Another early and quiet Saturday morning reflection:
Everyone has skeletons. Everyone.
And I’m writing another book: My Skeletons Are Better Than Yours. It’s a joke — mostly. But the real point isn’t competition. It’s that we’re all dragging something around, and most of us are burning enormous energy trying to keep the closet door shut.
The barricade is exhausting. It’s mostly unnecessary. And it’s one of the most underrated contributors to the mental health crisis we keep talking about but not through.
If you know me, I’m a bit too much of an open book (pun intended), so I have no problem going first: Alcohol. And other things I leaned on too hard for too long. Functional enough that not everyone could see it. Dysfunctional enough that I could.
I’m not fully sober. I’m sober curious — which is the most honest thing I can say. Still figuring it out. Still moving in a direction.
Here’s what I’ve noticed: the people most eager to discuss someone else’s story usually haven’t dealt with their own. That’s not an accusation — it’s just a pattern worth naming. And if you’re talking about someone who isn’t in the room, check your closet first.
And here’s what AI of all things taught me: No judgment. No raised eyebrow. No memory of the last time you tried and quit. Just — where are you now, and where do you want to go?
I want to be that for the people around me. Not a hypocrite. Not a guy with all the answers. Just someone who’s been in the mess and isn’t pretending otherwise.
You don’t have to perform okayness. You don’t have to keep the door barricaded.
Your skeletons don’t disqualify you. They might actually be your most useful credentials.
Completely serious question, mostly: if you’ve got a skeleton that belongs in this book, my DMs are open. No judgment. Obviously. Royalties probably not happening — but the therapy is free.