Web Exclusive: The Story is the Same

I had checked in to the halfway house a few weeks earlier. I have advanced degrees and several professional licenses. I had a 30-year career. Alcohol had taken it all away. I couldn't work in my field. My family who dearly loved me couldn't tolerate my self-destruction any longer. My decision to go to the halfway house came when my wife of 30 years told me, "I love you too much to see you struggle so hard ... you have to leave." Now, I was homeless too. She didn't say it in a fit of rage. In fact, it was her calm, almost loving, tone when she said it that struck me. I had made a mess of things and needed help.