John Morales

​“I don’t have to rely on alcohol or drugs to have a good time anymore. I can laugh. I can live. I can be at peace.”

After 15 different rehabs, 2 men’s homes, and what felt like a lifetime of chaos, I finally said, “Enough!” It was time to stop running. My addiction had taken me everywhere—mentally, emotionally, physically—but mostly, it had taken me away from myself.

Before I got clean, life was out of control. I drank every day, and I’d steal to keep it going. Alcohol was my master. If I had to name my drug of choice, it’d be alcohol, with crack running a close second. There were days I’d wake up in a motel room, not even sure how I got there. 

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It was chaos. I was tired. I mean really-tired-the tired where your soul starts whispering, “You either change… or you die.” 

​The last time I relapsed, I had just finished a program at the Salvation Army. I was seven months clean, but one drink was all it took. I went from sober to homeless within days. It was like watching my whole life disappear in reverse. That was my turning point. I realized I didn’t want to keep disappointing myself—or God.

I knew I had to make a choice: stay out there and die or ask for help. I found Grandview, and for the first time, I gave treatment a real shot. It was different—more personal, more focused on the “before” behaviors. I could feel something changing in me. The team at Grandview helped me slow down and look at what was really going on in my head before I drank. The way I think. The way I feel. I used to just reach for the bottle. Now, I try to play the tape forward. I know exactly where one drink will lead me—and I don’t want to go back there.

These days, my life looks a lot different. I work. I show up on time. I stay sober. That might sound small, but to me, it’s huge. Before, I’d miss shifts or show up drunk. But now, I take it seriously. Somebody trusted me enough to hire me, and I’m not about to let that go.

I’m building real friendships for the first time in a long time. I used to isolate, but now I’m opening myself up. I’ve got people I can talk to—people who get it. And I’ve found peace in the little things. I pray a lot. I talk to God. Even though I haven’t been to church in a while, I was invited to The Salvation Army church, and I’m thinking about going back. I used to play bass on the worship team—I’d love to do that again.

Music is still in my soul. I’ve been playing bass since I was 14. I mess around on guitar and drums too. I don’t have my own bass right now, but one day, I will. That’s part of the dream.

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I grew up in New York until I was 10. My dad passed away, and we moved to West Covina. That’s where I did most of my growing up. My family’s been through a lot with me, but things are better now. They actually invite me over again. I can spend the night. They trust me. And that took action they could see, not just words I was saying. I couldn’t keep saying, “I’m sober now.” I had to show them, and that took time. After a year clean, they see the effort, they see that I’m really trying.

I do my best to focus on being present. Staying sober. Soft-spoken, light-hearted and in the moment.

When I think about the theme “Recovery is Everywhere,” I don’t just hear the words, I feel it. I’ve lived it. Recovery has met me in dark places and quiet moments, in hard times and unexpected kindness. I’ve been everywhere—lost, found, broken, hopeful—and somehow, found myself here. Present. Sober. Still soft-spoken, still light-hearted—but finally here.

My dream now is to find my own place to live, a home church where I can play on the worship team again, and maybe—God willing—to meet a good woman. I’d like that.
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If you’re reading this and you’re still out there—maybe fresh off the streets, maybe just starting your recovery—I’ll tell you this: ask for help. Don’t be too proud. I was, for a long time. But you can’t do this alone. You don’t have to do this alone.

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​Oh, and one fun fact? When I was younger, I had a full-blown Afro. If I let my hair grow out today, it’d puff right back up. That’s just one more piece of me I’ve still got—and I’m learning to love all of it.

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