In an effort to combat the city’s growing drug problems, diverse recovery groups have made a concentrated effort to counter their effects. Sure, 12-step and faith-based recovery groups are predominant combatants, but what about those who prefer a non-traditional approach to their recovery in a modern era and city that is becoming increasingly secular by nature of its growth?
This question is of paramount importance as the city continues to grow due to people relocating from colder northern states. Michael Stantz is the volunteer manager for the city’s chapter of The Phoenix, a nationwide recovery organization that approaches the challenges of recovery through addressing physical health and well-being.
Stantz, like myself and so many others who have had the opportunity to work in the field of addiction and recovery, is in recovery himself. What he thinks has been a vital component to the success of The Phoenix is how its programs can address the needs of individuals throughout the various stages of their recovery journeys.
“It’s pretty interesting what an individual with three days (clean and sober) needs for their recovery versus [what] someone at six years needs for their recovery,” Stantz said, noting the trajectories for these individuals are often not the same as everybody else’s. “We have a simple solution to a common problem. And that is connection and community that creates a sense of belonging.”
Stantz joked that he is in long-term recovery from crystal meth and toxic relationships. I then made a joke of a similar nature, stating that he and I — with the exception of his drug of choice — may have much more in common than either of us had anticipated at the beginning of the call. This sort of morbid humor is often a common trait found in those in recovery from drugs and alcohol.
After all, it can’t always be war stories about our past addictions and the actions that followed, otherwise, you could easily lose your mind trying to make sense of all of the damage done. Sometimes, you just have to laugh about it.
Stantz started his recovery journey over 20 years ago by joining a 12-step recovery program and finding his home group. Although he found his way to a long-term, fulfilling life of recovery, his siblings did not.
As the oldest child in his family, he had the responsibility of laying to rest his three younger siblings. They, unfortunately, lost their battles with addiction, while Stantz continues to seek purpose in his. Through a winding road of successes and failures, Stantz found a community he couldn’t live without when he first became a part of The Phoenix recovery community.
Monday nights in the city are much calmer than one would expect. The usual traffic that clogs up the 101 and the 17 has subsided, and most citizens have returned to their homes for the evening. But not for a select group of members from The Phoenix. Monday nights at 8 p.m. aren’t for eating, sleeping or watching TV on the couch — they’re for volleyball.
Submitted photo
I arrive at Northsight Park in Scottsdale expecting a handful of recovering addicts sitting around a park pavilion going over 12-step principles, but what I encounter is much more lively than I could have expected. Over 20 people, all from various walks of life, with different tattoos and styles of fashion, came together this evening for a night of friendly competition, music, dancing and simply the opportunity to connect with friends who share similar stories and life experiences.
On one side of the court, a small group of young people begin warming up for their evening activity by bumping, setting and spiking the ball at one another in a small circle. Off to the side, a vibrantly enthusiastic man who goes by “Timmy” shakes his tail feather to “Let’s Hear It for the Boys.” Having gone through my earlier stages of recovery over six years ago, I realized I had forgotten just how fun getting sober could be — as long as you’re with the right people.
At around 8:15 p.m., I hear from behind me the voice of a woman in her mid-30s with a sleeve of tattoos and her hair in a bun. She calls the group to assemble. “Alright, circle up and get ready for check-in,” she said with an excitement in her voice that could only be rivaled by the sincerity of her smile. The park sprinklers turned on for the evening, signaling the late hour, but the games had only just begun.
The voice came from Tiffany Lehman, one of the many volunteers with The Phoenix. Becoming a volunteer is simple: Sign up, attend some events, do the onboarding paperwork through the app, connect with volunteers and then set up your preferred event.
But nobody gets into working with recovering addicts for the simplicity of it. They do it because their compassionate nature seeks to provide the same support for others as they were once shown themselves. After all, sobriety is a journey, not a destination, and what better way to travel than with a friendly, humorous companion by your side?
“When you get out of an institution, you go back to your same friends, you go back to your same family or you go back to your same s–t, Lehman explained in a very matter-of-fact tone. There’s no time to mince words when you’re dealing with a chronic disorder like addiction—the consequences are just too dire. “You get to choose to show up and meet new people and socialize, and that’s cool.”
Lehman is also in recovery. Over time, she found the community-building aspect of recreational activities with other sober people was what she needed more than anything in her recovery: connection, compassion and companionship.
Lehman said The Phoenix helps people with 48 hours or more of clean time to attend any number of their events, whether it’s volleyball, pickleball, yoga or hiking. The group even hosts sober mocktail hours where members can enjoy the vibrant Phoenix nightlife without the pressure of feeling like the odd man out.
For Lehman, who never dabbled in street drugs and refers to herself as a “straight-up alcoholic,” she didn’t think it would ever be possible to be in those settings again.
“It was literally like, wow, this is a new experience for me to realize what I can do in my recovery,” Lehman said. “I can go to a sober lounge, sip on mocktails, have conversations and watch a contortionist perform without feeling like I need to take five shots just to be there.”
I couldn’t help but empathize with her joy when she shared this revelation with me. Revisiting familiar settings without the crutch of a drink or drug to ease the tension is often where people in recovery stumble the most. It’s a terrible thing to witness a person actively not believing that they themselves are enough.
The weather was immaculate, and the diversity of things taking place at the park where I was to meet the group for their typical Saturday pickleball event was almost a mirror image of the diversity you’ll find within the population of Phoenix.
Soccer tournaments, birthday parties and people casually walking their dogs could all be seen from the road as I approached my destination.
I pulled into the nearly full parking lot at the Encanto Sports Complex in central Phoenix on an exceptionally vibrant April Saturday. It seemed as if everyone who lives in Phoenix was here on that day, but I was looking for one person in particular — Amber Guerrieri.
Guerrieri is not the usual instructor for this group, but as she’d been recently inclined to take more initiative in her recovery and the recovery of others, she decided it was time for her to start running her own groups.
She has been sober for 10 years, a fact that she praises herself for. It doesn’t come from a place of arrogance, but rather from a place of pride. And she ought to be. Growing up with addicted parents herself, she first began drinking around the age of 14. Her mother, who was addicted to crystal meth during Guerrieri’s childhood, was the sole reason she swore she’d never use that drug. Until she did.
Guerrieri continued to abuse crystal meth for the better part of a decade, until she received one of the most shocking revelations a young woman could have— she was pregnant. This was the final straw she needed to convince herself to get clean. She has been sober ever since she found out she was pregnant with her now 10-year-old son, Keith.
Guerrieri had met Keith’s father while they were both living in a halfway house in Phoenix. One of the more common struggles for people in early recovery is keeping the focus on themselves and steering clear of the need to seek validation from others. The rather reductive term which gets floated around in recovery communities refers to these relationships as “rehab romances.”
She knew the lifestyle she’d become accustomed to for over a decade wasn’t one that would suit a new mother, let alone the child who was making its way into her life. She decided to take her recovery much more seriously than she ever had before, and she entered another program in Phoenix called The Bridge to Hope. It’s a faith-based program that aligns with Christian values, and it’s where Guerrieri said she “really changed her life.”
We grabbed our paddles and set them in the cue to get onto the pickleball courts. Guerrieri teamed up with another member of The Phoenix, and I joined forces with her incredibly enthusiastic and thoughtful son, Keith.
Keith is easily one of the most insightful, well-spoken school-aged kids I’ve ever spoken to. His intuitiveness and outgoing nature could perhaps be due to the fact his mother doesn’t shield him from the harsh realities of her past. In fact, she makes it a point to share her story with Keith just as she does with other recovering addicts.
“He knows my background and he knows my family’s background, but he’s never had to see me like that,” Guerrieri explained thoughtfully, fully aware of how often that’s not the case for parents in recovery. “He obviously doesn’t know the gory details, but I want him to know what that lifestyle can do to you.”
Guerrieri brings Keith to most of The Phoenix’s events with her. They’ve played pickleball, gone to yoga, gone indoor rock climbing; you name it. For Guerrieri, it’s important that her son understands that you don’t need to use substances to party and have a good time; you can just do it.
Keith simply and succinctly explained that his mom is teaching him “how to do stuff… and not do stuff.” He’s proud of his mom and all she’s done for herself, and more importantly, he enjoys all of the time they get to spend together. I could hardly get the words out of my mouth when I asked him what these moments mean to him before he promptly replied:
Keith is one of the lucky children with a parent in recovery who gets to see his mom for who she truly is: a loving, compassionate person who strives for the best in herself and others. He knows this wholeheartedly, and he intuitively explained that he fully understands how lucky he and his mom both are to have one another.
“Recovery is deep. Really, really deep,” he told me. “A lot of people have lost family and friends due to (addiction) and that’s really impactful.”
The three of us had met at a Starbucks in the Glendale area to round off our conversations on the matter. I ordered the pink drink — and I’m not ashamed to admit that — and Keith got a cake pop. Keith, his mother and I sat at the table and continued to talk about The Phoenix, being in recovery and our favorite Avengers. His favorite is Spider-Man, and I told him mine is Thor.
Guerrieri had just finished a cardio fitness class, and Keith still had not had dinner, so we ended our conversation and bid each other farewell for now. As we left the table, Keith offered some parting wisdom. It was directed towards those still struggling with their active addiction, but it felt like he meant it for me as well.
“My main message is, never give up, try your best and just have a good life,” he said with a discernment far greater than one would expect from a child his age. “Don’t mess it up, you only get one.”
Travis is a multi-faceted journalist and current graduate student at the Walter Cronkite School of Journalism and Mass Communication at ASU. Travis is originally from Central Pennsylvania, and he has been in recovery for over six years. Since beginning his journalism career, Travis has written about social and community issues, as well as covered high school and college athletics.
He is a digital reporter, videographer and photographer, as well as an avid golf fan and fisherman.
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