In the military there are honorable discharges and dishonorable discharges. In therapy, it turns out, there is a third option, called an administrative discharge. It is the beige of discharges. Today I received one. And you know what? I am okay with it.
Not because I do not believe in therapy. Quite the opposite. I have spent enough time in treatment to understand its value. I have learned things about myself I probably would not have learned any other way, a few of which I would have preferred not to learn at all. I have met extraordinary people, heard extraordinary stories, and discovered that some of the strongest people on earth are the ones willing to admit they need help. I am in that group. I just took the long way to the meeting.
But eventually you have to leave the cocoon. A cocoon is a wonderful place for a caterpillar. It is protected and structured. The outside world cannot interfere much with what is happening inside. But a butterfly that never leaves the cocoon is not much of a butterfly. It is just a very well-adjusted caterpillar.
For months my life revolved around treatment, recovery, appointments, meetings, and the sometimes exhausting business of getting better. I am grateful for much of it. Here is the paradox, though. At some point the very structure designed to help you rebuild your life can start keeping you from rebuilding it.
When you are expected to attend therapy from 9 a.m. to 3 p.m. every weekday, that leaves precious little time for everything else life demands. Earning a living. Rebuilding a business. Recovering from surgery. Dealing with legal matters. Maintaining a home, paying bills, repairing relationships, and addressing the mountain of responsibilities that did not politely disappear while I was away. I checked. The mountain was right where I left it, and it had grown.
Life does not stop because you are in therapy. The mortgage company does not say, Take your time, we understand you are working on yourself. The courts do not suspend their calendars, although mine has been remarkably flexible in other ways. The surgeon does not reschedule your recovery. The world keeps spinning, and it does not ask how you are feeling about it.
The official reason for my discharge was attendance inconsistencies. I understand that. Attendance matters in a structured program. I have been told I was inconsistent before, by teachers, bandmates, and at least one former employer, so this was not exactly breaking news. But I also believe the decision was mutual in every way that matters. The program needed a level of attendance I could no longer consistently provide. I needed the freedom to handle responsibilities that could not wait. Neither of those realities makes the other one wrong.
Maybe the program had served its purpose for this season. Maybe the next phase of recovery needs to happen somewhere other than a classroom. That does not mean I am finished growing. Good grief. I am just getting started. I am fifty-seven and still on the first few chapters of the textbook.
I still need accountability. I still need fellowship. I still need people who will tell me the truth, especially when I do not want to hear it, which is most of the time. And I still need God. Especially God. He has not issued me any kind of discharge, administrative or otherwise. He seems to be running a program with very relaxed attendance requirements and no graduation date.
Recovery cannot be measured only by the number of hours spent sitting in a chair talking about recovery. At some point it has to become something you practice while living. Can you face disappointment without falling apart? Can you handle conflict without creating more of it? Can you accept responsibility without drowning in shame? Can you forgive people who have hurt you? Can you get up tomorrow, do the next right thing, and keep moving? Those are exams the real world gives every day, and there is not always a therapist in the room when the test starts. There is rarely even a proctor. Usually there is just a bill and a ringing phone.
I do not want to confuse being discharged with being cured. Those are very different things. I also do not want to pretend that leaving a structured program means I no longer need support. It means I need to take more responsibility for finding that support while taking part in the world I am trying to rejoin. That is harder than showing up to a room at 9 a.m. In the room, somebody else has already put out the chairs.
Jesus did not spend His ministry hiding from the brokenness of the world. He walked straight into it. He ate with sinners, touched lepers, confronted hypocrisy, and met suffering wherever He found it. He did not build a cocoon around the people He came to save. He called them to follow Him, and following requires movement.
When He healed the man by the pool of Bethesda, He said, Rise, take up thy bed, and walk. Notice what He did not say. He did not say, Stay here until every problem in your life has been resolved. He did not say, Attend this pool from nine to three, Monday through Friday. He said walk. Of course, not everyone is ready to walk at the same time. Some people need more treatment, more protection, more time. There is no shame in that, and I would never tell anyone otherwise. But for me, today marks another transition.
I have a business to build, a body to heal, legal responsibilities to face, relationships to repair where possible, and a home to manage. And I have a life that, despite everything, remains a remarkable gift. Some days it is a gift I would like to exchange for store credit. Most days I am just grateful it came at all.
So was my discharge honorable or dishonorable? Neither. It was administrative. A little anticlimactic, really. Nobody played taps. But maybe the most important discharge is not the one written on paper. Maybe it is the moment you realize that getting better and getting on with your life are not supposed to be competing objectives. They are supposed to be the same journey. The cocoon served its purpose. Now it is time to learn how to fly, or at least how to flap with some dignity.
“Jesus saith unto him, Rise, take up thy bed, and walk.”
John 5:8 (KJV)
— JC
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