Writing Our Way to a Healthy and Sustainable Recovery
- Brainz Magazine
- 2 hours ago
- 5 min read
For nearly 14 years, I've helped individuals navigate the complex landscape of addiction in order to achieve recovery. Nicknamed "The Casual Counselor", my approach is unconventional, but undeniably effective.
It is one of the most cliché suggestions that anyone who has ever worked with a therapist has been on the receiving end of: “You should really consider keeping a journal and writing about what this experience of treatment and recovery is like for you.” Probably 9 out of 10 clients scoff at the notion of spending 20 minutes a day to knock out some bullet points, make a list of things they are grateful for, or just stream-of-consciousness their way through the ups, downs, and all-arounds of this weird journey to better health.
That said, writing, used as a tool in a therapeutic context, is one of the most powerful tools we can wield. It is forged in fire. It is a tool so powerful it can take us from feeling hopeless, helpless, worthless, and lifeless into the realm of vibrancy, connection, improved self-awareness and self-efficacy, heightened self-esteem, and a greater sense and belief in our self-worth. No shit.
The late, great Hunter S. Thompson, often characterized as a lunatic, drug-addled, outlaw wildcard of a man, he of a danger to himself and others, which, for all intents and purposes, he kind of was, was also one of the most talented writers to ever click-clack the keys of a typewriter, a job he said he “HAD TO DO,” and that without writing, he would otherwise and rather be gone from this earthly domain.
He would ultimately take his earthly demise into his own hands in 2005, infirm with poor health, persistent pain, and, sure, probably some fear and loathing, as he was often confined to a wheelchair when he pulled the trigger of his pistol on himself at the age of 67.
He was often quoted as saying, “I only ever wanted 50 years on this planet.” Hunter believed for 17 years that he was living on borrowed time and that he had overstayed his welcome.
Who knows? Perhaps he had. It was ultimately for him to decide.
But I am often saddened that he is characterized as some drug-crazed lunatic. Many of his fans and critics have difficulty seeing that, beyond his proclivity for sex, drugs, and rock and roll, Thompson was one of the best writers we, as a species, have ever had the privilege of reading. When asked once, “Why?” “Why writing?” Hunter replied (and I’m paraphrasing here), “If you have the guts to put a pen to paper and write down something honest, and you then have the guts to keep going, you are going to find out some shit.”
Hunter was not lying. Before I became a counselor, I was a younger, confused, traumatized, anxious, depressed, and stone-cold-sober “adult” who felt very left behind. I was 30 years old when I entered treatment, after being court-ordered there by a judge who warned me that if I messed up just once, I would most certainly be doing some hard time behind some heavily fortified and hard walls. It turns out, for me at least, fear is a good motivator. But fear only takes us so far.
I observed my peers, people I had grown up with, getting married, starting careers, making families, buying homes, and here I was, no prospects on the horizon and the future ahead looking like an ominous question mark. I remember saying silently to myself, “I don’t think I can do this.” I was talking about life. Just living an ordinary life. But I had a wonderful helper. His name was Larry. He died several years ago, but it was he who made the suggestion that I might consider keeping a journal in order to brainstorm some ideas about the road ahead, and what my own personal road to recovery felt like, looked like, and so on.
Where previous helpers throughout my 20s had offered me the very same suggestion, always and only to be rebuffed, for the first time in my life I figured, “What the hell?” I was going to be stuck in this treatment facility for the better part of a year, at least, and I also wanted to do it for Larry. He was the first therapist I ever felt safe truly opening up to, for whatever reason, so I wanted to make him happy.
My journal was a spiral-bound notebook. After a few dull and topical entries about things I was grateful for, a roof over my head, food in my belly, a bed to sleep in, clothes on my back, being granted (at least) a tenth chance at staying sober, something started to shift. I started feeling safe opening up the notebook and putting pen to paper, and going just a tiny bit deeper: sharing stories about some of the frightening experiences from my childhood and my teen years, some of the frightening stories about my time spent in jail, some of the frightening stories about my relationship with my father. A revelation occurred! I had been frightened, like really frightened, since probably the age of six or seven.
It was during those formative years that the seeds of fear, depression, anxiety, loneliness, low self-esteem, and feeling apart from, rather than a part of, had been planted and had started to grow. I did not realize it at such a young age. But at 30? Like putting together the pieces of a puzzle, it finally began to click as I continued to write. This is why I ended up with a substance use disorder. This is how I ended up in trouble with the law. This is why I was working with Larry.
I remember sharing my revelations with him in one of our sessions. My burning question had for so long been, “Why?” Why had I ended up on a path of dangerous drug abuse, drinking, risk-taking, and general depravity? I had seen at a young age how alcoholism had destroyed my family, creating a kid who was, more often than not, unsupervised and scared, being raised by a single mom who had to work long hours just to keep the lights on. I wrote about the first time I had smoked a joint with friends, and how it had felt quite nearly like a spiritual experience.
For the first time in my life, I had felt like I could truly exhale. No more fear. No more sadness. No more anxiety. No more insecurity. No more self-doubt. Larry would often remind me, when I’d ask, “Why,” he’d say, “You did it to survive.” And like he always was, he was right. I’m grateful I followed his suggestion to start writing about it, always keeping it as honest and as real as I could muster. It helped me to discover who I was, who I was becoming, what I believed. It became my new roadmap to survival. My new method by which to exhale. Sure, I am still afraid sometimes, and insecure, and I worry about stuff. But rather than lighting up a spliff, I open up my journal, and I write it out. Writing in recovery, it gave me the power to own all the things that were holding me back. And in owning my stuff, that difficult stuff was no longer owning me.
Writing gave me the power to live life, so that life was no longer living me.
Read more from Joshua Bennett-Johnson
Joshua Bennett-Johnson, Licensed Addictions Therapist
After working for 7 years in an amazing clinic, I launched into private practice in 2018. I love my job. I can say that without reservation. Watching people rebuild their lives is something that is worth more than any dollar amount.
