When I went to jail:

My 2024 experience that gutted and remade me...

“When inward tenderness

Finds the secret hurt,

Pain itself will crack the rock

And, Ah! Let the soul emerge.”

~Rumi

I have written here the admission that I’m an alcoholic and that I got sober a bit over a year ago.

I referenced a hard time, when I hit rock bottom. But I didn’t extrapolate on it, much.

I have written about this in my memoir, which I hope to one day publish.

And though I’ve thought about sharing it here, for months, since it happened, it’s part of my story, I have not done so until now.

I wrote this a couple of weeks ago, but it’s been setting in my draft folder —

Because it’s not easy to write and share. And I can tell you why - It’s deeply shameful to [have to] admit.

But, the best writing is also the kind that is genuine, that requires vulnerability and I do strive to be honest with you all -

(Also, because of the monetizing and exploitation of newspapers, and that jails are for-profit, you could easily google my name and find me listed under ‘Busted Newspaper’ here, you could see that I was arrested. You can go ahead and do this, I invite you to do so, if you want to - I only ask that you are aware that if choose to click on the picture or link - you will also be feeding their money-making schemes, because they make more with additional traffic—this is why they branched out to facebook, they accrue more money. You can also see the merchandise that Busted newspaper sells, by posting any mugshots, even when the arrest are those who simply could not afford to pay court fees, or falsely arrested - It’s all part of the same system.)

Not me though - no falsely accused or unfairly arrested; I was guilty.

In mid-April 2024, I was arrested and taken to jail for drunk driving.

I am now one of the 1/3 Americans who have been arrested and incarcerated.

I am one of the 14% with misdemeanor charge, a criminal record.

Now, I absolutely should have been arrested. I was a danger to the public, and to myself. I had no idea how incapacitated I was until I read my citation, completely dumbfounded, ashamed, humiliated.

I was reckless and out of control.

I certainly didn’t plan to get into my car so incapacitated, so intoxicated, but I clearly had lost all sense and reason and only cared about getting more alcohol in my drunken state.

Alcohol was—and had been for a long time — my escapism and self-medication -

And I was also taking some pretty strong medications for insomnia and mental health that—obviously— should not have been taken with alcohol.

I could have killed someone. I since have read and know [of] many who do. Many spend their lives in jail or with the guilt/weight of felony and vehicular manslaughter charges.

I don’t know why I was spared.

But, God intervened in that, and in too many other moments that followed - that I got of jail, had legal representation, got help in a rehab/treatment center a year ago, and have established a community who has helped me on my recovery/path of sobriety.

I went to jail, didn’t know if I would get out, because I live alone here and didn’t bring my purse with me.

That was an experience of crawling out of your skin, not knowing if you would get out.

I was bailed out by a friend, and then had to wait 6 months for a court date, where it was determined that I would pay a hefty fee, have drug and alcohol counseling, and also have to spend 14 days in jail (2 already served). I could do it on weekends for an extra cost.

The 6 weekends I spent in jail were difficult.

It was uncomfortable, mind-numbing levels of boring, exhausting, humiliating, shameful, and very cold.

They were also life-changing.

A jail stay sobered me in every sense of the word - when I first sat there, and as I realized where I was, what I had done - My first thought was -

I want to drink and further forget what happened and why I was here.

That was when I finally admitted to myself that I had a serious problem with alcohol -

Alcohol had gotten me there and I only wanted more to forget that, temporarily.

But - there’s nothing teetering like on the edge of almost losing almost everything, your career, all that you’ve worked for, your sense of safety and sanity -

To wake you the fuck up.

To fall to rock bottom and to be at the end of the road is hell; it’s a tough place to exist in.

But there’s also not a better place to build a firmer foundation from.

In staying there, waiting, I was met with kindness - when you’re all incredibly vulnerable, imprisoned, and in the same space - I found genuine love and softness and understanding -

People who helped me understand how to send emails and make phone calls and who gave me kindness.

I made friends and met people from walks of life that I never thought I’d encounter, and in such a space.

I saw all that I had and all that I had taken for granted in my own life, that I very nearly threw away.

I developed a profound sense of gratitude and immense appreciation for the simple pleasures in life that mean everything— what it means to have freedom, to be able sleep in a soft bed with comfy pjs, to drink coffee in the morning, have a water bottle or my favorite, sparkling water, to easily stay hydrated, in using a large glass under a faucet that isn’t attached to a toilet. To have a toilet seat. To have proper nutrition, the pleasures of tasty and balanced meals that aren’t just starchy carbs because it fits the cheap calorie-quota of inmates. I regained a sincere appreciation to be able to do all the things that I could do -

I could use my cell phone, and type this post. I could go to work, to read, to see the sky, breathe fresh air, and be outside.

My sponsor told me - when she learned of my time in jail, ‘that must have been a gift’.

And she is right. It was.

And it’s something I cannot describe adequately the experience and the depths of which, and the ways that it changed me.

Because you can’t imagine being in jail until you spend time there. And you have that experience. Not entirely.

Aside from my own experiences there, ever the student—

I also heard others and their stories of why they were there. I certainly had the time to do so.

I asked questions and paid attention.

Being there, they, also taught me a great deal about recidivism, the myth(s) of “rehabilitation” in incarceration.

Many come back in and out of jail regularly. And there are so many reasons why this takes place. Many have substance abuse problems. Many have traumas. Many have mental health problems, untreated.

I also learned of the immense lack of support for those in jail with mental health crises, on suicide watch or in need of serious medical care.

I made friends. I heard heart-wrenching stories. I saw and have since seen many people come in and out since my time there.

Many go in and come out, many times. Not just once.

Some can’t wait to get out, promise to get clean, and then end up back in there with charges of possession.

It’s heart-wrenching.

I went in on the weekends, well-equipped; I would exchange my fuzzy and fun-patterned socks for cups of instant coffee or to be able someone’s book to read.

One time I stealthily grabbed two weiners that an addict in detox said he didn’t want in the waiting room, after being booked in. I stuffed them in my bra to take to the pregnant lady in my cell because I had grown to know that even limp and cold weiners were rare protein and a precious commodity in that place.

I would be locked in and immediately scope the cell for what I could read; it was my escapism and how I passed the time, I would get lost in a book.

I still send books to people I met there, because —and this is what I mean by not rehabilitative though entirely punitive - Christian County Jail has a library - they apparently don’t allow inmates to access it. (!?!) Because “if we did it for you, we’d have to do it for everyone.”

I’m not entirely sure then why they have a library in the jail if not to be used.

For show, I guess.

So you will pay the high costs to send a book to an inmate, instead.

Still, that feels like some sort of cruel joke to those in there for lengthy stays.

Books were how I made it through my jail time.

That, and being sober.

And well-medicated.

I was also armed with an attitude of gratitude that I was there for 48 hour increments and with a core belief that this too shall pass.

And because I was calmer, I was able to help others who were scared and panicky.

Although, interestingly, my commitment to myself and to God, that ‘I will not drink’ is not [just] because I went to jail and I don’t want to end up there again. Although that is certainly true.

But my commitment to sobriety is twofold-

#1- I was spared. I was protected in so many ways at that time. So many that I couldn’t tell you all of them right now. It would take too long. But there are so many reasons and ways and moments - Moments that still bring chills down my spine and cause the very hairs on my arms to stand on end. Divine intervention. God’s protection.

To now continue to drink feels like a violation of a life contract that God saved me from so much worse.

#2-The second reason is that I also have genuinely grown to love being sober; I value clear-mindedness and I don’t want to put toxins in my body.

(It brings to mind the quote that ‘people don’t get sober until the pain of using is greater than the pain of getting sober.)

I can’t drink like a normal person any more - (though —why do normal people have to drink? Because we’re obsessed with this poison/toxin, as a culture.)

I’m the pickle that can’t become a cucumber again.

I also realize now - that with time and perspective, I had no idea just how much - and I cannot overstate this- just how, how much alcohol abuse further harmed and exacerbated my mental health.

I thought it helped my insomnia—it put me to sleep, tempered my anxiety, helped me deal with the grief and the pain, but it exacerbated my PTSD symptoms, anxiety and depression so, so much. A hundred fold.

But it only made it come back a hundred fold worse.

Still, I clung to it like a psychological crutch.

I fell to the deepest parts of shame, I met the worst version of myself. And I met a group of people who promised to “love you until you can love yourself again.”

I went into 12 step programs amazed that people say that they loved being sober and at every meeting, we would read every day that “we won’t regret the past nor wish to shut the door on it’, because I thought - that could never be me. I knew I would always regret it and be ashamed about my arrest, incarceration, and jail time.

And though I’m certainly not ‘proud’ of it, I have learned, and sometimes daily, remembering, learning to forgive myself.

And I have also learned I have a disease. I got help. I tend to it in my lifestyle. Daily.

I resisted for a long time the truth and self-acceptance that I was abusing alcohol, then, that I was an alcoholic.

I associated being an alcoholic with shame, with being like my father, succumbing to weakness and intergenerational trauma.

I thought to admit to it was a personal failure if I was indeed one.

So, I couldn’t, wouldn’t, admit that.

But I now know- it’s much better to live as a recovering alcoholic and a sober alcoholic, than a closeted one.

Even if it took my rock bottom to get me here.

We often say in AA that we are only as sick as our secrets.

This is my secret. (Though, let’s all be real- it’s not much of a secret when your mugshot is on the internet.)

Which you could easily find, but I ask that you take my word for it.

I know that you can hire defamation lawyers to work to take the pictures down -

But - it’s also feeding into a money-making exploitative system.

And it is part of my story.

But I am better because of it, a better human and professor and friend and neighbor and person now, because I did this. I am healthier.

And it does all seem so very, very big now, largely, because it’s so recent.

But in the grand scheme of what I hope to be, in the years of life remaining - God willing -

I also have to remember that—Life is long and this too shall pass -

There will be other notices and websites that tell other parts of my stories and tell different versions of me.

My story can be added on to, changing my life trajectory.

And it is being done - every day that I make different choices in how I will author the rest of my life -

And sobriety is a key part of that.

Many people still struggle, daily, with wanting to drink, and we are often cautioned about how easy it is and how, statistically, many of us will relapse, to go back out there -

I am thankful that my desire to drink is no longer present.

But, I can only say that is true for now and to take it one day a time, to make a commitment to just not pick up the first sucker drink because I know that it is the first one that gets you drunk. For people like me.

That is all true -

But also - I have learned from my time spent in 12 step programs that many alcoholics stop sooner, don’t fall to these consequences, but, sometimes, in doing so, they also do not have the same - intensely, wow- moments of spiritual awakenings - and they easily convince themselves that it is safe to drink again.

So they do.

Many do not have these gifts, of these ‘not yet’ moments, like I do.

Many others have much, much worse moments, that are my ‘not yet’s.

My realization and awakening of just how deep and far and dark and terrifying my alcoholism took me to - -

It serves as a daily reminder of why I don’t drink.

I don’t want to tempt fate, to toy with returning to that point of chaos and fear and uncertainty and potential life and death - for me and others -

I was in a self-destructive spiral—I thought I was only harming myself, but in reading my citation - I didn’t realize my state that night. I was shocked.

I could have killed innocent people on the road that night - that will forever haunt me. And that keeps me sober - gratitude that I didn’t - that I don’t have felony or manslaughter charges - and that - for whatever reason - I’m still here.

And so are all the others who were on the road that night. And so are our cars, and stop signs and mailboxes and whatever else was in my path.

It is a miracle.

I am a miracle, to be sober.

These revelations and how we are changed to our innermost being, it’s what we call a spiritual awakening’ in a 12-Step program.

The truth was, I needed help. I didn’t know how to live without a crutch. I didn’t know how to manage my mental health and symptoms and to live in a life and with a story where everyone in my family had died, either by active or passive suicide, except me.

I had needed help for a long time. But I kept shoving it down, engaging in the constant performative dance that I was okay, until I nearly burned it all to the ground.

In this way, I have had to re-evaluate my own childhood wounds, my performative nature, directly connected to my dysfunctional role assumed as a child - hero and overachiever and model student and intelligent and a good kid -

Because for this one - this honor society member, a Model UN student, high honors in college, Dean’s list, the one who earned her PhD and is a doctor, is also an alcoholic. That same person was arrested and went to jail.

Those are all parts of me and my story.

I have to own them all - to regain my sense of worthiness, and to address that I can still be loved and have value, even though I have made this mistake and need to own this shameful experience of what I have done.

Rock bottom is a very hard place to fall to - but it’s also the very best place from which to build a newer, firmer structural foundation for your life.

And it’s much firmer than the performative mask I was wearing before.

I have been sober for 403 days - 1 year, 1 month and 8 days.

And I do it one day at a time.

I thought they were all such weirdos initially to say this, but I can also honestly affirm its truth to the very core of my being, that today -

I am a grateful, recovering alcoholic.

And I join the crowds of people who now understand that—though it seems bizarre but -

Photo by 7500 RPM on Unsplash

We ‘do not regret the past, nor wish to shut the door upon it."