Volume 4: Writing, Recovery and the Fear of Saying Too Much

I’ve Been Doing This a Long Time

I’ve been sharing my story publicly for a long time. My first taste of blogging came in 2006 when I was playing for the Swift Current Broncos. Back then I thought I was being vulnerable. Looking back I was just a kid writing surface level stuff. It felt bold at the time but compared to what I share now it was nothing.

Even then I knew the power of telling my story. Words could connect. Words could help. But at 18 or 19 I didn’t have the life experience or the courage to go very deep.

Writing as Survival

Even as a kid I prided myself on having the smallest, neatest handwriting in my class. I’ve always written small and tidy. During the darkest years of my life that habit turned into a lifeline. In jail I filled notebook after notebook with that tiny, neat handwriting because I wanted to fit as much as I could onto each page. Writing was my escape and my therapy. It was the only way I could make sense of my pain and keep myself alive. Those pages were never meant for anyone else to see. They were my lifeline.

From Words to a Microphone

Even though I’d been writing for years the place where I really started getting vulnerable wasn’t on paper. It was with my podcast and my social posts starting in 2020. That’s when I stopped hiding behind tiny handwriting in a notebook and started speaking openly. The microphone and the camera forced me to tell the truth out loud. That’s when the connection with people deepened and it also made the fear of saying too much very real.

Blogging When I Had Nothing to Lose

Fast forward a few years. I was coming out of jail. I had no hope, no money, no job, no friends. Ten years of scraping bottom. Writing at that time felt completely different because there was no reputation to protect. Vulnerability didn’t scare me because I had nothing left to lose. That was when I really started opening up about addiction, trauma and pain. I wasn’t thinking about brand or career or opportunities. I just wanted to get the poison out of me and maybe help one person who was going through something similar.

Blogging Now With Something to Lose

Today my life looks very different. I work with kids. I train NHL players. I speak in schools. I’m about to step into a new pro level opportunity that I haven’t even announced yet. I’m living what I once only dreamed of.

And now with each blog post a different kind of fear creeps in. I’ve already deleted one post in this very series after over 300 people had read it because I panicked. I thought I shouldn’t have said that. That’s not an isolated incident. It happens more than people think. It’s not sharing about me that scares me. It’s sharing things that involve others. My kids. Their other parent. People I’ve coached. People who wronged me. That’s where the fear lives. Because I don’t drink even casually I sometimes feel left out. It can seem like people are tiptoeing around me. Those moments still trigger old feelings of self loathing and low self worth. The same struggles I try to help others face are still alive in me too. And while my social media might make my life look incredible and in many ways it is the reality is that I still struggle. There are weeks when I don’t know how I’m going to pay our bills. I’m still grinding every day. I share this not for pity but in the hope it encourages someone reading this to understand that even when life looks great from the outside there can still be battles on the inside.

The Internal Battle

My self dialogue has been nasty my whole life. It’s improved but I still have a long way to go. I’ve built a public persona of resilience and redemption but I’m still fighting with myself. Still wrestling with the voice that says you’re going to blow it. People will rethink you. You’ll lose everything if you’re too real.

It’s an exhausting push and pull. Protect your opportunities or be authentic. Play it safe or tell the truth.

Recovery Not Sober

One part of my story that sparks mixed reactions is how I describe my recovery. I don’t call myself sober. I call myself in recovery. I use plant medicine for mental illness. The recovery community is divided on that. Some accept it. Some don’t. But I know what my life looks like today. No fentanyl. No needles. No crime. No chaos. An incredible life compared to before. For me recovery isn’t about fitting someone else’s definition. It’s about honesty, growth, accountability and helping others. It’s about living in a way that is healthy and sustainable even if it looks different from the next person’s path. I plan to talk more about this in next week’s post. Early recovery was full of lessons, some beautiful and some brutal. My very first time sharing at an AA meeting was one of the hardest. I was 21 or 22, nervous and desperate, and when I mentioned drugs an old timer cut me off and basically made me feel like a piece of garbage because he was an “alcoholic” and I was a “drug addict.” Alcohol is a drug period. The way he handled it left me embarrassed, ashamed and mad. I never wanted to go back. That experience almost pushed me away from recovery completely. There are so many people out there right now feeling exactly what I felt then. That is why I share these things. Because recovery is messy. It’s human. And even the bad experiences can become fuel for growth.

Vulnerability Is Strength

When I first started my only hope was to help one person. That’s still my anchor today. I’m learning to let go and accept that if an opportunity gets turned away from me because I’m too real or because I say it like it is then that’s not the opportunity for me. People can pretend they don’t have skeletons, fears or messiness but that’s not reality. Every time I hit publish now my hands still shake. My heart still races. But I choose to believe that vulnerability is strength and that honesty matters more than a polished reputation.

This Week’s Fight

This week’s fight isn’t against an opponent on the ice. It’s against myself. Against the fear of saying too much. Against the temptation to play it safe.

I’m still working on my self talk. I’m still scared. But I’m also still here still writing still choosing vulnerability. Because if my story can reach one person who feels lost or ashamed then it’s worth it. If you’re reading this and you’re scared to share your own truth know that you’re not alone. Vulnerability isn’t easy. It’s scary and uncomfortable and sometimes it costs you. But it’s also where healing lives. This is me taking five minutes for fighting myself and once again choosing to fight by telling the truth.

A Note From Puck Support

Part of my mission to turn pain into purpose is through Puck Support. We use the game we love to start conversations about mental health and recovery. If you want to learn more about what we’re doing visit pucksupport.com. Together we can prove that vulnerability is strength and that no one has to suffer in silence.

Love Brady do