How I Found Freedom Inside Jail Walls
When avoidance and ignorance no longer keep the demons at bay, where do we turn to find balance in our lives?
I am an 8-year clean heroin addict. I haven’t thought about using in 7 years. That first year was a whole other story. Left to my own devices I probably would have used. Luckily I had the good fortune to be incarcerated for that first year in a facility that actually tries to help inmates not return. I’m speaking of Boulder County Jail in Boulder, CO.
Surrendering to Win
My path to recovery began with a failed suicide attempt. I will not go into that here except to say that I have never felt like such a failure in my entire life, and that is saying a lot. I knew with a degree of certainty that I would never use heroin again.
How I would get to this place was a mystery. My first attempt at getting clean started in January of 2006. I made it 5 years before relapsing. I remembered a lot from those years in 12 step recovery. One thing I remember was my old sponsor telling me I had to surrender to win.
Surrender:
(Entry 1 of 2) transitive verb. 1a : to yield to the power, control, or possession of another upon compulsion or demand surrendered the fort. b : to give up completely or agree to forgo especially in favor of another. 2a : to give (oneself) up into the power of another) — Merriam Webster
I had been a foot soldier in the drug war and I had been fighting for the wrong side. My dance with Death had shown me this. So I decided to lay down my arms and go over to the winning side. I knew that there was a Therapeutic Community in Boulder County Jail, which is another term for rehab, and I knew I had a warrant out for my arrest so I turned myself in.
Acceptance Broke My Heart
I spent a couple of months in General Population in jail before I was accepted into the T.C. program. The T.C. program or Therapeutic Community is a jail-based drug and alcohol rehabilitation program. It focuses more on healing the root causes than focusing on what you have done. Once in I began thoroughly examining my life. Why had I been stuck in this self-destructive cycle? What was the injury or trauma that led to almost 3 decades of self-medicating?
I journaled about 4 hours a day. I would ask myself questions and create personal categories with color-coded question marks to help me go back and track my progress.
What I found was that I had been running from my childhood trauma. I was a child abuse survivor which included sexual assault and was again sexually assaulted by 2 men shortly after my 13th birthday. I had been getting high at my abusers for 27 years. I had denied myself the ability to process and grieve the events of my past. I spent my whole life punishing myself for the heinous acts that I had been subjected to.
I had to accept the reality of my life. I had chosen this life. Yes, the catalyst was not my doing. The decision to continue to get high over dealing with my problems was my decision, whether conscious or not. Even though I had been told this a million times by whatever court-ordered person was babbling at me it never really hit until I had tried to take my life for the same reason.
My heart was broken and I was demoralized. This was the first time I really wanted to get high. It was too much, my heartfelt as though I would die. So I turned inward and shut down.
Learning to Be Vulnerable Mended My Heart
Sitting in jail and crying with a group of hardened convicts who have made a career out of crime to try to fuel our need to be numb is a powerful thing. To listen to other men speak openly and without fear of the horrors perpetrated against them as children is chillingly surreal. The group of men that I am referring to all started this path together.
I must give credit to the wonderful work that Brene Brown has done around the subject of vulnerability. Thanks to her books and talks, which we had access to in our program, I was able to understand that being vulnerable is not being weak but is actually one of the highest forms of courage we can ever display.
Journaling helped me to tear down my walls and open my heart to the possibility that I was worthy of love. Opening my heart allowed me to become vulnerable enough to cry in front of a group of fellow convicts and feel strong and empowered while doing it. What I learned next would be my personal game-changer.
Changing my Narrative Changed My Life
Allowing myself to cry and be vulnerable opened up new avenues of discussion in both my journaling and in my groups. I began to pay close attention to how I told my story, not to others but to myself. I had prided myself on being a survivor, not a victim, but the reality is that there is no difference. At least not for me.
I couldn’t change the way I told my story without examining the lives and perceived motives of my abusers. I could only do this with the childhood physical and sexual abuse as I did not know my rapists. So I began with my stepmother and made my way down the list.
I came to realize that I had no part in my abuse. I realized my whole story was based on the subjective perceptions of a 6–12-year-old boy. I realized that by bringing my real story, without judgment or shame, into the light I took back the power it had held over me for decades. By becoming the Narrator of the story instead of its Victim, I regained my power to create my world as I see fit.
Boys Don’t Cry, Men do
Changing my role in my story has given me more power in the outcome of my life than I could have ever dreamed of while using heroin. Surrender taught me how to be a winner. Accepting my role in my life broke my heart and learning to be vulnerable mended it. Changing my story showed me that I am the one in control, that I am the master of my fate.
There is an incredible amount of healing energy that is released from crying, at least for me and those I have talked with.
For 27 years I refused to let myself cry because I was afraid if I started I would never stop. Today I cry often and freely. There is a stigma against men crying in our society. This is a false and terrible lie that we teach our young boys. I have never felt freer than crying while group-hugging men in jail.
This was only the beginning of my journey. I hope you will continue with me as I relate my story thus far and as it continues to unfold. May you thrive in all you pursue.
