Not even my mother could save me this time.

The deadline to fill this space was right on top of me. Of late, I've struggle with what is euphemistically called "writer's block." But I know it as simply leaving to the last minute what should have been finished before everything else in my crowded life. Daylight saving time comes every day now — it feels like I'm consistently losing an hour.

Stuck. Not only to write. Not knowing what to write about, either. Never mind I needed to get upstream without a paddle. I was without a boat, too.

At least I had my mother. "Well, let's see, Passover, Easter, the spring season, something about birth or renewal or hope," she offered. Surely there was something there to hook to a column about addiction-related issues. Only I couldn't make the connection. At the end of a long day, I'm never at my best. And at the end of this day, I'd just eaten my mother's home cooking. My stomach was satisfied. But my head was starved for a decent idea and 600 words to follow.

Then a plea for help plopped into my email inbox. From a man newly sober struggling with the reality of what happens after putting down the drink or drug: everything else. I warn people all the time that stopping is easy, staying stopped is what's so damn hard because life takes us for a ride with the highest of highs and the lowest of lows. The key is to ride it out, without reaching higher or lifting the lows by defaulting to our drugs of choice. It happens to all of us — not just at some point, but at many points on the way, from 10 days clean to 40 years sober. Life on life's terms, we're reminded. Always.

I called the man. Got his voicemail, and left him a two-minute, 18-second message. I despise long-winded monologues and try never to leave one or get one. But tonight I had no choice — I couldn't help it. I've got a lot riding on this man's efforts. At stake is my own hope.

I said something about his having come a long way in a short time. That he's inspired more people than he probably realizes. That in his story there is a story others embrace. That the alternative to hanging in is giving up, and that's always ugly. That it is not only normal to feel frustrated, tired and lonely, but OK. That expressing these emotions is a lot healthier than keeping them a secret.

I signed off by reminding him that my perspective isn't as a counselor or therapist or clinical professional. I'm none of those. But I've been right where he is, more than a few times. A veteran of the struggle to trust the process and stay the course. And I need him to do it, too, because he helps me.

If that sounds selfish, it is. Except to those of us who know that you can't get it if you don't give it away. So keep giving it to me, my friend. I'll give it back to you. We'll both be OK.

Now the deadline is here, and here I am. I don't have time to go back and fix the opening line of this musing. But maybe my mother's done it once again, after all and as always.

William Moyers is the vice president of public affairs and community relations for the Hazelden Foundation and the author of "Broken," his best-selling memoir. His new book, "Now What? An Insider's Guide to Addiction and Recovery," has just been published. Please send your questions to William Moyers at [email protected]. To find out more about William Moyers and read his past columns, visit the Creators Syndicate Web page at www.creators.com.