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Intervention Insights

Advice about addiction and alcohol interventions for families

(My Unexpected Journey) From Addict to Interventionist

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~ Life As An Addict

The most powerful tool in my arsenal -easily -is my ability to see things from an addict’s point of view, and to work from that.

Had I not experienced the mental, emotional and physical effects of drug and alcohol addiction I could not accomplish what I do now. My experiences are what enable me to succeed.

It is something I wish every family could be. The only way to acquire that particular ability however is to experience addiction firsthand so ironically, it is those same experiences I would never wish on anyone.  But I want to try and give my readers a real sense of what its like to be an addict. It might be the most important tool in my own arsenal and the fundamental reason for my success in the field.

Addicts are not happy people, although they may tell you otherwise. When I used drugs and drank I remember having “happy times,” but in truth, the more I used the emptier I felt and the more depressed I became.

No matter what the drug, when I take it, buy it, prepare it or use it, I know that what I am doing is inherently wrong. This is true with excessive drinking as well.

I know that it is damaging me even though I keep doing it.

I don’t try and scare addicts out of using or drinking with statistics about how life-threatening it is or how he or she might end up in jail. If you’ve tried this approach then you know what I’m talking about. These kinds of warnings fall on deaf ears.

I preferred to believe that it isn’t as bad as my family made it out to be, that I can control it, and that the obstacles I faced were the result of problematic circumstances.

If I got my car fixed for example, I could get a job. The job would lead to money for clothes and then my own apartment. This would lead to the girlfriend, which would lead to sex, children, marriage and a “real” life…

If I could just get my car fixed.

That was my loop for twenty-five years. I had no idea what was wrong with me but I often believed I was simply a victim of unfavorable circumstances. If I only had a different job or my rent paid I could regain my footing and live the way I knew I could and should. If people would just believe in me, then I could be something. I would think – right after this bag of meth, bottle of vodka, bag of pot, that’s when I’m going to get my life together-.”

This cycle of self delusion is what is behind every addict who insists he can “do it on his own.” He believes this because he has been planning to “do it on his own” and change for the better.

An addict will express a desire to change, to do better, to use or drink less, to stop allowing his drinking or drug use to ruin his life. Eventually though, addiction turns these promises into lies, hopes into regret. This in turn increases the desire to self medicate as a way of relieving the pain. This vicious cycle is what makes addiction a prison, a carousel one cannot get off of easily.

The addict goes back on his word, lies, and manipulates those around him to serve his own needs and wants, but in his mind he is simply trying to survive. Ironically, the self-serving addict ends up with less and less until he has nothing at all. This is yet another example of why addiction can be a never ending and unforgiving prison.

The addict continually seeks comfort in drugs and alcohol, and in so doing has become something he hates. This causes him to want to use even more. Addiction becomes a black hole which may have been a choice at one point, but it evolves into something beyond his control, a rip-tide, drowning him.

Addiction defies reason. It leaves a wake of moral wreckage; families in ruins, finances sucked dry with nothing to show. In the mind of the addict however, what he is doing boils down to survival.

Like an opponent in a game, the addict will hold his position as long as he can. He will do his best to survive. For him, survival means continuing doing what he knows, what makes him feel better, and avoiding what he fears.

When I’m hired to do an intervention, I look at it as though my client is inviting me into a game. It’s a real-life game but he game nonetheless. I don’t look at my opponent as the addict himself. When I see the addict I see someone in a prison, and it is that prison which becomes the thing I’m playing to win against. The fact that his life is in my hands motivates me to outmaneuver the mechanisms that are shackling him and to win.

How does one win a game of Texas Hold’em? By knowing when to bluff, fold or play. How does one win at Chess? – by anticipating what your opponent will do and thinking ahead several moves at a time. Why does one person at get a lower price on a car than another person? It all boils down to tactics. It’s anticipating what your opponent will do and then outmaneuvering him.

I didn’t learn this by becoming a good interventionist. I became a good interventionist by having lived as an addict. When I was trying to get away with using drug and acquire the money to buy them, tactics for me meant survival. Now, I am able help families because I’ve been down that road. I know the way an addict thinks and operates. I’ve helped literally hundreds of families overcome the challenges of helping someone who doesn’t want help, which is my silver lining from having gone to treatment.

Do what you need to do to help the person you love because you never know what his silver lining may turn out to be.

Sneak Peak At; “The Intervention GuideBook”

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From “My Exploding Workshop”

Sherrie

“He conquers who endures.”  ~ Perseus

Watsonville is a little after-thought of a town midway between Salinas and Santa Cruz along the central California coast. Purely agricultural, it boasts a billion dollars a year in strawberry exports (including some very good locally made pies).  It’s a nice place to live, and I did for a few years, just me and my dog Baxter.

One day in early autumn I got a request to do a “transport.” Transports are their own adventure more often than not. They straddle the line between helping an addict who is willing to go to treatment and having to stage a full-blown intervention. They are done when a person is willing to go to treatment but for whatever reason, needs to be accompanied.

The person I am to accompany, a thirty five year old female, had just been released from jail. She had been charged with alcohol related felony child neglect. According to her aunt, she would be waiting for me in the parking lot at the Auburn jail where she had been held. Her family in Arizona is wealthy and willing to pay to have a professional transport her. Auburn is two hundred miles northeast in the foothills of the Sierra Nevada. So, I pile some supplies and a happy little Baxter into my car head northeast on Highway 80. About four hours later I arrive in Auburn.

I pull up at the jail house about 6 pm. The place is deserted except for a fairly attractive, tall blond woman dressed in jeans and blazer, standing all alone in the parking lot, sipping something from a small commuter cup. When I gave her a questioning look, she mumbled, “I need this coffee.”

Introductions were brief: her name is Sherrie, mine name is Steve, this is Baxter. I’m holding Baxter in my arms; he’s glad to have the extra company.  Sherrie is indifferent, looking at neither of us and says in the unmistakable tone of the privileged, “Okay, so you’re my driver. Let’s go.”

She ungraciously gets into the car, and accepts Baxter on her lap without comment or emotion. He is flowing cuteness exponentially in her direction with obvious expectations of an affectionate rubdown in return. It never comes. Sherrie stares blankly out the window, sipping her beverage. She chain smokes and fiddles with the stereo between sips. After a few minutes the unmistakable, sweet smell of vodka cuts through the smoke. The fact that I can identify it at all means that she must have been drinking it straight. Her eyes are now half closed and she is bobbing back and forth in the seat.

FUCK. Fucking Great. She must have walked to the liquor store and then back to the jail parking lot.

I never tire of moments I myself am swindled, having swindled those around me for so long. They are few and far between but they happen. Handling them is what is important.

I pull over to get a better look at her and call my contact in at the program to update him. I am sure they will not accept her in this condition since there is no on-site detox.

“Get the booze away from her. Feed her. Slow down… Enjoy the scenery. You have a long drive ahead of you anyway, so give her time to sober up.” No shit I thought. Why did I even call? I could have given him a thousand other excuses. Fucking great.

There’s no scenery by now. The road is just a road, every mile like the last. Darkness surrounds us. I cut way back on the accelerator. Sherrie stops complaining about me taking her coffee mug and starts to complain about the reduction in speed. Eventually she falls asleep, her head wobbling against the window. After a while she starts thrashing around, in and out of consciousness.

She was sober when I picked her up so I figured she wasn’t in any immediate danger other than the possibility of puking all over my dashboard, so I roll onward. Baxter finally gets fed up and leaves her lap for more stable accommodations in the back seat.

After about two hours of meandering down the dark, semingly deserted country highway we arrive in Roseville, a good distance from where we have to end up. Sherrie startles awake, slurs at me with some urgency that she has to pee, so I pull into the parking lot of a Walgreen’s drug store. Fortunately – at this hour the store is deserted. No one but a curious cashier and I are there to watch her stumble down the aisle to the bathroom.

She emerges from the bathroom a few minutes later. She stands silently, trying to locate her balance as she slowly sways back and forth. Then, with obvious effort she looks around in a myopic gaze, and falls straight backward. She fell as if she’d been shot in the head point blank. Her reaction time could have been measured in hours. I heard a “SMACK!” as the back of her head hit the linoleum floor. Blood started pooling onto the floor around her head by the time I reached her side. “FUCK!,” I exclaimed. No one heard me. Lifting her, I saw a gash on the back of her head with hair clumped around it. I grabbed some bandages off the shelf, tore them out of the packaging and started staunching the flow.

“Is she okay?” asks the clerk, appearing suddenly behind me.

“Can you please just ring up the bandages?” Sherrie is semi-conscious as I throw down some dollars on the counter and make our way out to the car. I can see Baxter, paws on the rear window, watching us with avid interest, his little head cocked to one side. Once Sherrie is buckled into the front seat I start to call 911. Sherrie – suddenly coherent – grabs me with both hands and tries to yell but manages a raspy squeal instead, “No, Steve, please! No hospitals! No cops!”

“Look,” I said, matter-of-factly. “You cut your head, you have to go to a hospital.”

Her eyes open and for the first time, he looks directly into mine. She pleads softly with me, “Steve, Steve, I do not want to go to the hospital. I do not want to go to the cops.” Real fear has made her alert and coherent. My choices? Drag her to the hospital where she will probably bolt, get arrested again for violating terms of her probation (in which case she’d never get to see her children again), or I could handle this myself, accepting the liability involved and get her to the program where there would be a nurse, and a team instead of just me. “Alright…” I chose my next words carefully. “If you pass out again, I am taking you to a hospital, with or without your permission.”

“I want some coffee. That will help.”

“No Sherrie, it won’t. No coffee. And do NOT fall asleep.” At that point I decide to get off the road to give Sherrie a chance to get cleaned up, and for me to regroup, take inventory and make sure the remainder of our trip is as uneventful as possible.

I pull into a hotel and get a room. A small knot has formed at the back of Sherrie’s head. The gash isn’t that big, but has bled profusely as head wounds tend to do. I clean it up and bandage it as best I can. She tells me she needs clothes and make up. Her clothing is rancid with alcoholic sweat, the blazer streaked with blood. New stuff would do a lot for her morale.

I run a bath for her, and while she is cleaning up, I step outside and call her aunt. She gives me the okay to spend a few hundred dollars on whatever Sherrie needs. When I go back into the room, there’s a handwritten list waiting for me on the bed. Sherrie wants me to buy bras, underwear, dresses, a tracksuit… and makeup. I spend a few moments ruminating over the benefits of a career change before deciding to comply with everything on her list. I make an executive decision to leave her on her own in the hotel room. There was absolutely nowhere for her to go, and even if she were willing to come with me, I had no confidence in her level of sobriety.

Sherrie was walking a thin line, but I figured the least destructive route was to give her some time and space, and handle the shopping myself. I waited for her to finish her bath, made sure she was awake, that her head had stopped bleeding completely, then made my way down the street.

Thanksgiving is days away, so the stores at the local mall are open late. I head into Macy’s and lean heavily on the sales staff to do my shopping for me. When one of them finds out what I’m doing she treats me like a VIP with a million dollars to spend.

When I get back the bathroom door is closed, but I can hear her shuffling around inside. I lay the purchases out on the bed.

I talk to the door, “Look, Sherrie, we have to go. I am going to go outside. Get dressed, ok?” She mumbles that she’s heard.

A long fifteen minutes go by before I go back into the hotel room. Some of the clothes and the makeup kit are gone, and the bathroom door is shut. Great, I thought, almost home free. I lie down on the bed and start reading Gideon’s Bible while waiting for her to emerge from the bathroom. Sherrie did emerge, completely naked. What? Oooh man. She launched herself on top of me, wrapped her legs around mine, and began kissing my neck with considerable enthusiasm.

I would like to note here that Sherrie is a thirty four year old blond, who weighs about 120 pounds. What can I say? We live in hedonistic times. Man-Steve and Interventionist-Steve waged a brief but mighty and silent philosophical war before I pushed her gently aside.

I was fully aware of the fact that she was completely willing to propitiate me with sex, and I also knew that the consequences of her so doing would be disastrous to her future state of mind as well as a finish to my career.

I decided to tell her the truth, followed by a lie. I told her that although I dearly wanted to take her up on her offer, it would be a breach of professional ethics for me to do so. I told her that I’d come and get her after a couple of weeks, once she qualified for a pass to leave the center. I’d buy her a dress and take her to dinner and a show, maybe a comedy at a real theatre. After, we’d get a nice room and have all the jungle sex we wanted.

None of this would ever come true. I knew it, and the reality that I was lying to cover rejecting her sank into her like a long, slow blade. I’d overshot it, or she just knew. Either way it didn’t matter. The expression on her face became one of utter self-loathing (not exactly the effect I was going for). She shuffled to the foot of the bed, away from me, and began sobbing, her head buried in her arms, deep, heaving sobs. I still clutched the bible in one hand. God, I thought, I could use a little help here. As if on queue, Baxter jumped up onto the bed, and began nudging Sherrie with his nose, wagging his tail and licking the tears from her face, as if he could love away her sadness. She looked at him, gathered him deeply into her arms, and began rocking him, sobbing and half laughing at his completely disarming affection. Like he was saying, “If Steve won’t cuddle with you I will!”

I am no expert on woman body language but could comprehend that my little dog Baxter had – in that brief moment – managed to salvage an otherwise impossible situation.

Praise Baxter.

After a few minutes Sherrie confirmed his success by setting him carefully aside (to his disappointment), and wrapping herself in the comforter from the bed. She then stood up and said matter-of-factly. “OK… Let’s go.” I didn’t even have to coax her to get dressed. She still looked teary-eyed, ashamed and embarrassed but took obvious, even moments of happy consolation in all the makeup I had purchased for her. Soon she looked more than a little presentable, much better than she had two hours earlier, needless to say.

I decide to get take-out and she ate with appetite, then slept for two hours or so, until she felt and looked like a human being. Five hours from when we pulled off, we were on the road again.

The, cold, deep indigo of night was relieved by the cold grey of early morning when we finally arrived in Watsonville and began the drive up Gaffey Road; a long winding road to the top of Mount Madonna, and a beautiful thirty-five acre treatment campus. Mike, my contact, meets me and says, “Hey we can’t take her. She has a cut on her head and needs to go to the hospital right now.”

“Great, have fun.” I replied as I started walking in the opposite direction. “If she had been willing to go to a hospital, believe me, that is the first place we would have gone.” Mike regarded me for a few minutes and then walked in to greet Sherrie.

I’m on my way down the stairs when he comes running out after me. “Steve!  Sherrie said she won’t go to the hospital with anyone but you. Please take her man, get her checked out. Make sure she hasn’t cracked her skull or anything. If the doctor says she’s okay, then we’ll enroll her.” How could I say no? Besides, this would be our second date.

While we wait in emergency room, I handle her relatively minor hangover thirst with lots of lemonade from the vending machine and walking with her on her frequent cigarette breaks. When she is admitted, the orderly tells her they’ll probably have to cut her hair. Sherrie was on the verge of refusing care when the doctor came in. She shot me a murderous look. I took him to the side and explained, enough for him to get the picture. The doctor gives Sherrie a thorough exam, then four stitches but leaves her hair alone. She smiles broadly at me. He gives us the all clear and I drive Sherrie back up the mountain. Outside, we hug awkwardly. She looks down and then walks into the center. I did not expect to see her again.

Two weeks later, I’m back at Mount Madonna, delivering someone else. I’m walking up the front stairs when I look over to where the sun is beaming down through the trees and through the spring mist. There are small white flowers bordering the path. I saw a beautiful woman, with the sun back-lighting her hair, walking along the path and stooping now and then to pick them. I was thinking it would be nice if Sherrie could be like that one day.

Just then, she looks up, and WOW – there she is! Sherrie! I knew I liked this program for some reason!

Walking down the path, the sun at her back, came a magically transformed Sherrie. All the tragedy that had marred her very beautiful face was gone. She looked intensely feminine and after only two weeks of walks in the sunshine, vitamins, good food and fresh, coastal mountain air.

She glanced up, recognized me, smiled and walked over. Her greeting was very shy. I am thrilled by her transformation and tell her she looks great! There is no doubt she is happy to see me, but the events of that long drive from Auburn are still between us. I congratulate her on her good health and her progress. Then she softly says she has to go or she’ll be late for her class.

After writing this up a friend asked me if I was crazy to include a story like this.  “It’s all over the map,” he said. Aren’t you supposed to be writing the book to sell the idea that interventions are easy? That you always have things under control?”

I’m not telling these stories to sell you something that isn’t real. If an interventionist tells you that the process is easy, then he’s either inexperienced or selling you something. I succeed because I’m realistic about what the work is. It’s usually a controlled mess at best. Sometimes I get a simple, A to B intervention but that’s the exception not the rule. The rule is; be prepared for the worst and be grateful if it doesn’t happen. I maintain my success rate because of a few basic principles, and this story illustrates one quite nicely; you must persevere. In the face of anything. 

If you find yourself thinking it’s going to be too hard or too weird or unusually chaotic, you’re probably right, it is all of that and more. Be ready for it, get help if you need to, and persevere no matter what happens.

 

 

 

 

Hiring An Interventionist

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The question of whether or not to hire a professional can be easily answered. Simply ask yourself what chance you believe you have to succeed on your own.

Most families just end up creating an enormous mess which the interventionist then needs to come in and clean up. From a strategic point of view it’s wiser to hire the interventionist before any attempt at an intervention is made so that he or she can run the game starting with a full, clean deck of cards.

Having been an interventionist for as long as I have, I’ve seen a thing or two. There are interventionists whose work I respect a great deal, while others have left gargantuan messes which I’ve had to clean up, others seem more intent on their fee than a successful outcome. But I’m not writing this article to make you paranoid. Hiring a pro is often a necessary step. Arguably an intervention is much more well-managed and has a much higher chance of success if it can be conducted and controlled by an objective, seasoned professional. There are plenty of good ones out there but it’s important know what to look for.

I remember doing an intervention in Washington where the addict wouldn’t agree to talk to me initially. Believe it or not this is a fairly uncommon problem for me to run into. I came to find out that the family had just tried what they thought was an intervention by trying to strong arm the guy into a car. Of course he didn’t want to meet with me. I did eventually find a way to pull it off but cleaning up the mess the family had made meant that the intervention took longer, and began as a massive uphill battle.

My point is that if you can hire an interventionist don’t experiment first. As someone who has worked on the front lines of addiction for many years, experimenting in that field of battle with the life of your loved one hanging in the balance is not something you want to do without guidance, and I mean real guidance, not by the emotionally charged opinions of somebody you met an Al-Anon meeting, or friend of a friend who helped with an intervention or two. I’m talking about somebody who has done 100 or 200 or more interventions, and who has a proven track record of success. Believe me when I tell you you’re not going to save any money by shopping from the bargain shelf when it comes to hiring an interventionist.

I’ll keep this simple. First, when it comes to the kind of background you’re looking for, experience trumps education any day of the week. I have very little formal education but I spent 25 years addicted to just about everything you could possibly name, and went through treatment six times. On top of this real life experience, I’ve done close to 400 interventions and consistently succeed somewhere between 80 and 90% of the time. My success rate tends to be higher if the family I’m working with follows my instructions to the letter but sometimes it’s too much to hope for.

Don’t trust anyone who tells you they have a 100% success rate because it doesn’t happen. Not in the real world. You hire an interventionist just as you would a doctor or lawyer. You want to hire the best doctor you can but he’s not going to guarantee you 100%. When you hire an attorney he doesn’t guarantee what the results will be but he can spell out what’s likely going to happen. If he’s experienced and has a good track record, then the likelihood of your success will be high. This is another good analogy for not trying to do things on your own. You wouldn’t try operating on someone before taking them to the doctor, or showing up in court without an attorney and “giving it a go” before deciding to go to a lawyer.

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Do your homework and call references the interventionist has worked with. Find out how he or she operated, how the addict was communicated with and what happened when there was a crisis. There is always a crisis, at least one. How did the interventionist handle it? Did he or she give up after two days and tell the family “He just isn’t ready.” In my book that can be a cop out. Interventions don’t last weeks but if the addict isn’t in treatment after day two I stay until I KNOW it’s impossible. This can be up to a week or even longer. Sure, I get the occasional “easy money” where the intervention takes an hour or a day, but generally it’s not just the addict who’s stuck when I start my work. Often the family is all over the map, things aren’t always agreed upon, family secrets rear their head. My average job lasts between three and five days, including the adventure of transporting the addict in. A few last one, some up to a week or longer. My goal is always the same; get the addict into the program and whatever happens along the way, deal with it.

Don’t go it alone. Find someone you feel can commit to getting a result, and make the call before things get any worse.

 

 

 

Panic

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The chaos in the life of the person you’re trying to help has has left a wake of emotional and financial wreckage. The events that led you to decide to do an intervention have also left you in a state of panic. Now, you’re confronted with actually doing the intervention. Your deepest fears are staring you in the face, including the fear that by confronting the person and giving him or her an ultimatum, you may make the situation worse and push the person you love even further away.

On top of your own fears, family members are debating about what the right thing to do may be, sometimes furiously. People you love may be pushing opinions at you with force, scenarios that are frightening, some of which – in your mind – do not make any sense.

You haven’t been sleeping because of this. You haven’t exercised. You might even have a prescription or two in the cabinet you did not before, things to help you “cope.”

Your efforts in analyzing the situation and possible solutions makes you feel more paralyzed, like walking into a casino where the life of the person you love is the currency on the roulette table. Red and black are high-risk bets in a wheel of numbers that spin in your mind. Emotionally, it’s overwhelming, exhausting and deeply painful. You know it has to stop. But how?

How do you sort through the suggestions, opinions and experiences of others, adding to that your own thoughts and feelings and come out with a solution that makes sense, a solution that people will adhere to and work toward as a team?

This is often the state of mind people are in when they call me for help.

Now, imagine a rescue mission. Take for example the Coast Guard. Their territory is a raging ocean, torrential storms and unpredictable risk. Yet, they manage to pull people out to safety. How do they do it?

There are 100 different things that factor into a successful rescue, but there are just a few basic denominators that must always be there, one of which is an ability to stay calm in the face of crisis, and to take risks that make the most sense as opposed to allowing their emotions to steer the ship.

I’m not saying that staying calm is easy. It isn’t. In fact I’ve never seen my job as making things easier for people. I’m hired to win the game. I simplify things and help put order in. One of my main goals is not to let panic control any aspect of the process. I imagine it’s a lot like going to war.

In a war room one imagines generals in deep contemplation of a map of the battlefield. Models of troops, tanks, airships and deep-sea destroyers slide across the map as the generals blow cigar smoke and as they point, grumble words ending in, “flank,” or,”we’ll close in on them from here.”

Now imagine the actual battlefield: explosions, screams, buildings falling into clouds of dust. The chink-chink-chink  of soldiers running from cover to cover, enemy bullets whizzing past their heads, an occasional mortar blowing one of their comrades away in a flash of fire and a cloud of smoke. Yet, they fight on. And what is it that determines the winning side? How does one come out of that chaos having overcome the evil they have confronted?

I’m betting the same is true for generals as it is for interventionists and the people they are trying to lead into battle.

The first element is planning, meticulous, thorough and well rehearsed. The second is the ability to stay calm in the face of danger. For those who cannot or will not do this, the fate of their efforts is sealed. Like they say, luck favors the prepared.

While you or someone else may be in a panic, it’s important to understand that overcoming panic itself is part of the challenge you face.

As an ex-addict I can assure you that a lot of the panic you’re feeling is not by accident, but the result of an effort on the part of the addict to throw you off guard so that his or her agenda – using drugs or drinking – can continue.

I’m going to reiterate here that it is not malicious. Creating panic in others is something addicts and alcoholics do on a fairly regular basis, but it is a survival response. It’s like a child who wants something or wants to avoid something. The child will burst into tears, make loud demands, maybe even accuse you of things, all of which is designed to accomplish one goal; to either avoid something or to get something. In the case of an intervention it is definitely to avoid something.

Understanding this simple fact can mean the difference between succeeding in getting the person you care about to go to a treatment program, or having to walk away believing that you have failed. I use the word “belief” because in most cases family members are convinced they have failed when in fact it is their own state of panic and fear that has paralyzed them and left them feeling hopeless. Had it not been for their own state of panic and confusion they could have worked through things with logic, just like the general standing in a circle around that map, or the Coast Guard team that worked out the logistics before they ever took off in a helicopter. Had they gone into battle or to a rescue in a state of confused panic, defeat would be all but assured. That is the difference between a well-done intervention and one that is doomed to fail.

The family that stays calm, continues to work as a team regardless as to what they are confronted with, regroups and continues to plan meticulously even when their previous plans seemed to have fallen apart is the family that will come out a winner. By winning I mean a family that has gotten the person they care about into a good treatment center successfully.

The first step in overcoming your own panic is recognizing that it’s not going to work in your favor. Being in a panicked state may seem like the right response, and on many levels it is, but in terms of winning the battle you must set those feelings aside long enough to think through the scenarios and situations you’re confronted with with some degree of logic.

It’s like playing a game of chess. Your opponents pieces are the elements of the addiction, what it’s doing to the person you love and what it’s causing him or her to do. Your pieces are your family, friends and the various elements both financial and emotional that can influence the person you are trying to help.

How does a chess player win his game? Aside from strategy, at the core of his success is the ability to stay calm even when circumstances are puling his emotions apart.

I cannot tell you exactly how to stay calm because I don’t know you. All I can tell you is that this is what you have to keep your eye on. This is what you need to accomplish in order to win. It may be enough to know this is what you need to do.

Panic will never help you. It will always work against you.

Imagine yourself at the funeral of the person you’re trying to help and imagine what it is you will regret not having done. You must sober up, calm down and plan as if you are going into a war you must win if the person you care about is to survive.

Panic is your enemy, in yourself or others.

I can give you a couple pieces of advice:

If you find yourself in a panic, stop what you’re doing, get away from the situation or regroup if you’re working with your team.

If you see someone else in a panic, especially during meetings where you are face-to-face with the addict or alcoholic you’re trying to help, intervene without invalidating either the addict or the person you’re trying to pull out of the situation. Just pull them out as quietly as possible.

I’m not suggesting that if someone is crying or emotional during an intervention that you have to stop everything unless the emotions become the driving force as opposed to the plan you should already have in place. What I am saying is that if somebody is freaking out, especially if they are in danger of making deals with the addict based on pure emotion, you have to stop what’s going on and get everybody to regroup. The addict and his or her problems will be there to come back to.

The best way to avoid panic is to realize that it’s going to work against you in the first place. If you need some rest, go rest. If you need to eat, go eat. If you need to work through some of your fears then start dumping them out with your core team or a trusted confidant and work through them. Take the time you need to take in order to gather yourself for battle.

An intervention may be the most important battle you can ever win. The day the person you love walks up to you, holds you and tells you he is sorry for everything he did and glad for whatever it was you did to get him into the treatment program, and how ready he is to begin living his new life, you’ll know the true reward of winning that battle. But don’t ever lose sight of the fact that every day you procrastinate or remain paralyzed in a state of panic, is a day the person you love remains lost, a liability to himself and everyone else, a day closer to a funeral, a court hearing, a psychiatric incarceration, or at the least a life of regret for everyone.

As much as panic maybe justified, the right thing to do is to keep calm. In an intervention, winning is not optional. It’s all that matters.

 

 

 

 

The Greenhouse Effect

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Anyone who has done anything repeatedly has the advantage of being able to identify and recognize patterns. Having done hundreds of interventions, one pattern I’ve come to recognize is something I call the greenhouse effect.

In short, it’s when the family members I’m working with are not only confronting a difficult problem, but do so without sleep, eating, or taking an occasional break from the intense emotional environment an intervention can become.

In many cases this happens before I’ve arrived. During the first meeting with the family I’ll see a mother or father who is haggard, unrested, hasn’t eaten and as a result has low blood sugar, and who hasn’t stop thinking about the problem he or she is facing for a single second. This can apply to anyone.

I understand better than most that an intervention can make the difference between living the life of an addict or alcoholic, or giving the person you love a real chance at recovery. By the same token however, in order to accomplish this your team needs to be functioning as well as possible.

For someone who tends to have more dramatic emotions when he or she has low blood sugar, I can’t tell you how helpful having a meal can be. Or for someone who is more reactive when he has had little or no sleep, an afternoon siesta for key players may be just what the intervention needs. I’ll even take it one step further. In the midst of all the drama, the explosions and body parts flying everywhere as an addict tries to stop the intervention by bellowing his disagreements, making threats and otherwise creating an enormous crisis, it can be very helpful to go see a movie, or to the theater, or better yet a comedy club.

Take a break occasionally. Go do something.

I don’t recommend doing things like fishing because you’ll just sit there and ruminate (fly fishing might be the exception). I recommend doing something that is going to take your mind off of things for a couple of hours.

I’m also not talking about breaking up the group in anger and saying, “We need to take a break [from each other],” and leaving each other in an angry huff. In other words, don’t weaponize my advice and use it as a way to blow-off the intervention. I’m simply talking about taking an occasional break, having a meal or getting some rest.

The fact is that these simple, very basic things can help you operate more effectively in an intervention.

If you see a family member who suffering from this kind of – over immersion – and you try and bring it to his or her attention, one thing you may run into is that he or she will refuse to take a break. Some people will act like a martyr because they feel they deserve to be. certain individuals may feel responsible for the condition the person you are trying to help is in, and may have the viewpoint that by taking a break for their own benefit is like turning their back on what needs to be done. This is ironic because taking a break might be the thing that refreshes the person’s perspective and raises his or her ability to operate effectively enough to get the job done, so don’t be afraid to insist.

The best analogy I can think of is the short speech flight attendants give before take-off: “Put your own oxygen mask on first before trying to help others.” It’s good advice, not only because it’s logical but because it works.

If you can’t operate well, you’ll be of little use to the group or to the person you are trying to help. It may even work against you when you need to keep your cool but your low blood sugar has different plans for how you’ll react.

If you want to rescue someone, don’t drown in the process.