recovery

Recovery Contest Winner #7: How Nutrition and Spirituality Keep Me Sober

November 12, 2018 by Genius Recovery

In honor of Recovery Month, we asked you to send us your stories about the impact community, nutrition or environment has had on your life since you put down substances and picked up life. Winners are not only receiving copies of our book, The Miracle Morning for Addiction Recovery, but are also being published here on the site.

This week we have Kristine Pappone.

The question I always get is: How did you do it?

After 10 years of a serious daily diet of opioids how did you get off without treatment or 12-step program and not relapse? My response goes something like this: I focused on and constantly fed my want and I wanted my freedom. I told myself, “It’s not an option to do my drugs.” Even if it meant crying all day and letting the pain bleed out of me, it was not an option to reach for drugs.

The foundation of my recovery is my Buddhist practice of chanting one to two hours a day. Having a way to access my true self beyond the conscious mind is a true gift. And given I have little patience, chanting works quickly. Each day I am engaged in helping others do their human revolution through Buddhist practice and supporting our community dedicated to peace through individual happiness.

Nutrition played a key role in both my getting off and staying off opioids. Because I’ve been in the holistic health field for over 30 years, I had the knowledge on how to detox and eat healthy. For the first year, I focused on building my brain through high protein and good fats. I also rebuilt my biochemistry through high doses of vitamins and minerals as well as amino acids. Foods and supplements continue to be an integral element of my recovery. I often suggest to those in recovery, “If you do nothing else, drink a ton of good water with either sea salt or lemon.” Hydration is not an option. Simple drink. Clean water.

My practice of kundalini yoga and being an active part of the yoga community is also crucial to my recovery. Even if I only have 15 minutes a day, I make sure to breathe deeply. It will calm my nervous system without me having to think about it. Love it. A highlight of my recovery has been weekly EMDR sessions with a rock star therapist for the past few years. Healing the pain through EMDR has contributed to my human revolution and provided a peace within that I treasure.

I do my part of recovery with Buddhist practice, nutrition, yoga and EMDR. However, nothing is solo. My life mentor, Daisaku Ikeda, encourages me daily through his writings. And I owe each day of recovery to Dr. Gabor Mate. His wisdom and words have inspired me for the past eight years. As I come upon seven years of celebrating my freedom from opioids, I do so with a heart of abundant appreciation for all those who contribute to my recovery. And to repay my debt of gratitude through serving others.

Recovery Contest Winner #5: Community, Nutrition and Environment in Recovery

October 29, 2018 by Genius Recovery

This week we have Mike Mather.

After 30 years of alcoholism, the prelude to the sober journey was quite unglamorous—with two-and-a-half years of relapsing, valium, AA and church in a vicious, delicious and delirious cycle.

Then the penny dropped.

Completely out of the blue I realized that I had to do 90 meetings in 90 days like they had been telling me from the beginning, and start praying and meditating. I shipped myself off to a Buddhist Centre that I accidentally found out about and went to AA meetings every day.

My demented mother had been my career for the year that passed since Dad had died. I now began to take the helm, and I enrolled in a Diploma of Business too.

Having devoured mountains of books on nutrition and alternative health practices, I began to implement some nutritional supplementation along with mindful eating.

That was week one.

For a while, I believed I had discovered a secret that only a few would ever know. My sobriety was going to be different, special, unusually brilliant. I know now I’m more than a little bipolar, and also prone to delusions of grandeur.

I have remained a strict vegetarian now for 10 years.

Having successfully completed the Diploma of Business, I plowed heavily into service work at AA. Then last year I had a calling to study again and I am enrolled in a Bachelor of Environmental Science degree. I had mediocre success in the first year and am currently taking a break and writing about alcoholism and Buddhism on my website and podcast.

My recovering alcoholic girlfriend, Heather, just turned 65 and is two weeks short of her first academic accreditation: Associate Degree of Arts. We sometimes don’t see eye to eye because she is a Zen student and I am Tibetan. C’est la vie!

We still don’t know what to do when we grow up. She seems to have a leaning towards Ayurvedic traditions maybe, but I believe that I was born to be an author.

Since reading The Miracle Morning for Addiction Recovery, I wake up and brush my teeth at 5 am each day (nearly) and the results are astounding so far as my blogging and podcasting work is concerned. My girlfriend has been an early morning yogini for years though.

We still are frequent meeting goers. We are mindful of our environmental impact and eat very nutritionally. If I could give advice to newcomers to recovery, I would definitely say that looking after the mind and body is paramount to success.

What Do We Do with a Gray Area Drinker?

October 24, 2018 by Lisa Bennett

When I decided to stop drinking in May of 2017, I knew I would eventually write publicly about my journey. Even before I made the choice, I started jotting down my thoughts about alcohol—the hold it had on my life, the challenges of drinking moderately, and the reasons why quitting was starting to look like the obvious solution.

Three months into my recovery, I revealed to Facebook friends and my blog’s tiny audience that I had managed to stay sober for the longest period yet in my adult life. I posted again at the five-month mark, at which point a few people suggested that it was time for me to congratulate myself and move on.

I don’t think so.

I’m rarely shy when it comes to sharing stories about my life. Nearly two decades of working in communications for a political organization helped me develop a pretty thick skin. I learned that no matter what a person says or how they say it, someone is going to find something in their words to criticize. But that shouldn’t keep us from speaking our truth.

My concern about writing on this topic stems not from a fear of being judged but from a suspicion that I don’t belong in the recovery community. You see, I’m what’s called a “gray area” or “high bottom” drinker. While I believe that I had an alcohol dependency, my habit never escalated to the level typically associated with people who quit drinking.

I was doing well at work, and my personal relationships were intact, but my dreams were stalled. Drinking had made my life repetitive and stagnant. My writing career and love of trying new things had been put on hold. This went on for decades.

Like many gray area drinkers, I tried all the tricks designed to keep alcohol at arm’s length but still within grasp. I counted drinks, tracked how many nights in a row I stayed dry, diluted my wine with seltzer, only drank when I was home or only drank when I was out, and so on. Nothing worked. My mind was more preoccupied than ever with thoughts of alcohol.

When I finally quit, I did so with the knowledge that I didn’t have to hit a disastrous rock bottom to recognize the negative impact alcohol was having on me. As a writer, I am eager to share this news with the world. As a longtime activist, I want to help others make the same realization as soon as possible.

But I worry that by talking about my “recovery,” I am claiming ground that belongs to those who have struggled more. The insecure, anxious woman who turned to alcohol for confidence and comfort is panicked at the thought of stepping on anyone’s toes.

Feeling like an outsider was a monster that haunted me throughout my childhood, adolescence, and into my adult years. The beast is clutching at my ankles again, even when I’m feeling my sharpest and bravest.

The only way I know to get past this fear is to march directly through it. So, I am sharing with you what recovery means to a gray area drinker like me.

Liberation

My drinking habit was like carrying a backpack full of bricks at all times. I could function, but something was always weighing me down. I often felt tired, cranky and frustrated with myself. Hangovers stole hours from me on weekend days when I should have been having fun or getting errands done. And when it had been a couple days since my last drink, I was consumed with thinking about my next one.

Taking off that backpack allowed me to wake up every morning with zero worries about what I’d said or done the night before. By the end of my drinking “career,” I wasn’t going out and doing crazy stuff anymore, but I was still capable of picking fights with my husband, drunk dialing friends and posting nonsense on social media.

Being clearheaded and liberated from the effects of alcohol is truly a gift.

Perspective

When I was deciding whether to quit entirely or continue trying to moderate my drinking, I worked hard to put aside my emotional attachment to alcohol and appeal to my logical side.

Despite overwhelming evidence that I felt better when I wasn’t drinking, I kept at it. What if I did the same thing at work, employing an ineffective strategy over and over? My boss would have taken me aside long ago and demanded that I try a new tactic.

So, as my own boss, I gave myself a “needs improvement” performance review and chose sobriety as the answer. The results were so successful that I am applying this lens to other aspects of my life. This means examining other deep-rooted practices and asking if they are serving me.

In the quest to live my best life, perspective is everything. Sobriety changed my vantage point.

Self-Respect

How many hours, how many nights did I spend drinking? Some of those events included laughing and bonding with dear friends, but many of them were more about getting drunk than anything else. What if I had spent even half of that time writing and taking on new challenges?

Alcohol allowed me to do things that would have been boring or foolish if sober. Some were minor infractions, like waiting at the bar for a table, getting buzzed and skipping dinner to get trashed. Some were more consequential, like barely making it to an early morning doctor’s appointment and then sleeping off a hangover in the back seat of my car.

Now that I’ve removed alcohol from the equation of my life, I find that I value my time far more. And what do we have if we don’t have time? In recovery, I’ve concluded that valuing your time is the highest form of self-respect.

Peace

Since girlhood, my brain has been full of obsessive thoughts—fear of death, fear of embarrassing myself, fear of being seen as unworthy of attention or respect. My first therapist put me on Zoloft to help me focus in our sessions. But alcohol was my favorite form of self-medication.

Drinking to slow down my mind was effective but not without serious side effects. Even worse, it was getting me nowhere. I was not learning how to deal with my stress or my penchant for latching onto a sense of dread and letting it flood my body and spirit.

Sobriety didn’t automatically bring peace to my mind. I had to take up meditation and yoga. I had to remember to pay attention to my breath in moments of distress. Taking away alcohol made space for these more productive solutions.

The transformation I am experiencing is slower and less noticeable than guzzling two or three glasses of wine. But one day it occurred to me that I hadn’t experienced that panicky feeling in weeks. I still get lost in worry and self-doubt on occasion, but I have the tools now to acknowledge those thoughts and then carry on.

Sharing these breakthroughs is why I am proud to take my place in the recovery community.

I Thought Sobriety Was Enough. I Was Wrong.

October 17, 2018 by Sean Paul Mahoney

As a seasoned drinker and a drug user, it was always “something and something.” Tequila AND cocaine. Vodka AND Vicodin. Beer AND weed. Losing my keys AND my wallet. Making out with you AND yelling at you. Even when I got sober I knew I was an alcoholic AND an addict. But for a long, long time—even sober—there felt like there was another AND but I didn’t know what it was. What I did know is that I still felt rattled, haunted and disturbed even though I had stopped using and drinking.

Programs of recovery were pretty specific—they could help me stop drinking and using drugs but for deeper, non-addiction related stuff, I should probably see somebody and I should do it sooner as opposed to later. That somebody, for me, was a therapist. But out of stubbornness, self-sufficiency or good old fashioned laziness, I put off seeing a therapist for a long, long time. “I’ll think about it tomorrow,” as my entitlement role model Scarlett O’Hara once said, became my motto. But for me tomorrow didn’t come until I had nearly nine years of sobriety.

A few weeks ago, my therapist told me, “People should go into couples therapy before there’s a problem. Same with regular therapy.” Six months into working together, now he tells me. But what brought me into his office was an urgency that I really needed it. Two decades of steady drug use and drinking were able to numb out the feelings and events of growing up in an alcoholic home.

They also did the trick in erasing several violent and explosive moments from my past. But when that coping mechanism was gone, I was left feeling shattered and I didn’t know why. Turns out, what I was experiencing was the lingering effects of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder or PTSD. While it took several years to kick back in, once it did, PTSD wreaked havoc on my emotions. Depressed, in emotional pain and feeling hopeless, I Googled my ass off until I found a therapist. I will admit, his initial appeal was that his office was located juts a few blocks from my house. This probably isn’t the ideal strategy in picking a therapist. I mean there’s a Thai place really close my house and I would never eat there because it isn’t very good, despite being convenient. Nevertheless after talking to him on the phone, I decided to go for it. A therapist friend of mine advised me to give a few therapists a shot and not feel obligated to anyone unless we clicked. Lucky for me after just one session, we did.

During my first visit, we talked about my stressful new job working with other addicts as a peer support specialist. We talked my marriage. We talked about my recovery from drugs and alcohol. But mainly we talked about the AND. We hopped right in and talked about trauma approximately 30 minutes into our hour together. Upon his prompts, I unpacked a lot of baggage in a short amount of time. Tears streamed down my face. There was no question that I needed to be there and towards the end of our session there was also no question that he could help me. Which was fantastic because all of this was too much for me to handle on my own. More of a guide to a place of clarity and less of a life coach and drill sergeant, my therapist, which I could officially call him after one visit, like we were going steady or something, kept it simple. He asked what happened. He asked about my family. He asked about my husband. He asked about my job but he did all of it in a way that felt conversational. I’ve never once felt attacked or judged. But uncomfortable? UH yeah lots of that.

My therapist has a way, as I’m sure a lot of them do, of cutting right through all the gnarly things I don’t want to say out loud and then he makes me do precisely that. I’ve even said out loud, “I hate this conversation” and “All of this is making me really uncomfortable.” Which he is receptive to but then he does something awful: he asks me why I’m uncomfortable and sometimes even makes me sit in it. How dare he? Doesn’t he know I don’t sit in emotions or talk about them? I cover them up with booze and drugs until they vanish. The problem is he does know all of this and so he pushes me to tell the truth. The bastard. But the more he does, the more something even more incredible than that happens: he forces me to look at how strong I am, how much I’ve grown, how creative I am, how resilient I am. He honors that and he makes me honor that too.

It’s remarkable how well all of this works with being in recovery too. Not sober himself but with years of working with addicts himself, he’s always open to learn more and we joke that I’m making him “woke” to all things sobriety. He’ll ask about things he doesn’t know which is amazing and we become two people exchanging, not guy with fancy degree and crazy person. He’s heard enough about my program of recovery that he now asks how it’s going. He also encourages me to do the work I need to stay sober and will gently push me in that direction if I get stalled out, as I have before. In turn, I’ve told him about meetings, the 12 steps, having a sponsor and even referred sober friends to him. Mainly, there are two layers of relief I get having both a therapist and a program of recovery. They work beautifully in tandem with one another. For support that’s more specific to day to day living and my PTSD, my therapist is my guy and for all my sobriety needs, my recovery support system does the rest.

A few months into working with my therapist, I noted how much better I felt being in therapy. The things that haunted me and freaked me out were less terrifying. I was grateful to finally have both.

Surprised, he asked, “Wait. Do most of you sober people do this without a therapist too?!”

I replied, “A lot of us do, yeah.”

“I can’t believe it. That sounds really hard,” he said.

Now nearly a year later, I can’t believe I did it for so long either because it was.

Recovery Month Contest Winner #3: Music and Mom Are My Medicine

October 15, 2018 by Genius Recovery

This week we have Emily Redondo.

Early sobriety found me in an emotional mess some days. I had to find new ways to handle life other than drowning it in alcohol. Aside from the hard work I put into my recovery, I still needed some sort of outlet to express myself.

Music was a medicine to connect me to feelings I didn’t yet understand. Lyrics and rhythms helped me fight for positivity, understanding, and the courage I needed to keep fighting for a life free from the chains of addiction.

Along this journey, my mom and I started a yearly trek to Austin, TX for their annual music festival, Austin City Limits. Sober since 1990, my mom might be 70 years old, but she’ll beat anyone I know with her music IQ. We stay all three days, embracing every moment. We are no different than the 150,000 other music lovers there, except we aren’t drinking or doing drugs.

Our second year we decided to make a flag. It’s a subtle reference to those of us in recovery, a triangle and the words “we are not a glum lot”, that we still have fun and act wild. Strangers have asked us about it, and we happily tell them. Other sober attendees see the flag and suddenly we have instant new friends. Some use it for a meet up spot during the day, and we just smile at each other as they drink their beers.

Last year, ACL had a booth supporting those who were there in recovery, even having meetings a couple times a day right there in the park. How fantastic. There in the midst of the wild crowds of music lovers was our sober community!

This love for music has carried over to other live venues and concerts. People in recovery are out there just like normal folks, living life and rocking out, high-fiving and fist-bumping each other when we make the connection.

Life is not over when we put down the drink or the drug. In fact, it’s just beginning. I’m 43 years old, still dancing around at music festivals and concerts, finding sober friends in my company. My mom and I are still surprising the younger generation by being an example that yes, grown-ups still can be fun, and that no, we don’t need to be loaded to be happy, joyous, and free!

Recovery Month Contest Winner #2: When Community Is The Key

October 8, 2018 by Genius Recovery

This week we have Terra Brooke.

Community was the antidote, for me, to the belief that something was fundamentally wrong with me and if I could just fix myself, everything “out there” that wasn’t working for me would be OK.

Community saved me when I felt most alone. Sometimes, often, I would pay people to be part of my community. Mentors and guides would accompany me into the trenches of what lay in my subconscious, and help to change my beliefs and create a new world. They gave me perspective on the confusion happening “out there.” They let me know I was not crazy and that I was pulling away from a disorganizing reality.

Divorce was one part of my transformational crucible. My community was my friend, Geri, who let me stay on her couch, many times, and listened to me when I was frantic, overwhelmed, and sad. My community was my attorney who walked me to the elevator as I sobbed and said, “You know Terra, we are going to be friends.” It was my accountant. It was financial advisors I hired who told me that I inspired them and who didn’t shame me for what I didn’t know, but guided me with respect and care.

Community was random people who connected with me. It was people I met when I began to study co-dependency. It was my co-dependency coach. It was myofascial body workers who held a space for unconscious body memories to emerge and who taught me how to be with them. It was uncles who cared for me when the core of my family and I were estranged. And community evolved.

As I continued to take classes, community became people I studied with on-line and worked with on Zoom. Community became people around Europe, Canada, and the US who offered me support and places to stay. Community became people in my exercise classes. And for sure, community became various coaches, shamans, people I met who were in recovery and recovery programs, psychics, and healers. All of them were part of my community.

But most of all, community has come to be myself. I have learned to love myself and to be my own company and to notice tender, young parts when they arise and hold them gently and with care.

As deep shame and grief arise, I don’t believe healing is possible without community. My frozen places and trapped emotions need community, a loving presence who stays through my most difficult moments, in order to re-wire my nervous system. I know I need encouragement as well and to see that at what may feel like the darkest, most challenging places, there is still a path and hope. I need people who truly care and have the depth and capacity in themselves to touch what surfaces. There is no substitute. I need community to teach me so I have the satisfaction of doing this for others.

And now I am able to stand where once, I needed to lean.

How Does Someone Go From Being in a Maximum Security Prison to Being the “Ambassador of Hope”?

October 3, 2018 by Paul Fuhr

When I first swapped contact info with Andre Norman, he happily informed me that he was on a family Disney cruise. Seconds later, he sent along a selfie to further prove the point. On my phone, I saw the relaxed stranger in his cabin: comfortably stretched out on a couch while casually throwing me a peace sign. Just over his shoulder was a bright green rectangle of ocean. I was momentarily confused. Even though he’s widely referred to as “The Ambassador of Hope,” it still wasn’t quite the Andre Norman I’d expected. Despite knowing that Norman is a sought-after inspirational speaker, it was somewhat impossible to ignore a biography riddled with abuse, crime, gang violence and a decades-long prison sentence in a maximum security prison. “Family Disney Cruise” simply wasn’t a phrase I’d prepared myself for.

It’s not Norman’s past, however, that fascinates and motivates people. Neither is it his decision to transform a deliberately dead-end life into something truly remarkable, either. It’s because Andre Norman is constantly looking ahead with an unparalleled eagerness and optimism. He doesn’t simply believe tomorrow will be brighter than today—he’s absolutely convinced that it will be. That’s the message Norman tirelessly carries all over the world, including far-flung locations like Trinidad and Liberia. He also lectures on topics such as families in crisis, leadership, addiction and prison re-entry, among others. No matter how desperate circumstances may seem, Norman argues, there’s always hope. In many ways, his Disney Cruise selfie underscores that very fact. Absolutely anything is possible—and Andre Norman is determined to prove it to you.

PAUL FUHR: You had a two-year stay in solitary confinement, where you had an “epiphany” to turn your life around. Could you describe what that epiphany actually was?

ANDRE NORMAN: It had to do with God. I was going to stab some people. But suddenly there was God. I’m like, “Why are you bothering me now when you’ve never been around before? Why are you here now?” But I decided not to stab anybody. I went back to my cell. I thought, “What am I going to do now?” All along, I’d wanted to go to Harvard and everybody thought I was crazy. But I got my GED and taught myself the law. I got out [of prison] in 14 years instead of 28. I eventually worked at Harvard.

PF: That’s amazing. Why the goal of Harvard?

AN: Well, my father told me: “No, you can’t do it. You have your place in life: you’re a criminal. And not only is this your place, but you’re really good at it.” (Laughs) “You’re really good at being a criminal. A really, really good inmate.” It’s an individual choice to be what we are. You can change the choices, but some people are so far down the line that they don’t have the strength, drive or determination to do anything else. They’ve accepted it. They’re trapped in the life that they’ve built, whether it’s a prison, a company, a family, or a lifestyle. It’s so much easier to stay.

PF: You’ve said before that you decided to become the toughest person in prison. You actually made a conscious decision to do that. Since you just mentioned being really good at being a prisoner, when did you start realizing that you’re really good at these other things, like public speaking and inspiring others?

AN: If I’m going to be in something, I want to be in charge. I don’t like people making decisions for me. People made decisions for me all my life and they were always bad. In prison, when somebody died, we’d have a memorial service and people would always go: “Dre, say something.” So I’d say some words and end it with a prayer. That happened three or four times a year. I became the de facto pastor for memorial services. We’d also have annual events for Black History Month. We’d bring in choirs, singers, actresses, speakers, whatever. Someone had to emcee those events.

Emceeing wasn’t easy because, with all of those outside people, the emcee represented [everyone in] the prison. And then you’ve got 800 guys and someone’s going to be upset or feel offended by something you said or did. They’d get trashed, absolutely crushed, after the event was over. No one wanted that job. Well, they ran out of emcees one day so they asked me to do it. I’d never spoke in front of that many people before. I kept doing it. What really got me going, though, was this program that brought kids in from the juvenile detention center to the prison. There’d be six prisoners and one volunteer and we’d all sit in a room and just talk.

PF: And that was the big moment for you?

AN: Yeah. Everyone in the youth program asked me to come see them once I got out. They said, “Most people say they’ll come see us, but they never do.” So when I got out, I showed up at the youth center and I went there, every day, for four hours. I went there to talk, to tell them some stories and to tell them what little bit of success I’ve had. Two or three hour speeches at a time. Kids are a tough crowd, too. (Laughs)

PF: Do you enjoy working with a particular demographic or specific age group over others?

AN: I’ll go from kindergarten to grad school. Little kids just want to be picked up. They need energy. You can speak their language. They don’t know the difference between 25 and 40. They just know whether you’re funny or you’re not. I teach them to ask for help; I teach them to say thank you.

PF: What’s your approach, then, with high schoolers?

AN: In high school, you’re going to be forced to make decisions about sex, about gangs, about drugs. You might be dealing with a parent not being present or somebody being in jail. I tell them that they have to get a dream and to hell with everything else. You ride that dream. I tell them that they’re making a choice right now. I ask how many people have an uncle who sleeps on the couch. Everybody’s hands go up. I ask everyone if they want to be the uncle who sleeps on the couch or the cousin who owns the house. Everyone wants to be the person who owns the house.

PF: Since you’ve started your speaking career, what changes or trends have you noticed among the kids you work with?

AN: The trends are among the parents. Not the kids. It used to be that you had to talk to your kids, but now you don’t have to. You can give your kids technology and walk away. We complain as adults that our kids never put their phones down. Well, you give a kid an iPad at age two and he plays with it every day, all day, and then at sixteen, you want to snatch it from him, it doesn’t work like that. Parents can check out now. Parents are disconnected and the kids are like, “Okay, Mom and Dad are checked out, so let me check out.” When I was young, parents talked to you every damn day. They waited to unload on you. (Laughs)

PF: What’s the most rewarding thing about what you do? What keeps you going?

AN: I get to do for people what I’d always wanted done for me. I’ve worked at Harvard, I’ve worked at London Business School, I’ve worked at the White House, I’ve worked with prime ministers, I’ve worked with presidents, I’ve spoken with top CEOs around the world. But what could I have been if someone had grabbed me in second grade and said, “We’re going to teach this kid how to read and write correctly, how to comprehend, and how to be kind.” What could I have been if I someone had raised me correctly, if someone told me that I didn’t have to beg for food, didn’t have to rob people, didn’t have to fight to get into school?

PF: You’re such a strong, commanding presence that it’s hard to imagine you might actually have day-to-day challenges. What challenges do you encounter?

AN: When the people that I’m going to visit don’t believe I’m the guy who should be coming. For example, I went to St. Louis to this private Catholic school for boys. All the fathers and sons go to this annual event. They listen to the speaker, they clap, and they go home. They decided to bring me in. The year before, it was the manager of the St. Louis Cardinals. The fathers are like, “Wait a minute. We’re all Catholic and St. Louis is a Catholic town. Why is a blank gang member coming in to talk to our kids? Our kids aren’t going to be gang members and they’re definitely not going to be black.” Most speakers come out and do their 40 minutes of speaking, then leave. I showed up and arranged for all the boys to come into another room and I spoke to them for like 45 minutes beforehand. Then I got on stage and did the whole group. After it was over, one of the fathers came up to me and apologized. He said he was one of the biggest advocates against me to speak. It made no sense to him. He read my bio and I didn’t make any sense. But the father said, “I don’t know what you said to my kid in that other room, but he came out a different kid.” Many times, though, I’ll be trying to help someone’s kid and their parents will have all of these questions and doubts about me while their kid suffers.

PF: Well, that ties back to your original comment about parents being half the problem, right?

AN: 80% of the problem. And not in the sense that they’re giving their kids drugs. But if you’re not in the conversation and you’re not paying attention, it can get away from you fast.

PF: With all that you’re doing to give back to others, do you ever stop to appreciate just how far you’ve come in life?

AN: Look, I was the boss in the penitentiary. Not kinda-sorta or halfway. Full-fledged. I know that life and I can go back to that life. But what I do now is who I am. I just want to help somebody. I’m not asking you to put me on your mortgage or to give me the keys to your car. Let me help you. Stop judging. I don’t need you to like me. I don’t need you to want me to live long. I just need to live long enough to help you or your kid.

A Guide to the Best Recovery Podcasts

September 24, 2018 by Paul Fuhr

Very early into my sobriety (and I’m talking days, not weeks), I suffered from a perfect storm of problems. Like any career alcoholic who suddenly resigns without giving their two-week notice, everywhere I turned, there was another surprise around the corner. First, there were all the fun physical withdrawal symptoms: the sheet-twisting sleeplessness, the racing-mind anxiety, the zero-appetite nausea. And then there was the shame, guilt and grief—all of which hung over me like a slow, miserable thunderhead. But more than anything, I just felt alone. When I look back on that Mad Max wasteland of early sobriety, that’s all I remember: I felt like I was the first person in the history of the world to have to get sober. I wasn’t exactly hurrying off to the nearest AA meeting, either. No, I was busy Googling things like “recovery” and “alcoholism help” and “sobriety” and “Am I going to feel this terrible forever or should I just go back to drinking because I can’t imagine a life that doesn’t involve booze?”

The whole time I searched online for help, I had the comfort and company of the podcasts I subscribed to: Marc Maron, Adam Carolla, NPR. (Even one called, yes, “James Bonding.”) Still, in all the same ways I couldn’t imagine a future without red wine and vodka, I couldn’t have imagined that podcasts would eventually save my life—but they did. I began searching for sobriety-themed podcasts and before I knew it, I found a landscape that immediately made sense to me. I couldn’t subscribe to the podcasts I found fast enough. There were enough to prove to me that not only wasn’t I alone in sobriety, but that others wanted to hear about sobriety and recovery on their own terms, too. I could put in my earbuds and hear someone share a story that filled me with hope as I mowed my lawn, drove to work, or washed the dishes. They even gave me the confidence to walk into an AA room for the first time, since I sort-of knew what to expect, thanks to what I’d heard. Sobriety podcasts quickly replaced most of the junk food I’d been treating my ears to and—especially in those first few weeks—genuinely got me sober.

In addition to GeniusRecovery.com Editor Anna David’s Light Hustler podcast, here are some recovery-themed podcasts that might guide you toward long-term sobriety:

The Bubble Hour: Hosted by Jean M., this is a lively hourlong podcast (as advertised), dedicated to breaking down the stigma surrounding alcoholism—one guest at a time.
Church & Other Drugs: This podcast is hosted by two “ex-addict/alcoholic Christians” who “tell the stories of the beatdown, up and coming, hard-knocked, and healed up.” All at once serious, funny, spiritual and moving.
Drop the Needle: A song-centric podcast that’s just like NPR’s “All Songs Considered” for the recovery community. Hosted by three friends (two who met in a treatment center and one who’s an accomplished music critic), the show welcomes guests to share songs that personally remind them of each week’s recovery topic. [PLEASE NOTE: THIS IS MY OWN PODCAST AND MY EDITOR FORCED ME TO INCLUDE IT.]
High Sobriety: Award-winning speaker and actor John Mabry is the host of this show (sponsored by Addiction Campuses), which interviews “high-profile recovery advocates” who share their stories and struggles around addiction, trauma, rehab and countless other topics.
The ODAAT Chat: Arlina Allen hosts this inspiring podcast that features interviews with a wide range of individuals in recovery from alcoholism and drug addiction—all of whom share stories that are oftentimes as revealing as they are deeply affecting.
Since Right Now: With nearly 200 episodes in the tank, this podcast has managed to stay fresh in its discussions of recovery from alcohol and other drugs, thanks to its irreverent yet thoughtful hosts Chris, Jeff and Matt.
Recovery Elevator: Hosted by recovering alcoholic Paul Churchill, this podcast is particularly notable in that it’s less interested in being a series of individual episodes so much as the gateway to a larger community around sobriety.
Recovery Unscripted: Hosted by David Condos and driven by the support of Foundations Recovery Network, this podcast invites a wide range of people from the recovery community to “share their personal journeys and firsthand experience.”
That Sober Guy: Host Shane Ramer’s long-running podcast shows no signs of slowing down, featuring interviews with individuals who share his passion for bringing awareness to mental health, substance abuse, addiction and recovery.
The SHAIR: When Omar Pinto isn’t busy as an addiction specialist, recovery life coach and motivational speaker, he’s the host of The SHAIR Podcast—a unique, engaging weekly show that interviews people in recovery with the simple hope that their stories “will inspire millions to stay clean and sober.” (Here Joe Polish on SHAIR here.)

The Miracle Morning for Addiction Recovery [Excerpt]

September 19, 2018 by Joe Polish and Anna David

If there’s one word that encompasses what we believe is crucial when it comes to recovery, it’s community.

The great impact community has on addiction and recovery is actually a proven fact. In the late ‘70s, a Canadian psychologist named Bruce K. Alexander decided to test his hypothesis that addiction is caused by environment and a lack of community—as opposed to the availability of drugs. For his experiment, he built an enormous rat colony that was 200 times the size of a typical cage. He gave those lucky rats everything a young (or old) rat could dream of: yummy food, balls to play with, tin cans, wood chips, platforms and running wheels galore. But the best treat of all? They got plenty of exposure to members of the opposite sex, not to mention places where they could get down (that is, mate). In this Rat Park of every rat’s dreams, Alexander placed two dispensers—one that contained morphine and another that was straight-up H20. With those rats happily ensconced in Rat Heaven, he set about placing some less-lucky rats alone in individual cages with access to the same amount of morphine and water, but the only interaction they ever got was with the people who brought them food and water. They couldn’t exercise, play or—well, forget mating…they couldn’t so much as have a brief catch-up with a pal.

Here’s what happened: the rats who were living in isolation got hooked on morphine while those who were luxuriating in Rat Park sampled the morphine only occasionally. In one experiment, the individually caged rats in fact drank nineteen times more morphine than the park dwellers. Take that in, please. Then fantasize about what your personal version of Rat Park might include, because that’s pretty fun. (On our list: Wi-Fi, chocolate, peanut butter and hammocks, to start.)

In another experiment, Alexander offered those sad, solitary caged rats only morphine to drink. After fifty-seven days, they were then transferred to Rat Park, where there was both morphine and water on tap. One might think, since they’d been getting high for almost two months, those rats would stay on drugs. But they didn’t. While they did show original signs of dependence, they eventually opted to forgo the morphine for the water.

Now, this doesn’t mean that if you place an active addict in a luxurious spa, replete with delicious food and hourly massages, that person will suddenly become drug-free. But it does suggest that environment matters—a lot. And it means that having a community is crucial.

As Alexander wrote, “Solitary confinement drives people crazy; if prisoners in solitary have the chance to take mind-numbing drugs, they do.”

Of course, recovery doesn’t end when we put the plug in the jug. This means that a positive social environment isn’t only important when getting off drugs or alcohol. It’s just as important—if not even more important—once we’re in recovery.

Is Everything We Know About Addiction Actually Wrong?

In 2015, a British journalist named Johann Hari hammered home the significance of community with his TED Talk, “Everything You Think You Know About Addiction Is Wrong.”

Although his beliefs—that punishing addicts only worsens addiction—weren’t new, no one had ever articulated them so well. The talk focused not only on Bruce Alexander’s work but also on the “human” version of it—that is, the Vietnam War, where 20 percent of troops were using heroin and 95 percent of them quit afterwards. As Hari put it, humans have “an innate need to bond” and if they don’t have other humans around to bond with, they will latch onto whatever’s there. As Hari put it, “The opposite of addiction isn’t sobriety; it’s connection.”

Joe’s Community

It’s not hyperbole to say that Joe’s entire life is built around having a community. As the creator of the world’s highest-level marketing group, Genius Network, Joe gathers the world’s top entrepreneurs, best-selling authors, and industry innovators for regular meetings. These occasions have not only featured talks by people like Richard Branson, Tony Robbins, Dr. Gabor Mate, John Mackey, Brendon Burchard, Neil deGrasse Tyson, Ariana Huffington, Peter Diamandis, Dan Sullivan, Randi Zuckerberg, JP Sears, Tim Ferriss, John Hagelin, and Steve Forbes, but also provide one of the greatest opportunities for high-level business people to commune.

Joe is currently building Genius Recovery, a community that will do for people in recovery what Genius Network does for entrepreneurs. Made up of a blog, podcast, resources and more, Genius Recovery is connected to Joe’s other recovery project, Artists for Addicts. The philosophy behind Artists for Addicts is to use art as a “force for good” to not only help people who have developed addiction problems but also to increase understanding about what addiction actually is, where it comes from and how to truly heal it. Artists for Addict’s first project is Black Star, a painting created by Artists for Addicts co-founder Jon Butcher as a tribute to famous people lost to addiction. (If you’re interested in purchasing a print of Black Star, go to Artists for Addicts.)

Anna’s Community

For Anna, entering rehab and then 12-step rooms revolutionized her life. She had spent the previous few years holed up in her apartment, with only cats and cocaine for company, and to suddenly be among the living was a revelation in itself. The fact that those people were talking about feelings she’d had but hadn’t known how to articulate, and that they were sharing them in intelligent and occasionally amusing ways, opened her up to connecting with other people in a way she never had. Suddenly, she wasn’t picking her friends based on how willing they were to drive across the border to Mexico to buy sheets of Xanax at a willing Mexican farmacia, but by whether or not they were honest and funny and interested in looking at themselves and growing. Anna had gotten so isolated in her addiction that being easily granted a group of people made facing all the other changes she had to deal with in early sobriety far less terrifying.

While her friends have changed over the years—her “picker” was a bit broken after years of active addiction, so she originally found herself drawn to some less-than-healthy people—maintaining a community has continued to be one of her priorities. After years of isolation during her active addiction, she was actually shocked to discover that she’s a people person. While she relishes time alone, it was in early sobriety that she realized she loved and in fact needed to be around people to stay mentally healthy.

Because she was living in a New York studio apartment for several years when she was writing books, making sure she was part of a community required extra effort. This meant, when she was writing her memoir, Falling for Me, going to coffee shops where she could be around people even if she wasn’t talking to them. This is also when she implemented “Project Study Hall,” which is what she called it when she got together with friends to sit together working side-by-side—taking, of course, regular breaks to chat.

Today, she works out of a shared office space. She also does workouts that involve group bonding (hip hop dance class with a group of people that hang out together outside of class). And although she’s inarguably tone deaf—and there are terrifying Instagram videos out there to prove it—she plans karaoke nights; when she was the editor of a website and had a team under her, she actually called karaoke nights “staff meetings” so that all her employees would attend. Without realizing it, Anna was following Tibetan Buddhist Pema Chodron’s recommendation to “liberate [yourself] from confusion” by doing “non-habitual” things like singing or dancing.

The truth is many addicts and alcoholics have a tendency to isolate when they’re depressed or triggered or tired. While recharging by spending time alone is crucial, there’s a fine line between replenishing energy reserves and having an exclusive and seemingly satisfying relationship with Netflix. It’s therefore important to prioritize being around other people—whether that means joining a hiking club, soccer league, community theater or church choir. It’s even better if you can do it with other people who are in recovery or focused on creating better lives for themselves. This doesn’t mean you need to surround yourself with an army of sober people because otherwise you’re destined to go off the rails, just that addicts can get in their heads, thus it’s best not to spend too much time alone.

Here’s a tip we’ve figured out over the years: if you’re wondering if you’re isolating, you probably are. Think about Rat Park and find your own version of wood chips, platforms, running wheels, tin cans—and, of course, people.

Reprinted with permission from The Miracle Morning for Addiction Recovery: Letting Go of Who You’ve Been for Who You Can Become, copyright 2018, All Rights Reserved. To get an audio version of the book for free, click here

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