silence needs to be filled, and not every thought demands an answer. We can truly hear another person without interrupting their experience with our own.
A hug, a handshake, or a conversation may seem insignificant, yet each has the power to shift the world of someone we might otherwise consider a stranger. Every interaction serves a purpose, but overlooking the moment or overthinking its meaning can cloud the message. And the hardest lesson of all: staying true to what you believe is important, refusing to bend at the behest of others, and creating distance from those who attempt to compromise your goals.
