Somewhere along the road from the Betty Ford Center to $90,000-a-month “sober living,” the recovery industry decided it needed case managers. And not like actual case managers—trained clinicians, social workers, professionals with a caseload and a code of ethics. No, no. What we got instead was a crop of self-ordained “recovery gurus” who essentially took their one mildly coherent AA share and turned it into a career.
I’ve been told, with a straight face, that someone’s qualifications included “making coffee at the Sundowners meeting for 19 years.” That’s not a credential, it’s caffeine-enabled loitering. Another proudly informed me, “I survived rape.” And let me be very clear: that deserves deep sympathy and real professional support. But that’s like saying, “My car broke down, so I can fix yours,” without ever learning how to be a mechanic. Pain doesn’t equal training. It equals pain.
Most of these case managers have no clinical education, no concept of scope of practice, and definitely no plan other than “here’s what worked for me.” Their entire playbook is a randomized sampling of one: themselves. And they wield that sample like it’s gospel. Most are on a hybrid mission: half spiritual awakening, half pyramid scheme.
And the irony—OK, the hypocrisy—is rich. These folks claim deep, unshakable loyalty to AA principles while gleefully violating the 6th Tradition, which is very clear about not monetizing AA. But without education, supervision, or training, what else are they gonna do? It’s all they know—so they sell it, because the only business model they understand is “I did AA, give me money.”
Can a case manager help? Of course. Like a good barber, it has to be the right fit. But most of the time, what you’re getting is some guy (or woman) with a jailhouse psychology degree and a messiah complex. They have no idea what they don’t know—and what we don’t know about addiction? Bitch, we could maybe shove that into the Grand Canyon.
Here’s the difference: I can also direct you to educated, trained, and experienced people who might be a better fit. That’s part of actual social work education and ethical practice: if you’re not the right person, you don’t abandon—you refer. In case manager world? You spew bullshit, get the money flowing, and hope nobody notices the wreckage until the Venmo clears.
So: if you’re wondering whether case management could be useful—or if you’re just sick of getting billed by someone whose only training was step work and charm school—call me for a free discovery session. I might be a good fit. I might not. Either way, you’ll get clarity, not coffee shop philosophy. And if I am an asshole, you can tell me to fuck off—no invoice attached.
Joe Schrank