A DJ Changed his Tune from Addiction to Recovery

I grew up in a big family with six siblings. My parents were strait-laced and deeply religious. They raised us with strong values. I witnessed firsthand the turmoil my older siblings caused when they started drinking and using drugs as teenagers. My brother who was 10 years older got into partying around 18 or 19. I was only 8 or 9 at the time.

When he'd come home drunk and fighting with my parents, it would disrupt the whole household. It really hurt my parents to see their kids going down that destructive road. I decided at a very young age I would never put my family through that pain. I was going to learn from my siblings' mistakes.

But even though I steered clear of substances initially, I gravitated toward other rebellious, non-conformist kids. My closest friends were the skaters, rejects, and pot smokers. I identified with their distaste for authority. Peer pressure never swayed me in junior high or the first half of high school. I remained the strait-laced one in our group.

I was always the designated driver, never touching the alcohol and drugs my friends were experimenting with. But they eventually started questioning why I was so uptight. Senior year I decided I needed to finally see what the big deal was. What was I missing out on?

My first drink was on a winter camping trip with friends who'd been drinking and using for years already. In my naivety, I thought you just drank the whole bottle of liquor yourself. I proudly overshot trying to keep up with my seasoned friends. Within 30 minutes I was blacked out face-first in the snow.

You'd think that awful first experience would have nipped my drinking career in the bud. But addictive thinking got the best of me. A few months later we were struggling one weekend to find someone to buy us alcohol. When the opportunity finally arose, I remember thinking "the seal's been broken now, I might as well drink whenever I can."

My second time was a blast with no consequences, so I didn't experience any of the anti-drug hyperbole they fed us in school. I felt deceived and became much more open-minded about partying. I started smoking weed, dropping acid, and dabbling with pills. The experimentation snowballed quickly senior year.

I moved to Salt Lake City after graduating to attend the University of Utah. It wasn't long before drinking and drugs eclipsed my academics. Why spend all this time and money on college when it's interfering with my fun? I dropped out to pursue my "real" passion—DJing at local clubs.

I could party and drink on the job as a DJ. It seemed like the perfect lifestyle for me. I was surrounded by enablers who encouraged my substance use and unhealthy choices. In that scene, I never had to grow up or take responsibility. I could chase the party wherever it led.

During these years, it felt like the drinking and drugging didn't have many consequences. The occasional hangover or bad night was a small price to pay for the non-stop excitement. I thought I had it all figured out. But in reality I was trapped in the downward spiral of addiction. I just couldn't connect the dots yet.

Eventually I met a girl I really liked amidst the nightlife. We dated for a couple years, fully immersed in that world together. We felt on top of the world—young, hip, and invincible. But reality started setting in as we approached 30. The non-stop party routine became exhausting.

We got married, bought a house, and had a child. I told my friends parenthood wouldn't slow me down. I was convinced I could still maintain my wild lifestyle as a husband and dad. But it didn't take long for cracks to form in that illusion.

Staying out till 4am DJing clubs lost its appeal as the responsibilities of family life set in. But I wasn't ready to let go of drinking and drugs. So I found ways to continue the party at home. I faked injuries to get pain pill prescriptions. I isolated in the basement drinking.

It was a painful downward spiral. I kept telling myself I had this disease under control. I drew lines in the sand, only to barrel across them repeatedly. "I'll only drink beer and wine." "I'll never touch needles again." "I won't drive drunk with my daughter in the car." On and on as I broke promise after promise.

I tried checking into detoxes secretly, thinking I could get clean without anyone finding out. But I could never sustain sobriety for long. The guilt, shame and remorse would build until I caved into the next binge. My denial ran so deep I couldn't even admit I struggled with alcohol. In my mind I just had a drug problem despite all evidence to the contrary.

This painful cycle of attempts to moderate only led to more painful consequences—losing job after job, my family walking away for good, getting evicted from apartments. Yet I kept thinking I could eventually learn to drink normally. I always held onto that reservation deep down. Surely, I didn't have to fully give up drinking for life, right?

Out of desperation, I tried countless times to run away from my problems and start fresh somewhere new. I changed my number, moved across town, and severed all ties from the past. I told myself everything would be better in a new environment. But the disease came with me every time. I could never escape myself.

When I hit that "moment of clarity" after burning my life to the ground for the dozenth time, I finally started taking recovery seriously. Meetings were no longer just a box to check before I went off to drink more. I got tired of watching from the back row, judging the regulars who shared openly.

By age 37, I couldn't even get off the couch most days. I isolated in darkness, numbing out with drugs and alcohol, waiting to die. I had no idea how to live without substances. When my wife finally left with our daughter, I reached a turning point. If I didn't change, my next drink or pill would surely kill me.

That's when I started working closely with a sponsor and attending meetings every day. He had me go through the steps systematically. I came to understand my powerlessness over people, places and things. Even though I hated feeling dependent on AA at first, the spiritual principles started to shift my perspective.

Prayer and meditation were foreign concepts I resisted initially. But I was so miserable and desperate, willing to try anything that might offer some relief. To my surprise, the simple act of praying started to soften me inside. My sponsor encouraged me to help out at meetings and talk to other alcoholics. Even making coffee for people chipped away at my selfishness as I performed small acts of service.

Slowly but surely, the program transformed me from the inside out. My outlook became less fatalistic and nihilistic. I started to feel glimmers of hope, moments of serenity. I built relationships in AA and felt part of a community for the first time in my isolated life. Instead of running away, I faced the mess I'd made through making amends.

Approaching those I'd harmed with humility rather than hubris was incredibly healing. My sponsor urged me to let go of expectations and focus only on my sobriety, reassuring me everything else would follow. I witnessed this phenomenon firsthand as external blessings seemed to flow in once I committed fully to the internal work.

Now as I near 5 years sober, I can look back in awe at how right he was. I did not get sober to win my wife back or rebuild my career. In fact, impending loss of family, jobs, homes precipitated getting sober every time. I had to completely surrender first. Only then could I start slowly piecing things back together one day at a time.

Early sobriety was extremely humbling. Instead of chasing accolades and promotions, I had to focus on basics like showing up on time, paying bills, and being accountable. Progress felt painfully slow. But as I stayed plugged into the AA community, focusing only on maintaining my sobriety, all the external pieces fell into place over time.

I've made more progress in these 5 years than in my decades of drinking and using. I reconciled with my wife and had another baby. My career has meaning and balance today. And I finally have the tools to be a present father. I used to stay stuck on what I wanted to change in the future. Now I try to just live each day to its fullest.

The Program gave me a design for living that frees me from the torture of self. I'm grateful every day for my higher power, sponsor, and the many gifts sobriety has brought me. AA taught me that true happiness can only come from within. As long as I strive daily to be a better person, the rest seems to take care of itself.