Addiction Recovery is hard work, but it's worth it, and so are you.

Matthew Serel • Jan 21, 2021

Why continuing addiction treatment after rehab is so important.

In my first post, where I share my story of recovery, I talk about how much time I had to invest in treatment. As a refresher my treatment consisted of:

 

  • 30 Days at an inpatient rehab, followed by
  • 8 Weeks in an intensive outpatient program - 3 hours a day, 4 days a week starting at 6pm, followed by, 
  • 3 months in a less intensive outpatient program - 1.5 hours a day, 2 days a week, starting at 6pm, concurrently with
  • 1 hour a week of psychotherapy, concurrently with
  • Daily participation in peer support groups, concurrently with
  • Random drug testing


When I look back on this, it is pretty clear that my recovery was pretty much the equivalent of a full time job for the better part of a year. However, I remember feeling an extreme urgency  to get back to real life and rectify all the wreckage of my past. I had a startup company that I had taken debt out to start that wasn’t doing well, I had spent all of my money on drugs, and my relationship was in tatters to name a few of the outside issues I was dealing with. 


In addition, I had plenty of inside issues I was facing; namely shame, depression, and obviously given the above, anxiety. With all this, it would have been easy to say to myself 


“I already put 30 days into my recovery in residential treatment, vacation is over, it is time to get back to life”. 


The reality was that I was in no shape to just “get on with my life” and put my addiction behind me. Addiction is a chronic disease, and 30 days of treatment was just not enough to undo years of maladaptive behavior and coping mechanisms especially given the acute stress I was under. 


The quote that is most poignant to me when I think of this time is the old adage from when we used to be able to travel:


 “In the event of a sudden drop in pressure, an oxygen mask will drop from above. Secure your own mask first before assisting others." 


That in a nutshell to me is what continuing treatment after inpatient, and outpatient is about. I was in no shape to “white knuckle it” and repair my life. In fact, attempting to do so would have likely resulted in my relapsing and compounding my problems, or even worse, dying at which point I would have no opportunity to turn my life around. 


On the flip side, doing the work, and effectively working two full time jobs paid dividends I couldn’t even fathom at the time. First, I had the opportunity to marry my best friend. We now have a beautiful family. Second, I had a successful exit from that once fledgling startup. Third, others in my family followed my example and found recovery for themselves. Lastly,  I now have the freedom and immense privilege to help others achieve their dreams as I have mine. 


I know it’s hard work, but it is worth it. You are worth it. 


By Megan Miller, CAC 29 Oct, 2024
I grew up full of fear. Everything terrified me. I never felt comfortable in my own skin. It wasn’t until I started smoking pot at 14—because I was too afraid to stand up to peer pressure—that I finally felt a sense of freedom and relaxation for the first time. I chased that high for the next 16 years. Somehow, I managed to graduate college with an OxyContin addiction, and after that, with nothing tethering me to the real world, things got a lot worse. I went to detox for the first of many times in 2005. I left there thinking I wasn’t an addict and that my use had just gotten out of control. That denial kept me in and out of treatment for the next decade. Heroin became my entire life. I couldn’t hold a job, I overdosed, I got Hepatitis C from sharing needles, and I didn’t care about anything except getting high. I was so full of shame at what my life had become, but I just couldn’t stop. I was great at trying to stop, but I couldn’t stay stopped. The gift of desperation came to me in April 2012. I couldn’t keep living the way I was. I finally wanted to live instead of die. That compulsion to use left me when I finally surrendered to it. Today, I wake up grateful for the life I have. My 6-year-old daughter is the greatest joy of my life, and she has never seen me use. Today, with the support of my wonderful husband, my family, and my recovery network, I live a full life of joy and purpose. There is no more rewarding feeling in the world than sharing the gift of recovery with others.
By Dave Aumiller, CPS, NCPRSS 03 Sep, 2024
Overdose. It’s a word that catches in my throat and a topic that stops me in my tracks. As a person in long-term recovery from Alcohol Use Disorder (AUD) and Substance Use Disorder (SUD), I have overdosed many times. I have been revived by paramedics three times. Waking up in a hospital bed with no idea how I got there—scared. Or in the back of an ambulance, sick and angry for being Narcaned, a crazed hostage of my addicted mind. Or in a front yard, soaking wet from someone throwing me in a cold shower, unsuccessfully trying to revive me before leaving me outside—confused. These experiences don’t account for the countless times I have overdosed and been revived by a concerned party—now scarred by the trauma of my disease in its final stage, trying to carry out its final act, resulting in an untimely death. Overdose. After all of this, it was the kindness and care of others that made the difference between another chance and another day. Another dose of hope and life. An opportunity to begin again. On a day like today, reflecting on a topic that is so close to the heart of everyone connected to this reality, I am grateful. I am hopeful. I am humble. Because I know how lucky I am. How undeserving I was. And I live my amends and gratitude by doing my best to embody and live the values of a recovery that works. I also keep close to my heart, at the forefront of my mind, and on the tip of my tongue, the names of the countless others who weren’t as lucky as I. In honor of Overdose Awareness Day, I will say the names of my friends who weren’t fortunate enough to receive as many chances as I did, and I will live in their names—sober today and willing to extend a hand to anyone who needs it in their journey to recover and spread hope to both the sufferer and the caregiver.  Today, let us remember those we have lost, cherish the moments we have been given, and continue to fight for a future where overdose is a distant memory. Together, we can make a difference. Together, we can spread hope.
By Shannon Schwoeble, CPS 29 Aug, 2024
I was devastated when I heard that another close friend I'd made in treatment was gone. Seven friends in my first six months—two had come into treatment, left, and passed away while I was still there. In the years that followed, many others who had walked this path alongside me were lost as well. Nine in my first year of recovery. I found myself asking, "Why am I still here? Why didn’t they ‘get it’?"  Survivor’s guilt was not something I expected to experience in recovery. It hit me hard and fast when I began my journey in 2011. I was terrified. I would sit and think about friends I had just seen or spoken to—did they seem different? Did they sound off? I was so scared of who I would lose next. Through my work with a therapist and finding my own voice, I learned to transform my survivor's guilt into hope. I realized that by using my voice, sharing my story, saying their names, and talking about the profound impact each of them had on me—in life and in death—I could help others understand that recovery is possible. Perhaps, something I share will give someone struggling a glimmer of hope that they, too, can find recovery. On Overdose Awareness Day, August 31, we remember and honor those we've lost to this devastating disease. In loving memory of Ben, Pat, Krista, Harry, Christina, Brook, Dustin, Jeff, Jamie, and everyone we have lost—you are remembered and loved, today and every day.
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