James Araque

Coming back to Grandview was a moment of surrender. I had hit a point in my life where I knew I couldn’t do it alone anymore. I had to try something different. It wasn’t just about stopping the drugs or alcohol. It was about finding something — something greater than myself to lean on. On February 22, 2020, everything changed. That was the day I made the decision to stop fighting alone and walked through the doors of Grandview.

Before I found sobriety, my life was a whirlwind of chaos. The streets were my home, the only place that ever made sense to me. It was where I felt powerful, where I knew how to survive. I had people around me, but none of them were the kind of support I needed. In the streets, I was a “people person,” and that’s how I justified staying there. The pain of that life became my comfort zone. I knew the streets were toxic, but letting go of the familiar felt impossible, even if it meant destruction.  ​

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I had to step away. I had to cut ties with the people, places, and things that kept me stuck. Moving to Pasadena was a lifeline I didn’t know I needed. I was so tired of being tired. I knew if I kept using drugs, it was going to end badly — like putting my hand in a fire. Even though the burn hurt more, and I knew it would keep getting worse, I kept going back.

This time, though, I chose differently. I chose life. I chose recovery. 

​It’s one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. It’s not a quick fix. It’s slow, and it’s messy. But through the pain, I’ve found a peace I never thought was possible. One of the greatest gifts I’ve gotten in recovery is the sober community at Grandview. They’ve been my rock, my lifeline. They’ve shown me patience when I didn’t think I had any left to give, and they’ve helped me learn to trust again. 
 
Trusting in a higher power — God — was the biggest shift I needed. For so long, I thought I could control everything. But surrendering to something greater than myself, believing there’s a bigger plan for me, took so much weight off my shoulders. I don’t have to carry it all. That’s a relief I can’t put into words, but knowing that there’s a purpose for me — that I’m not just wandering aimlessly — fills me with hope for my future. 
 
Recovery is all about progress, not perfection. I take it one day at a time, and that’s enough. I focus on the small victories that remind me I’m moving forward, not backward. 
Today, I’m blessed beyond measure. My kids are my world, and they’re the reason I stay sober. I have two boys and two girls; they’re everything to me. I know now that I’m a father they can rely on, a father who is present — not the distant, angry person I used to be. When I think back to my addiction, I realize I was stuck. I never got the chance to grow up. My life was a constant cycle of struggle and frustration. But sobriety has opened up space for personal growth and healing. 
 
I’m able to show up for my children now in ways I couldn’t before. I’m available to them, emotionally and physically. I’m building a relationship with their mother that’s based on respect, not resentment. We can have real conversations now — not arguments. The anger I carried around for so long is gone. And something I never thought would happen, after 25 years, I’ve reconnected with my father. We’re now close friends, and his faith in me pushes me to keep going and growing. 
 
I’m also rebuilding my relationship with my mother, and for the first time in a long time, I feel at peace with my family. There’s no more tension, no more walls. I’m showing up for them in a way I didn’t know was possible before recovery. 
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I’m focused on my future now. I’m working on my associate’s degree at PCC, attending classes one day a week in person and two nights a week on Zoom. It’s not easy, but I’m doing it. I’m taking my time, not rushing things. I’m learning to be patient with myself and others. I’m working on being independent but also building a life that’s centered around my family.
 
My advice to anyone in recovery — to my brothers who are struggling, to those still finding their way — is this: Be patient. Trust the process. Trust the community around you. Trust that there are people who want to help and see you succeed. Don’t try to do it alone. You’re not alone and don’t have to do this alone. 
 
Every day in recovery is a day to be grateful. It’s not always easy, but it’s always worth it. I am proof that change is possible — even when it feels like the world is against you. It’s possible. All you have to do is surrender. 

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