Cream and Sugar in Coffee & Ketchup on a Steak?

May I have a large hot black? All the trouble people go through to find the right bean and have it professionally ground leaves me thinking that cream and sugar just ruin it. It’s like putting ketchup on a steak. Amidst a hot coffee with a friend at Dunkin on Tuesday, he said something that stuck with me for the past few days.  He said I never got to tell my story – not to my friends, not to my family – on my own terms, or in my own time.

He was correct.

A reporter got to do that for me.  On his terms, and in his words.  Not mine.  He set the rate, and I had to pay the price. 

Stop ruining it!

Last week, I wrote about getting the three-month coin, commemorating 90 days with 0.00 drinks. Now, as a result, tomorrow is a special day for me.  I was advised that at this point, I should share how I got to this tough place, where I am finding strength, and talk about my hopes. I was supposed to do this last week, but I put it off.  At first, I was like, why? – my inside voice.  The answer is that it has been working this way for 90 years, and I will not be the one to change it.  I’m the guy the process was made for.  As has been said by many NFL players, trust in the process. 

At no point in Hans Christian Andersen’s story about the emperor walking around naked did the emperor share with his community what he thought and felt about the whole ordeal. This raises a good discussion question for the kids who hear that story: What do you do in the wake of humiliation? Run from it? Write about it? Talk through it?

Writing about it hasn’t been easy, and talking about it tomorrow makes me anxious. When we write, at least we have the luxury of reading it aloud and making edits.  There aren’t any edits when we speak. But talking to a group of people isn’t the problem.  Talking about myself to a group of people – now that is. 

I have something important to share here – something that I believe will be helpful for those approaching a problem or living with a problem that’s getting worse by the day. I’ve learned that I have a unique story and that any time I’ve spent hiding it was wasted. I wouldn't be in this mess if I had been more upfront about my stressors and quick fixes. 

I was told by one friend this week that she thought I had a health problem.  She noticed my weight was going up and down.  She recognized a withdrawal from conversations I usually relished in.  At the time, she even asked me if I was okay.  If only I’d had the guts to answer honestly. But hindsight, as they say, is 20/20.

What if I point the mirror the other way?

I’ve learned – too late, unfortunately – that speaking about it would have been helpful.  I’ve learned, too, that talking about it now, albeit too late, is helping others.  And, I know that certain people are smiling as they read this, because they are the ones who helped me get to this point.  A point of honesty.  Writing this is a version of giving you what’s been given to me.  As public as my folly has been, so too is my recovery.  These blog posts have become a piece of accountability for me.  Sometimes my quiet moments of weakness have been settled by this keyboard and this screen. 

That cup of coffee isn’t just part of my morning anymore. It’s become a ritual – one I can count on to be strong, plain, and honest just like I’m trying to be.  So yeah — large hot black. No sugar, no cream. Just the truth – bold, maybe a little bitter, but real.

If I’ve learned anything in these past 90 days, it’s that silence doesn’t save you – it isolates you. Talking tomorrow won’t be easy, but neither was hiding. And if sharing my story helps even one person skip the drinks and pick up the phone, or sit down with a friend and say, “I’m not okay,” then it’s worth every ounce of discomfort.

I will be there tomorrow.  Coffee in hand.  Heart wide open.