Editor’s note: The following is an excerpt from “Sober from Sin: A Law Enforcement Veteran’s Journey to Unraveling Addiction and Faith” by Jeff Fields. This book is a poignant memoir detailing Fields’ journey from the depths of alcoholism to the embrace of sobriety, entwined with a search for spiritual and personal redemption. Reflecting on a two-decade career and the struggles with addiction, he delves into the complexities of navigating addiction while working in law enforcement.
The completion of a career
In the twilight of my career, it all seems like a hazy blur. There were stretches of sustained sobriety, but they were inevitably followed by harrowing descents into intoxication. During these downward spirals, chunks of time slipped through my memory like sand, leaving me clueless about the events of the week before, let alone the day before. This added a challenging layer to my work where I had always prided myself on being a reliable agent who stayed on top of things. My indifferent approach to my federal career transformed me into a zombie, rendering my workdays as robotic routines devoid of meaning— a cycle I no longer wished to endure.
This mental struggle didn’t confine itself to the workplace; it spilled into my home life as well. On my way home from work each day I would make pit stops to consume as many drinks as possible, aiming for a buzz that would hold me over for a few hours. This strategy was an attempt to drink less at home because I had to hide my alcohol consumption. However, towards the end, nothing was discreet anymore. Bottles and cans strategically hidden around the house were anything but concealed, as my inebriated state made me sloppy. It was almost as if I subconsciously wanted my wife to witness the chaos, as my lack of subtlety became a silent plea for help.
Unfortunately, my wife had reached a decision to leave me. Exhausted and uncertain about what to do, she bore the weight of the last seven years on her shoulders. Her face revealed the toll of internalizing everything. No longer waking up with the hope of a better day, she began her mornings with the fear of finding me lifeless beside her. Desperately trying to shield our daughter from the harsh reality of addiction, she endured the exhausting task of maintaining a façade of normalcy in our home. This included hiding wet bed sheets where I had urinated, often while our daughter slept next to us.
Attempts to get sober were agonizing withdrawal episodes spent in bed, drenched in sweat, and grappling with blood pressure readings that would alarm any doctor. The severity of my shakes was such that the prospect of detoxing alone was enough to dissuade me from quitting. The sheer terror of enduring the pain and suffering associated with withdrawal became a barrier.
In my quest for relief, I sought medications from doctors, hoping they would alleviate the brutal symptoms of withdrawal. However, these pills were sparingly prescribed, as the medications themselves carried the risk of addiction. I went through a carousel of prescriptions, ranging from injections to pills, all in an attempt to quell my cravings. Sadly, none of them seemed to work. I even experimented with medications that induced violent sickness upon the consumption of alcohol, only to find myself still drinking while on the medication — a risky act that could prove fatal.
My resistance extended to the administration of these medications, especially when my wife was involved. It’s disheartening to acknowledge that during those challenging times, I resorted to covertly replacing prescribed pills with similar-looking supplements or slyly concealing them between my cheek and gums, all while being observed by my wife as I purportedly took them. She always had a hopeful look in her eyes when I pretended to take those medications. With sober eyes now, looking back, this troubles me. She wanted me back but I was deceiving her. This deceptive behavior reflects the internal struggle I faced, attempting to outsmart not just the medications but also the support system around me. It highlights the depth of my resistance and the complexity of the battle inside of me, a battle that required a more profound internal shift to overcome.
My decision to quit had to come from within, regardless of the anticipated pain and discomfort. There was a lesson to be learned. This was the juncture where I recognized that I really needed to lean on something bigger than me. That something was God. In my journey, I discerned that God was the only force truly big enough for this task. Embracing faith became the keystone of my recovery, providing the strength and guidance necessary to navigate the difficult path toward sobriety. Turning to God was pivotal in transcending the limitations of my own willpower and finding a source of resilience beyond my understanding.
In the final months of my federal career, the pain in my neck from two surgeries intensified. The reality was that I never allowed my neck to heal properly after those surgeries, consistently relying on alcohol as a coping mechanism during each recovery period. This, coupled with numerous falls down stairs, walkways, and out of cars, took a toll on my body. The pain in my neck became a justification for drinking more, an attempt to numb the throbbing arthritic pain. However, I would often wake up in more pain because of the awkward positions in which I had passed out.
The physical toll extended to my ability to perform my duties at work. Wearing my bullet-resistant vest, holding my rifle for extended periods, and sitting at my desk became increasingly painful. I feared that if I got into a physical altercation with a suspect, I ran the risk of becoming paralyzed. Simultaneously, my internal organs began to fail. Elevated liver enzymes signaled potential damage, and my stomach and esophagus were raw, as I often would see trace amounts of blood. I vividly remember violently throwing up inside my truck after pathetically consuming cans of hard seltzer first thing in the morning. I would then clean up the mess and attempt to drink more because I knew I just needed to drink through the discomfort in order to feel right.
My pattern of drinking in parking lots during workdays left me running out of discreet places to go. I needed places where I could pass out drunk in my government car without attracting much attention, allowing me to fabricate excuses about my activities for the day, knowing that no one was actively seeking me out.
In hindsight, the situation was the opposite while in uniform, on patrol, where accountability and visibility were paramount. My current position became a perfect storm, exacerbating the consequences of my actions.
I continued to seek help from various therapists who helped me identify root causes but fell short in teaching me how to navigate through my issues. In retrospect, I questioned whether it was their responsibility to teach me. Ultimately, I came to realize that this was my burden to bear, and sobriety wasn’t something others could achieve for me — only God could provide that power.
They often say that drinking becomes a problem when it becomes unmanageable. It’s not just about the unmanageability of drinking itself; it extends to the overall unmanageability of one’s life. When a substance or behavior reaches a point where it makes life unmanageable, it becomes a significant issue. Each person experiences their unique rock bottom, and recovery programs emphasize the importance of refraining from judgment when understanding others’ rock bottoms.
For me, this was my rock bottom. It wasn’t the culmination of events like my wife kicking me out, multiple rehab stints, DUIs, work-related troubles, health problems, or near-death experiences. My rock bottom was the realization that I was sick and tired of being sick and tired. I was tired of living a life of deception, constantly looking over my shoulder, and no longer being useful to society, my family, or myself. It was the acknowledgment that alcohol was no longer sufficient for me. It wasn’t solving the problem. I realized that the guilt and shame I experienced every day were impeding my progress. It was seeing the innocent pain in my daughter’s eyes. The pain I could only recognize when I was sober, but yet still felt nothing. It was about me breaking the cycle for the sake of my daughter’s future and the future of others. I yearned to submit to God and find a deeper sense of purpose. This realization marked a turning point, motivating me to seek a path of recovery and renewal.
In the waning days of my 22-year law enforcement career, I realized I needed to part ways with the career I had devoted so much of my life. Despite the swirl of newfound insights in my mind, this decision wasn’t easy; I needed a clear sign to step away. Providentially, God, who had been guiding me all along, orchestrated the perfect circumstances for my departure, and for once, I listened. I needed to give up something I loved in order to fulfill my obligations to God. I was of no use anymore to law enforcement, and it was of no use to me.
With unsteady faith, I made the difficult choice to leave behind the career that had defined a quarter of my life. The harsh reality of everything being lost proved difficult to accept. Reflecting on it, the enjoyment and camaraderie had vanished years ago. No more high-speed pursuits, fights, or arrests, none of which I had engaged in for years. The excitement of early morning search warrants, breaking down doors, sifting through people’s belongings, and chasing criminals through houses was now a thing of the past. The perceived authority, the thrill of driving fast with immunity from tickets, and the perks like flying armed and obtaining government rates at hotels — were all gone.
But did all this matter? What I didn’t realize yet was that I was exchanging the temporary for the permanent.
About the author
Jeff Fields is a former law enforcement veteran with over two decades of experience at the local and federal levels, specializing in public safety and Homeland Security matters. He has conducted highly sensitive and publicized internal investigations with the government, earning recognition for his cases. Jeff is a passionate advocate for addiction recovery within the law enforcement community. Visit thejefffields.com to learn more.