Last year, the New York Times ran an op-ed titled, “Let’s Open Up About Addiction and Recovery.” The article details the work of the Center for Open Recovery, a San Francisco non-profit dedicated to “end[ing] the stigma of addiction by empowering people in recovery to step out of the shadows of shame and be open about their lives in recovery,” and to “demystify recovery, shatter negative stereotypes about addiction…and inspire greater investment, advocacy and support to tackle the disease.”

As someone who neglected to get help for far too long, and who almost died because of it, I believe this is a noble cause and, indeed, a constructive response to a real public health crisis. Many friends and acquaintances have also urged me to share my story in the hope that it may help others and change the perception of those who struggle with addiction. So here is my contribution.

My name is Mike, and I’m a recovering alcoholic. My sobriety date is March 3, 2013, celebrating five years of sobriety just over a week ago. I regularly attend twelve step meetings in the United States and the United Kingdom. While there are many wonderful, valid, and helpful pathways of sobriety, the twelve steps worked for me. I found this particular pathway of sobriety to be physically, intellectually, and spiritually helpful, provocative, and healing.

This is a deeply personal part of my life that I usually choose to keep private. I share about it periodically, however, because almost every single person who reads this knows someone struggling with substance abuse or is struggling themselves; and everyone should know that there are many ways to recover that can and do work. About 21 million Americans suffer from substance abuse disorders. Each year, close to 90,000 people die from alcohol-related causes, and another 65,000 people die from drug overdoses. And these numbers don’t include the large proportion of suicides related to substance abuse.

Our society publicly associates addicts with shame, embarrassment, and ridicule. This is both hypocritical and harmful. Each of us knows, will know, or is the brother, sister, friend, or loved one enduring excruciating suffering because of the disease of addiction. People die because of how much shame, misunderstanding, and embarrassment are heaped onto addicts. This shame and embarrassment keeps people from getting help. We have collective blood on our hands the longer we pretend dealing with addiction is simply a matter of willpower and self-control.

I remained in denial about my disease because I simply couldn’t imagine life another way. What were weekends for? How would I date? How would I relax? How could I stay up all night and work when I had to? What would people think of me if I admitted I had a problem?

These are fear-based concerns. I was terrified of living in a new way. I was terrified of having to feel my real feelings for the first time. I was terrified of coping with my anxiety without any tonic. I was terrified that people wouldn’t like me — that people would no longer think I was fun, funny, handsome, or brave.

These fears were compounded by the stigma of addiction. Why deal with all of those fears AND be considered an outcast in the social world? I imagined people would look at me with such disgust if I admitted I had a problem. They would think I was weak, out of control, and not worthy of dignity. I grew up with a significant speech impediment, so the terror of being marginalized and ridiculed was already seared into my soul. Why invite more?

The root of all these fears is a fear of being unlovable. If I admit I have a problem, people will no longer love me. Of course, the horrific paradox of addiction is that living out one’s disease in fact makes someone harder and harder to love. It’s a vicious cycle.

Being loved, however, also ended up also being my saving grace. It was the love of Rosemary, Caitlin, John, and Jack, for never giving up on me. It was the love of Wilson and Rick, for showing me the roadmap to recovery. It was the love of Miriam and Camilo, for helping me get my groove back. And it was the love of Greg and Fitz, for finally getting me home.

All of my fears of a sober life turned out to be complete bunk. I am free now. I am better at my work and in my relationships. I am a better son, brother, and friend. I am a better person.

Most importantly, I now get to help others who are struggling through addiction. Members of the recovery community are here to help anyone, anywhere, and at any time, because we know all too well the piercing pain of the struggle, as well as the life-changing freedom that comes once we begin to trudge the road of happy destiny.

Beyond being of service to others in recovery, my journey has also deepened my sensitivity and empathy toward all people. While my personal battle may be with substance abuse, I am reminded of a humanizing adage that has taken on new meaning in my life: be kind, as you never know what others are going through. We are all broken in some way. Our society, and our world, is too judgmental, too harsh, too unforgiving. My journey has taught me to approach life with radical love that genuinely believes in the inherent dignity and worthiness of every human being, no matter their station in life, no matter who they are, and no matter what their personal struggle may be.