the little yes.

If you know me, you know I am a podcast junkie. I listen to stories (see also: true crime) and sermons and everything in between. I love anything Annie Downs and Transformation Church. So this week, I was listening to my usual list of episodes (for reference: Annie and Eddie Keep Talking) and they started discussing Dax Shepherd’s newest podcast episode. If you haven’t listened yet, here’s a recap. Dax, husband of Kristen Bell and father of a couple of littles, has been sober for sixteen years. He has discussed his struggles with addiction over the years and celebrated his sobriety. Until Dax started saying yes again.

Dax’s journey with addiction is one that he deserves to tell. I could never do his story justice, or tell it fully. Please tune into his podcast, Armchair Experts (warning: explicit language), to hear this story in depth.

Dax loves his wife and his family. You can hear it in his voice. You can hear his humiliation at his relapse, the way his voice shakes, and he nervously stumbles over his intro. This person who makes a career of speaking publicly, of acting, can’t make it through 30 seconds without commenting on how he feels - his heart is racing, he’s shaking and panicky. Of course he is - he’s about to admit he’s a fraud. Or at least that’s how Dax feels about himself. His co-host and friend, Monica, quietly stops him and says, “Dax, I’m so proud of you and so happy you’re still here.” It’s like you can almost hear Dax’s heart rate slow down, you can feel how much he needed to hear those words. That he still feels shame, but he knows his people are with him.

He describes his journey as a jumbled mess of many small decisions and moments. From his accidents, to the death of his dad, to coping with pain… he says, “I wish I could say that my surgery was the reason why. But it’s not.” He started so small, adjusting his doses while he was being prescribed pain medication so he would feel just right. He described it as “manageable.” He knew he was making risky decisions, but they were so small. He was in control. He was smarter than his addiction. Then all of a sudden, the prescriptions ran out. He was buying pills. He would start in the morning with his coffee, and stop by mid afternoon so he could sleep. He knew if he seemed off, that Kristen would notice. He filmed episodes of Parenthood, he hosted interviews, he was a husband and a dad. He was coping. Still manageable. Still smarter than the addiction.

The funny thing is, we are almost never smarter than the things that work to destroy us. Dax realized how many pills he was taking. People started asking questions. He got scared, started trying to walk himself back from the edge. Even backing off a little bit made him look and feel detox-y, so he stopped. Monica was asking questions, noticing little signs. He lied, outright. He was lying to everyone. He was scared.

When he talks about finally admitting that he was struggling - again - with addiction, he didn’t know how to be honest. He didn’t know how to tell the full truth to people he loved. He called his mentor, and laid everything out. Every pill, every lie, every mistake. His mentor told him that his most critical flaw was his arrogance. He would always believe he was smarter than his addiction. He would always laugh in the face of it, even while it was killing him. He told Dax the only way to really combat it was coming clean - to everybody. So Dax did - to Kristen and Monica, to his AA group, to the world. He didn’t have to do that. He didn’t have to tell the truth. But he chose to be brave. The best part of this story is that when Dax told the truth, everyone held arms open wide. They said what Monica said - we love you. We are so glad you are still here. We are so proud you started fighting to say no. Dax said that it was the first time he had ever felt unmerited grace in his life. “Grace, just grace. That’s the only way I can describe it.”

Here’s the thing. I’ve never struggled with an addiction to pills. I don’t know what it’s like to want to quit but still count the seconds until something brings sweet relief to your whole body. Where you’re not in pain, you just feel… good. I imagine even though your body feels so good, maybe for the first time in a long time, your mind is racing. “Can anyone tell? Does anyone notice that I’m different today?” The constant mental gymnastics that must involve is so exhausting.

Maybe I don’t struggle with pills, but I fight so many things that want to kill me. It feels like sin claws at my throat, looking so beautiful, so fun. It feels so much easier to say yes, to quench that thirst, to scratch that itch. Even while I do it, I think, “I wonder if anyone can tell. I wonder if I’ll look different when I’m through.” I project my paranoia onto my relationships. I know it’s so dangerous to make that big yes. We are on guard for the big yes. No, I won’t do that! Of course not. But baby, it’s the little yes that kills us. There’s no straight line from where you are to failure. It’s that little yes over and over, until you’re saying that big yes without batting an eyelash. You know that shame. You’re past it now. You’re lying to everyone, so you just lie to yourself, and say you’re in control. You’re smarter than this. It doesn’t own you. You’re managing it just fine, you’re in charge.

But as it turns out, you’re not.

Dax says that in AA, there’s a saying that goes like this: “Your addiction never gets weaker. It’s just doing push-ups, waiting for you to mess up. It’s getting stronger, waiting for you to be weak one day, and that’s when it strikes.” If that isn’t life, I don’t know what is. Just when you feel like it’s manageable… man, it turns into such a mess. If you are struggling with physical addiction, or with sin, or with ______, I see you. I see myself, where I’ve said yes, when I should have said no.

I know y’all. I know it feels easy to keep living this way. It’s horrible, but at least you know what to expect. It’s comfortable. I know speaking out feels scary, and you carry that shame, and fear that utter rejection. Your platform probably isn’t as big as Dax’s, but it feels overwhelming for anyone to know the truth. But as cliche as it is to say, the truth brings freedom. You aren’t big enough to outsmart this demon alone.

Just like Monica, just like Jesus, I love you. I am so glad you’re still here. I’m so proud of you for choosing to be honest, when it was so much easier to be quiet. I pray that your community, your trusted people, welcome you with open arms like the father did with the prodigal son. You are loved, just as you are. Even with your flaws and your mistakes, you are loved so fully. The truest grace is at the foot of Jesus.

Say no to those decisions that are just a small yes right now. If you need help, speak out. Our team is praying and cheering for you. We want you to win. If you are struggling with addiction, and need connection to resources and counselors, we are happy to connect you there as well. Together we win.

__________________________________________________________________________________

by Nicole Worm

Nicole is a dreamer, adventurer and lover of people.