Drinking was fun until it wasn't. That's the most honest way I know how to say it. From 18 to 22, my life revolved around alcohol and drugs — and for a while, it looked like a good time. Girls, money, friends. Nobody looked too hard at how far I was actually going.
But as the people around me grew up and learned how to have a beer and go home, I did not. I blacked out almost every time I drank. I drove drunk. I wasted money. I bought cocaine. I went to jail at 18 for three months for a DUI. I was a liability to everyone who cared about me.
My dad died when I was 17. My best friend died when I was 23. Grief and alcohol are a dangerous combination — and I had both in full supply. By 23, things got dark fast. Suicidal thoughts. A toxic relationship unraveling. Cocaine use that was out of control. I was drowning and I knew it.
The moment that changed things wasn't dramatic. I was sitting alone at a bar — at 22 years old — and a thought came through clearly for the first time: "I just don't drink like other people." And I knew, sitting there, that the life I actually wanted — purpose, a family, a home, someone to love — was on the other side of the bottle. Not next to it.
I went to rehab in LA, where my sister lived. Left Denver, left everything familiar, and had to learn how to navigate life completely sober. It was rough. But on January 26, 2019, I made a decision. And I haven't looked back.
Today my life is in Kona, Hawai'i. It's still hard — life still happens. But I'm present for it. I used to be a man with only liabilities. Now I'm someone people come to for support and solutions. That shift is everything.
I have a theory about why people get sober when they do — I call it the accumulation theory. Nobody changes because one person told them to. But maybe every story they heard, every conversation, every moment of recognition quietly stacked up — until one day it tipped. They took the leap. That's why I'm here. I'm not trying to save you. I'm just adding to your pile.