A Look Into the Past: Pat's Journey Through Music, Addiction, and Recovery

A Look Into the Past: Pat's Journey Through Music, Addiction, and Recovery

Some of life’s most defining moments don’t arrive with a whisper—they come crashing down, leaving behind a mess of destruction and rubble. Often, we believe we walk away unscathed, but later, we find a small, sharp rock in our shoe. A lingering reminder of where we have been and what we have endured. My story is about learning to name these rocks, making peace with my past, and finding a way forward.

Chasing a Dream

Music was my first love. It was more than just a passion—it was my identity. I had three piano scholarships going into college and majored in piano performance, a field not known for its financial security, but one that filled my soul. It gave me purpose, structure, and a reason to push myself beyond my limits.

In the fall of 1987, I moved to Nashville, Tennessee, with my wife at the time, Tricia. Nashville was the heart of the music industry, and I was determined to make my mark. Over time, I secured two different publishing deals as a songwriter, traveling to nearly every corner of the United States and more than 15 countries worldwide. On the surface, I was living the dream—pursuing my passion, making connections, and carving out a name for myself.

But beneath the surface, there was another narrative unfolding—one that would take years to fully acknowledge.

The Weight of Expectations

I grew up in a strict, conservative religious environment where I was taught precisely what God approved of and what He didn’t. I was given a clear definition of righteousness, which left little room for error. The standards were high, and my self-worth was inextricably tied to my ability to meet them.

Anxiety and perfectionism became my closest companions. I pushed myself relentlessly, afraid of falling short, terrified of not being “good enough.” This mindset shaped my entire approach to life—every note I played, every lyric I wrote, every performance I gave was a desperate attempt to prove my worth. I never stopped to ask myself who I was beyond my achievements.

Looking back, I now realize how much of my success was fueled by an underlying sense of inadequacy. I wasn't just chasing a dream; I was running from the fear of not being enough.

A Budding Relationship with Alcohol

The first time I drank alcohol, I was 13 years old. My parents had gone to a Christmas party, leaving behind a bottle of bourbon they had been given as a gift. They didn’t drink, so they hid it in the pantry, assuming it would remain untouched.

Curiosity got the best of me. I mixed the bourbon with 7UP and took a sip. The sweet aroma of the soda bubbles combined with the deep, smoky scent of the bourbon was intoxicating. After only a few sips, I felt something I had never felt before—peace.

For the first time in my life, I wasn’t anxious. I wasn’t worried about being perfect. I wasn’t weighed down by expectations, fear, or the gnawing sense of inadequacy. I felt free.

As an adult, I considered myself a social drinker, even when my drinking started to result in unpredictable consequences. I justified my behavior, telling myself it was normal. But in reality, alcohol had become my escape, a way to manage pain I couldn’t bring myself to acknowledge. The rocks in my shoe were piling up, and I was blind to the weight they carried.

A Life-Altering Diagnosis

While I continued to drink, my wife Tricia began experiencing unexplained symptoms—numbness, vision problems, fatigue, and increasing clumsiness. At first, the symptoms were sporadic, but they worsened over time. Eventually, we received a devastating diagnosis: Tricia had early-onset multiple sclerosis (MS).

As her condition progressed, so did my drinking.

MS is a cruel disease. It took Tricia from using a cane to a walker, then to a wheelchair, and eventually to a hospital bed, where she spent the last seven years of her life. I left my life on the road to take a staff position as a music director at our church, ensuring I could be home to care for her and our children.

Being a caregiver is a heavy burden, especially when the person you love is slipping away, day by day. The grief was relentless, but it wasn’t just about Tricia’s illness. I was also grieving the loss of the life we had planned together, the dreams we had built, and the version of myself I once knew.

Rather than face that pain, I drank. It became my shield, my crutch, my way of numbing the unbearable reality. What started as social drinking had become something much darker. The blackouts, the hangovers, the injuries—they all became a part of my daily existence. And with every drink, I sank deeper into isolation, shame, and despair.

Hitting Rock Bottom

There comes a moment in every addict’s life when the illusion of control shatters. For me, that moment came after one too many bad nights.

A close friend of mine, who had been in recovery, had been offering to help me for months. Eventually, I had no choice but to accept. I agreed to meet with him, and that conversation led to him taking me—against my protests—to my first 12-step meeting.

That meeting marked the beginning of my real life. A life without alcohol. A life without hiding.

I had always believed that adversity changes you, but I was wrong. Adversity doesn’t change your beliefs—it reveals them. Sobriety forced me to face everything I had spent years running from. I came to understand that my addiction wasn’t about alcohol; it was about unprocessed pain, unrealistic expectations, and a desperate need to escape myself.

Emptying Out the Rocks

Today, I keep one tiny pebble in my shoe—the pebble of awareness. It serves as a reminder that, left to my own devices, I am capable of falling back into old patterns. This pebble keeps me connected—to myself, to others, and to something greater than myself.

In my recovery, I made a career change at 55 years old. I became a Certified Professional Recovery Coach, working in private practice in the Greater Nashville area. It’s a career that allows me to take everything I’ve learned and use it to help others who are walking a similar path.

We lost Tricia in 2013 due to complications from MS. The pain of losing her was immense, but thanks to my recovery, I didn’t believe I had to drink to survive it. I faced it, I grieved, and I continued forward.

Recovery has given me more than just sobriety—it has given me a life I can live fully and authentically. A life where I no longer need to run or hide. A life where I can embrace each day with gratitude.

A Message to Those Who Are Struggling

If you or someone you love is battling addiction, know this: you are not alone. There are resources available, and there is a path forward. If you’re ready to take that first step, don’t do it alone. Reach out to a treatment provider, find a support group, and surround yourself with people who will walk this journey with you.

Freedom is possible. I know because I found it. And so can you.