Harmony Recovery has been providing addiction healthcare services in Estes Park since 1969. We would like to offer these stories from our alumni to show the humanity, strength, and perseverance of those working to recover from addiction. Often stigmatized and misunderstood by society, people on their path to recovery are managing a chronic illness which is a unique journey for each individual. Here is one such story. – Shane Hudson, CEO, Harmony Recovery
There Is Hope for Those Who Seek It… Even First Responders!
My sobriety journey began on September 10, 2023. I was severely intoxicated and on my way to Gilpin County to help a fellow first responder pack out a once-in-a-lifetime moose. Before I made it to the highway, something came over me. I pulled into a hotel parking lot near my house—the same hotel that had become my temporary home several times before—and called my dad.
For years, I had forced my family to stand by and watch as I destroyed my life. My wife (we are still married), our 7-year-old son, and our two dogs lived in constant uncertainty, often kicking me out after another night of drinking. I was selfish, and I often told myself the lie. You know the one. The lie that my drinking is only hurting me. But that night, before I could cause any more harm—by getting a DUI or worse, hurting someone on the road—my dad met me in the parking lot and took me to a friend’s house. That friend happened to be in recovery herself and worked as a recovery counselor. That was the night everything started to change, but more about that in a bit.
Addiction runs deep in my family. My parents used to tell me stories about relatives who struggled with alcoholism and how it tore their lives apart. I saw it firsthand—how it devastated my father’s side of the family and eventually claimed my grandmother’s life. We used to joke grimly about something called “The Young curse”: every five years or so, something would happen to a member of our family that would shake us to the core.
I grew up in a small suburb outside Omaha, Nebraska, with my parents and younger sister. We didn’t have much, but for the most part, we were happy. My dad traveled constantly for work, and my parents fought a lot, but we managed. In 1995, we packed up everything and moved to Colorado. I was terrified—new school, new friends, new everything.
As an introvert, I’m not very outgoing or talkative (still to this day), so I had a fear about making new friends. But eventually, I found a group of friends who felt like family. They supported me and made me feel like I was one of their own. I loved spending time with them. We spent all our time together—and like many kids, we experimented. We snuck beers from our parents’ fridges, watered down liquor bottles to hide the evidence, and thought we were geniuses. But it wasn’t long before the drinking became even more frequent.
Around this time, I started playing roller hockey and was good enough to play with older kids and adults, which meant more access to alcohol. When my best friend’s mom died of cancer, things took a darker turn. Drugs entered the picture—cocaine, heroin, acid, mushrooms, marijuana, prescription pills. I thought I was the life of the party. In reality, I was spiraling. I lied, stole money from my mom’s sock drawer, and convinced myself it was all harmless.
Eventually, I gave up the hard drugs, telling myself I needed to “grow up” and get a good job. But alcohol? That’s different, right? After all, in this country, drinking is glorified, celebrated, and literally everywhere you look.
Years later, I met my wife. We drank together mostly on weekends to unwind. I never had that little voice in my head telling me when to stop—I would drink until I blacked out. After we got married, nothing changed. When my wife became pregnant, she stopped drinking, but I used it as an excuse to double down.
Eventually, I landed my dream job as a career firefighter. I was proud to help others—to be the one people called in their worst moments. But even then, I never thought I needed help myself. I was a firefighter for crying out loud! I saved lives. I didn’t ask for help.
But behind closed doors, my life was falling apart. My 6-year-old son would tell me he hated me. My wife would walk into the house before him just to check if Dad was drunk, asleep, or dead. I was drowning in guilt and suicidal thoughts, and still I couldn’t stop drinking.
On September 11, 2023, I began my sobriety journey in earnest (and no, I didn’t choose that date because I’m a firefighter). I checked into a 7-day detox in Denver. From there, my family arranged for me to go to a treatment center in Estes Park called Harmony. I didn’t want to go—I had just been gone for a week, and now they wanted me gone for 30 more days. Work had to be notified, and I eventually took a five-month leave to focus on my recovery, and to complete the various evaluations needed before I could return to duty.
But going to Harmony turned out to be the best decision of my life. It gave me my family back. It gave me myself back. I even missed my son’s 8th birthday while I was in treatment—but it was worth it. I will gladly exchange missing one, for the opportunity to be present for every single one after.
It was at Harmony that I realized I wasn’t alone. People from all walks of life were fighting the same battle, and they were recovering. I learned that recovery is possible if you’re willing to put in the work.
The people at Harmony changed my life. They helped me rebuild everything I thought I’d lost—my marriage, my family, my career, and my sense of purpose. Words can’t express the gratitude I feel for that community.
If you’re struggling with addiction, please know this: you are not alone, and recovery is possible. It takes work, but the life that opens up in recovery is beyond anything you can imagine.
Best decision I ever made. 10 out of 10—would highly recommend.
– David Y.