You may, like me just over a year ago, be reading this website and thinking ‘No way, this isn’t for me! I don’t need this, it’s not my kind of place. I won’t have anything in common with the people there. I’m not really an addict, there must be something else I can do’.


Well that’s exactly what I thought in June 2017, as I sat there in the abyss of rock bottom, everything around me in ruins, and family and friends gently, patiently encouraging me to make the call to Broadway to book my bed. I had already developed all my counter arguments against going.


 ‘It’s the wrong side of the country, miles away from family and friends’, I complained. (Being miles away was actually essential) ‘It’s 12 weeks; everything will collapse if I’m away for 12 weeks’, I objected. (Everything had already collapsed, but I was too drunk to see it). ‘I want my own bedroom and bathroom, I’m not staying there’, I insisted. (Repeating the isolation of addiction is the worst remedy, so putting me in a private bedroom would have been a disaster). Anyway, I knew best. How wrong I turned out to be.


A relative, who happens to be a specialist in addiction, put it to me like this. She pointed out if I’d been told I had cancer of the kidney, and the best hospital in the world with the highest recovery rates was thousands of miles away in America, I would be on the first flight out. She had researched Broadway’s reputation for success (‘Miracle Mansion’ is a worthy nickname for this place, trust me, I’m living proof), and looked me in the eye and said, quietly; ‘You have cancer of the mind. This place is as old as you, it’s treated thousands of people successfully, and not for a profit. This is the best place for you. It will save your life’.


So I went. And, like many people who arrive, I soon wanted to leave. In the first couple of weeks it really was as bad as I had feared. Worse, even. But for addicts, bad is good. I needed bad. I was looking down at everything, but from the gutter in which I had lived for so long. I was ruined. When, one rainy Friday night, I really did ask for my belongings so I could leave, my counsellor and a wonderful support worker made me see sense. What exactly was I leaving to? I had no answer. And then, the counsellor said something I’ve never forgotten. ‘If you leave, you know you’re taking yourself with you, don’t you?’. I didn’t understand what she meant at first. I asked her to repeat it. Then her message landed. It was like a light bulb going off. And from that moment on, you couldn’t have paid me to leave. I threw myself into the work – the 12 steps, the assignments, the lectures, the house duties. And before long I was helping new arrivals as frightened and angry to be there as I had been on my first day. And they, like me, are now living normal happy lives, just a year later.


Broadway isn’t a holiday. It is tough. Really tough, at times. But if you go, and you do the work, your mind, soul and life will be completely rewired. So if you’re justifying to yourself all the reasons you needn’t bother, ask yourself these simple questions– why are you on this website, reading this? Would you like a better life, or is your life really fine as it is? Wouldn’t you like to be free, find that inner peace, and have a future life well lived? What if you could mend broken fences and repair some of the damage done to yourself and others by your addictions? And then help others one day who are as broken as you are now? If you want a second chance at life, Broadway really offers you just that. So please think again. Go!