I couldn’t have arrived at a more exciting time. By incorporating the latest research-proven treatment innovations, we’ve made tremendous progress over the past couple years. Now, more than ever before, we’re able to meet our clients’ individual needs and live up to our mission—to lead individuals, families, and communities affected by addiction from disrupted to productive lives.

It was with this sense of progress in mind that many of us recognized the need to revitalize Phoenix House’s look and feel. So, starting last winter, we joined forces with the talented, creative team at Siegel+Gale, a premier branding company, to develop a new Phoenix House logo and tagline. The result is what we call the “Wings of Hope”—bright, multi-colored wings evoking the mythical phoenix, and the uplifting words “Rising Above Addiction.”

For me, the most incredible moment was seeing the reaction when we unveiled our new look at the second annual A&E Recovery Rally on September 12. Phoenix House clients, alumni, family, and friends lined up, eager to get their hats and t-shirts with the new logo. As one program alum told me, “The ‘Wings of Hope’ remind me of the calm after the storm—the storm being addiction and treatment. Once you find the tools to implement a change within yourself, it’s the most amazing thing.”

As we marched across the Brooklyn Bridge, no one could miss our bright, new emblem. We stood out in the crowd of 10,000—just as we’ve stood out as an organization over the past 43 years. That day, we looked the way we felt—proud, strong, and optimistic about the light at the end of the tunnel.  Together, we honored members of our community and took another important step toward erasing the stigma of addiction. 

Since the Rally, colleagues from the across the Phoenix House community have shared with me their own interpretations of the wings. One of my favorite responses came from a staff member who has been with Phoenix House for more than twenty years, first as a client and then as an employee. She finds that the new logo aptly reflects the Phoenix House philosophy, because, as she says, “the ‘Wings of Hope’ empower people to fly on their own.” To me, her words capture the essence of our message: Recovery is possible, and when we learn to manage the chronic disease of addiction, we can—and will—achieve our dreams.

Now, we want to hear what the “Wings of Hope” mean to you. How do they reflect your Phoenix House experience? We invite you to share your thoughts here or post a comment on our Facebook page.

Our combined stories of strength and triumph are what the wings are all about.

If you saw my mother and me today, you probably wouldn’t guess that I didn’t really know her until I was a teenager.

When I was four, she made the most difficult decision a parent can make. Battling addiction, she realized that she couldn’t raise me in the way she felt I deserved. For my own wellbeing, she decided it was best that I leave her care and live with my paternal grandparents.

For the next ten years, I saw her only occasionally—even though we lived not too far from one another in Brooklyn. I didn’t resent her (from the beginning, my grandparents taught me that she did what she had to do), but at the same time, we didn’t have much of a connection.

It wasn’t until I was in high school that we began to form the close relationship we have now. By then, she was clean and had started working at Phoenix House. She reached out to me and we began seeing each other more frequently on weekends. If it weren’t for Phoenix House, I wouldn’t have her here with me today.

At 23, I’ve pushed the rare flashbacks of my parents fighting to the deepest parts of my brain—and instead, focus on the wonderful memories my mother and I have worked so hard to create. I think of the volunteering I’ve done with her at Phoenix House—where I’ve had the chance to see the incredible work she does. And I think how much I’ve enjoyed getting to know her side of the family.

Through the years, we’ve come to an understanding. I am who I am and she can’t do anything to change my ways, so she only gives me encouragement and support with all of my endeavors.

Most of all, I appreciate the important lesson she’s taught me: with patience and understanding, a person can truly get through any hardship. It doesn’t hurt to have a little faith in God as well.

My mother’s name is Joan, so I always make the association with Joan of Arc. She’s the best candidate to be chosen as one of the twelve OASAS Spotlight Stories. While addiction is a vicious, chronic condition, she has taken control of her disease—and come out on top.

I have been in the substance abuse field for over 20 years, first as a treatment provider and then as a researcher. But it is through the eyes of a person in long-term recovery who has buried family members and close friends (one who was sober over 17 years prior to relapsing) that I understand the battle DJ AM faced.

Recovery, no matter how many years one has nurtured it, is never fully self-sustaining. It needs continued attention and dedication, just like any other chronic health problem. So, I ask, can someone in recovery ever be 100 percent confident they will not go back to drugs or alcohol?

Last year, DJ AM suffered critical injuries when a Learjet carrying him burst into flames during an aborted takeoff in South Carolina. He and Travis Barker of Blink-182 were the only survivors. After more than a decade of clean living, he found himself needing pain medications with abuse liability; he reportedly developed problems with opiates and benzodiazepines.

Then, he shot MTV’s Gone Too Far—an intervention-style reality show set to premier on October 5. He said his inspiration was to work with other addicts in recovery, his passion since the beginning of his sobriety.

I, like DJ AM, believe it’s important that people with past addiction problems commit to helping others. But he may have truly “gone too far.” The drug-using world might not have been one he was prepared to re-visit, given his recent losses and difficulties with pain medications. “I have to calm down after every shoot,” he was quoted as saying. “It’s very intense.” In video excerpts, he described buying a crack pipe to show how easy it was. Then he said, “I walked out…holding [the pipe]…and I realized my palms were sweaty and I was like, ‘Wait a minute, this is not smart for me.’”

Even after 11 years of sobriety, this isn’t unusual. Ask any one of us in recovery when someone inadvertently changes the TV station and a scene from Scarface shows a group of people snorting cocaine. It’s been over 24 years since I’ve snorted coke, but suddenly, I’m holding my breath—as if I’d just done a line.

So, should DJ AM have done the show? Is MTV at fault for his relapse and death? Here’s the bottom line: Just as people with diabetes are responsible for eating a sensible diet and exercising, we are also responsible for managing our recovery. But, just as the spouse of a diabetic assists their partner in managing their illness, we need people to help us, too.

Based on my research, my clinical background, and my own recovery experience, if I had been DJ AM’s friend, I would have told him, “Examine your motives. Think ahead to any emotions that might arise. Make plans to have the folks who support your recovery nearby when you’re taping and after each session. Talk to them, tell them what you’re feeling, and renew your commitment to your recovery each night. Most importantly, promise you will call me before you pick up a drink or a drug.”

And if I had worked for MTV, I would have advised them, “Make sure DJ AM has someone with him during filming—a long-term recovery mentor who knows him well and will help him process any cravings. Don’t ask him if the show is bothering him; he might be the last to notice it.”

 We have to wonder if this type of support might have saved his life.

This Saturday, September 12, I will think of him when I represent Pennsylvania as the state delegate at the A&E Recovery Rally—one of the key events for National Recovery Month. An expected 10,000 of us will march across the Brooklyn Bridge. I will walk in memory of my stepson, who died of an overdose just 15 months ago at the age of 30, and my old friends Mark and Mike, both of whom lost their battles with addiction.

 And I will walk in honor of DJ AM, who wanted so deeply to offer those in recovery meaningful support.

 It’s now up to us to carry his mission forward.