I grew up in a loving, supportive family in Odessa, Texas. My parents were respected in the community, we ate dinner together every night, and I spent every Sunday in church. I was taught to be a gentleman, and I was given every opportunity to succeed. 

But despite this strong foundation, I started using substances around age 12. I distinctly remember taking one too many puffs from my asthma inhaler and loving how it made me feel. Shortly after, my friend and I stole alcohol from my dad’s liquor cabinet and drank almost the entire bottle. Before I knew it, alcohol use had spiraled into drug use, and I was abusing nearly every type of drug and using every day—whatever I could get my hands on. My addiction even progressed to intravenous heroin use, which I had promised myself that I would never do!

I went to my first treatment center right after high school, and I spent the next seven years—and hundreds of thousands of dollars—in and out of rehab.  In my 20s, it all caught up with me, and I ended up going to prison. I felt lost and like I had nothing to show for my life. I was in prison not just physically, but mentally, emotionally, and spiritually as well.

Near the end of my time in prison, I found myself paralyzed by fear. I knew I was about to get out, and I was convinced that I could never get sober, that recovery and the 12 Steps would not work for me. I had tried many times only to fail again. I felt so much shame and like I didn’t want to live. 

But then, another thought cut through the darkness: “Is it possible that, until now, you haven’t been willing to do whatever it takes to recover from addiction?” I realized that I had gone all in on my addiction, but I hadn’t gone all in on my recovery. Instead, I had chosen a strategy of avoidance. I hadn’t really believed in it or applied the tools I learned for myself. 

I knew I had to fully surrender. For the first time in my life, I was willing to go to any length to get better.

The day before I got released from prison, I prayed and dedicated my life to not only my own recovery, but to helping other men recover. I called my parents and said I wanted to start a sober living house. We called the house Any Length. It might sound crazy, a barely sober guy helping other men struggling with substance abuse, but something told me that my ability to get well was connected to helping others at the same time. Together in that house, we ate, slept, and breathed this way of life. 

I’m proud to say I’ve been sober since April 28, 2012. Today, I experience meaningful connections with my family, authentic friendships, the freedom that comes from being honest with myself and others, and a deep trust in myself. So do the other men who were part of that initial sober living community. I wish that for you as well. The belief that our weakness is our strength, that we’re all wounded healers, and that we need brothers to walk with us through life is still at the heart of Any Length Retreat. 

We’ve certainly made things more official now, with: