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One day when I was ten my dad just walked out-he packed up his stuff while my mom was at work and took off. We never heard from him again. After that, things started going downhill for me and my family. My mom was depressed; she stopped caring for me and my brother, and she left us home alone a lot. I started hanging out with the wrong crowd. My mom worked nights, so I would bring friends over and we would all hang out and get high. I was mostly into meth, but also marijuana. I started using when I was just 13 years old.

My drug use led me into the juvenile justice system-I would end up in jail or juvenile hall on some sort of drug possession charges. When I got out I would find myself with nowhere to go, on the streets, homeless. I felt that the only choice I had was to go back to jail because I knew I could stay there. I remember thinking, "Wow, I actually need to go to jail just to have a place to stay." My mom didn't want me at home anymore. Nobody wanted me. I was that far gone in my addiction.

Then, finally, when I was 15 I got arrested and they sent me to the Phoenix House Academy of Los Angeles. I turned 16 at the Academy and then 17. At first it was hard to get settled in treatment because it was so much more structure than I was used to, but I enjoyed it because I found a lot of support there and people I could depend on. Now, ten years later, I still have that support system.

I learned so much in treatment. I learned how to trust and be trusted, and not just with one person but within a whole community. I really enjoyed that aspect of the Academy. It was difficult because it was different, but I learned to trust the staff and earned their trust in return. That was what did it, what got me clean and made me stay clean-the group of people who believed in me. I realized that Phoenix House would always be there for me. And they have been.

When I graduated I did outpatient treatment and everything went really well, but then when I went back home - back to that negative environment and my mother's negativity - I relapsed. I fell back into my drug addiction because I felt like I had nowhere to go. I called my counselor at the Academy and she came and picked me up. I was already 18 by then, so I was too old to go back to the Academy, but my counselor took me to another program and I got sober again and stayed sober.

Since then life has been great. I got married and had my son, Benjamin, who's four years old now. Having a child and a family of my own has been amazing. I also got custody of my two nephews last year; they came to live with me because my brother and sister-in-law are still using. It's not easy, but all three boys remind me of why I'm still sober, why my life is better now. I know I won't go back down that road.

I went to college and became certified as a drug and alcohol counselor, and after working for another program for three years I got a job at the Phoenix House Academy of San Diego. Everybody I meet who's struggling with addiction, I tell them to get into a program like this. The scary part of going into treatment is that fear of change. But being able to leave that environment you were used to, the drug use and the bad habits and negative influences, that's the bestthing you can do. That kind of positive change can be really powerful.

Now that I'm sober, I have everything together in my life: my family, my job, my home. It's hard work, but I love being able to work for it. I'm 25, and I plan to keep working here at Phoenix House for the forseeable future. I was so proud and amazed when I got hired here. It was a long process but it feels so good to be able to look at my clients, these teenagers who are struggling, and say to them: "Look, I've been there. Right where you're sitting. And it gets better."

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One day when I was ten my dad just walked out-he packed up his stuff while my mom was at work and took off. We never heard from him again. After that, things started going downhill for me and my family.

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To be honest, I started using when I was a young teenager. My drug use lasted and progressed all the way into my twenties. At 26 I got married for the second time and I just kind of stopped using, just like that, on my own. It was a dumb thing to do-I had no help, no support from anybody, no tools to fall back on. It was inevitable that I would eventually just pick up where I left off, and that's what I did. I quit for about ten years but when I relapsed, I relapsed bad. My drugs of choice were alcohol and meth.

Once I started using again, I wound up with about 12 felonies and ended up going to prison. The last time I was arrested, I lost everything-my family, my kids, all of it. It was an endless and ongoing cycle; I went to one drug treatment program while in prison, got kicked out, went to another one, relapsed, walked out, etc. Eventually, thankfully, my parole officer sent me to Phoenix House of Santa Fe Springs-what a gift! I walked in those doors with only the clothes on my back, and that's when I turned my life around.

I blame myself for my lack of success those first few times in treatment. Was I willing to sit down and listen? Nope. I don't know how it happened, but somehow I was able to hear the message for the first time while I was at Phoenix House, and that's what worked for me. At first it's such a culture shock, going through inpatient treatment. But when I got to Phoenix House I was tired and I truly wanted to change my life. I was able to do that with the tools they taught me. I got a new lease on life at Phoenix House.

When I completed treatment it would have been easy for me to make dumb decisions and go right back to where I came from-the drug use and the vicious cycles. But the Phoenix House counselors sent me to outpatient treatment and a sober living program when I graduated. I spent 20 months in sober living, and those outpatient classes were where I met my husband. That's right; I got remarried!

Phoenix House was instrumental in helping me get back in touch with my kids. My littlest boy is eight years old now, and he had been living with guardians while I was in prison. While in treatment, I made the decision to allow those folks to adopt my son because I didn't know where my life was going and I wanted him to be taken care of. But it's an open adoption and he's back in my life today, which is great. My 21-year-old and 20-year-old sons live with me now as well as my 17-year-old who's been with me since he was 13. It was quite difficult for me to get all my kids back but I never gave up, and I have Phoenix House to thank for that.

I'm going to community college now, and I'm going to transfer to a four-year university to get my degree in sociology and human services because I want to work in treatment and help people. I'll have seven years of sobriety this August. That's my story in a nutshell-there are a lot of bad points, I think the worst was at the very end of my addiction, running from the police and racking up felonies and that endless feeling of emptiness. But now, it's so different. Every day I wake up and I'm doing the things that I want to be doing, things I wouldn't have been able to before treatment. I can't say I ever imagined such a good life for myself, even though I always paid attention back in those meetings, you can never really imagine yourself in the shoes of someone who's in recovery. But now I look at myself and I know-I'm one of them. One of the lucky ones. I have a house, a car, children, a marriage, and all kinds of blessings. That feeling of emptiness is gone. I'm not saying every day is perfect; oh no, it's still a struggle. But I'd rather struggle like this. Recovery is a struggle that's worth it.
If you or a loved one needs help for a substance abuse issue, Phoenix House is here for you. Email us or call today at 1 888 671 9392.

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To be honest, I started using when I was a young teenager. My drug use lasted and progressed all the way into my twenties. At 26 I got married for the second time and I just kind of stopped using, just like that, on my own.

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When I was 12-maybe 13-I spent weekends at my friend's house mixing drinks. By high school, all I loved to do was drink. That, and drive fast cars. It wasn't a good combination. I was 19 when I got my first DUI, but it didn't stop me.

I moved from Georgia to New York City with a Datsun 280Z and a job at Windows on the World restaurant at the World Trade Center. I was young and good-looking and felt like the world was mine.

Unfortunately, my drinking got to the point where my mom forced me to go to a treatment center. I went, but I didn't feel that addressing my drinking problem was paramount. I didn't yet know what the consequences of my alcoholism would be.

After a year and half of sobriety, I started drinking again. I began trying to steal from my mom and got another DUI before going back into treatment. I actually did well for a while after I got out. But then a terrible thing happened. A girl I knew in Pennsylvania was shot. I decided to drive from where I was in Georgia to be with her.

I stopped for a bottle before I even got on the expressway. I'd drink, stop in a town, party with the people there, then drive a little more. I never made it to Pennsylvania. I turned around and checked myself into another treatment center.

Each time I came out of treatment, I'd tell myself I'd just smoke a little weed and that would be it; but smoking weed always led to drinking. Then I'd tell myself, "I'll just drink a couple of beers." It was an illusion that one day I could drink as a normal person.

It wasn't until my fourth DUI that I ended up at Phoenix House. I was in a 12-step program, going to meetings and staying sober. But a guy who tried to sponsor me said, "You're going to relapse." When I asked him why, he told me, "You're not working the program-not doing the step work, not being honest, not doing what's suggested to you. All you're doing is going to meetings."

I knew he was right when I woke up in a hospital handcuffed to the bed with a sheriff standing over me and no recollection of what happened.

I'd heard stories about people doing terrible things while drunk-running someone over or killing somebody. All I could think was, "This is my damn story." I was prepared to do 25 years. But then the sheriff told me that the charge was DUI and driving with a suspended license. A judge sentenced me to a year of treatment at Phoenix House Residential Program at Citra, and I said, "Thank you, God. I'm going to work this program." I knew I would never again have this chance: a whole year to focus on myself.

As soon as I got to Phoenix House, I started holding meetings every Tuesday night, and my sponsor held them every Friday. Those meetings helped a lot. So did the fact that I had great counselors. I was honest with them, which made it easier for them to help me. That taught me that if you are honest, you can go a long way.

The structure of the program helped, too. I learned to follow directions and do things just because I was supposed to do them, which builds character and integrity. Everyone was assigned a job, and if you didn't do it, it didn't get done. From that I learned that responsibility is doing the right thing when nobody's looking.

Phoenix House also showed me that people do right when they start seeing results-and results start with your own thinking. That's why even people who came in with a rebellious attitude started to change. They were able to change their thinking, and that helped them change their results.

Changing my thinking was the focus of my time at Phoenix House until I reached the point where my counselors thought I was ready to look for work. I had become a certified mechanic a few years before and wanted to run my own car shop, but there was a rule against working for yourself. I pressed the issue, though, until my counselors said, "OK, we'll give you a chance to go in front of the whole staff and present your case." Most people stop right there. But I went in front of the staff, took their questions, and we worked out a system that allowed me to do it. I incorporated myself and my business name, got business insurance and a license, did all the necessary paperwork. I did everything they wanted me to do in a week, and I realized, "I'm ready for this."

Today, I'm six years sober and still own my own business. And I'm doing something I never thought I'd be able to do again: I'm driving.

In Florida, four DUIs means permanent revocation of your license. Being a mechanic and loving cars, that was a real dark spot for me. But by the grace of God, I got my license back through a program that lets you drive again if you have five years clean and sober.

I've also made things right with my family. My mother went from not trusting me to leaving me in charge of my grandmother's property. And I went from not even knowing I had a son to seeing him every day. I found out about him when he was 3, and he stayed with me during summers and school breaks. But mostly he lived with his mom. Unfortunately he was around when I had my last relapse, so he got to see his dad at his worst. Now he's 25 and looks up to me. I try to guide him as best I can. We also have fun together, going out to eat and catching a movie every now and then. He works for me now, and it's a wonderful thing because at the end of every day he says, "Love you, Dad." It's a great feeling for a man who had absolutely nothing to offer him just six and a half years ago.

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When I was 12-maybe 13-I spent weekends at my friend's house mixing drinks. By high school, all I loved to do was drink. That, and drive fast cars. It wasn't a good combination. I was 19 when I got my first DUI, but it didn't stop me.

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The long and short of it is, I come from a family of addicts. My biological dad was a drug abuser, dealer, and alcoholic who died active in his addiction. His father was an alcoholic, and so on.

Because of that lifestyle, all I knew growing up was chaos. Rare moments of serenity felt uncomfortable. I started drinking a lot and doing some drugs because it kept the chaotic lifestyle I'd known from childhood; it made me feel normal.

The other thing that felt comfortable was abuse. There was a lot of abuse on every level with my dad, and as I got older, all but one of my romantic relationships were abusive.

But the life I was leading was my dirty little secret. I worked for prominent law firms, and no one would've guessed I was being abused, battling an alcohol addiction, and, before long, an eating disorder. I had both anorexia and bulimia and at one point was taking about 40 laxatives a day.

Eventually it all caught up with me. My boyfriend beat me to the point of unconsciousness, and a surgical team told me I had two days to live. Obviously, I survived, but only to be told that I had liver disease. I was put on a transplant list and stayed sober for a year trying to get that transplant. I had a son who was 15 at this point, and everyone was telling me to stay sober for him and my mom. I didn't drink for an entire year, and an amazing thing happened as a result: My liver repaired itself.

But even though I'd experienced sobriety, I wasn't in recovery-and there is a huge difference. The first thing I did after receiving the letter saying my liver was in the clear was show it to my mom and stepdad. The second thing I did was go to four liquor stores and resume drinking.

For the next few months, I drank four boxes of wine a day. I wanted to stop, but I didn't know how. I went to a couple of 12-step meetings, but I had the reaction I think a lot of people have at first-"I don't wanna be some crotchety old woman going to these meetings"-and I'd leave the meeting to drink. I'd go to bed praying, "God, kill me or cure me."

I began to think the former was inevitable. I visited my son in Florida to say a proper good-bye. Before seeing him for what I thought was the last time, he told me he had a date and left. I honestly thought I'd die in my sleep that night and never see him again.

Instead, I had a 16-minute grand mal seizure and woke up in the trauma unit of a hospital. It was then that I realized I didn't have another run in me.

I returned to Maryland and checked myself into an eating disorder clinic and then into Phoenix House's Demeter House.

When I got there, I saw two women screaming at each other. I wanted to turn right around and go home. But my counselor said, "Just give this a shot."

So I did. I went to groups every hour, attended classes, met with my counselor, journaled every day, and got a temporary sponsor. Each of those things helped me achieve recovery-not just sobriety.

Going to groups with other women who were in the same position helped me realize that I wasn't alone in what I'd been through. It really helped to be with others who understood.

The classes and my counselor taught me a lot about the disease of addiction and what to expect when I got out of the program. They taught me the importance of sticking to a regimen with regard to eating and exercise, and to set goals for each day. Journaling helped me keep track of my goals, and to clear my soul and my mind.

My sponsor helped me realize the importance of getting sober for myself -not for my mom or my son or anyone else. He explained that it's like being on an airplane, when they tell you to put on your mask first before helping anyone else. Hearing that was like an epiphany. I realized that I was going to be no use to anyone if couldn't take care of myself.

By the time my 28 days were up, I didn't want to go. I felt safe at Demeter House and I was afraid to leave; I wasn't sure I'd make it.

That was more than a year ago, and I haven't had the desire to drink or use since then.

All the things I learned at Phoenix House have helped me in my recovery. Every day, I write in my journal my goals for the day, what I'm thankful for, what I need to work on, what I can do for another person, and at least one accomplishment. I make sure I've done the best job I could, and when I make mistakes, I've learned to be gentle with myself while still thinking about what I can do differently the next day. I continue to go to 12-step meetings and am now a sponsor myself.

Today, because I put myself and my health first, I'm the person I want to be for others, especially my son. I'm the one he calls when he needs to talk to someone. I love that. I stick to my commitments with him, with my sponsees, and with other people in my life. That's not the me that used to exist. I have value now, and for the first time, I'm experiencing more serenity than chaos. I have healthy relationships and am dating again.

Spending 28 days at Phoenix House was a small investment to put into the life that I got out of it. Having to go into treatment was the worst experience, but the best thing I ever did for myself.

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The long and short of it is, I come from a family of addicts. My biological dad was a drug abuser, dealer, and alcoholic who died active in his addiction. His father was an alcoholic, and so on. Because of that lifestyle, all I knew growing up was chaos.

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I started drinking at 16. I was pretty shy, and like most teens I found alcohol to be a good way to loosen up-"liquid courage," as they call it. For many years I was mostly a social drinker and didn't go much beyond that. My dad was an alcoholic, although I don't think I realized that at the time or knew that it meant I was more susceptible to addiction myself. I mean, I grew up in Pittsburgh and that's basically all there was: folks drank a lot. There didn't seem to be anything wrong with that.

So I went to college and law school and somehow graduated despite the fact that I did a whole lot of partying. But as I started my professional life I began to see that the distinct line that had once existed between my drinking and the rest of my life was starting to blur. I found myself not just drinking socially, but also by myself, every minute when I wasn't at work-and even when I was. It got to the point where I just couldn't imagine not ever drinking again.

I almost killed myself on numerous occasions by drinking and driving, and I eventually got a couple of DUIs that resulted in me losing my job. I relocated from Pennsylvania to the Washington, D.C. area and quickly found myself in a situation where I didn't even have the excuse of a social life any more. I was just drinking alone all the time. I really cut myself off from everyone for a number of years. The worst part of all of this was the loss of my relationship-I had actually been engaged, and looking back I now realize how I completely bailed on that person. She really stood by me through a lot of awfulness, but then I pushed her away because I just wanted to keep drinking.

When I ended up with a third DUI I really freaked out. I thought it was the end; I thought I'd lose my job again andmy life would be over. I was sick and I was terrified. I figured I needed to get some kind of help. I didn't really know what that meant so I called my health insurance company. I wasn't expecting a whole lot-I thought maybe they'd send me to a shrink or give me some kind of anti-alcohol drugs. Instead they referred me to Phoenix House Mid-Atlantic, which was then Vanguard Services. I wasn't too sure about the idea because I didn't really understand what rehabilitation was. I thought it was something movie stars did that never really worked. But by then I was willing to try just about anything.

So on this freezing cold day in December 2007, I went into treatment. I sat down with the counselors and they described what they could do for me. I did some intensive outpatient work for a few months and it was absolutely miraculous, mostly because I hadn't had a conversation with anyone outside of work for years. To be able to sit down in a group of people when you think you're all by yourself, it's really amazing. One of the things I realized in treatment was that this was something my father had also struggled with for a long time. I remembered him quitting drinking, but I had always thought it was for health reasons or something-I'd never seen it as recovery. He and I ended up reconnecting and bonding a lot over that shared experience.

At one point I was supposed to fulfill my 90-day jail sentence, and I worked it out so I could just go on weekends for half a year. As terrible as that sounds, it was a wonderful experience. Since I couldn't drive, I had to really reach out and ask for help from a lot of people. It was terrifying but it helped me make real friends, people who had been strangers before but were willing to drive me all the way from D.C. to Gettysburg and back. I was overwhelmed by how generous sober people could be-I had never really known any before.

Treatment taught me so much, not just about the power of therapy but a lot of life skills and knowledge about the disease of alcoholism. Things started making sense to me, because it wasn't just a bunch of slogans-it was scientific facts. After treatment I transitioned into the aftercare program and started getting involved in AA. I still stay in touch with Phoenix House, doing activities and developing our alumni association. Today I've been sober for over four years.

I'm still in D.C, working at a law firm, but things are vastly different from before I went into treatment. I'm now able to communicate with my boss and coworkers, to find support, to really make a difference in my life. I ask for help when I get freaked out. I've turned a lot of negatives into positives; I learned how to do that at Phoenix House. Sure, I'm still kind of a shy person, but that's OK-I'm no longer afraid of who I am without a drink in my hand.

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David W.: A True Story of Addiction and Recovery | Phoenix House

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I started drinking at 16. I was pretty shy, and like most teens I found alcohol to be a good way to loosen up-"liquid courage," as they call it. For many years I was mostly a social drinker and didn't go much beyond that.

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I was only ten when my drug use started. Both of my parents are active addicts, so it was my mom who got me into it. She's always acted like a teenager, more like a friend than a mom, and she gave me pills for the first time. I was living with her back then and I started using consistently-taking a bunch of pills, smoking weed, and drinking a lot. The pills were my main thing: Percocet, Vicodin, a lot of downers. I struggled with depression and my parents' physical and verbal abuse, so then I started abusing myself with the drugs, cutting, bulimia, anorexia, and the guys I kept bringing in and out of my life. I started acting out like your typical teenage drug addict, stealing and sneaking out at night, but it was all pointless because my mom was high all the time and didn't even notice.

By age 13 I was living in a shelter with mom and my youngest sister. The cops found me there and took me back to my dad's. He was very abusive and his own drug of choice was uppers, so I started doing a lot of coke, meth, and ecstasy those next three years. Those became my drugs of choice. In July of 2009 I ran away from where I was living with my dad in south Texas. I don't remember all of it, just that I took Xanax, woke up in downtown Houston, and never went home again. At that point I didn't have a "drug of choice" anymore-it was just whatever anybody had, whatever was in your hand.

In Houston I contacted an old using buddy and started staying with her and her mom. Her mom and my mom used to get high together, so when I was living with them we'd all get high together. A few weeks later my grandparents found me and got custody of me, so I moved in with them. The very next day I snuck out, bought a bunch of drugs and did them all: coke, pills, liquid codeine...all this crazy stuff. I wound up at a park where I went into the bathroom because I felt like I was going to have a seizure. That's when I caught my reflection in the mirror and nearly jumped out of my skin. My eyes were sunken in, I was black and blue, I had cuts all over...I didn't recognize myself. I literally thought it was someone else in the bathroom with me, that's how bad it was, and I was terrified-I thought it was a monster. I realize now that I hadn't looked myself in the eyes ever since I'd started getting high.

When I went outside the cops were there; they tackled me and sent me to juvenile hall, where I failed every drug test imaginable. I remember the lady doing my intake-she looked at me and her eyes were so sad, like she was thinking, "What on earth have you been doing to yourself?" The next day I met my Probation Officer, and of all the POs in Montgomery County I got a notoriously hard-ass one. She told me that she was going to flip a coin; if I got heads I got to go to Phoenix House, if I got tails I went to a psychiatric program. I happened to land on heads.

I started treatment at the Houston Outpatient and Prevention program, and I met my counselor, Rudy. I'd get so angry at him, yelling, like "Why do you even care!? I don't understand why you're even bothering!" But Rudy said, "I'm not going to give up on you," and he didn't. Not even when I relapsed. Not even when I got arrested and sent back to juvie. There I was: 15 years old, without any friends or family, and I just wanted more than anything to overdose on heroin and die. That's when I finally got on my knees and prayed. I don't think I actually said anything, and if I did I don't remember it. But I got this overwhelming sense that even though my lawyer, my PO, Rudy, my friends, and my family could all give up on me...God wouldn't. So I wasn't going to give up on myself.

I'm not a religious person, but that moment was my first experience of spirituality. And that same day, Rudy came to visit me. I was SO happy to see him because for the first time I felt like I actually had a chance. I was like "Rudy! Guess what?! I realized I'm an alcoholic and a drug addict!" And he was like, "I'm glad you finally figured that out." Rudy really went to bat for me about going back to treatment, and I got back in. I finished my treatment at Phoenix House and participated in the Cornerstone Recovery program as well. I've been sober since 2009, coming up on three years in October.

Since I've gotten sober I've had my mom come in and out of treatment and my life, my sister too. I've lost a lot of family and more friends than I can count to this disease of addiction. But at least I haven't lost myself. Sure, I've had bad moments-I went through a breakup around the same time that a close friend of mine died, but I didn't let that send me back out there to using. Nothing's been easy, but recovery is the best thing that's ever happened to me.

There wasn't a specific event that saved my life; it was my own spirituality and surrender that did it. I know without a doubt in my heart that if I'd continued using I'd be dead. Not in trouble, not in jail- dead. I remember sitting with my first sponsor and being so ashamed to tell her that I'd never felt happy in my entire life. She was like, "It's ok, you will be." And she was right. Today I work as a project coordinator for a corporate moving company and I live with my boyfriend, who has four years sober, in downtown Houston. I go to meetings regularly and work with my sponsors and sponsor other teens. I'm completing an internship in wilderness-based recovery at Cornerstone. And it's all downhill from here; I'm only 18, I've got a whole life in recovery ahead of me! I'm like, dude-what great stuff is going to happen next?

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I was only ten when my drug use started. Both of my parents are active addicts, so it was my mom who got me into it. She's always acted like a teenager, more like a friend than a mom, and she gave me pills for the first time.

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I cannot tell you my name, or where I live, or even the specialty within which I practice medicine. I cannot do so for I have been shamed, embarrassed, and at times stigmatized. Even today, years later, I fear retribution, liability, and even prosecution. Some of this may have been deserved at one time, but today my story is one of success. It is a story of hope, of support and of recovery. I share this intimate tale so that you, my colleagues and friends in the medical field, can hear the human side of addictive disease, of its treacherous grip, and of the freedom and confidence from which I have emerged from this terrifying illness.

My drug use did not begin until medical school. I was never a drinker in high school or even in college, nor did I use drugs socially. Then, one evening when I was finding it hard to stay awake to study for an organic chemistry exam, a friend directed me to some stimulants that were available in sample form. The result was perfect. I began using the pills, rather innocently, whenever I needed a boost. To me, it was like a cup of coffee, only better. I soon learned that I could order the pills on the Internet and have a supply whenever it was needed

Upon graduation, I entered practice determined to be the best doctor possible. I spent a great deal of time with my patients, who kept coming back. My patient load grew exponentially, and I had trouble keeping pace. I had no experience running a business, was working long hours, and was unable to juggle the growing load. I found myself taking more and more pills just to keep up, and then even more pills to get me to sleep again. I gave little thought to this drug use. After all, I was no street junkie making covert deals in dark alleys. I was a good doctor, with many patients, using my medical knowledge to make the path toward success a bit smoother. So I thought.

My drug use escalated. In addition to Internet orders I would write prescriptions in the names of my family members. Suddenly, my uncle had knee pain, my father-in-law back problems, my aunt arthritis. I did not think about the record I was establishing of their purported use, nor did I think about the records of my own prescribing practices. I was out of control, but getting by, taking many pills to get through each day.

Throughout this time I still felt on top. Despite my drug use, I was a physician with a thriving practice. I provided quality care and had no patient complaints. I had a wife and children that relied upon me and saw me as a great provider. My friends and family admired me. I was respected in the community. I enjoyed my status and felt it was deserved, having achieved academically as well as socially since childhood.

And then one day, the Drug Enforcement Agency came to the door inquiring about fraudulent prescriptions. The reality of the situation took months to sink in. My reaction was disbelief. I was no druggie engaged in covert activities, and I was certainly no criminal. I was an admired and respected physician. I was sure the entire misunderstanding would be cleared up with a smile and an apology. I could not have been more wrong.

The shame and magnitude of my tumble was immeasurable. Not only did I face the legal and professional ramifications of having written improper prescriptions, but I had to cope with the personal humiliation of a fall from grace. I was no longer the icon of success I had worked a lifetime to achieve. I was now tainted, not only in the eyes of my colleagues, but also, for the very first time, in my own.

Fortunately, when everything was crumbling around me, I got support and advice. With the guidance of Physician Health Services (PHS), I got into a treatment program that helped me realize that I suffered from a virulent illness and was both worthy and deserving of help. I was medically detoxified from the effects of the medications I had now stopped taking. I learned to take responsibility for my behaviors, but also to recognize that I had been sick and could certainly get well. I learned that addiction would be a lifelong condition, but not a lifelong impairment, and I agreed to a long term monitoring contract with PHS. To comply with this contract, I had to work hard. I saw a therapist to address issues of addiction, shame, honesty and interpersonal relationships. I submitted to regular and random drug screens. I attended support group meetings, met with sponsors and mentors, and in doing so, changed my life dramatically.

After months of treatment, out of state, learning about my disease and learning about myself, I came back home feeling strong. I was healthy, drug free, clear thinking, and ready to pull my career back together. Unfortunately, my career was not yet ready for me. Despite the fact that I had never had a malpractice case and had never harmed a patient, there would be months of waiting for the licensing board to address my petition to go back to work. I would be investigated, questioned and challenged. This process lasted for months on end, and when I did get my license it was with extensive restrictions and requirements for informing everyone with whom I had professional contact of my "probationary status" and of my disease. These required disclosures then led to a new round of inquiries by third party credentialing agencies without which I could not sustain a practice, so I began the journey again. More questions, more disclosures, more humiliation.

The greatest challenge of all was the subsequent public disgrace. The day my license was finally restored, a press release issued informing the public of my professional discipline. My name became front-page news highlighted by lurid references to drugs, diversion, and criminal activity. There was no mention of my recovery from illness nor of the months and years of personal work and growth I had achieved. What was to be a day of celebration had become a day of pain and shame. My daughter had a soccer game that day, and through tears, even she had to face the humiliation of what I had hoped was well in my past.

Although I was angry and frustrated with the obstacles I was facing, I now had the tools to deal with this stress. Through PHS I had a physician support group where I could meet and learn from other doctors who faced these same struggles. I had an outlet for sharing my experiences and for learning from example that there was indeed hope for my future. And most importantly, I had my sobriety and my health.

Ultimately, I did return to practice. It was no easy journey. The process took years. During this time I was doubted by others and I doubted myself. But now I am stronger. I have the confidence of knowing that whatever ills befall me, I can heal. As a result, I am a better healer. My practice is now as successful as ever. I continue to be board certified in my specialty. I continue to provide quality care. I also have additional contributions to make to the profession. I am more open-mind and less likely to pass judgment. I have learned that medicine is not about being powerful or respected, but about being respectful and compassionate. I have learned that physicians, like all people, have the susceptibility to become ill and the capacity to become well. However, to encourage wellness we, as a profession, need to provide resources and nurturance, not shame and humiliation. I am now sober and can't imagine facing life any other way. And I share this story so that all of my colleagues in the medical field will know that they, too, can embark successfully upon this journey.

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I cannot tell you my name, or where I live, or even the specialty within which I practice medicine. I cannot do so for I have been shamed, embarrassed, and at times stigmatized. Even today, years later, I fear retribution, liability, and even prosecution.