Sober Shepherds

Sober Shepherds Guiding Recovery, Inspiring Sobriety. A faith-based recovery community built on honesty, connection, and hope. We don’t pretend to be experts.

Sober Shepherds: Because Every Voice Matters

At Sober Shepherds®, sobriety isn’t a finish line — it’s a journey we walk together, one day at a time. We don’t hide behind numbers or titles. We are fathers, mothers, sons, daughters, and friends — ordinary people learning to live with honesty, courage, and faith. We believe in the power of honesty. We believe in the courage it takes to tell your sto

ry, and the healing that comes when someone else hears it and realizes they’re not alone. We don’t offer coaching. We don’t sell easy answers. We simply offer truth, connection, and the reminder that you don’t have to be somebody to mean something. Our community exists to reach those who feel out of place, those who’ve been told they don’t belong, those who carry shame in silence. We are not here to glorify success stories packaged for validation and tailored for recognition. We are here for the raw, the messy, the ones who wonder if they matter. Because here — you do.

12/05/2025

🕊️ The best gift you can give your kids this holiday season is to be a sober parent.

12/04/2025

🕊️ A Cop’s Christmas

In recovery, we call them war stories. The difference here is there are many times during a police officer’s career that he genuinely finds himself, “at war”. Every day, we don bulletproof vests, pray for protection, and hear sincere “Be Careful” from our families. With butterflies in our stomachs, automatic weapons, and state-of-the-art communications systems in hand, we are ready for attack in the event of a crisis. It’s us vs. them…WAR. Sometimes officers can be at war with either themselves or with others. Who the enemy is in this true story, is for the reader to decide.

It is 2 am on Christmas morning, 1985. I am a veteran cop, working another holiday on The Graveyard shift. Just my luck, I knew I should not have gone to that Christmas party last night. I was only going to have “one” beer. Now I need coffee, Tylenol…and more coffee! Here I am again, hungover. The party was lousy anyway!

There is nothing worse than trying to look normal and act professionally when you are desperately hungover. The bulletproof vest seems to be chafing more than usual and my head is pounding. The police radio is eerily quiet, albeit the routine es**rt calls, making it even harder to stay awake. Why can’t I ever have just one beer?? Damn it.

The streets are normally quiet in the early morning hours of any holiday but Christmas is always, unusually peaceful. Even in the worst areas of our country, booze and drugs have long since been put away for the night, and even the bad guys are fast asleep or passed out at this hour. The only people out and about after 2 am are the other police officers…. and Santa.

I was patrolling on the midnight to 8:00 am shift, in one of the many suburban areas that surround a snow-laden and frigid, Philadelphia. My job was to patrol in a marked car and look for signs of trouble. That’s what police officers do; they patrol their area looking for trouble. If I didn’t find it, the police radio dispatcher would surely call my car # and GIVE me the location of someone else’s trouble. This Christmas morning proved no different.

“All Units respond for a man going berserk at a residence! Neighbors are reporting glass breaking. Occupant is screaming. Subject sounds like he is in a fight”.

I arrived along with two other officers to find neighbors pointing at the offender, who was perched on the exterior windowsill of his second-floor bedroom. He was naked, covered in blood from head to toe, and oblivious to the hypothermic elements of snow and ice that he had his ass propped on. We could see that the entire home was blacked out. The electricity had short-circuited from him pulling out ceiling fixtures. Every window on the first floor was broken out. My first thought: Be careful, your family needs you! Help ME, God!

Upon seeing the patrol cars, he abruptly jumped back into the bedroom, out of view, and began to scream, “Help, help! They are killing me!”

Then he would re-appear, beg us to come to help him, disappear from view again, followed by more glass breaking and more cries for help. Whose blood was he covered in? Was he baiting us in? Was he armed with weapons? Did he KILL anyone?

The man refused numerous orders to come downstairs and let us into the property. In police work, this situation is called an “Exigent Circumstance” or an emergency condition that makes the securing of a Search Warrant, unnecessary. We then made entry through the front door using a “street key”, more commonly known as, my right foot.

Immediately it was like entering another world, completely dark, except for our breath in the air. The assisting officers’ bodies were silhouetted by our flashlights. It was surreal. There was no heat, no electricity, empty Vodka bottles everywhere, and disposable syringes on the coffee table. This guy has been partying! Blood covered walls, railings, and tabletops. It was everywhere. We even found blood pooled in a teacup, on the coffee table! HELLO, we are the Police. We are now at the party…and we would like to meet the host”!

“They are killing me! Help!” (Crashing glass, thuds, screams)

I made my way to the bottom of the stairs, only to have the subject violently fling half of his body over the top step! S**T! My gun and flashlight are shaking, but I am no longer hungover! I hear myself and the other officers chanting, “Come down here! Let me see your f’in hands! Do it now!” Our flashlights waver with cold and fear.

He refuses to move. Like it has so many times before, training kicks in; I begin to move cautiously up the stairs, and DOUBLE S**T! The idiot pushes himself off of the upstairs wall, sending his body down the blood-stained stairs. His blood-soaked, naked body slides rapidly down the stairs like a stuffed pig. Wham! I slam my foot down on his neck and grab him by the throat in a submission hold. Somebody else handcuffs him. His screaming is now replaced by pathetic whimpering, “Keep the light in my eyes so they don’t get me!”

Now, we had to search the entirety of the home to determine if this guy had killed anyone. He had not. There was no “they”, to be found. A search of the house in daylight hours revealed a more horrific scene. Windows, mirrors, and doors that reflected the subject’s own image that night, were destroyed. He could not bear to look at himself. He had also become highly paranoid and hallucinogenic, after consuming a half-gallon of Stoli Vodka and injecting Methamphetamine.

He was transported to the hospital and admitted to the detox unit, while I prepared Criminal Complaint charging, on his behalf. This is a true story. The man involved was a high-level attorney, who represented one of the largest lobbying groups in the continental U.S., during the 1980s. If he is reading this story, he will know who I am.

His problem: Addiction. Who were “they”, which he kept referring to? We will never know, but I am sure that he will never forget.

I didn’t know it at the time but having that one beer was never my problem. It was all the ones after that first one. I got sober 11 years later and have been sober for forty years. Thank God for the program and the people of unbelievable measure, who are a part of it.

12/03/2025

🕊️ ’Twas the Holiday Season

Twas the holiday season
like thunder that rumbled.
We pack into meetings
and pray to be humbled.

The newcomer’s lineup
is filled with such fright
conditioned for vigilance
and ready to fight.

Some share with concerns
about this time of year
that brings lavish parties
and holiday cheer.

What seems so inviting
that makes our heads chatter
while some ask themselves:
what the hell is the matter?

Why can’t I do this?
Why can’t I go there?
As faith turns to dust
and molds to despair.

I’ll just go this time,
I’ll show you, you’ll see.
I’ll prove to you all,
and I’ll go—hurt me.

Then left to their will
as they become prey
in this animal kingdom
that just lasts one day.

Still many go out
without such a thought
they forget in one blink
what took years to be taught.

Don’t think that it’s true?
Stick around and you’ll see.
I’d rather welcome you back
than you welcome me.

So don’t lie to yourself
and pretend that life’s great.
Good decisions determine
the role of your fate.

Stick up your hand
and scream if you must
these thoughts in your head
will slowly adjust.

Just don’t sit and bathe
in all this self-pity.
Remember your head
is a dreadful committee.

The ones who stay sober
through holiday hype
are those who help others
similar to our type.

They always arrive early
and try to stay late
these sensitive moments
they never debate.

The hole in your fabric
of life you must stitch
it’s like poison ivy,
this holiday itch.

Now go and stay strong
and hold your head high.
A meeting is close
and always nearby.

And try to forgive
but never forget
it’s not that you won’t,
you just haven’t yet.

12/02/2025

🕊️ One down — two to go.

11/28/2025

Shoe Business: By David Weitz

If you’ve been down and out lately, looking endlessly for a smile to pop up on your dreary exterior, just itching for a reason to show those pearly whites, the subject for my winter blues tickled my insides long enough for me to make it all the way back from Pittsburgh in stitches.

After our long afternoon together discussing all of his issues, I got to see him show off his gift in front of a sold-out crowd. For those who don’t know him personally, it’s quite simple to identify him when his name is mentioned to anyone who has seen his act over the past three decades. It didn’t take me long, though, to reach his darker side. Right from the gate I was able to flip the switch to the other “Shoe” for a meaningful one on one with Craig Shoemaker.

I already knew that he had been recovering for decades and was more than willing to spill his guts to me. I also got the feeling that he was extremely eager to share his life story with us, what it was like for him living though active addiction and what life is like for him today as a sober man.

As an inquiring mind and even more as a recovering journalist whose job it is to report back I was as curious as many of my readers, recovering addicts themselves, as to how professional stand-up comedians keep sold-out crowds amused using their own pasts and years of remorse as a means of diversion. When I first met Craig Shoemaker, I had no idea what to expect since all I knew about him was that he was a brilliant comedian who has been amusing others for almost as long as I have been alive. When I first sat down with him, the idea of it all just threw me for a loop. However, before I could even pull out my recorder, the lifelong funny man began to spill what was on his mind, one hot mess to another.

“Craig, it’s nice to finally meet you. I know my readers are really excited that you were willing to tell us your story. I’d like to just start out by asking you what your life was like growing up as Craig Shoemaker,” I began.

“When I was a kid I was just so compelled to change my life because I hated it so much. Growing up, when there was things I couldn’t have, or that I wanted, I would steal or cheat my way to it,” Shoemaker said.

“So your behavior showed signs early in your life that you were heading in the wrong direction?” I asked.

“I would live in these denial mechanisms and try to fix my mom up with different men. Anyway, just a few years ago my mom loaded up a box of old s**t of mine from Philadelphia and sent it to me. Everything in the box had different, weird meanings. Anyway, in the box I found a card that said, ‘to the best son a father could have - happy birthday, son, love dad.’ I think I was five or six years old. Then it dawned on me that I made the card and signed it myself and forged his name to it because I knew he’d never buy me a card. The “d” was even backwards. I just laughed my ass off,” Shoemaker said.

If this celebrity is new to you, or you’re just not familiar with his personal profile, a lot of Craig Shoemaker’s stand-up routine includes stories about his completely dysfunctional past, growing up in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, in a fatherless home with his outrageous family and codependent mother whom he’s more than agitated to blab about. I knew when I saw how relaxed he was by the way he was dressed when I first walked in to interview him, that he was ready to give me exactly what I was looking for for our readers. As he scrunched down in his chair, one leg crossed over the other, I immediately gave myself the green light to enter into his personal space.

“Craig, I know you’ve been recovering a long time. Do you believe that through working a program this long and after having a childhood like you describe that you can honestly admit that you suffer with adult child issues?” I asked.

“Sure, my mom to this day still doesn’t speak to me. It’s painful and it’s horrible to deal with, but I finally had to take a stand with her and she doesn’t like that I will no longer accept or coattail to her needs and make it about her anymore. Her response to how I feel is very much a like child. I’m not saying I’m happy about it or that I am constantly sad about it; but that’s just me living in those unreasonable expectations as I actually think she will tell me she loves me or has some pride that I am her son,” Shoemaker said.

Many in the recovering community carry in their hearts so many unresolved issues from a lifetime before and after they finally enter recovery. Regardless of the toxic subject matter that originally brought an addict to plead for help, we learn through years of abstinence to address our new life from an awareness that hell is just one bad decision away. Through a willingness to change, those in recovery slowly peel away the layers of their onion to get to the core issues that make up the problem. Although this is, without question, a very painful venture, it is the only path to a peaceful existence. Getting back to speaking about his past before he found recovery I got right into a discussion of his alcoholism, the disease that originally brought him to his knees.

“Growing up in this dysfunctional environment of yours, Craig, what was the definition of an alcoholic to you before you got sober?” I asked.

“Well, I was raised to believe that an alcoholic was only a bum; like literally that word, a bum. Before I ever was at a meeting, an alcoholic to me was something like, Mr. Plumbic across the street who had a red bowless nose and drank out of a brown paper bag,” Shoemaker said.

“So, since you weren’t Mr. Plumbic across the street, did you think you were just crazy when your disease progressively worsened over your lifetime?” I asked.

“Like homeless, nuts and crazy! I really thought I was going to be one of those guys like I saw once in Chestnut Hill who would just walk up to you off of the street in a trench coat and start giving you information out of the blue, like, ‘the Roman numeral twenty-one looks like the inside of an electric generator,’” Shoemaker replied.

“So when along the way did you change your opinion about alcoholism?” I asked.

“I was at a party in Los Angeles once with a woman I was dating, and I asked her if she wanted a beer and she said, ‘no, I don’t drink’ which I thought was so weird. So I said ‘okay’ and got her one anyway. Well, I ended up drinking her beer, drank my beer, and of course everyone else’s beer too! Soon after that she said, ‘I can’t date you anymore because of the way you drink,’ so eventually we broke up, but she was the one who took me to my first meeting,” Shoemaker revealed.

“And what was that experience like?” I asked.

“When I walked into my first meeting the room was filled with famous people, good looking people, and I said, ‘Wow that’s an alcoholic?’ So it redefined the entire thing for me. Then, when the meeting started everyone went around the room and identified themselves and when it got to me I was thinking, ‘how do I say it?’ My palms began to sweat as it got closer and closer to me and then when it finally got around to me I just said it, ‘Hi, my name is Craig and I’m an alcoholic.’ That was the biggest epiphany of my life,” Shoemaker said.

“And was that the last time you ever drank?” I asked.

“No, I went out again, again and again, three times that year, every trip back to Philadelphia. I would go out and my old friends would say, ‘Hey where’s the old Shoe at?’ which was my nickname. And I was like, ‘I’ll show you!’ Then I’d end up taking the mic over of a band and then going out to the Black Banana which was an after-hours club; and then I’d find the coke dealer and then it’s all the same story from there which friends of mine use to call, ‘The Shoe-Zone’, like ‘The Twilight Zone,’ which meant if you were going with me you might be hitchhiking home from Alaska. Till this day old friends of mine are still afraid of me when I come home to Philly. Even though they know I’m sober, they’ll still say, ‘Hey Craig, I’ll drive myself, thank you!” Shoemaker explained.

“So when did you finally get sober?” I asked.

“The last night of course I ended up naked in a bed next to my sister’s friend on my sister’s pull out sofa with springs poking me in the ass. And that was the last day,” said Shoemaker.

“And when was that exactly?” I asked

“That was November 19, 1987. My sobriety date is November, 20,” Shoemaker said.

Early in his life, Craig Shoemaker was able to soothe his interior turmoil, using comedy to distract just about anyone within arm’s reach of him. He exposed himself by converting his tears of sorrow into a laughing game, publicly relating his personal stories in a livelihood that has spanned over thirty years.

“Was comedy always a calling for you?” I asked.

“I was already a comic from a young age; and not only a comic, a successful comic from the get go. I started in high school at keg parties. I was already doing stand-up by the time I was sixteen, got paid at seventeen and was making a pretty good living at it by the time I was nineteen,” Shoemaker said.

“Do you find that using stories about your difficult childhood and surviving through a pain-filled existence is what makes you such a talented comedian?” I asked.

“Yes, I do. I’m a storyteller and I’m still gonna stay a storyteller, although that doesn’t go over so well these days with kids who have A.D.D. I mean, in the attention deficit disorder society we live in if they rewrote War and Peace it would just be a pamphlet called WN’P. The Bible would just be ‘the Earth was made in three hours and then he died for yours sins, done!’ There wouldn’t even be a New Testament. There would just be Genesis, that’s all! It wouldn’t even be called Genesis, just - Gen. And it would be tweeted. Jesus would be twittering – ‘Walked on H2O today,’” Shoemaker noted.

“So many artists feel that drugs and alcohol is what gives them their creativity. A lot of artists entering recovery feel that they will lose the very essence of their creativity once they put the substance down they feel drives their art. How did getting sober affect your creativity as a comedian and do you feel that you are funnier sober?” I asked.

“Finally getting grounded and finding the authenticity in me from staying sober, working a program and having a relationship with a higher power gave new meaning to my life. After staying sober awhile I said to myself, not only can I be sober and funny, I can take funny, sober to another level,” Shoemaker said.

Once that microphone is in the palm of his hand there is no stopping Craig Shoemaker from keeping you doubled over in belly pain for as long as he can keep your undivided attention. His act of over four decades, comparing his dysfunction to the world’s, pushes any audience that attends his show to participate in being human until his hilarious performance draws the curtain. Whether it’s his jaded childhood, his absent father, his outrageous mother, his role as a parent, his pride in being “The Love Master” or just the mere fact that there’s no shame in knowing you’re not the only idiot driving a repulsive minivan, Craig Shoemaker knows how to turn any frown upside down.

His non-profit organization, Laughter Heals, continues to find its way into millions of hearts that discover that a little bit of laughter goes such a long way. His success in keeping comedy as a full-time gig is a direct result of learning to live a spiritual life, giving back to society, and staying sober one day a time. To Hollywood it may just be business as usual. However, to me, there’s no business, like Shoe business.


11/25/2025

🕊️ The Society of the Second Chance

Life has a way of casting some of us as wanderers, as if we’re born to lose our way. We stumble through storm after storm, clutching at anything to keep us afloat, never sure if we’ll ever find solid ground again. But those of us who survive, those who keep climbing despite the falls come to realize something profound: we don’t just survive; we transform. We belong to something greater. We belong to the society of the second chance.

We are the ones who’ve been burned by life’s fire and risen from its ashes. The ones who’ve carried the weight of our failures on our backs like boulders, trudging uphill again and again. There were times we couldn’t see the summit, times we doubted if the climb was worth it, and yet we climbed. Not because we had the strength, but because staying at the bottom felt like a death sentence. Every step felt impossible, but somehow, even in our darkest moments, we found the will to try again.

The hardest part of being in this society isn’t the climb or the storms—it’s the loneliness. It’s the haunting thought that maybe you’re the only one who’s fallen this far, the only one who’s made mistakes so devastating they echo in your sleep. It feels like being the last tree standing in a forest that’s been cut down. You’re exposed, vulnerable, with every scar visible for the world to see.

But here’s the truth: you are not the only one. There is a whole forest of us, waiting to remind you that you’re not alone. We’ve all stood in the ashes of our lives, wondering if we’d ever grow again. And together, we’ve found a way to rise. Together, we’ve learned that the scars we carry are not signs of weakness. They are maps that tell the story of how we survived.

For me, risking it again isn’t an option anymore. I’ve climbed this mountain so many times, fallen back down so hard, that now, at nearly 54 years old, I’ve learned to protect what I’ve fought so hard to build. The cost of another fall is too great, and the climb back up takes a toll only those of us in this society can truly understand. I’ve learned to hold on, not out of fear, but out of respect for the journey that’s brought me here. Respect for the battle scars that have become a part of me.

You see, this society doesn’t belong to those who’ve never struggled. It belongs to those of us who’ve shattered into pieces and had to put ourselves back together again. We are the blacksmiths of our own souls, forged in the fires of failure, hammering away at the broken parts until something stronger emerges. We know what it’s like to be utterly undone, and we know what it takes to rebuild.

So if you’re part of this society, know this: your scars don’t make you weak. They make you wise. Every fall, every stumble, every agonizing climb has shaped you into someone who knows what it means to fight, to endure, to rebuild. And when the world tells you that your mistakes define you, stand tall, stand proud. You are not broken. You are proof that no matter how far we fall, we can rise again. You are living evidence that strength comes not from an untested life but from one that’s been tested and endured. We are the ones who’ve survived the wreckage, climbed the mountains, and faced the storms. We rise stronger every time because second chances are a blessing and we belong to the society that embraces us to endure it.

11/24/2025

🕊️ This Holiday Season — You’re Not Alone

11/21/2025

Appetite For Reconstruction: By David Weitz

If your social life in the new millennium consists of dozens of apps and tattle-tale newsfeeds that wreak a stench in what has now become typical of many American households, welcome to my rage against the machine! First, I would like to clear away the thick smog Hollywood blows into our east coast living rooms, filling them with deliberately inappropriate messages sent from the media war front. What seemed so electrifying when I was growing up has somehow transformed itself into an overdeveloped sense of veracity and competitive voyeurism. Therefore, even though I had never met Steven Adler in person, I knew the prospect for his voice to be heard without the hype of a critic looking at a score card was much better with me than any other journalist he would meet anytime soon.

Most people know Steven Adler as the drummer from Guns N’ Roses, one of the most popular rock bands in the twentieth century. The gig Steven played, most people can only dream of living while awake. Seriously, who doesn’t fantasize about being in a rock band selling out arenas around the world? I don’t know one human being on this planet who wouldn’t want thousands of screaming fans begging for an autograph just because you’re you! How many times have you turned on the radio, only to hear a song you wish were yours, a song everyone in the world was singing? Being a rock star sure seems to be a better profession than one that requires putting on a pair of tan slacks and a crummy collared shirt five days a week.

Most Americans I know, given the choice, would leave their domestic habitat in a flash to hop a flight to anywhere just to get away from the stress of trying to be the adult they were expected to be instead of following their dream. For the most part America’s youth sets up shop according to the only blue print they are raised to pursue. It seems that doing what you’re told is a much better street to follow than chancing the road less traveled.

As understood by the public, the same network that once played his music videos decided to give Steven Adler a new opportunity to recollect some of his experiences from an intoxicated career laced with regret. Hesitantly but willingly, he stepped forward to address his jaded past, allowing executive producers to create a story about what it’s been like to be Steven Adler for the past twenty years. In actuality, the programmed realism and the truth are two completely different reality shows.

I didn’t seek this interview to drill a famous drummer who was idolized at one time by so many teenagers. I knew walking into this that I would have to risk questioning a sensitive “pincushion” who comes with the baggage of being a public outcast. I knew I had to dig deeper than the rest if I were to reach an exhausted spirit whose heart is wary of any individual with a recorder in his right hand. Looking back now, I’m glad I don’t watch much television. It helped keep my mind open to the endless possibilities that occur once someone makes up his mind that enough is enough.

In the course of two conversations I convinced Steven to accept the angle I wanted to report in this story. During my entire life I have always strived to do things differently. I already knew that I could relate to Steven’s troubles on a level that only two addicts could recognize, regardless of the size of their bathrooms. With candid questioning, aimed directly at his heart, I pointed out our similarities to encourage him to believe that I was just a middle-class nobody seeking to hear his truth.

“So, Steven, I’m a recovering he**in addict myself.” I began. “My behaviors in active addiction were identical to yours, but my actions weren’t videotaped and publicly broadcasted in front of millions of viewers. Tell my readers what it felt like to have seen yourself on national television after you relapsed?”

“Actually, it was the best thing that ever could have happened for me.” Steven replied as we connected. “Every addict needs to be videotaped so they can see for themselves the next day what their friends and family are talking about when they have no idea.”

“Were you shamed and embarrassed?” I asked.

“Yes, I felt a lot shame and was very embarrassed, but it definitely woke my ass up. Unfortunately, I had to be arrested and forced into rehab. First, I did Celebrity Rehab and then a short time later I did Celebrity Sober House. When I showed up there high with he**in, tinfoil and syringes they had me arrested that night. When I was put in front of the judge, he said to me, ‘I’m going to put you in jail for one year or you can go into rehab for ninety days.’ I mean, I might be goofy, but I’m no dummy,” Adler admitted.

Anyone recovering from the disease of addiction will tell you that hitting the bottom requires admitting complete defeat. However, some of us require much more humiliation than others. When the pain becomes immeasurable we prepare ourselves to go to any and all lengths to finally begin the recovery process. In Steven Adler’s case it was his international fame that took him to the top of a mountain, and he could not see his way down. It was the lifestyle and the magnified ego that come along with being a rock star that make the stakes higher for a fatality than for completing the journey back down the mountain. Nevertheless, it was witnessing himself on national television, fumbling down a flight of stairs that finally brought Steven Adler the moment of clarity that humbled him.

Like anyone trudging this road, we learn early through active twelve step work that a lifetime of resentment and finger pointing play a significant role in what keeps an addict’s minds from being able to heal. Being taught to take responsibility for your actions and learning to forgive others can take a lifetime prisoner into the free world. This is the miracle those who are recovering can attest to and what Steven and I further discussed in our interview.

“Obviously, Steven, you’ve been through a lot since having been separated from your band and especially your friend, Slash, who you’ve known since you were eleven. Now that you’re sober what has your process been like to try and heal past wounds?”

“Well, for twenty years, Slash and I didn’t have a relationship,” confessed Adler. We didn’t talk, we didn’t discuss anything. He was doing his thing, I was doing my thing. So, it’s really nice to have my have my oldest and best friend who I accomplished so much with back in my life again.” Adler said.

“And the rest of the band?” I added.

“I got my old relationships back in my life again with, Duff, Izzy and Axl too. I felt for twenty years that they let me down. I waited all this time for them to come and apologize to me. I finally accepted responsibility for everything that has happened in my life and realized that I needed to apologize to them. Unfortunately, it took twenty years and working with Dr. Drew and Bob Forrest to realize that they didn’t let me down. I let them down,” he added.

By this time in the interview, Steven and I were as connected as two human beings who self-proclaim the desire for change. He was no longer a violent, angry and lonely man on top of a mountain isolated from the world that he despised. I could feel Steven enjoying our humble conversation about the obstacles to be overcome in order to establish a lifestyle that demands rigorous honesty, courage and blind faith. By accepting the spiritual principles he needed in order to address the decades of bitterness that hindered his ability to let go of his past, he was able to jump right to the number one offender.

“I hated the way I felt, how I was living and how I treated people! I’ve been to rehab twenty-five times, and it was a waste of time because I never gave myself a chance. I was finally given another opportunity to change my life, and I took it for everything that it was worth,” Adler said.

“So what you’re saying is that resentments are what kept you sick and are the number one reason that you continued to keep getting high all these years?” I asked.

“I was angry with people who weren’t even thinking about me. I would think about how much I hated people for what they did to me when that was just another excuse to keep getting high. I really never gave myself a chance. Making an amends to all the people I had wronged was such a relief! I’m forty-six years old; I’m not a teenager anymore. I better have learned something by now or I’m in trouble,” said Adler.

“And now that you’re free today from active addiction who are some of the people you speak with when you get an itch to get high or are feeling uncomfortable in your own skin?” I asked.
I call Slash, Bob Forrest, my wife, my brother. I mean, I have people back in my life now, but I lost their respect and had to prove myself. It took time for the people I loved to accept and trust me again,” Adler said.

“So what would you tell a fan of yours or a newcomer who is just getting sober?” I asked.

“Just give it a chance and be honest with yourself. Face the facts; you were the one doing drugs. No one put a needle in your arm, or a pipe in your mouth, you did it. For any addict out there trying to get sober you got to stop hating or it’s going to take your life away from you. I mean, the littlest things are just another excuse to do drugs again. You got to grow up!” said Adler.

“What about the addict who says, ‘No matter how many times I try, I just can’t get sober.’ What would you tell an addict that says, ‘I just can’t do it’?” I asked.

“You can never say ‘can’t’. If you say ‘can’t’, you might as well just roll up in a ball and die,” Adler replied.

It’s not news that active addiction carries a lifetime of disgust and personal hatred. But the only ones who can truly hear the hopeless cry for help are the ones who once carried the hopeless voice themselves. Whether you’re a rock star touring the world or the local clerk at a convenience store, those in recovery all share a common bond as addicts seeking a daily reprieve.

The fear-driven maze Steven Adler fell into required only one bad decision, and then took decades for him to find his way out. It seemed at first that his desperation was really a curse of humiliation. In truth, it was just the impetus required to finally right size himself. What the media views as entertainment is just a fuzzy version of the truth to keep you in your seat so that advertisers who spend millions of dollars can get their money’s worth. No one followed Steven Adler around for the twenty years that it took him to make it to Celebrity Rehab. And the reality is no one is going to follow him around as he processes all the crucial changes that will eventually draw him closer each day to finding his way down a mountain that took a lot longer to climb than one television season.

Personally, I don’t know many people who could have lived through Steven’s experience since it seems to demand anonymity to even consider it. Americans who are obsessed with reality television may view Steven Adler as a rock star stereotype, perfect for a Hollywood network production. However, off-camera I spoke with a man who shared with me the identical pain that I once survived in order to be able to receive the same grace. The chance to interview the person who plays the character we think we know was certainly a spiritual encounter I will not forget anytime soon. It truly is the appetite for reconstruction that only those who have been there can own.

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