How my Journey Began

The Early Struggles - A Battle I Thought I Could Win Alone:

In my late teenage years, life was an adventure—a whirlwind of experiences that took me across the globe. I was carefree and full of life, flamenco dancing in Cordoba, Spain, sampling the coffee shops in Amsterdam, drinking wine in the mountains of Switzerland, and hitchhiking across the Negev Desert. I worked on yachts in the Gulf of Aqaba, danced on the rooftops of nightclubs in Toronto, and partied in clubs from one city to the next. It felt like I was living the dream, each day more exciting than the last. The world was my playground, and I was determined to enjoy every moment.

But beneath the surface of this exhilarating lifestyle, something darker was quietly taking root. The late nights, the endless flow of alcohol, the thrill of the next big party—it all seemed harmless at first, just part of the fun. Yet, with every drink, addiction was silently growing, establishing its hold on me. I didn’t see it then, but those carefree days were laying the foundation for a battle that would define the next two decades of my life.

My first attempt at sobriety was at the age of 19. I recognized even then that alcohol had a grip on me that I couldn’t quite shake, so I tried to quit. But I was young and naive, believing that a few weeks of sobriety meant I was free. The noxious voice of addiction whispered promises in my ear, telling me that it would be different next time, that I could handle it. And so, I drank again.

In my 20s, I made another attempt to get sober. This time, I managed to stay dry a little longer, but once again, that insidious voice coaxed me back. It was always the same—“just one drink,” it would say, “you can control it now.” But I never could. Each relapse was a painful reminder of my powerlessness, but I wasn’t ready to face that truth.

As I moved into my 30s, I tried twice more to quit. Each time, I caught a brief glimpse of what sobriety could be, a fleeting sense of clarity and hope. But addiction had dug its claws deep into me. The voice in my head was relentless, convincing me that this time would be different, that I had learned my lesson, that I could drink like a normal person. Each time, I fell back into the same destructive patterns, and each time, the fall was harder than before, for addiction is a truly progressive disease.

It took years of these painful cycles—of hope followed by despair—before I realized that I couldn’t do this alone. I had been trying to win a battle that was beyond my strength, a battle that required more than just willpower. It was only when I accepted that I needed help that my journey toward true recovery began.

Hitting Rock Bottom - The Moment That Changed Everything:

It was in this darkest hour, sitting in my SUV, at night, in the middle of a farmer's field, with the Arctic-cold air of an intense prairie winter surrounding me, that I truly felt the weight of my despair. I had lost all hope, and as I sat there, I began to contemplate the overarching meaning of my life. Was I worth it? Am I enough? These questions echoed in my mind as I stared into the void, feeling utterly alone and lost.

But then, in that freezing darkness, something incredible happened. The gift of hope was delivered to me upon the wings of something far more powerful than anything I had encountered before. It wasn’t a loud revelation or a dramatic moment, but a quiet, profound shift within me. This hope took hold, took root deep in my soul, and for the first time in many years, I felt a genuine desire to live. It was a spark that ignited a fire within me, a fire that would drive me forward on the long road to recovery.

Finding Hope - The Turning Point:

Hope is a powerful thing. It doesn’t come all at once, but in small, almost imperceptible moments that begin to light the way forward. For me, hope came in the form of a conversation with someone who had been where I was. They spoke about recovery not as an impossibility, but as a journey—one that required courage, commitment, and, most importantly, compassion for oneself.

Gabor Maté once said, “The attempt to escape from pain is what creates more pain.” Those words resonated deeply with me. I had spent so much time trying to numb my pain with alcohol that I never gave myself the chance to heal. It was time to confront the pain head-on, to face the demons I had been running from for so long.

Rehabilitation and Therapy - Rebuilding from the Ground Up:

Entering rehab was one of the hardest decisions I ever made, but it was also the most crucial. It was there, in the structured environment of treatment, that I began to understand the roots of my addiction. I learned that my drinking wasn’t just about the alcohol—it was about the void I was trying to fill, the emotions I was trying to bury, and the person I was too afraid to confront.

Therapy became a cornerstone of my recovery. Through it, I discovered that vulnerability was not a weakness, but a strength. As Brené Brown so eloquently puts it, “Vulnerability is not winning or losing; it’s having the courage to show up and be seen when we have no control over the outcome.” In therapy, I began to peel back the layers of my pain, allowing myself to be seen for who I truly was—flaws and all.

The Long Road to Recovery - Embracing a New Life:

Recovery is not a destination, but a journey—one that I continue to walk every day. There were setbacks along the way, moments where the pull of old habits seemed almost too strong to resist. But each time I stumbled, I got back up, armed with the tools I had learned in therapy, the support of those who believed in me, and a renewed sense of purpose.

Russell Brand once said, “The mentality and behavior of drug addicts and alcoholics is wholly irrational until you understand that they are completely powerless over their addiction and unless they have structured help, they have no hope.” This quote speaks to the core of my experience. I was powerless over my addiction until I accepted the help that was offered to me, until I allowed myself to be vulnerable and to trust the process of recovery.

Why I Became a Recovery Coach - Turning Pain into Purpose:

My journey out of addiction was long and arduous, but it was also transformative. It taught me lessons about resilience, compassion, and the importance of connection. It showed me that no one is beyond help, and that recovery is possible for anyone who is willing to fight for it.

I became a recovery coach because I wanted to share the hope that was given to me. I wanted to be the guiding light for others who are lost in the darkness of addiction, to show them that there is a way out, and that they don’t have to walk this path alone. My experience has given me the unique ability to connect with those who are struggling, to understand their pain, and to offer them the support they need to reclaim their lives.

Today, I am proud to say that I am living proof that recovery is possible. I have rebuilt my life from the ground up, and I am committed to helping others do the same. If you are struggling with addiction, know that there is hope. You are not alone, and with the right support, you can find your way out of the darkness and into the light.