03/11/2025
To all of my friends and colleagues in the helping professions, Please take a minute to read this short email I received from our friend John Egan with Futures Recovery Healthcare. It is a great reminder for all of us.
John Egan
Mon, Mar 10, 7:27 AM (1 day ago)
to me
In 2007, I hit the end of my road. Not figuratively—literally. I was homeless, strung out on the streets of Phoenix, a shell of the person I once thought I’d become. Addiction had taken everything: my dignity, my relationships, my sense of self. I was a cautionary tale, but I didn’t know it then. Back then, I was just trying to survive the next hour. Recovery wasn’t a straight line—it was a jagged, messy climb—but I made it out. Today, I’m here writing this, because I learned a lesson that too many of us forget: we have to keep asking for help.
My wife is a licensed clinician, a helper in the truest sense. Every day, she carries the weight of others’ crises—clients teetering on the edge, families unraveling, stories that would break most people. I see the stress etched into her quiet moments, the way she pours herself into her work because that’s who she is. She’s brilliant at it, but brilliance comes at a cost. I’ve watched her wrestle with the unspoken expectation that helpers are supposed to have it all together, that their own struggles should take a backseat to the people they serve. It’s a trap I know too well, and one that snares so many in this field. Behavioral healthcare attracts people who feel deeply, who want to fix what’s broken in the world. Often, they’re drawn to it because of their own wounds—scars they’ve turned into tools to lift others up. But here’s the irony: in the relentless focus on helping, they forget themselves. I’ve seen it time and again—those who bury their own pain under the noble banner of service, only to crumble when it catches up. Addiction creeps in. Mental health frays. The helper becomes the one in crisis, and too often, no one sees it until it’s too late.
Last week, we lost a “giant” in the field—a well-known psychologist who’d spent decades guiding others through their darkness. To so many, he was a beacon, a leader who seemed untouchable. But addiction doesn’t care about credentials or legacies. His passing shook the community, not just because of who he was, but because it laid bare a truth we don’t talk about enough: even the strongest among us can fall. It’s heartbreaking that it takes a crisis—a death, a breakdown, a rock-bottom moment like mine—for us to pause and put our own lives into perspective. I’m not here to preach from some high horse. My journey through recovery taught me I’m never “fixed.” I’m a work in progress, and that’s okay. What’s not okay is the silence around helpers needing help. We’ve got to normalize it. If I can stand up and say I’ve been to the bottom—homeless, hopeless, and lost—and still ask for support nearly two decades later, then so can the clinicians, the social workers, the advocates. My wife shouldn’t have to carry her stress alone because she’s the one with the license. That psychologist didn’t have to suffer in secret because he was the expert. We’re human first, helpers second.
This is my call to action: let’s stop waiting for the crisis. If you’re in this field, don’t let your struggles fester until they swallow you whole. Ask for help—today, tomorrow, always. Talk to a friend, a therapist, a Higher Power, whoever keeps you grounded. Set boundaries, not just for your clients, but for yourself. And if you’re not in the field, check on the helpers in your life. They’re not invincible, even if they act like it. I made it off the streets in 2007 because people didn’t give up on me, and I didn’t stop reaching out. My wife keeps going because we hold each other up. We’re all in this together—helpers and helped alike. Let’s never forget, Dan
Discover Futures Recovery Healthcare, a luxury addiction treatment center in Tequesta, FL, offering personalized addiction and mental health treatments for lasting recovery.
