Remembering the Powerful Stories of Recovery

Wendy & Rich 0:01
Coming to you from the Freedom Federal Credit Union studios, Hartford County Living presents, Conversations with Rich Bennett. 

Rich Bennett 0:27
Come 

up from Raise Against Addiction came up with this idea to do a pot of thong. And of course, I said, yeah, let's do it. So she joined me for something we never attempted before. And we called it the Pot of thong for recovery, 12 days of hope. For 12 straight days, we shared conversations about addiction, grief, treatment, accountability, sober living, relapse, motherhood, second chances, and what recovery actually looks like when it moves beyond a slogan and it becomes a way of life. And we are not doing another pot of thong this year, but I did not want recovery month to pass without returning to those conversations. Not because the stories belong in the past, they do not. And not because every story had a perfect ending recovery is rarely that neat. I wanted to return to them because the lessons are still alive. Somewhere, a person is wondering whether it is too late to ask for help. A parent is lying awake, afraid of the phone call that may come. A person in recovery is struggling through a difficult day and wondering whether all this work is worth it. A family member may be learning that loving someone does not mean controlling them. And someone listening may still believe addiction only happens to certain people. Last year's guest showed us how wrong that belief is. They also showed us something far more important. Recovery is possible. The series began on August 31st International Overduce Awareness Day. With Mandolin Elazar, she spoke about her son Giovanni who died at only 18 years old from fentanyl toxicity. There is no comfortable way to tell a story like that. There shouldn't be. Behind every overdose statistic is a name. There's a face, a laugh, a family, a future, and a place at the table that is suddenly empty. Mandolin, there's something incredibly courageous. She allowed us to know Giovanni as her son, not as a statistic and not as a warning label. She spoke honestly about what helped and what didn't, and why families need harm reduction tours, honest education, therapy, and support without shame. That conversation set the tone for everything that followed. If we want to save lives, we have to tell the truth. We have to talk about fentanyl. We have to talk about overdose. We have to talk about Narcan. We have to talk about mental health, trauma, medication, treatment, relapse, and the fact that addiction can enter any family. Let me repeat that. Addiction can enter any family. Silence does not protect people, and shame does not heal people. Pretending a problem is not there does not make it disappear. Truth can be painful, but truth opens the door to help. On the first official day of the polython, Wendy explained why she found that rage against addiction and how her grief became a mission to help other women live. At the time of that conversation, rage against addiction operated three server living homes, serving 25 women. Wendy talked about the goal of growing to five homes because the need does not disappear when treatment ends. That point stayed with me. We often speak about recovery as though someone completes a program walks out the door and is suddenly prepared to rebuild everything. But where does that person sleep? Who is around them? Is the home safe? Are drugs present? Do they have transportation, employment, medical care, meetings, a sponsor? Someone who will notice when they begin to withdrawal struggle. Rage of the program director for reach against addiction took us deeper into what sober living really involves. 'The hooms are not simply beds and walls. They provide structure, expectations, peer support, wellness programs, and time. That time matters. There is an initial period focused on stability. Residents work on healthcare, employment, meetings, sponsorship, and rebuilding daily habits. They learn how to live in community. They learn how to handle responsibilities. And they begin to trust themselves again. Rachel also explained where donations go, which you're more than welcome to go to rage against addiction. org, and make donations or even become a monthly donor. They help pay for ordinary things that are easy to overlook, such as drug tests, linens, utilities, repairs, and appliances. There is nothing glamorous about replacing a broken appliance or putting clean sheets on a bed. Yet those practical things create safety, dignity, and consistency. Recovery needs hope, but hope also needs a place to live. One of the strongest lessons from the series was that addiction does not have one face, one background, or one beginning. Karen described herself as not being the typical addict. Her addiction began after a neck injury and prescribed opioids. It grew into doctor shopping, secrecy, debt, withdrawal, and a life increasingly controlled by pills. She eventually asked for help, called her doctor to make sure she would no longer be prescribed opioids, and walked into an NA meeting. Karen's story challenges the idea that addiction begins only with a reckless decision in a back alley. 

Sometimes it begins in a doctor's office. 

Sometimes it begins with an injury and a legitimate attempt to manage pain. Elizabeth also lived with chronic pain for decades. She spent 31 years taking prescribed opioids and benzodiazepines, including fentanyl before entering a pain management program at the Betty Ford Center in 2013. Her recovery included 12-step support, yoga, breath work, prayer, and learning to understand the connection between pain, stress, the brain, and the body. Her story reminds us that recovery is not just about removing a substance. It is also about discovering what the substance was doing for the person and finding safer ways to address that need. Evie's journey stretched across countries and decades. Childhood trauma, a difficult marriage, a car accident, alcohol, and prescription drugs became part of her story. A newspaper listing eventually led her to alcoholics anonymous. At the time of our conversation, she had been sober for 44 years, 44 years. Think about how many mornings, decisions, meetings, difficult moments, and ordinary days are contained in that number. Evie later sought help for unhealthy relationship patterns and became a coach and hypnotherapy therapist. Her story shared that recovery can deepen over time, getting sober may be the beginning, but healing can continue for a lifetime. Several guests spoke openly about relapse. That honesty matters because people sometimes treat relapse as proof that treatment failed or that the person did not care enough. It can be dangerous, and it must be taken seriously, especially with today's fentanyl contaminated drug supply. But relapse does not erase every lesson learned or make future recovery impossible. Cat had eight years' claim before brief relapse forced a hard reset. She spoke about trauma, grief, jail, community support, and the importance of feeling safe. She rebuilt her recovery, her role as a mother, and her sense of purpose. And today, she helps others access care. Shelby experienced a relapse after four clean years. Work a holism, untreated mental health needs, and an earlier relationship with pain pills all played a role. She returned to structure and community, worked through severe anxiety, and eventually became a house manager helping other women. Sarah's journey included opioids, heroin, pregnancy while receiving methadone treatment, jail, and drug court. She later experienced a benzodiazepine relapse during the COVID era. She returned to therapy, structure, and service. she earned professional credentials and began canceling people at a medication-assisted treatment clinic. Karen was pill-free for years before alcohol became another problem. Eventually, she had to say the words she had resisted. I'm an alcoholic. She returned the meetings and continued to work. These stories do not minimize relapse. They put it in the proper place. Relapse can be part of a person's story without becoming the final chapter. If you have relapse, the question is not, why should I even try it again? The question is, what support do I need right now to stay alive and begin again? Recovery conversations sometimes get divided into two camps. One side talks about compassion. The other talks about consequences and personal responsibility. Last year's guest showed us that we need both. Kayleigh G remembered the words "try harder" as part of the emotional turning point that pushed her toward change. Her bottom included violence, consequences, and two years of weekend jail. She worked the steps, built the support system, and chose recovery daily. But her story did not end with personal recovery. She became a certified peer recovery specialist and a parent advocate. Helping mothers navigate child protective services, the courts, and the difficult road toward reunification. Because she has lived it, she can offer empathy about pretending the stakes are small. She can understand a mother's fear while still asking her to do the work. Madison's story carried a similar lesson. She described early mental health struggles, an abusive relationship, opioid addiction, repeated treatment attempts, and 20 arrests in three years. While detoxing in a cell, she prayed for help. An advocate, a judge, and her mother helped open a door to treatment. Hartford County Drug Court gave her structure and accountability. She walked through that door, did the work, and built a new life. She went from being a patient to working in treatment and rising into leadership at pyramid health care. Madison's message was simple and powerful. "Do not give up before the miracle." Accountability without compassion can become punishment with no path forward. Compassion without accountability can allow dangerous patterns to continue. Real support says, "I care about you too much to give up on you, and I care about you too much to pretend this is okay." Motherhood appeared again, and again, throughout these conversations. Kayla W spoke about childhood trauma, early addiction, and a terrifying DUI that became a wake up call. She entered Rage Against Addictions, Sister House and Daughters House, accepted structure, attendant meetings, and became a house manager. Her love for her daughter was part of what kept pulling her toward life. Mallory traced her story from family, instability, and early substance use to heroin, violence, and a moment no parent ever wins to imagine, when her child ingested and opioid and required emergency care and narcan. Mallory has been sober since November 23rd, 2013, and she now works in behavioral health and supports community nonprofits. Sarah spoke about pregnancy, methadone, and the stigma women can face even while following a medically supervised treatment plan. Her experience reminds us to be careful with our assumptions. Medication-assisted treatment saves lives. Recovery does not look identical for everyone. Rachel shared stories of women rebuilding relationships with their children. One former resident went on to regain custody, graduate from the program, and serves on the Rage Against Addiction Board. That does not mean every relationship is repaired or every loss is restored. Recovery cannot promise to return everything addiction took. But recovery can create the possibility of becoming present today. It can interrupt the cycle. It can give a child a different memory of their parent. It can transform guilt into service and pain into purpose. 

Every person we interviewed had a different path. But almost no one did it alone. There were sponsors, meetings, counselors, judges, advocates, treatment programs, sober homes, peers, family members, and people willing to answer the phone. Recovery is personal. But it is not meant to be solitary. That is why the work of Rage Against Addiction matters. It is why Recovery Homes matter. It is why peer recovery specialists matter. It is why drug court, treatment professionals, support groups, harm reduction, narcan, family therapy, and community education matter. It is also why language matters. When we reduce a person to a label, we make it harder for them to imagine another identity. When we speak as though someone is permanently broken, we reinforce the shame that often keeps people hidden. The people we met last year were mothers, daughters, professionals, counselors, advocates, leaders and neighbors. Some had been arrested, some had relapsed. Some began with prescriptions, some experienced childhood trauma. Some appeared highly successful while they were using. Some lost nearly everything. None of them were only their addiction, and no one listening today is only the worst thing they have done or the worst thing that has happened to them. After revisiting these conversations, here's what I believe. Recovery begins when shame loses its power to keep someone silent. Recovery grows when a person has safety, structure, connection, and a reason to keep going. Recovery requires honesty. Sometimes that honesty sounds like I need help. Sometimes it sounds like I relapsed. Sometimes it sounds like I cannot save you by myself. Or sometimes it sounds like I love you, but I need boundaries. Recovery is not one program, one meeting, one medication, or one philosophy. Different people need different combinations of treatment, peer support, medical care, therapy, faith, medication, structure, and community. Recovery does not erase grief. Mandel and his love for Urgivani continues alongside a loss no mother should have to carry. Wendy's mission grew from a family's pain. Many of our guests found purpose through suffering they never would have chosen, and recovery is possible. Even when someone has tried before, even after relapse, even after jail, even after years or decades of addiction, even when hope is barely more than a glimmer. If you are struggling today, please tell someone. You do not need the perfect words. You can say, "I am not okay." You can say, "I am afraid, I'm going to use." You can even say, "I need a meeting." You can say, "Can you stay with me while I make this call?" If you love someone who is struggling, learn what support is available. Carry Narcan and learn how to use it. Ask about treatment. Ask about medication-assisted treatment. Learn the difference between helping and enabling. Find support for yourself too, because families need recovery and healing. If you are in recovery, your story matters. You never know who is listening or who may recognize themselves in something you say. You do not owe your story to anyone. But if and when you choose to share it, it can become a bridge for someone who fears to learn. And if you are in a position to help, support organizations that do the daily practical work, volunteer, donate, offer employment, learn about sober living, challenge stigma when you hear it, make your business, organization, church, or community a place where asking for help is treated as courage. I encourage you to revisit last year's Potaththon for recovery episodes. Listen to Mandel and speak about her son. Learn from Wendy and Rachel about the work of Rage Against Addiction. Hear Kayla G., Kayla W. E. V., Cat, Shelby, Sarah, Karen, Mallory, Elizabeth, and Madison tell their stories in their own voices. I could summarize the lessons, but only they can give you the full weight, truth, and humanity of what they lived. To everyone living in recovery, I see the work you are doing, including the work no one else sees. To the families, I see your fear, your exhaustion, your hope, and your love. To those we have lost, we remember your names and the lives you lived. And to the person who is wondering if today can be different, let this be the message you carry with you. You are not beyond help. You are not alone. Your story is not finished. Until next time, I'm Rich Bennett. Thanks for listening. And remember, every great conversation starts with someone willing to listen and someone willing to share. And now it's your turn. Join the conversation by sharing this episode. leave in a comment or reaching out to me directly. Take care. Be kind to one another. And I'll talk with you again soon.