My story starts in Madison, Wisconsin, where I grew up in a close-knit family. For us, laughter was the biggest constant, but alcohol was never very far behind.
Though it may not come as a shock that a boisterous Irish family from Wisconsin had some issues with drinking, it all seemed normal at the time. It was a part of the Farley fabric.
Later, as a student at Georgetown University in Washington, I was oblivious to the problems drinking began to usher into my life. In college, there was no distinction between the school week and the weekend. Every night was Friday night, and I could always find a drinking buddy.
I was surrounded by extremely intelligent people, and I felt like I just didn’t belong there. As the feelings of self-doubt and fear grew, the only way I could manage them was to drink.
Meanwhile, I wasn’t the only Farley who was hiding darkness and loneliness under a friendly exterior. One of the hardest parts of my life was watching my brother Chris battle substance abuse, eventually leading to his tragic death.
When Chris began his path to stardom through “Saturday Night Live,” I was also working in New York City, and neither of us knew a thing about mental health or addiction. But in hindsight, the link between loneliness, mental health and addiction should’ve been painfully clear; both Chris and I could stand in the middle of a crowded room and feel more isolated than we’ve ever been in our lives.
As a family, we avoided addressing the topic of alcohol at all, fearful of what truths it would reveal. From the start, it was easy for us to look at Chris and say, “Well, we’re not that bad,” or see it as just his problem. Deep down I’m sure that we all felt that being honest about Chris’s drinking would mean we also had to be honest about our own issues. But no one was ready to go there.
Our awareness of alcohol and its effect on our family did grow somewhat. But so too did the shame and stigma. As Chris’s celebrity status increased, we all felt a need to protect him (and also ourselves, the family). We either didn’t talk about it or created our own narrative around it.
Outside recovery resources were few and far between, with parents relying on word-of-mouth (“a friend said you should go to this place”) or a family doctor who had no real insight into the deeper issues at play. Chris couldn’t get all the help that he needed. This led to a tragic end.
When Chris died, I wanted to help others and fight the stigma around addiction by telling Chris’s story. But this also allowed me to continue avoiding my own issues with alcohol. With Chris gone, drinking was causing train wrecks in my own life. On one level, I believed that telling Chris’s story could help others. But I also was dealing with a lot of pain and grief over his loss.
I was able to remain sober for a few long stretches of time while I was speaking about Chris. For a long time, I was sober but not in recovery, and telling Chris’s story but not my own. A cycle began in which I’d stop drinking for long periods of time, go to meetings, look at other people and say, “That person drinks more than me, so I don’t belong here.” It would only be a matter of time before I told myself, “You’ve been sober five years, so you’re OK to have a beer or glass of wine.”
Becoming a father forced me to look more closely at my relationship with alcohol. I wanted to do everything in my power to make sure my kids didn’t end up with the same casual relationship with alcohol that Chris and I had growing up.
The moment during this period that struck me was when I first heard the term “rigorous honesty.” When I heard that, I started working to be a more authentic person. It became clear that my alcoholism was driven by my inability to manage my emotions, which I covered up with humor.
In my family, humor was how we communicated everything. If someone was sad, we laughed. If someone was angry or frustrated, we laughed. If someone was experiencing joy or love, we laughed. The upside is that we all got very good at humor. (Obviously, Chris got very, very good at it.) So, for me, finding my authentic self started by understanding some pretty basic human emotions and associating the right ones with how I was feeling.
Though recovery didn’t solve every problem, I did start to see my life get better.
From there, I made it my life’s work to help others. I began by speaking out and supporting people through community service, serving on the Dane County Human Services board in Madison and the boards of several nonprofits, advocating for comprehensive social services and support systems.
In 1999, I established The Chris Farley Foundation, a tribute to my late brother, focusing on harnessing the power of humor to create engaging educational programs on substance abuse prevention for young people.
I became a professional relations coordinator for Rosecrance Behavioral Health in Wisconsin, championing prevention and recovery through initiatives promoting mental wellness and substance abuse prevention.
Now I have come full circle, having gone from being someone who had no idea where to look for help to becoming the community outreach director for Recovery.com, where I spend my days focused on helping others find the right help for them. This has been a meaningful next step in both my personal journey and the broader mission to make recovery easier to navigate for everyone.
Back when my brother Chris and I were both struggling, the conversation was related to behavior, with no real awareness or discussion of mental health. Now the environment has shifted for the better, with heightened awareness, greater resources and more open discussions.
I often talk about how important it is to feel connected to a community. Whether I’m speaking at events or attending recovery meetings, I always feel that sense of belonging. I immediately feel connected, no matter where I am. This connection is not just comforting, it’s key to making real change.
My recovery communities, both personally and professionally, have allowed me to find that deep sense of belonging, regardless of what anyone in the group looks like or where they came from. These communities have led me to realize the limitless potential to help others ― showing them new possibilities of life.
Most of all, recovery has allowed me to fully understand myself and become a human again.
Tom Farley is the community outreach director for Recovery.com, a global platform that connects families and individuals to mental health and addiction treatment options, in addition to being a speaker and New York Times bestselling author.
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