When you work in a homeless shelter, you come upon a lot of people who struggle with addiction. And those afflicted are not always the ones seeking help. In so many cases, the people providing that help have what is called, in homeless shelter speak, “lived experience.”
The people I have worked with here for five years — who have a shared history of drug and/or alcohol abuse — are amazing individuals who have traveled farther in life than I could ever hope. They are courageous people who understand that, while it might sound trite, taking things “one day at a time” is actually the only way someone in recovery can be successful. The very word “recovery” is never used in the past tense. No one says they are an ex-addict or an ex-alcoholic.
The place I work is deeply committed to the 12-step program of recovery. When someone fully commits to that process, they can succeed. But I have worked alongside people who have been in recovery for years, and to the untrained eye, which I still consider myself, appear to have “beat” the demon that is addiction. I am always surprised, and not to mention saddened, when someone I work with, who seemed to be so put together, suddenly does not show up for work.
There is a kind of communal silence associated with these disappearances. It is part privacy and part institutional protection of confidential information. But like a high school cafeteria, word begins to circulate, and you find out that the person you thought had beaten the odds is now living under a freeway bridge.
In so many ways, Tiger Woods is nothing like the men and women I see daily who are in recovery. None of them has a billion dollars or is world-famous. They have never been celebrated and catered to since they were 6 years old.
But in so many ways, Tiger Woods is just like many of the people I know who are in recovery. Or to put it differently, he is a lot like how many of them had been. It is public record that Tiger Woods has not been able to get a grip on his problem. There is no doubt that the amount of physical pain from his athletic career and his previous, almost fatal, car crash several years ago is intense. And it is also scientifically proven that many of the drugs prescribed for such chronic pain cause their own specialized problems due to their addictive capabilities.
As I have learned from the personal testimonies of those I work with who have gone through similar struggles, the addict will lie to others and themselves when under the influence of such powerful mind-altering chemicals. When you add to this formula the immense wealth and protected status of someone like Tiger Woods, it becomes clear that if there are people in his life who have intervened, their efforts so far have gone for naught.
That is also consistent with your everyday non-major-golf-winning billionaire. An addict has to be ready to say yes, and all the cajoling and pleading from friends and family will only be effective when the receptors are fully operating in the addict’s brain. Of course, what further complicates Tiger Woods’ journey is that after his father’s death, there seems to be no one with gravitas or courage to tell him he has a problem. Maybe there have been, but whatever they said has yet to make an impact.
Several of the recovering addicts I work with have told me the best thing that ever happened to them was when they went to jail. Being placed in a cage, I guess, has a way to concentrate the senses. Tiger Woods spent some time in a jail cell after his latest car accident, but his social status and wealth quickly facilitated his release. And shortly thereafter, he received authorization from a judge to leave the country to seek treatment. The place where he is being treated is not known, but I would venture to suggest it has somewhat more becoming amenities than your typical Skid Row homeless shelter.
Seven out of the 12 program steps include God as a means of supporting the recovery path, but it is a version of God that the individual is free to interpret as they wish. As a Catholic, I find it problematic and a bit of a disconnect that many people I know in recovery speak of a higher power or divine spirit of their own design.
In time, I pray they all come to realize that “higher power” has a name. Until then, I celebrate their journeys and hope Tiger Woods, in spite of the obstacles in his path — namely his wealth, prestige, and cultural preeminence — realizes he has more in common with someone on Skid Row in Los Angeles than he may think.
