Vulnerability is vital
She made a sweeping motion with her hand as I spoke. It was distracting. I saw no hair or dust on the table, but she continued well after her efforts should have removed anything. My brain noted this, but I continued. It seemed important to convey to her how well I was doing, but the gesture was so dismissive.
This was my weekly check-in with a patient advocate during a 60-day intensive treatment program. I wasn’t sure what her role was. I had 30 minutes a week to check in with her. She wasn’t a therapist. My indication was that she was there to check on our progress and help with concerns. I wasn’t expecting any big revelations or insights. I continued to rattle off a progress report in response to her question, “so how is it going?”
I rattled off everything I was doing right: quitting nicotine, changing my eating habits, working hard in treatment. She kept sweeping as I spoke.
She asked me about some of the losses I had recently suffered. She must have heard from staff. I had just been fired. My marriage was ending. My professional future was uncertain. My family was hurting, and more tragedy was still to come. It was my lowest.
I choked up. I didn’t want to face this. I had a black belt in avoidance that I earned in secret. For a moment, I was unable to speak as I could feel the large lump in my throat and my stomach tighten. A tidal wave of hurt that I had damned up rose and was for a moment uncontrollable. A tear ran down my face and my voice cracked. “It’s ugh, been tough.” I admitted in a soft voice. That small admission caused a sudden rush of tears I didn’t want. My nose felt like it was running and a terrifying sensation hit. I was exposed and I fought and clawed control back from disaster.
My breath came under control and I was proud of myself for regaining my composure. I grabbed a tissue and cleaned up and let out a sigh. My episode lasted maybe a minute- tops. I felt I had just demonstrated how a strong and good man should handle his problems. I resumed and refocused my attention on my progress and what I was learning. I started to mutter off something about how it was hard but I had hope.
“Where did you go?” She interrupted. She leaned down so her face was low, almost at the table, and looked up to attempt eye contact, I was looking down and didn’t notice until her posture shifted. It struck me as something she would do to connect with a child.
I was confused. “Huh?” I responded. “Where did you go just now?” She repeated. I couldn’t imagine that I was the first person she had observed breakdown and cry. So I explained, “I just shared some of the negative…”
“No” she said simply and calmly but with authority. “Where did YOU go?” I looked confused, so she explained. “This whole time you have been talking, you were only here connecting with me for a few moments, and now your back to talking about all that other stuff, where did YOU go?”
I was slow to understand. Then it clicked. She wasn’t interested in the report I was giving. She wanted the person behind it. The concept formed as did my acceptance that she was a refuge.
As I sobbed, she continued. “You’re just sweeping all this stuff out of your life. Cleaning up nicotine, cleaning up food, ending lust and alcohol, just gone-gone-gone. But let me ask you, what do you have left? What is going to replace all the things you have been using to deal with your problems? And now you’ve got a mountain of trouble and hardship coming at you.”
She gave a voice to a fear so great I didn’t dare speak it out loud. What the hell was I going to do? She was right.
This was one of the most pivotal moments for me in treatment, from an unexpected source. A person who cared who played a relatively minor role, spoke a truth to me that many others had been trying to get me to understand.
Facing the pain is often the only way through. Another mentor once told me, “Embrace the suck.” I had endured pain before, but always with some distraction or coping mechanism. This time I had nothing to hide behind. Now, I felt I had nothing.
She wasn’t telling me to toughen up. She was teaching me something entirely different: healing begins when we stop hiding our pain instead of burying it. Instead, in her own way she helped me realize that being vulnerable about the pain and fears, creates connection, real connection. Something I was starved for. Just the act of sharing was incredible. To look up through tears at a person- a stranger- who didn’t mock, shame, leave or bully was amazing grace. She was a refuge for me in my storm.
She helped me see that I could step into the troubled waters without facing them alone. I could ask for help, find it, and discover that vulnerability offered something far better than simply numbing my pain.
Most of my problems and pain were the result of my own flaws. Some would tell you I deserved them, and I mostly agree. Regardless, in order to heal I had to learn to be vulnerable. Vulnerability isn’t always safe. Some people will reject it. But real healing and real connection only happen when we’re willing to be honest about where we are.
Before this encounter I had spent years talking about recovery without truly being vulnerable.
Looking back, I realized I had rarely admitted fear without immediately trying to sound hopeful or confident. Even my honesty was carefully controlled.
How this applies to criminal defense
Sadly, I fear many people have made similar mistakes and walk around suffering. As a lawyer, I am honored to be a person that others can be vulnerable with. I have found that when a person takes a risk, steps out in trust, and shares a fear, more often than not, a need is met. I am more aware of anxiety and fear because they are burdens I, too, have carried far more than I should. This helps me help others, something that gives me purpose and has become the best replacement for the other “pain killers” I described earlier.
Every client carries fear of jail, shame, financial consequences, or simply the unknown. Regardless of guilt or innocence, fear affects everyone.
A good lawyer cares about people, not just about how to “win.” Winning a case matters. But helping a client leave in a better place matters even more. I don’t want to “win” a DWI case in Minnesota just to see a past client repeat the same mistakes and hurt themselves or someone else.
One way I help clients face their fears is by walking them through the worst-case legal scenario. We do this not to discourage them from going to trial, but to ensure they can make an informed decision and are prepared for whatever happens. We hope for the best, but prepare for the worst. After all, as Mike Tyson famously said, “Everyone has a plan until they get punched in the face.” Good trial preparation means anticipating a difficult fight, not assuming you’ll be facing Pee Wee Herman when your opponent turns out to be Tyson in his prime.
A good lawyer cannot fully understand your case, or help you as effectively as possible, if you are not willing to be honest and vulnerable. At Refuge Defense, we share a common faith and common values, but we do not push those values on anyone. Our philosophy is based on love for others and the belief that every person has value. I am in recovery, yet I do not see it as my job to tell someone else whether they have an addiction. Instead, I simply say, “You should consider that this may be an addiction.” Our clients who are willing to be vulnerable often get the most out of their experience with us.
I understand denial. I also understand that lasting change has to come from within. If a client trusts us enough to be vulnerable, we are often able to help in ways that would otherwise not be possible.
Earlier in this story, I described the patient advocate as a refuge in one of the darkest moments of my life. I didn’t realize it then, but that conversation would shape not only my recovery, but also the kind of lawyer I wanted to become.
Refuge literally means a safe place, shelter, or protection from danger, hardship, or distress. Every person deserves a place where they can tell the truth without fear of ridicule or shame. That is what recovery gave me. It is also the kind of law practice we strive to build every day at Refuge Defense.
If you’re facing criminal charges in Minnesota and are looking for attorneys who will listen before they judge, we’d be honored to talk with you.