On June 30, 1985, I drank my last drink and used the last illicit drug. Although my alcohol and drug use had not run for many years, I was very lost. I had tried to stop using on my own, again and again for some time frame I will never be clear about. But what I did know was that I could not stop drinking once I began. It was like my brain, my will and my spirit just propelled me to use as much as I could.

What I didn't want was the experience of my life as it was. I was desperately unhappy growing up and according to my family, that was entirely my fault. It took many years of recovery and counseling before I understood that my misery was appropriate given the wealth of emotional and physical abuse directed my way. I believed the negative messages I was told about myself and felt dead and empty inside. On the outside, I was angry. There was really nothing to look forward to other than the altered states I began to concoct at age 15. Even my half-hearted scholastic achievements didn't change how I felt about myself.

I never thought I would make it to 30. In fact, any future plans I made stopped short at college. As my family situation worsened, I knew my only hope was to forge out on my own. Equipped with my armor of alcohol and drugs, I could make it through anything.

At least until the armor dragged me down. By time it did, it was not hard for me to believe that I had an illness. I was a strong-willed person who could muscle my way through many elements of life, but I was unable to stop using alcohol and drugs on my own. I could not even think clearly about it – at one minute, I knew I had a problem, at the next I was telling myself different stories about the situation.

My years of addiction were filled with circular thinking that kept me running, lost blocks of time, shame and guilt. I was never caught doing something illegal under the influence although that certainly happened. No one ever said 'you have a problem'; instead my friends told me I was overreacting when I mentioned my concerns. 'Everybody drinks that way!' I would hear in response to my alcoholic black-outs.

If you have struggled with alcohol or drugs, you may recognize what I am saying and may know your own inner realm of blackness and death. Addiction is very powerful – it changes our thinking, intensifies negative emotions and makes us feel very alone. It gets a grip on our very essence - that is for sure. And really bad things can and do happen as a result of its grip. But for me, that is not the real story.

The more interesting tale and the one that needs to be told is that recovery transformed my life. I no longer live in the ways I described to you in these first paragraphs. Today, I am able to think clearly. I keep learning about life and know how to love and respect myself. It is not easy, especially when I must face human traits in myself that are scary or embarrassing. But today, this is the path I am on, practicing mindfulness each day as I think and feel through the moments. I make decisions from this place of connectedness the best that I can, knowing that I still make mistakes throughout every day. Just like everybody else.

I am not different today, now there's a concept! Despite this addiction I have, I know I am just like everybody else. I need not be alone. I maintain daily contact with a Higher Power who continues to help me find my way. I know there are millions who live on a daily recovery path and personally know quite a few of these fine individuals.

I can pick up a phone or send off an email to make contact with another who will walk with me on this road. I can be on the other end when they reach me and be capable of listening to what they have to say and of offering my perspective. I have a life that works.

Here is what is powerful today: all around me, recovery is working in the lives of so many. People live lifetimes in recovery and as I find myself saying more and more, 'living well'. Sober and clean for more than 22 years, I no longer experience myself as actively recovering. I maintain my commitment to living well because this is the gift my recovery has brought into my life. I know there are big stakes and that any ongoing lapse in my dedication can bring me down fast but I no longer fear the relapse-to-come. Living well takes care of the addictive compulsion and I don't need substances to be fully alive. I practice the skills that brought me here and the new ones I learn along the way.

But here is my challenge today. In my work as a recovery educator and advocate I am reminded to not be complacent about my long-term success. After these many years, I could live fairly safely in the world without too much discrimination related to my addiction. I could do other work, since I am educated and skilled, but I have learned that when I live quietly, 'passing' as normal, recovery suffocates in the closet. I may believe I am safest there, but there is one major problem - so many of us with long-time recovery are living this way because we're integrated into society. However, as a consequence of our silence and invisibility, there is no picture of 'us' on the cultural radar.

I meet so many people who identify themselves as 'being in long time recovery, but not out' for many stated reasons. While I surely understand the fears and real-life stigma and discrimination that drive these decisions, I believe that none of that will change unless recovering people step forward when we can. At times, I get this knee-jerk fear response that screams, 'what am I doing to my life?' Truth be told, I am living life as it is, knowing that my addiction and recovery experiences are shared by more than I can ever guess.

I have learned that we can be of service to others by publicly sharing our stories when our lives get restored or transformed through long-term recovery. If we don't, our culture will never know how many millions of us are making it, one day at a time. I would not be writing this now if I didn't see women and men who were ahead of me on the healing path when I began this journey. Their recovery stories offered me hope and taught me what is possible. All of our stories proclaim that addiction is not a moral failure but an illness and that recovery is not only possible but happening everywhere.

I am grateful that I can share my experience with you in this way.
Debbie Dettor
Bangor, Maine