August is Overdose Awareness Month, and on August 31 we observe International Overdose Awareness Day. This year marks 25 years of a global campaign that began with a simple act of remembrance and has grown into a worldwide call to end overdose, reduce stigma, and support those left behind.

Recovery doesn’t always mean survival, but every step toward recovery deserves recognition. Recovery can look different for everyone. It may involve treatment, medication, peer support, family, rebuilding relationships, finding meaningful work or purpose, creating a safe home, or simply taking life one day at a time

As someone who commissioned into the military later in life, and was stationed overseas, I realized that I had taken the recovery community in the United States for granted. It is somewhat rare for somebody with many years of recovery already under their belt to join the military, and it can feel isolating to be one of the few people in that situation. Things would have been much easier had I been stationed stateside. In nearly every midsize to major city across the U.S, there are AA and NA meetings virtually every hour on the hour from sunrise to sunset. Outside the U.S. and other English-speaking countries, meeting availability becomes a bit more challenging. However, that certainly does not mean that living abroad means being cut off from the recovery community altogether. In fact, there are opportunities to engage in a rich recovery community in some very unexpected places.

When we have any type of experience with substance use, whether it’s being in active use ourselves or hearing about it in the news, we develop a lexicon that we may not even realize is causing harm. Willingness to rethink the language we use to discuss recovery is a key quality that makes us the most prepared to support people we love and communicate compassionately. Let’s look at a few key examples.

We talk a lot here about how extreme addiction is. If you fully grasp the scale of what we’re talking about, then it can feel pretty hopeless. Let me articulate this as simply as I can. Please know this is just my understanding. Your mileage may vary with this perspective.

Addiction is chemical. Your brain desires its addiction as a tool, just like it needs sugar to function, the addiction is something the brain uses to trigger certain brain chemistry that it genuinely needs. The chemistry becomes a problem when it phases from “tool” to “addiction”. But your brain asks harder for certain things when it needs those chemicals. Anyone who’s ever “really needed” a cup of coffee can comprehend this. But it extends to concepts like sugar (did you know you’re less likely to resist sugary foods when your brain is tired?) and protein and everything else. The brain will reduce your will-power until you give in eventually. Those who exercise will-power well, feed their brain with other tools, like sleep, exercise, and other forms of rest.

Addiction affects more than just the individual. It ripples out into families, friends, and communities, leaving the people who care feeling powerless in what they see unfolding. Loving someone through addiction may mean recognizing that you cannot stop it for them, but choosing to not give up on them. You can continue to show up, offer support, and let them know that help is there when they are ready. 

Addiction is a deep hole. One day everything is fine, and the next you’re deep in the depths of despair. It’s easy to fall into. Just one sip, one pill, or whatever the substance may be - that’s all it takes for some. For others, continued use, for whatever reason - to fit in, to “feel better”, to “be happy”, or even because it was prescribed, slowly trains the mind that they need it. Tolerance develops as they continue using it, and then they need more and more. It never ends up being enough. 

This is a repost from SAMHSA (Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration) but well worth sharing…

Tyler’s Journey Through the Criminal Legal System

“He’s dead, David. He’s dead. He’s dead.”

Those frantic, dreadful words echoed through my mind, on repeat.

‘David’—that is me. ‘He’—that’s my friend, Tyler. Or I should say ‘was,’ as of September 5, 2023.

Tyler and I were incarcerated in state prison together between 2011 and 2013 for similar non-violent, drug-related charges. Our friendship consisted of cutting grass, playing cards, drinking instant coffee, munching on ramen, and listening to John Mayer and Dave Matthews. During these two years, our similar life circumstances, musical interests, and severe substance use issues resulted in a bond that would continue even after our paths diverged—with Tyler’s (back) into chaos and mine through a narrow escape toward purpose and healing. My recovery and hard work gave me an opportunity to finish my bachelor’s degree, complete my Master’s, and even gain clearance and employment in the federal government. Despite this divergence, Tyler and I wanted the same thing—a family, a career, economic stability; to do good and be good people—but we also needed all the help we could get.

On this day—January 16, 2026—we mark three years since Chris’s passing. I write to honor his life and to remind us all that recovery is a journey, and it is work. Addiction, too, becomes work. It may not begin that way, but as it tightens its grip, it demands more and more, taking far more than it ever gives. Recovery asks for effort, honesty, and perseverance, yet the rewards reach far beyond what we can imagine: clarity, connection, purpose, and hope.

As the year ends, we pause to honor the courage of the youth who showed up, leaned in, and chose growth—even when it was hard. This year reminded us that healing doesn’t happen in isolation—it happens in safe spaces, through shared stories, fresh air, and steady support.

In the wilderness, distractions fade and honest conversations begin. We’re grateful for every moment spent in nature and every story shared. Wilderness continues to be a powerful place for recovery, reflection, and renewal. This year reaffirmed our mission: partial scholarships to young people in the United States for wilderness programs assisting with addiction recovery; this because when young people are given space, support, and connection, recovery becomes possible.

I carried a couch. And I mean that quite literally. The couch is not a metaphor. Not a joke. You can see it in the picture. I am not bragging–ok, well, maybe a little. But in reality, I did it for Chris. I did it in memory of my brother. Interestingly, I’m not even the first to do it. It’s starting to become a tradition around remembering Chris–couches.

In 2024, a whole bunch of people carried a couch for chris. I wasn’t there. I wasn’t in very good shape. I didn’t want to go because I had work to do. And it would have been a burden on my family. Little did I know that my wife would get extremely ill that weekend and have to be rushed to the ER to save our baby. It worked out, but I missed out on something very important–something that would have meant a lot for the process of mourning Chris.

Giving Tuesday is December 2, 2025

Giving Tuesday is a global day of generosity—a day when people and organizations around the world come together to make a difference.

For those of us in recovery, giving isn’t just one day—it’s part of our way of life. Every day we share our time, compassion, experience and strength to help one another heal. But on Giving Tuesday, the world joins us in that same spirit of generosity and hope.