A Couple Counselors

I remember working in drug and alcohol counseling and hearing all kinds of quotes that stuck with me over the years. One in particular never left.

“I’m trying to give you a seat at the buffet for filet mignon, but you’re stuck eating crumbs off the floor.”

I heard it from my supervisor at the rehab. He was a wise man. Rough around the edges, but deeply grounded. That line became a quiet reference point for me—not something I said to clients, but something I carried with me. It shaped how I wanted to counsel.

It still does. The work taught me early on that not everyone is ready for what’s being offered. That’s true in recovery—and it’s just as true in schools.

What Carried Over

There are more similarities between drug and alcohol counseling and school counseling than people realize. In both spaces, you’re working with people who are stuck—sometimes loudly, sometimes quietly. Some want help. Some resist it. Some don’t trust anyone offering it.

In rehab, I worked with grown men who had hit rock bottom. In school, I work with 12-year-olds who haven’t fallen yet but are already feeling themselves a little too much in class, brushing off feedback, convinced they’ve got it all figured out.

Different ages. Same human patterns.

Street Smarts, Authenticity, and Trust

One thing drug and alcohol counseling taught me fast: people can tell when you’re doing this job for the wrong reasons. Addicts and alcoholics are street smart. They read tone, body language, and intention before they ever hear your words. If you’re there for a paycheck or a power trip, they know. That’s how trust and community are built in recovery. 

That forced me to fall back on honesty with my clients. I couldn’t hide behind credentials or scripted responses. I had to show up with consistency and empathy. That’s how trust got built—slowly, imperfectly, but honestly.

That lesson translated directly to school counseling. Kids may not have the same life experience, but they’re just as sharp when it comes to authenticity. They know who’s present and who’s performing. The work only starts once they feel seen.

Dignity and Accountability

Drug and alcohol counseling taught me that real change lives in the space between dignity and accountability. Too much empathy and they may stay dependent. Too many challenges, and they shut down. The work is learning how to hold both without losing the person in front of you.

I’ve sat with grown men while they cried—not out of humiliation, but because they finally saw how their choices were hurting themselves and the people they loved. That moment wasn’t about breaking them down. It was about helping them see themselves clearly enough to choose differently.

With kids, the approach looks softer—but the principle is the same. I still ask hard questions. I still challenge thinking patterns that aren’t serving them. I just do it in a way that protects their dignity with humor and keeps the door open. 

That balance doesn’t come from training hours. It comes from mistakes, reflection, and time in the field.

Watching Growth in Real Time

Before I ever brought these lessons into a school, I watched them lived out by my supervisor, Kurt.

Kurt was dealing with a lot—an aging parent, the death of his sponsor, health issues, and the weight that comes with long-term recovery. He had moments of anger. He’d tell you when you messed up. But he always had your back.

What stood out most was that he never stopped growing. Even while navigating medical treatments and personal loss, his commitment to helping others didn’t fade. Growth wasn’t something he talked about. It was something he practiced.

It stuck with me.

Why This Still Matters

One of the biggest differences I’ve noticed between drug and alcohol counseling and school counseling is how growth is treated.

In the recovery space I worked at, growth is expected to be ongoing. They go through the 12 Steps, even after they’ve already worked them. They don’t stop. Reflection is built in. Their sobriety depends on their training hours and growth through the steps. 

In school counseling, growth is often implied but rarely structured. We attend trainings to maintain licenses, not always to deepen ourselves. In school counseling, our license depends on our credits. But our lives don’t depend on growth. 

That disconnect stalled my own growth for a while. Burnout crashed in. Life piled up. Somewhere along the way, I had to pause and reassess what kind of counselor—and person—I wanted to be.

Returning to my roots in drug and alcohol counseling helped me remember.

Carrying It Forward

Drug and alcohol counseling reminded me that growth is nonlinear. It isn’t a phase, a training, or a credential. It’s a responsibility I have to carry into every room—whether I’m sitting with a grown man at rock bottom or a kid who hasn’t fallen yet.

That idea sits underneath my style of counseling in middle school. And it’s a theme I’ll keep returning to—through my future blogs, through reflections on burnout, identity, trauma, masculinity, and the long arc of staying human in this work.

The line about the buffet finally stopped being about how I counsel; it became a reminder of who I wanted to become.

-Charles