Stories
Stories of recovery
Real stories — from participants themselves and from their loved ones. No surnames or personal data.
Himself · about drugs Andrey's story Honestly? I never planned to join any program. My mother came first — not for herself, but because of me.
Honestly? I never planned to join any program. My mother came first — not for herself, but because of me. She was simply tired of being afraid and decided that at least she would figure out how to live with all of this. And back then I was only angry at her for it.
Some time passed. I can't say exactly what broke me — probably I was just tired of lying. To myself and to everyone around me. And one day I came. Without any faith that anything would come of it.
The first thing that got to me was that no one pushed me or lectured me. People simply talked with me honestly. The road turned out to be long — I won't pretend everything changed in a week. There were relapses. There were days I wanted to give it all up.
Most of all — I met God. Not in books, but for real, in my darkest days.
Today I have a completely different life. A different level, different relationships, a different me. My mother and I walked this road together, each our own. And if you're reading this and thinking it's already too late for you — know that I thought exactly the same.
Father · about alcohol A father's story For twenty years I told my son to 'pull himself together.' Until I realized I didn't know how to help him.
For twenty years I was sure I knew how to raise my son. Then he started drinking, and all my 'be a man' talk stopped working.
I was angry. I shouted. I threw him out of the house — and then drove around the city at night looking for him. We were both worn out by that cycle.
Here, for the first time, someone told me a simple thing: I can't get sober for him. I can only stop 'rescuing' him in ways that make it worse. That was hard to hear, but it was true.
It turned out that to love is not to control.
My son came later, on his own. Today we simply talk — in a way we never did before. And every day I thank God for this time.
Wife · about alcohol A wife's story I learned to hide the bottles better than he did. And I sincerely thought I was saving the family.
I learned to hide the bottles better than he did. I poured them out, lied to his boss, made up excuses for him. I thought that if I held everything together, the family wouldn't fall apart.
In reality, I was the one falling apart. There was no strength and no self left inside.
What changed when I stopped carrying it all alone:
- I stopped answering for his choices and handed the responsibility back to him.
- I started sleeping at night again instead of guarding the door.
- I remembered that I have my own life and my own faith too.
He is still on his own road, slowly. But for the first time in years I am not doing this alone or in fear. Prayer and real people beside me hold me up when it gets hard.
Grandmother · about her grandson A grandmother's story I'm 68. I didn't understand a word of what was happening to my grandson. But I knew how to pray and not give up.
I'm 68 years old. Half of these words — 'addiction,' 'codependency' — I had never even heard before. I only knew that my boy was disappearing and his parents had given up.
I came because there was no one else. I thought I would listen, maybe help somehow. Instead, they helped me: they explained calmly, without frightening words, what I could do and what was beyond my power.
Lord, I cannot save him myself. But I can keep holding Your hand and his hand.
I stopped being ashamed and hiding the trouble. I just stayed near — without reproach. My grandson is still on his way, but he knows: his grandmother did not abandon him. And I believe that is enough.
Friend · about drugs A friend's story He was my best friend since childhood. I was tired of burying him alive every six months.
He is my friend from childhood. We grew up in the same yard. And for years I watched drugs take him away, piece by piece.
I would rescue him, then stop answering his calls. Give him money 'one last time,' then swear I was done with him for good. Neither one worked.
Here they helped me understand how to be there for him without drowning with him. How to tell the truth without contempt. How to leave the door open for him without letting him walk all over me.
Sometimes the truest thing you can do for a friend is to not fall apart yourself.
He took his first step a month ago. I don't know how it will end. But for the first time in years I have hope, not just fear for him.
Mother · about her son A mother's story I thought that if I controlled him harder, I could save him. It turned out I was just burning out.
I thought that if I controlled him harder — called, checked up on him — I could save him. It turned out I was just burning out, and no one was getting better.
Here, for the first time, no one started teaching me that I was doing everything wrong. They helped me breathe. They helped me see where my responsibility ends and where another person's choice begins — one I cannot influence.
I learned to help without fear and without constant control. And, strangely, it was exactly when I loosened my grip a little that trust returned to our relationship. I came back to prayer and felt that I was not alone in all of this.
Himself · about alcohol Sergey's story From the outside I had it all: a job, a family, a car. And a bottle every evening, "to relax."
From the outside everything looked right: a job, a family, a car. I wasn't lying in a gutter. I was 'just taking the edge off' — every evening, and then in the mornings too.
What it actually looked like:
- 'One glass' had long become 'until I pass out.'
- I became a stranger in my own home and could not remember half of my evenings.
- I convinced myself that as long as I went to work, everything was under control.
I didn't need a clinic — I needed an honest conversation and someone who had been through this before. Here I found that person. Slowly, step by step, I learned to live sober and to get to know my wife and kids again.
God stopped being a word from childhood and became the support I reach for when the pull comes back. Today the evenings are mine again. And I remember them.
Himself · about drugs Maxim's story I was 19 and sure I 'could quit any time.' Quitting only worked with help.
I was 19. I was one hundred percent sure I had it all under control and would quit any time I wanted. Classic. I never managed to quit on my own — I only sank deeper.
I wasn't afraid of dying. I was afraid I'd live like that — without really living.
A friend who had been through this himself dragged me into the program. It mattered to me that the people around were not "proper grown-ups" but people who understood what I meant, because they had been there too.
It was hard and it was long. But little by little I gained what I never had before: meaning, faith, and people worth staying clean for. I'm 23 now, and for the first time this is my real life, not an imitation of it.
Sister · about her brother A sister's story All my life I was the 'good girl' who cleaned up after my brother. And I quietly hated him for it.
All my life I was that 'good girl' who cleaned everything up. While our parents were rescuing my brother, I tried not to cause problems and to keep up appearances. Inside, resentment and guilt piled up at the same time.
I came because I realized I was angry not only at his addiction, but at the whole family. And at myself — for not knowing how to simply love my brother without rescuing him.
They helped me separate my brother from the illness. They allowed me to be angry and still not stop loving him. They allowed me to live my own life, not just service someone else's crisis.
I cannot walk his road for him. But I can stop carrying what is not mine to carry.
Husband · about his wife A husband's story Everyone talks about husbands who drink. That a wife and mother can drink — somehow that is only whispered.
People talk openly about husbands who drink. But that addiction can belong to a wife and mother — somehow that is only whispered. I was ashamed even to say it out loud.
I would snap at her, then pretend everything was fine for the kids' sake. I tried to 'cure' her myself with love, with fights, with ultimatums — nothing worked.
What I finally understood:
- Silence and shame protect the illness, not the family.
- I'm not a doctor and can't cure her by willpower — mine or hers.
- The children need at least one parent who is calm and clear-headed — and that can be me.
We are still on the road. But I stopped facing this trouble one on one. People, faith and hope appeared — and with them, what once looked like the end became possible.