Let's Not Cancel "Rock Bottom". Let's Redefine It.

AJ Diaz, LMSW, CASAC-T • Feb 08, 2022

Let's Not Cancel "Rock Bottom". Let's Redefine It.

The term “rock bottom” is thrown around quite a bit and not just in the recovery community. It is used as a colloquial term to describe something, usually an individual, who has come to the end of their rope with an experience. This now commonly used phrase evokes an imagery of someone who is beaten down - physically, mentally and emotionally. Ask yourself this, when you hear that someone has hit “rock bottom,” where does your mind go? I think for most people, it immediately goes to the worst situation they can conjur. 


I have read several articles recently positing that the idea of “rock bottom” or “hitting bottom” has kept people from getting help. From what I can digest in these articles, “rock bottom” seems to be a barrier to people getting help early on, particularly for substance use. I wanted to write on this topic as I have some mixed feelings about the term, the experience of hitting bottom and what it means for me. My hope is this can educate those who have a particular view about the term and just perhaps, start an important conversation. 


If there is one thing I hope you take away here it would be this:


I think we need to redefine the concept of rock bottom, not lose it altogether.


Almost 7 years ago I had my own individual experience with rock bottom. For me, it was an experience of extreme sadness, loneliness and struggle with substances. I did not like who I was anymore when I looked in the mirror and the people closest to me did not like it either. I was truly “sick and tired of being sick and tired.” I never wish for anyone to experience something like that. 


However, for me, I needed the experience. If it wasn’t for my own rock bottom, I would have kept on the same path. I never would have gotten help and my subsequent recovery would have never materialized. That bottom became the beginning of my freedom and would become the firm foundation that my recovery and the rest of my life now sits on. 


What I mean by that is this - it became my motivation to continue to take steps to better myself and my life so that I would never experience it again. Rock bottom ended up allowing me to have a cognitive shift - I was able to recognize that what I was doing and how I was behaving was not only destructive to me, but to everyone around me as well. 


From both my own lived experience and the experience of speaking with many people who have found recovery, I believe that everyone needs to have
their own version of a bottom. I think this is where the wires have been crossed a bit. 


One thing that I very much agree with is that someone does not need to be in dire straits to get help for a substance use disorder or get help with anything for that matter.


There is nothing that says an individual needs to be transient in order to finally get the help that they want and deserve.  Rock bottom is subjective to every single person. It is the point where you begin questioning your relationship to a substance and the behaviors/emotions/feelings that both precede and follow the use of it. 


Recently, the actress, Zendaya, posted a statement regarding the journey of her character in the show Euphoria. In the statement, she points to her character “Rue,” and the experience of her addiction, hitting rock bottom and journey of recovery. What I took away from the message is that there is hope - hope for someone struggling. As well, it reminded me of the importance of listening to understand rather than listening to respond. 


I believe that the misnomer of the dire rock bottom tends to be exacerbated by people not understanding what is happening for their friend or loved one. “Come on! You don’t have a problem with alcohol; you drink like everyone else!” “Just stop doing it, I can stop whenever I want, you should be able to also!” I cannot imagine how crushing that must be to hear for someone who is in the midst of a struggle and/or questioning their relationship to alcohol, who just does not feel good about drinking regardless of what it looks like to everyone else. 


Rock bottom no longer needs to be synonymous with someone who has lost housing, lost employment, or family or friends.


If you know someone who has come to you and verbalized that they are struggling, in ANY fashion, be an open ear to listen and really hear what they are saying. If they cannot see what is happening for them, help them with kindness to understand and be with them with healthy support so that they can get the help they deserve. 


By Megan Miller, CAC 29 Oct, 2024
I grew up full of fear. Everything terrified me. I never felt comfortable in my own skin. It wasn’t until I started smoking pot at 14—because I was too afraid to stand up to peer pressure—that I finally felt a sense of freedom and relaxation for the first time. I chased that high for the next 16 years. Somehow, I managed to graduate college with an OxyContin addiction, and after that, with nothing tethering me to the real world, things got a lot worse. I went to detox for the first of many times in 2005. I left there thinking I wasn’t an addict and that my use had just gotten out of control. That denial kept me in and out of treatment for the next decade. Heroin became my entire life. I couldn’t hold a job, I overdosed, I got Hepatitis C from sharing needles, and I didn’t care about anything except getting high. I was so full of shame at what my life had become, but I just couldn’t stop. I was great at trying to stop, but I couldn’t stay stopped. The gift of desperation came to me in April 2012. I couldn’t keep living the way I was. I finally wanted to live instead of die. That compulsion to use left me when I finally surrendered to it. Today, I wake up grateful for the life I have. My 6-year-old daughter is the greatest joy of my life, and she has never seen me use. Today, with the support of my wonderful husband, my family, and my recovery network, I live a full life of joy and purpose. There is no more rewarding feeling in the world than sharing the gift of recovery with others.
By Dave Aumiller, CPS, NCPRSS 03 Sep, 2024
Overdose. It’s a word that catches in my throat and a topic that stops me in my tracks. As a person in long-term recovery from Alcohol Use Disorder (AUD) and Substance Use Disorder (SUD), I have overdosed many times. I have been revived by paramedics three times. Waking up in a hospital bed with no idea how I got there—scared. Or in the back of an ambulance, sick and angry for being Narcaned, a crazed hostage of my addicted mind. Or in a front yard, soaking wet from someone throwing me in a cold shower, unsuccessfully trying to revive me before leaving me outside—confused. These experiences don’t account for the countless times I have overdosed and been revived by a concerned party—now scarred by the trauma of my disease in its final stage, trying to carry out its final act, resulting in an untimely death. Overdose. After all of this, it was the kindness and care of others that made the difference between another chance and another day. Another dose of hope and life. An opportunity to begin again. On a day like today, reflecting on a topic that is so close to the heart of everyone connected to this reality, I am grateful. I am hopeful. I am humble. Because I know how lucky I am. How undeserving I was. And I live my amends and gratitude by doing my best to embody and live the values of a recovery that works. I also keep close to my heart, at the forefront of my mind, and on the tip of my tongue, the names of the countless others who weren’t as lucky as I. In honor of Overdose Awareness Day, I will say the names of my friends who weren’t fortunate enough to receive as many chances as I did, and I will live in their names—sober today and willing to extend a hand to anyone who needs it in their journey to recover and spread hope to both the sufferer and the caregiver.  Today, let us remember those we have lost, cherish the moments we have been given, and continue to fight for a future where overdose is a distant memory. Together, we can make a difference. Together, we can spread hope.
By Shannon Schwoeble, CPS 29 Aug, 2024
I was devastated when I heard that another close friend I'd made in treatment was gone. Seven friends in my first six months—two had come into treatment, left, and passed away while I was still there. In the years that followed, many others who had walked this path alongside me were lost as well. Nine in my first year of recovery. I found myself asking, "Why am I still here? Why didn’t they ‘get it’?"  Survivor’s guilt was not something I expected to experience in recovery. It hit me hard and fast when I began my journey in 2011. I was terrified. I would sit and think about friends I had just seen or spoken to—did they seem different? Did they sound off? I was so scared of who I would lose next. Through my work with a therapist and finding my own voice, I learned to transform my survivor's guilt into hope. I realized that by using my voice, sharing my story, saying their names, and talking about the profound impact each of them had on me—in life and in death—I could help others understand that recovery is possible. Perhaps, something I share will give someone struggling a glimmer of hope that they, too, can find recovery. On Overdose Awareness Day, August 31, we remember and honor those we've lost to this devastating disease. In loving memory of Ben, Pat, Krista, Harry, Christina, Brook, Dustin, Jeff, Jamie, and everyone we have lost—you are remembered and loved, today and every day.
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