The Case I Almost Lost

An Anonymous First-Person Account of Recovery

I’m writing this anonymously because shame still lingers, but I hope that at least one person in the legal profession reads this and recognizes a piece of themselves. And I hope they know that getting help doesn’t make you weak. It makes you human.

I used to think I could outwork the bottle. That if I billed enough hours, won enough cases, kept my clients happy, and my desk neat, no one would notice how much I needed alcohol to thrive. I told myself I didn’t have a drinking problem. I had a stress problem, a pressure problem, or a this-profession-is-brutal problem.

But eventually, even I had to admit: the biggest case I was losing was the one against myself.

To others, I was a mid-career lawyer with a solid reputation and a resume they admired. But beneath the surface, I was crumbling. I started drinking heavily in law school—first to sleep, then to silence the anxiety, then just to feel anything besides the constant hum of pressure. By the time I was a few years into practice, I was drinking every night. Then it crept into my mornings. I’d justify it as “just enough to take the edge off.” The problem was, the edge never left. It just got sharper.

Ironically, even though I was drinking daily, I still showed up to court, wrote motions, kept up appearances. I hid it well. That’s the dangerous thing about alcohol and lawyering: the culture sometimes rewards stoicism over self-awareness. It’s tough to admit that you’re drowning in a profession that’s built on control.

I didn’t unravel all at once. I started missing deadlines and receiving calls from colleagues asking if I was okay. I had blank spots in my memory after client dinners. Once, I cross-examined a witness with vodka on my breath and couldn’t remember what they said five minutes later.

Still, I kept drinking, because I really thought I was controlling it.

What finally got me wasn’t the law firm. It wasn’t a judge or a disciplinary board. It when I was supposed to pick my daughter up from school, and I failed. I passed out on the couch, suit jacket still on, half a glass of whiskey on the coffee table. When I woke up, I had several missed calls from my ex-wife, one from the school, and a text with a picture of my daughter, still in her school clothes, sitting on the steps, holding her backpack, waiting for me.

That image is seared into my memory. That was the moment I knew that alcohol was controlling me. This was a situation that I couldn’t explain away. I couldn’t charm my way out of it or blame it on stress or work. I had failed her, because of alcohol. I was failing myself.

The next day, I called the Ohio Lawyers Assistance Program. I didn’t even know exactly what OLAP did. I’d heard about it during CLEs, read about it in bar publications. But I was desperate, and I remembered they helped lawyers in situations like mine. I dreaded making that call. I kept thinking about the judgment, the shame, the explaining I would have to do. But when I called, what surprised me most was how the person on the other end of the phone sounded: calm, direct, and nonjudgmental. She didn’t ask me for unnecessary details, and she stressed that our conversation was confidential. She said, “You’re not alone. We can help.”

That call saved my career. Maybe even my life.

OLAP set me up with an assessment, and they helped me understand that I wasn’t weak, I was sick—and that addiction is something that many legal professionals struggle with. High-functioning doesn’t mean healthy; it means you’re surviving, not thriving.

OLAP connected me with a recovery plan tailored to my situation. They helped me figure out how to balance treatment with my work obligations—without imploding my career. I was terrified of being exposed, of people at the firm finding out, of losing clients. OLAP walked me through it all. OLAP does not report you; they don’t shame you. They protect your privacy. That trust made all the difference.

Recovery wasn’t pretty. OLAP recommended a 28-day residential treatment program, AA meetings and therapy. I was committed to getting my life back, so I jumped on board the treatment program. I went through withdrawal, I opened up in group therapy and went to AA meetings. I made my emotional inventory, and I stuck with it, with OLAP’s encouragement. I leaned on OLAP’s support, found a sponsor, started making myself accountable, which is one of OLAP’s contract requirements. They expected me to check in once a week, and I did. I started to feel less like a fraud and more like a human.

I also had to make amends to my ex-wife, my daughter, the junior associates I snapped at, the clients I half-showed up for, family and friends that I hurt. That was difficult, but it taught me how to be accountable without shame—and how to lead from a place of vulnerability instead of fear.

It’s been just over two years since I got sober. I still go to meetings, and I still check in with OLAP about my recovery journey. I still work at the firm, but I’m different. I don’t grind myself into dust anymore. I still love the law, but I find different ways to cope with the stress. I exercise, I journal, I have healthy relationships with friends and family, I attend AA meetings.

There’s this myth that lawyers and judges have to have all the answers, that we have to be the strongest and smartest in the room, that asking for help is weakness. I believed that for a long time, but I know now that real strength is knowing when to ask for help. Real strength is saying, “I’m not okay, but I want to be.”

If you’re a legal professional in Ohio and you’re struggling, please hear this: OLAP is there for you. They won’t judge you. They won’t expose you. They will help you—quietly, compassionately and effectively.

You don’t have to wait until you lose everything. I didn’t. And I’m proof that you can come back—not just as the lawyer you were, but as the person you’re meant to be.

If you are a legal professional who is unhappy, depressed, suffering from substance use disorder, burnout, or stress, and you believe it is affecting your life, the Ohio Lawyers Assistance Program can provide CONFIDENTIAL help. For more information, go to ohiolap.org or call (800) 348-4343.

If you are a judge or magistrate who needs help, contact the Judicial Advisory Group, a peer-based confidential assistance group that helps judges and magistrates with personal and professional issues. For more information, go to www.ohiolap.org/judges or call (800) 348-4343.