Ali Smith / Founder
Certified Recovery Specialist

I am an addict.

There was a time when I was ashamed to say those four words. I was ashamed of myself, and ashamed of the choices I made at the depths of my addiction.

I tell my story to people now because I see the power in those words. There is power in listening. There is power in humility. There is power in saying “I have been there,” and there is power in sharing the hope of better days. The experience of one addict can help save another addicts’ life. It’s what helped save my life, and countless others. The human connection, and a willingness.

I come from a family of coaches. Athletics were the core of our family. I grew up in Arizona and Southern California, and by the time I was 16, we had lived in five states. Change was a part of life when I was growing up. I welcomed it. I became a college swimmer and should have been on a track for success, except for one problem: I loved alcohol and drugs. I have no excuse. No reason. Nothing pushed me toward drugs. I was raised in a loving family that emphasized education. I was taught good values. I am just an addict. It is how I am wired. Nothing about it was “recreational” for me. Once I started, I couldn’t stop. From the time I started drinking, I fell in love with the effects of alcohol. My drinking did not stay manageable for long. By the time I was in my second semester of freshman year of college, I had quit going to class, my GPA was a .08, and my 12-year swimming career was over.

I loved alcohol and drugs. I also hated alcohol and drugs, because my need for them controlled my life. I used to ask myself: Why me? Why can't I stop using?  Why am I sitting in a jail cell again? Why does my behavior keep hurting others? Why does anyone care? However, I viewed every decision through the prism of my addiction. Over the next 20 years, my disease got progressively worse, and the cost became more devastating. I found myself in the middle of a horrendous opioid habit. It got so bad that I could no longer parent my three children. I was stealing from family and friends to support my habit. I spent time in institutions. A federal drug charge landed me in prison. I sat in a prison cell on the day my father passed away. My disease was slowly killing me.

In 2010, I had had enough. For the first time, I became willing to ask for help. This was my moment: the time when I was really, truly ready to change my life. I desperately needed help, and I found plenty. I relied on the daily 12-step practice, a sponsor,  and intensive outpatient therapy. I started learning how to be sober, one day at a time. A desire to have spiritual experiences turned into real life miracles by just taking suggestions.

The joys of sobriety are so much more than getting sober. It comes from taking new, uncomfortable actions. And over time, those actions become our practices.

Drugs had affected every area of my existence...progressively. So I needed to progressively learn how to get all that back.  I needed to understand that addiction is a family disease. It takes time to build healthy, trusting relationships. Eventually, I realized that time is on my side. And because of that, I have balance in my life today. I live by a set of principles that are healthy to myself and others. Sobriety taught me how to love myself, and still does.

I became a coach to help people, and to help them realize what they can become. The inspiration goes both ways. I’m reminded daily of what addiction looks like. But I get a boost watching another addicts life change. I love the human connection. It saves lives. The road in sobriety is long, but the steps are small, and that’s what makes the journey so beautiful.