is walking 1,300 miles from Fort Lauderdale to Washington, D.C. Here, we talked with Sandra about her struggle with addiction and how she was inspired to move forward.

Phoenix House: What was your initial experience with addiction?

Sandra Huffman: My adopted parents were alcoholics, and they divorced when I was about two. My mom remarried a doctor, and that’s when things really got interesting; by the time I was seven my stepdad had me taking Ritalin and Donnatal. I remember sneaking downstairs to get more medication and making up stories so my stepdad would increase my dosage. It sounds crazy, but I’ve been an addict since I was seven years old.

PH: Did you or your parents seek substance abuse treatment?

SH: I was in treatment in Pennsylvania during my teens, and my adopted mother also entered treatment around that time. It worked for her—she now has 31 years clean. But it didn’t stick for me that time, and I ended up running away to Fort Lauderdale, FL. I hit the streets and spent more than 30 years in active addiction.

PH: You have three kids, and your oldest daughter was born when you were 15 years old. How did your drug use affect your family life?

SH: It was hard. I went from one violent relationship to another, from one drug to the next. I gave my oldest daughter up for adoption when she was 18 months old, and I kept moving the other kids around the country in an attempt to escape my addictions. But they followed me; while living in Kansas, I became a “meth mom.” I was so out of it I would go on school field trips for classes that my kids weren’t even in.

PH: What was the turning point that motivated you to finally get help?

SH: In my mid-30s I was back out on the streets, in the most violent relationship of my life, and I started using crack. It nearly killed me, but luckily I ended up in jail instead. I was still eligible for drug court because I had miraculously never been to jail before—that’s where I met Judge Marcia Beach, and she loved me until I could love myself. She put me in a 90-day in-custody drug court treatment program, and it really saved my life.

PH: Did you have a positive treatment experience?

SH: Absolutely. After detox, my head started to clear up, and I could really take it all in: the speakers who came in, the group therapy and individual counseling, the readings, the meditation. During my final 30 days in treatment, I made a plan for my future—something I had never done before in my life. And I finally had people to help me execute that plan. I put myself through every program I could; I attended parenting classes, job training, a dual diagnosis program, and a culinary skills class. I even got to bring my son back home.

PH: After completing treatment, how did you become involved with the online recovery community In The Rooms?

SH: They put out a call for interns, and I knew I wanted to be involved in that concept of bringing recovery into the public eye. I’ve been interning them for the past two years. Last year we were in the office watching a guy online who did a 1,300 mile walk from Minnesota to Washington, D.C. in honor of recovery month. I told my colleagues, “I could do that.” I really meant it, and they really believed me. Before, when I was still using, nobody would have ever believed in something I wanted to do. So I took that support and ran with it.

PH: And Sandra’s Walk for Recovery was born! You’ve been walking since June—have there been difficulties along the road?

SH: There have definitely been challenges. I gave up my house to do this, and all my possessions are now in a storage unit in Florida. The biggest struggle, though, has been the stigma that surrounds substance abuse and addiction. There’s been a lot of hesitation and negative vibes from potential sponsors, like “She’s an addict—what if she relapses? How would that make us look?” They don’t want to attach their name or product to something that isn’t a guaranteed win. Nevertheless, we’ve turned this walk into a nitty-gritty, down-and-dirty, grassroots foundation for an even bigger and better walk next year.

PH: What have been some highlights of the walk so far?

SH: I’ve been relying on total strangers, and I’ve had some amazing people step up and help me out along the way, mile by mile. The connections I’ve made have been so valuable, with famous musicians and other pioneers in recovery. My 20-year-old son recently quit his job at a bar and came up to join me. His presence is truly a gift. This whole tour is a gift—I’m not promoting any specific path or program, but instead I’m promoting the pure joy of sobriety and the awesome things that happen in the lives of people everywhere who are in sustained recovery.

PH: Have awesome things happened in your own recovery?

SH: All the time. In sobriety I’ve managed to find my own birth family—seven brothers and sisters. It turns out that one of my brothers is named Robert, just like my son—and they both have red hair and blue eyes! Plus, my oldest daughter is back in my life. Everything has fallen back into place for me, like it has for so many others in long-term recovery. That’s what the world needs to see—they need to see the power of this amazing community, and the beauty of what recovery can accomplish.

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.