Hello, everyone, my name’s Adam. I was born and raised in Gilford, New Hampshire, to an incredibly loving family. I was the quiet kid who everyone said was “so easy” to raise. My sister had her first child, my nephew when I was just 7, and soon after came my niece. They were the center of my world, and as more nieces and nephews followed, they gave me reasons to keep pushing forward, even during the toughest times.

My troubles started early. I began experimenting with drugs and alcohol in my early teens. Due to my constant behavioral issues and my regular presence in the principal’s office, the school decided to graduate me early, largely because my grades were good enough to meet graduation requirements. This accelerated my dysfunction and before I turned 18, I was already using needles, sinking deeper into a lifestyle I couldn’t control.

I cycled through numerous treatment centers, each time ending in failure and a deeper sense of hopelessness. I tried moving to different states, thinking a change in scenery might help, but the problems always followed. It didn’t matter where I went; I was the same person with the same pains, dragging my dysfunctional self from place to place. I felt worthless, and I didn’t want to live. I had accepted I would die a “young junkie.”

I thought going to treatment and simply removing the drugs would fix everything. I believed that if I could just suppress my pain, it would eventually fade away. But I was blind to the fact that the issue was within me. I was trying to resolve the pain by using drugs. Self-medicating, as so many others do. I needed to address my mental health issues, and I needed to take responsibility for my own reality. Most of my chaos was of my own doing. No more playing the victim, no more “poor me.” I had to be an active participant in my own life and recovery. I needed to find a place that would take me for as long as possible. No more 28-day treatments. I wanted a long-term place.

I found myself at the doors of Treehouse Recovery in California. This time, it felt different. I was there for over six months, living afterward in a recovery home surrounded by people who were fighting just as hard as I was to get better. Therapy, social engagement, and physical activity were focal points of the treatment that ultimately led me to build a solid foundation for my future. I walked into detox a little over 8 years ago with the gift of desperation to get better. That same gift of desperation is what still drives me today, and it’s something I don’t plan on losing.

I went to school, and I took a job at Treehouse as a therapist, giving back to the community that had given me a second chance. It became clear that helping others wasn’t just beneficial for them—it was a necessary component for my continued recovery. Now, I run Reverence House in Laconia, a men’s home where I help others strive to become their best selves. The men in those homes provide me with a purpose that I will forever be indebted to.

I’m engaged to a wonderful woman who has been with me through my journey of self-discovery. Today, I have relationships built on trust and reliability. I’ve moved from self-hatred to self-respect, and now I look in the mirror and love who I see. I prioritize my own mental health today understanding that if I don’t, I will be useless to those around me. I focus on helping others and taking care of myself – sleeping enough, eating right, and staying active. I compete against my yesterday, every day. I’m accountable, and hold the people I love accountable. I do not have space, time, or energy for resentments, so I don’t have them. I treat myself and others with respect. My thinking and beliefs are evidence-based. And lastly, I’m a student of life. Learning has become a new addiction for me. An adaptable one. It feeds the same dopamine systems but instead puts me in a position to create rather than destroy. That’s the recipe that I follow daily. Of course, other things are sprinkled in but that is what works for me. 

Each morning, I wake up grateful to live the life I lead. I may not fully know who I am, but I’m certain of who I am not. I think one of the best parts of my recovery has been continuously learning more about who I am, and I don’t plan on stopping that anytime soon. I am not perfect, nor do I have any desire to be. I look forward to all my future mistakes, and I look forward to the version of myself that will come from those experiences.