Health / Wellness

Facing Your Fears In Recovery

This is recovery: stepping into the unknown and trusting the process.

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Brian CubanI am intensely afraid of heights.  Any wide open space with a long drop immediately puts me into a state of panic and imbalance.  If I don’t have something to hold onto, I have to fight the strong urge to drop to my butt and push myself along sitting down. I also have reoccurring dreams about being in high places and screaming in my sleep in fear. The dreams often involved standing over the raging Niagara Falls, losing my balance, and having to grab a non-existent railing to keep from falling in. I have woken up from that dream with my arms flailing, looking for that rail.  As you might guess, I am not a fan of any recreational activity that involves extreme heights.  At one time I would have said that you have a better chance of seeing my dance naked in Times Square than seeing me jump out of perfectly good airplane.

It would therefore seem counterintuitive that I would agree to rappel 57 stories down from Reunion Tower, the 15th tallest structure in Dallas.  Even more, it would be my second time doing it.  I however agreed to do so, not for the thrill, but to continue to do my part to change the conversation about addiction and end the stigma association with it. A stigma we in the legal profession know so well, whether its alcohol, opioids, cocaine, etc. Taking a step into the unknown and trusting the process, two things necessary for recovery, are not something we as a profession do very well when it comes to such things.

My journey to the top of Reunion Tower and facing the second greatest fear in my life (the first being getting sober) began in New York City.

In 2015, a gentleman by the name of Gary Mendell reached out to me to have lunch and talk about his addiction advocacy initiative, Shatterproof. I’d never heard of it before. There are lots of advocacy organizations out there, and a lot of different agendas.

I met Gary for lunch to discuss Shatterproof. Within the first minute of conversation, he stated that they put on rappelling events to raise both money and awareness for their addiction advocacy work, particularly in the area of opioid addiction. All I knew about rappelling was that people dropped from very high places, seemingly holding on to nothing but a slim rope, and if their grip failed, certain death was to follow. I jokingly thanked Gary for contributing to the new nightmares I would have, replacing my dreams of Niagara Falls. I cited a recent hip replacement and declined to participate on that level.

In reality, I was terrified. I would bow to fear instead of facing it. It never occurred to me sitting there that from a purely selfish perspective, it was the perfect opportunity to advance my recovery while advancing my advocacy. Here was another deep-seated fear I could confront. I got involved but declined just then to rappel. I successfully deflected my fears and life went on.

Then I heard from Gary again. The Shatterproof Rappel Challenge was coming to Dallas. Would I be interested in participating? It would involve another thing I had a fear of, asking people for money. Down the list of my fears in life is cold-calling and soliciting funds. Integral to those activities is the fear of rejection.  From girls. From my mom. From friends. A fear that infected everything I did as I survived day to day, time passing but not advancing in my development as a person. I simply hated asking for anything such that if someone said no, I would see it as a reflection on me versus the reality that it had nothing to do with me.

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I decided that I would face my fears. I would be doing something I had never done before, from a height that I would have needed to get drunk first or do some blow in order to agree to do it, and then accomplish it before I sobered up. I said I would rappel from Reunion Tower and ask people for money as part of the jump. After getting clearance from both my hip surgeon (I was not long off a right hip replacement) and my fiancée (now wife), I began the next step in my recovery.

In the two-week lead-up to the jump, I watched videos of other people rappelling, other Shatterproof jumps, and came to the conclusion that it was best to compartmentalize my fear. I gave no more thought to the act of rappelling, the height, or how it would be done. I had to rely on one of the gifts recovery had given me. Trust. Trust in the process. Trust in the people there to support me. Trust in the ropes that would guide me down the 50 stories. If you’re in recovery, does that sound familiar? If you are struggling, does fear of these things sound familiar?

“Jump” day comes. Compartmentalizing has worked great. I’ve given no thought to the process or the reality of having to do the hardest thing I have done since getting sober. Trust that I would not become a chalk drawing 50 stories down. In reality, it would boil down to just a few seconds. Those seconds of moving myself through where the wire mesh had been removed and allow the ropes, pulleys, and the people helping me who were all experts in rappelling to do their job. The split second where it would be a “free fall” while the ropes tightened and supported my weight. As the elevator rose slowly to the top of Reunion Tower and it started to become real to me, I could not get that split second out of my mind. I could not get Niagara Falls out of my mind. I could feel the weakness in my knees. Walking out of the elevator and onto the observation deck my instinct was once again to drop to my butt and inch my way over to the rappelling area. I’d already been “geared up” and was ready to rappel as was my partner who was rappelling for her son “Bubba,” who she lost to heroin addiction earlier in the year. We were both thrilled that we’d been the top team fundraiser for the event, but I could see the fear in her eyes as clearly as I could feel my feet in quicksand. We went through about five minutes of training and the explanation of the process and how to control our descent. It was time. I stepped sideways up a ladder and put my butt on the ledge facing backwards and was helped to slowly guide myself off the precipice into the realm of recovery and trust.

“Oh my god. Oh my god.” The words came out of my mouth as I felt that split second of weightlessness. Funny words from a guy who considered himself a humanist. I had found a foxhole in those seconds. The ropes tightened.

“I’m alive! I’m alive!” came out of my mouth as the tension released from my body.  That split second of fear evaporated into calm and the knowledge that fear will always be there in life. It’s how I face it and react to it that matters. As I controlled my descent to meet the people who loved and supported me, I realized that the step off the edge was just another step forward in the process. That’s my journey. No better, no worse than any other in this book. We all take our unique path. That is recovery.  Stepping into the unknown. Trusting the process.

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Brian Cuban (@bcuban) is The Addicted Lawyer. Brian is the author of the Amazon best-selling book, The Addicted Lawyer: Tales Of The Bar, Booze, Blow & Redemption (affiliate link). A graduate of the University of Pittsburgh School of Law, he somehow made it through as an alcoholic then added cocaine to his résumé as a practicing attorney. He went into recovery April 8, 2007. He left the practice of law and now writes and speaks on recovery topics, not only for the legal profession, but on recovery in general. He can be reached at [email protected].

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