Judy Collins: Sanity and Grace

For the singer-songwriter, happiness comes one day at a time

Judy Collins,

AARP The Magazine

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Published November 30, 2015

Judy Collins on mental health, alcoholism and her book about suicide recovery, 'Sanity and Grace.'

Miller Mobley

I got sober in 1978. I was a wreck. My life was shattered. I couldn't work. And yet, I was at the peak of my career. If you look back at me then, you would say, "Oh my God, in 1978 she was on The Muppet Show, she had two Top 10 versions of 'Send in the Clowns' on the charts — she had all this success!" That's what it looked like. But, of course, I was dying.

I come from a family with a high-functioning alcoholic: my father, radio-show host Chuck Collins. He was a survivor — he really made something out of his life. A wonderful singer, wonderful performer. Yes, he was fighting a terrible battle all the time, but he had discipline, he practiced, and he was always on time. He never missed a job. And I never missed a job. I never canceled; I was always there. I don't know how I did that — I was so out of my mind. That last year, I could not go onstage without being drunk.

I was really finished, you know. I was done. But then I went into treatment, and I had this amazing transformation. Been in a 12-step program ever since, up to my eyeballs.

It's very different when you're not drinking; it's a whole other thing. Suddenly, there's so much time. How do people spend their time? I felt so naked. For the album I made in '78, called Hard Times for Lovers, we did a nude cover. I just wanted everything stripped away, because I was so done with the way I looked, the way I felt, the way I behaved.

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By the time I was 50, I'd collected 12 years of sobriety. I had my health back. I knew I was going to be OK, and I wasn't so utterly beset by anxiety. I say to anybody who's reached 50: "All the best is really yet to come." Because if you've gotten there healthy and you see what's in front of you and you are able to forgive yourself and everybody else in your family and your friends, you're really on the road. You're really headed for the best kind of life.

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When I do speaking engagements now, I often talk about mental health, alcoholism and suicide recovery. In 2003, I wrote a book called Sanity and Grace, which is the story of my whole relationship with suicide, including my own attempt at 14 and the suicide of my son, Clark Taylor. He died in 1992, at age 33.

The most important thing I think I know about suicide is that you have to talk about it — you have to open yourself up to what you're feeling. Other people can't say, "Don't talk about that anymore — it's been six months." But it's something that never leaves you. And why shouldn't I talk about it? It's my story. He was my son.

I'm tremendously blessed to be able to go places and listen to people tell me their stories. Sometimes you think, Well, I'm going down to sing in Cleveland because I have to make a living. Then you get there and realize there's somebody there whose son committed suicide, and they come backstage to talk to you about that. And you realize, That's why I was there.

I've never stopped working. I've never stopped being about the next album, the next book, the next big moment. And it's always because I like to do what I do. I'm very passionate about it. I'm on the road all the time, and I've never worked harder in my life than I am working right now. But I love it. I figure I'm starting to get the hang of it.

—As told to Bobbie Hasselbring

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