I know what it feels like to be judged by my history. Whether it’s because of a criminal record or medical record, it can be hard to feel completely seen when you’re in recovery.  People misunderstand us for who we were instead of who we are today. 

That’s a big part of how I approach people in my life and my work now. I’m not there to add stigma or further anybody’s fear or pain. I’m there to listen and show support, to normalize the idea of lived-experience, to make substance use disorders and mental health issues just another experience that humans go through. Millions of people are living in recovery today, but we don’t think about that very often because there is still a lot of social stigma and personal shame that attaches to addiction. 

That’s why, I believe, peers are so important. If you have a broken arm, you probably don’t need to talk to other people who have broken their arm. It won’t help your arm heal to know that other people have broken their arm. But addiction and mental health issues are different. Knowing other people have been there and have felt what we’ve felt can go a long way. We need more kindness, compassion, and understanding in our field.

My ultimate hope––and it’s a big hope––is to redefine what health care for substance use looks like. I just don’t believe anyone should feel too afraid to ask for help, especially when help is out there. That’s what my experience has taught me, and I bring it into the work I do today as a peer.

Typically, I encounter new patients at Boulder when they join the “peer pop-in.” It’s basically the front door to our virtual clinic. That’s when I introduce myself and I explain that I’m here for them in whatever capacity they decide. There’s no stipulations. No pressure. They don’t have to meet with me to get medicine. They can reach out to me as much or as little as they need. 

I like to start there because it’s important to show that treatment ought to be about people’s own needs rather than jumping through unnecessary hoops. A lot of treatment out there is about rules and checking boxes. I want to show that this experience will be different. There is a lot of fear and misunderstanding about what care for substance use looks like. When someone’s coming into treatment, I don’t expect them to be a perfect individual just because they enrolled. That’s just the beginning of the journey. I expect them to be human. I’m not there to set the rules and tell anybody how to do things. Of course, people will make mistakes. The point is that we learn and grow.

So I start from the premise that everyone deserves care. Period. I believe that medicine is a right, not a privilege. Next, I believe it’s important for someone to feel like their voice is being heard. I listen closely and I follow the patient’s lead. My job is to walk with them. 

At Boulder, I have a chance to do things differently. I grew up in the South where there was a major emphasis on doing recovery a certain way. I didn’t always feel like I had my own voice or that I could just be myself. There was always some hoop to jump through or someone else’s box to check. Recovery felt like something I had to conform to rather than make my own. 

I’ve noticed over time that people feel much more involved in their own treatment process when their voice is being heard and respected. I get to tell people that it’s up to them. They get to choose what support they would like. It’s my role to honor that. And that’s it. I get to watch people make positive change and heal from their past. It’s incredibly fulfilling.