Failure.  It’s an ugly word.  A word that tastes like regret, burns like shame, and lingers like a ghost in the mind.  Failure is the thing I once feared the most, the very thing that threatened to define me.  For years, I ran from it, hid from it, numbed it with substances.  I convinced myself that if I could just stay ahead of failure, maybe I could outrun the pain.  Boy, was I wrong.  It took me years to understand that failure was not my enemy.  It was my teacher.

Co-occurring disorders.  Dual diagnosis.  Comorbidity.  Whatever name they go by, they are a cruel, tangled mess that has defined much of my life.  To someone on the outside, it might seem like a simple equation: addiction and mental illness feed off each other in a never-ending cycle of destruction.  But for those of us who live it, for those of us who wake up every day and carry the unbearable weight of our own minds, it's so much more than that.

Recovery from addiction is one of the most challenging and transformative journeys a person can undertake.  It requires immense discipline, self-awareness, and an unwavering commitment to change.  However, one of the most overlooked aspects of recovery is the importance of choosing the right friends.  The people we surround ourselves with can either support and uplift us or drag us back into the cycle of addiction.  This makes the process of selecting friends an essential part of long-term sobriety.

Impulsivity is acting without thinking about the long-term consequences.  It’s the quick decision to give in to an urge, the knee-jerk reaction in a moment of emotional overwhelm.  In everyday life, that might look like interrupting someone mid-sentence, spending money you don’t have, or blurting something out that you can’t take back.  For someone like me who struggles with addiction, impulsivity becomes far more dangerous.  It fuels the cycle of substance use, driving us to chase instant relief without considering the damage we’re doing to ourselves and the people we care about.

There’s a phrase you hear often in recovery circles: “If nothing changes, nothing changes.”  At first, it sounds like one of those self-help mantras that’s easy to dismiss—just another slogan tacked to a wall.  The deeper I go into this recovery journey, the more I realize how much weight those five words carry.  They cut right to the heart of what it takes to reclaim a life lost to addiction.  It’s remarkably simple yet very profound. 

Sometimes, a phone can feel like a thousand-pound weight.  It sits there, just inches away, yet the act of picking it up and dialing a number can feel impossible.  When someone is suffering in active addiction, reaching out for help isn’t just difficult—it feels insurmountable.  For years, I believed that asking for help was a weakness.  I thought it meant I wasn’t strong enough to handle my problems on my own, that it was an admission of failure, but I know now that the ability to ask for help is one of the greatest strengths a person can have.

The last time I was in jail is a memory etched deeply into my mind, a turning point that, though profound, did not result in an immediate change for me.  It began one fateful afternoon when my reckless decisions came to a head.  I crashed into a parked car, and when the police arrived, they discovered I was in possession of 550 Xanax pills.  I was charged with a class B felony of criminal possession of a controlled substance with intent to distribute, along with driving while intoxicated (DWI) and leaving the scene of an accident.  The gravity of those charges didn’t fully hit me until I was processed at the police station, standing under the fluorescent lights, being fingerprinted and photographed for my mugshot.

This past week, as I was organizing my closet, I stumbled upon a box that stopped me in my tracks.  It was tucked away in a corner, its edges worn and its lid slightly askew, as if it had been waiting for me to find it.  Inside were nearly one hundred letters, each written during one of the darkest times in my life: my stay at The Odyssey House rehab this past summer.  These weren’t just pieces of paper.  They were lifelines—tangible reminders of hope, connection, and humanity at a time when I felt like I was drowning.

The drive to the cemetery felt endless.  Each mile stretched out, heavy with good memories my best friend and I had shared over the years.  My hands gripped the steering wheel tighter than they needed to, my knuckles pale against my skin.  A part of me had always known this moment would come, but I had convinced myself I wasn’t ready—maybe I never would be.  Returning to my best friend’s gravesite for the first time since his passing was something I had avoided for too long-seven months, to be exact. 

The dawn of a new year is a beacon of hope, a clean slate, and a chance to redefine ourselves.  For me, as an addict in early recovery, it is also a moment to confront the ghosts of my past while carving a path toward a brighter future.  New Year’s resolutions carry a deeper meaning—they are not just goals; they are lifelines tethering me to my commitment to sobriety and a renewed sense of purpose.  As I stand at the crossroads of reflection and hope, here are ten resolutions that embody my journey as an addict in early recovery.

Integrity is a word we often throw around lightly as if it were a simple thing to embody.  We think of it as honesty, doing the right thing when no one is looking, and staying true to our word.  But what happens when the foundation of your life is shaken to its core—when the very values you once held sacred become blurred in the chaos of addiction?  I’ve wrestled with this question in ways I wish I hadn’t, and yet, I’m here to tell you that even in the darkest moments, integrity can be a light worth fighting for.

During my time in rehab, I committed to keeping a daily journal—a space where I could pour out my thoughts, struggles, and reflections as I faced the challenges of recovery head-on.  Writing became a vital outlet for me, helping me process the rollercoaster of emotions that came with detox and healing.  These passages reflect the highs and lows of my journey, from the depths of withdrawal to moments of clarity and growth.  Each entry is a raw reflection of my battle with addiction and my determination to rebuild my life.  Please keep in mind that I was fresh off a relapse when these entries were written, so my thoughts may not be as clear or organized as usual.

Addiction is a thief.  It takes from us so many precious things: our health, relationships, dreams, and sometimes even our lives.  Among the most devastating losses, however, is time.  Time is irreplaceable—a resource that, once gone, can never be recovered.  Addiction robs us of the days, months, and years that we could have spent building meaningful connections, chasing our aspirations, or simply living life fully present.

Thanksgiving has always been a time to reflect on the blessings in our lives—a chance to pause amid the rush of everyday responsibilities and reconnect with family, friends, and the values we hold dear.  This year, however, Thanksgiving carries an even deeper meaning for me.  After walking the difficult road of addiction and finding my way back to sobriety, I see this holiday as more than a day of celebration.  It is a powerful reminder of the second chances life offers and the importance of embracing them with gratitude and purpose.

Detoxing from alcohol and drugs is not just a process—it’s a battle waged in both body and soul.  As I sit here reflecting on my last stay in rehab, I am struck by the sheer intensity of those first days.  Detox is raw.  It’s unrelenting.  And yet, somewhere amidst the chaos, there is the faintest whisper of hope.

The day I checked into my very first rehab is a day etched into my memory with painful precision.  It was a cold evening in late winter.  The truth is, the cold I felt was not only external—it was within me, a sharp and gnawing ache that gripped my chest and refused to let go.  I felt like I had reached the edge of a cliff and was staring into an abyss, unsure if I was ready to leap into the unknown or fall backward into the life that had broken me so thoroughly.

As the United States navigates the 2024 presidential election, the significance of kindness takes on new dimensions.  The discourse around elections is often charged, amplifying divisions and heightening stress among communities.  For individuals in recovery, an environment marked by hostility and polarization can be especially triggering, as it may worsen feelings of anxiety and instability.  This makes it all the more essential to prioritize kindness, both in personal interactions and public dialogue.

On June 8th, 2023, I gave a TED Talk in the Goshen High School.  Giving a TED Talk was something I never imagined myself doing, especially about a topic as personal as my struggles with substance abuse and the hard-won journey of recovery.  Standing on that stage, looking out at a sea of family, friends, and strangers, I felt exposed, vulnerable, and intensely self-conscious.

I’ve been fortunate enough to coach youth soccer since 2018. Coaching youth soccer is more than just a job for me; it’s a profession that brings purpose and joy into my daily life.  Working with young athletes and watching them develop their skills, both on and off the field, is deeply rewarding.

Recovery is a journey filled with twists and turns, each one challenging us to grow in ways we never thought possible.  For so long, I found myself confined by my self-imposed boundaries, wary of stepping outside the safety of my carefully constructed world.  Just this past week, I did something that forced me to stretch those boundaries—something so simple, yet profound.  I went out to eat with a lady that I hadn’t seen since high school.