79. The Weight of Integrity
Integrity is a word we often throw around lightly as if it were a simple thing to embody. We think of it as honesty, doing the right thing when no one is looking, and staying true to our word. But what happens when the foundation of your life is shaken to its core—when the very values you once held sacred become blurred in the chaos of addiction? I’ve wrestled with this question in ways I wish I hadn’t, and yet, I’m here to tell you that even in the darkest moments, integrity can be a light worth fighting for.
I wasn’t always the person who currently writes this column today. There was a time when I believed I had my life together, a time when I wore integrity like a badge of honor. I coached youth soccer, inspiring kids to be their best selves on and off the field. I had a platform where my words could reach hearts and minds. I gave a TEDxGoshen Talk about the struggles and triumphs of recovery, standing on a stage as a symbol of resilience. But behind all those achievements, there were cracks in my armor—cracks that widened when I relapsed after nearly four years of sobriety.
Relapse is a word that doesn’t just sting—it cuts. It feels like every promise I made, every ounce of trust I’d earned, was shattered in an instant. I thought of the people I had let down: my family, my friends, my boss, my counselor who always believed in me, and even the readers of this very column who had cheered me on from afar. Most of all, I thought of myself—the version of me who had clawed my way out of the pit of addiction only to stumble back in. The shame was suffocating. But integrity isn’t about perfection. It isn’t about never falling. It’s about what you do after the fall.
When I checked myself into detox, I was met with the harsh realities of withdrawal—nausea, sleepless nights, an appetite that vanished like a ghost. The physical pain paled in comparison to the emotional weight I carried. Sitting in those group sessions, surrounded by people who knew the depths of my struggle, I started to understand that integrity isn’t a destination. It’s a daily practice, a commitment to yourself and others, even when it feels impossible.
One of the hardest things I’ve had to face is how my addiction eroded my ability to be honest—with myself and with those I love. Addiction is a liar. It whispers that one more drink, one more hit, or one more pill will make the pain go away. It tells you that you can stop whenever you want, that no one will notice, that you’re still in control. In believing those lies, I betrayed the very essence of integrity. I became someone I didn’t recognize—someone who broke promises, someone who hid the truth, and someone who hurt the people who mattered most.
Rebuilding integrity after addiction is like piecing together a shattered mirror. Each shard is a truth you must face, a conversation you must have, a wound you must heal. It’s apologizing to your family for the nights they stayed up wondering if you were safe. It’s looking into the eyes of the kids you coach and knowing that they deserve a role model who practices what they preach. It’s writing this column with the raw honesty that scares me because I know someone out there needs to hear it.
One of the moments that brought me back to myself was a simple yet profound realization: integrity isn’t about never falling; it’s about rising again, stronger and more self-aware. It’s about owning your mistakes and making amends, not just with words but with actions. It’s about choosing to fight for the person you want to be every single day—even when it feels like the odds are stacked against you.
I think about my dog, Bumpy, who has been a source of unconditional love through it all. Animals don’t care about your accolades or your failures—they care about the energy you bring into their lives. Bumpy reminds me of the pure, unspoken bond that integrity creates: a trust that doesn’t need words, only presence and consistency. This might sound crazy but if I can strive to be the person my dog thinks I am, then I know I’m on the right path.
To anyone reading this who feels like they’ve lost their way, know this: integrity isn’t something you’re born with or something you lose forever when you make a mistake. It’s something you build, brick by brick, moment by moment. It’s in the apology you offer when you’ve wronged someone. It’s in the effort you put into being better today than you were yesterday. It’s in the courage to face yourself honestly, no matter how painful it might be.
I’m still rebuilding. There are days when the weight of it all feels unbearable and when the shame tries to creep back in and tell me I’m not worthy of redemption. Then I remember the people who have stood by me, the kids who look up to me, and the readers who believe in second chances. I remember that integrity isn’t about being perfect—it’s about being real. And so, I keep going. I keep writing. I keep showing up to coaching and to life. Integrity isn’t just about the promises you make to others—it’s about the promises you keep to yourself. And I promise, no matter how hard it gets, to never stop fighting for the person I know I can be.
And remember, if you’re struggling or know someone who is struggling, please don’t lose hope. If that had happened to me, I wouldn’t be able to help spread awareness today.
