Reeves' Story Pt. 1 | Confronting the Lies I Told Myself and My Family

A campfire lesson that changed everything

“It’s a lot easier to stay warm than to get warm.”
That simple line—shared by a wilderness guide on a freezing Montana night—didn’t click for B. Reeves until years later. In recovery, it became the anchor: staying sober each day is a lot easier than starting over from a cold, miserable place.

This is B’s story of slow-burn addiction, family dynamics, near misses, and the quiet nudge that finally broke through.

Early patterns: divorce, attention, and the art of getting by

After his parents’ divorce, B learned to manipulate for affection, things, and freedom—a pattern that followed him into adulthood. His mom (the kind, steady English teacher turned entrepreneur) and his dad (the brilliant, larger-than-life writer) loved him, but their different styles sometimes softened consequences. That’s called enabling, and it often delays the moment change becomes possible.

Sports were connection points—golf with dad, tennis with mom—but as substances entered the picture, reliability slipped. Curfews, early tee times, and commitments lost to a growing habit of avoidance.

From “supposed to” to self-medicating

Boarding school went well—until it didn’t. When B was told not to come back, a toxic script took root: “I’m supposed to be there, but I’m here.”
Rather than ask for help, he self-medicated: alcohol first, then other drugs, and later a deepening relationship with pills. College brought a social scene, failed classes, legal trouble, and more hiding. The outside looked “okay.” Inside was shame, sleep, substances, repeat.

A wilderness spark (and why it wasn’t enough—yet)

At 22, a concerned family sent B on a solo wilderness trek with a guide. It wasn’t formal rehab, but it planted that unforgettable line: “Stay warm.” He came home inspired—and almost immediately slid back. Why? Because insight without structure rarely sticks. You need both natural consequences and hopeful support.

New York, near-success, and the quiet creep of opiates

B chased exciting opportunities in film, media, and production—cool credits, chaotic life. Freelance gaps, money stress, and the growing comfort of sedatives and painkillers. The pattern: get a good job, lose it to unreliability, start over somewhere new.

The unraveling (2017–2018)

A breakup he didn’t process. A cancer diagnosis for his dad. Just enough socially acceptable pain to justify using more. Then his father passed away, and the bottom dropped further: lies to work and family, blackout days, blankets over windows, a car hidden around the corner. Not “partying.” Just misery and withdrawal.

He wasn’t clueless—he knew pills had him—but he couldn’t stop. And, like many, he secretly hoped someone would intervene.

The nudge that landed

His family didn’t stage a dramatic confrontation. They did something simpler and smarter:
“There’s a bed tomorrow at 2 PM. Will you go?”
B asked to sleep on it. The next morning: “My bags are packed.”

Small note with a big impact: at intake, when a payment was due, B’s mom said, “Get your checkbook.” Paying something himself turned treatment into a commitment, not just a rescue.

What changed in treatment?

At first? Terror and doubt. Then B decided to participate—even if only to make time go faster. He listened, showed up, and—out of nowhere—had a quiet spiritual moment: not “I’ll be rich and famous,” just a deep sense “I’m going to be okay.”

He left with a simple plan:

• 90 meetings in 90 days (he did ~140).

• Get a sponsor (and actually call him daily).

• Pray and meditate (start with 45 seconds; work up to a daily practice).

• Service and community (attraction, not promotion).

The paradox kicked in: the more time he invested in recovery, the more life he got back.

Natural consequences + hope = traction

Two truths powered B’s turnaround:

1. Consequences matter. Missed days, lost jobs, fractured trust—these finally hurt enough to make new behavior possible.

2. Hope makes action sustainable. A welcoming community, simple directions, daily wins—these kept him moving.

You don’t have to “want it” first.
Sometimes you have to get sober to want to stay sober.

Getting sober “for your mom,” “to keep your job,” or “to avoid jail” is fine. Many start for external reasons and stay for internal ones once the fog lifts.

The program that actually fits real life

B’s daily rhythm now looks like this:

• Morning prayer: humility and intention.

• Meditation (twice a day): a mental reset that replaces old numbing.

• Community touchpoints: meetings, sponsor calls, checking on others.

• Gratitude and inventory: quick alignment at night.

Sounds like a lot. It isn’t—not compared to juggling lies and withdrawals. Recovery gave him time, clarity, and capacity he never had while using.

Key takeaways for families & loved ones

• Don’t wait for perfect readiness. A gentle, timely nudge can open the door.

• Hold boundaries that build ownership. Think, “We’ll help—but you lead.”

• Pair consequences with hope. Offer clear options (bed available, ride arranged) and warm follow-through.

• Measure actions, not promises. Participation > speeches.

• Expect the arc. Most people start for others and stay for themselves.

B’s message to anyone stuck

“The three most powerful words are "I need help."
What was embarrassing wasn’t getting help—it was DUIs, failed classes, and hiding from life. Asking for help was the first honest thing I did.”

If you or someone you love needs a place to start

• Call a reputable local treatment center (detox + residential options).

• Try 12-step or mutual-help meetings tonight (AA/NA/SMART—show up, listen).

• Set one boundary you can keep (and one hopeful step you can offer).

Note: B now works with New Waters Recovery (Raleigh, NC) and co-hosts the Finding New Waters podcast. 

Coming next: Part 2 — the family’s perspective

In Part 2, you’ll hear from one of B’s family members about what this journey looked like from their side—the fear, the lines they drew, and the moment their nudge finally landed.

FAQ

Was it a dramatic intervention?
No. It was a clear, time-bound offer: a bed the next day and a ride to get there.

Did B “want it” at first?
Not really. He participated anyway—and the willingness grew after he started feeling better.

What daily practices helped most?
Meetings, sponsorship, prayer, meditation, and service. Simple, repeatable, grounding.

👇Additional Resources:

💡 Amber's 30-Day Jump Start for Early Recovery
🧠 Strengths-Based Recovery Coaching
🔐 Rapid Relationship Repair Course
📱 24/7 Advice from Amber AI
👨‍👩‍👧‍👦 Consult with a Family Coach