The Patient is the FAMILY: How Recovery Heals Everyone | Ken L.
Listen or watch on your favorite platforms
YouTube
Apple Podcasts
Spotify
Kenny walks us through car crashes, hiding his addiction, a family-led intervention, multiple failed rehabs, and the moment he fell to his knees begging for help. His final attempt at recovery — driven by a mother’s love and a father’s tough truth — changed everything. Today he works in treatment, helping others find the freedom he fought so hard for.
What Things Looked Like Growing Up
Kenny’s story begins far from the chaos he would one day face. He grew up in Massapequa, Long Island, in what he describes as a beautiful and loving home. No trauma. No violence. No addiction in the household. Just a supportive family, a police-officer father, a dedicated stay-at-home mother, and two younger siblings.
“There was no major trauma… I was really raised in a beautiful home,” he says proudly.
Kenny blended easily with all kinds of people. He played lacrosse and soccer, drifted between social circles, and enjoyed the confidence that comes with feeling accepted. But as he got older, he started gravitating toward a world that felt electric — the lifeguard parties, the beach nights, the teenagers who seemed older, freer, cooler.
That’s where a small but powerful shift happened. It wasn’t trauma that pushed Kenny toward addiction — it was belonging.
He remembers watching the older lifeguards drink from beer kegs on the beach and wanting desperately to be accepted by them. The feeling wasn’t excitement — it was pressure.
“I wanted to be part of that crew… that’s where the girls were going. That’s where the cool people were.”
He didn’t love alcohol at first. But he loved what it gave him. Or at least what he believed it did — confidence, attention, the ability to talk to people he would normally avoid. Soon he became known as the life of the party, jokingly called “the mayor.”
“Being the wild one — it’s good to be the king,” he laughs.
But underneath the jokes, a dangerous seed had been planted: alcohol made Kenny feel like he finally fit in.
That belief would follow him for years.
The First Time Alcohol Took Hold
Kenny’s early drinking wasn’t glamorous. It was messy, uncomfortable, and physically unpleasant. But emotionally, it struck a chord.
He was accepted. He felt fearless. He felt seen.
But the first major consequence came early. At 19 years old, after leaving a lifeguard party at 4 a.m., Kenny crashed his brand-new Mustang head-on into a tree. His passenger quietly buckled his seatbelt moments before the collision — something that still haunts him.
“You would think at 18 or 19 that would have scared me straight… but 72 hours later, I was back at another lifeguard party drinking on the beach.”
His family believed it was a one-time lapse.
He told himself the same lie so many people tell:
I just need to learn how to control it.
The problem wasn’t the drinking — the problem was how he was drinking. And like many young people, Kenny believed control was just a skill he hadn’t learned yet.
Active Addiction: When Things Fell Apart
After college, Kenny landed a coveted position on Wall Street in 1998. For a decade, he thrived. He worked in major financial institutions, made impressive career moves, and built a life that looked polished on the outside.
But addiction doesn’t care how well your résumé is formatted.
In 2008, Kenny was laid off during the recession — and that one moment changed everything.
“I remember saying, this is fantastic. I just got laid off with a severance package. I’m going to take the summer off… have some fun.”
But fun quickly turned into dependency.
With no job to anchor his days, alcohol and drugs became the only structure in his life. He lived on his boat, waking only to refuel, buy ice, or meet dealers. He skipped family events. He burned through his severance “like it was water.” His family watched him deteriorate but could not understand what addiction truly was.
“They believed that would never happen again… to them an alcoholic looked like the guy under a bridge.”
Two months after losing his job, his family staged an intervention — his first.
“I spiraled out of control.”
That began a cycle familiar to many:
→ Detox
→ Rehab
→ Return home
→ Relapse
→ Shame
→ Repeat
He graduated early from his first rehab — not because he was cured, but because he was still in denial and wanted everyone “off his back.”
“I said, I’m cured… sessions lifted… I don’t have the urge to drink or drug.”
One week later, he celebrated at a bar with “just one drink.”
That one drink led to an all-out relapse.
Soon he turned to “dry goods” — drugs that wouldn’t smell, making it easier to hide from his family as they celebrated his supposed sobriety.
“Dry goods… cocaine, Percocet, Xanax. My drugs of choice.” Episode
The lies grew.
The shame deepened.
The dependency became physical.
There was no hiding the consequences anymore.
Hitting Bottom: The Breaking Point
Kenny’s rock bottom wasn’t a single dramatic event — it was a collapse of identity.
He found himself dependent on Suboxone, cut off by doctors for testing positive for cocaine, then using cocaine to detox from Suboxone. His logic was unraveling. His family was losing hope. His own reflection felt unrecognizable.
The tension in his home became unbearable.
His siblings believed he should live in a shelter.
His father refused to spend another dollar on him.
His mother — the only one who still believed he was sick — was isolated and exhausted.
“My father wasn’t talking to my mother… my siblings weren’t talking to my mom… How could you send him to the Ritz-Carlton of treatment when he should be in a shelter?”
On August 30, 2013, everything broke open.
Kenny sat in the car on the way to Karen Treatment Centers for his fifth attempt at recovery. His mother had paid out of pocket. His father had given up. He felt ashamed, terrified, and hopeless.
And for the first time in his life, he prayed.
“I just begged and I said, please somebody help me. I need help. I was so scared.”
At Karen, he met Father Bill — the man whose words cracked open something inside him.
“He said, This too shall pass. No one had ever said that to me. I trusted him from that moment.”
During the five-day family program, his father showed up furious, calling him names, throwing a microphone, and declaring his son’s life “over.”
But by the end, something miraculous happened.
Five days later, his father put out his hand and said:
“I will support you in your recovery… but if you don’t follow the recommendations, you’re on your own.”
That moment changed everything.
Kenny finally had clarity:
He wasn’t doing this for his family’s approval.
He was doing it to rebuild his dignity — and theirs.
Getting Help: Rebuilding From the Ground Up
For the first time, Kenny stayed.
He didn’t flee treatment early.
He didn’t go back to his old life.
He didn’t return to his familiar environment.
He built a new one.
“I didn’t leave Reading, Pennsylvania. My life was beginning to change.”
He entered sober living for seven months.
He asked his father to co-sign his apartment — a terrifying moment that came with a blunt warning:
“I’ll come and shoot you if you fuck up my life.”
It didn’t come from hatred — it came from fear and exhaustion. And strangely, it grounded Kenny. It reminded him of the stakes. It reminded him of how much had been lost.
But this time, he wasn’t running from consequences.
He was accepting support — even the tough kind.
He stayed connected to:
Treatment
AA
A sober community
Service work
He volunteered at the Karen chapel.
He surrounded himself with people in recovery.
He changed people, places, and things — the cornerstone of his new life.
Those changes opened a door he never expected: a job at Karen.
“I had less than a year sober… and they said, ‘We need you more than you know.’”
Working with young adults lit a fire inside him.
He could identify with them.
He could give hope the way it was given to him.
“I was able to reach out my hand and tell them it’s going to be okay… priceless.”
For the first time, sobriety didn’t feel like punishment.
It felt like purpose.
What Life Looks Like Today
Kenny has been sober since August 30, 2013 — over a decade.
A milestone he once believed was impossible.
His life today is rooted in gratitude, service, and clarity. His relationships with his family have healed. He is loved, trusted, and respected. He works at Karen helping young adults and adults navigate the same dark roads he once walked. He gives them hope, reassurance, and connection — something he desperately needed at their age.
His message today is simple but powerful:
“It’s okay to ask for help… asking for help is a strength, not a weakness.”
His life is proof that recovery isn’t linear. It isn’t neat. It isn’t easy.
But it is absolutely possible.
Kenny’s story shows that even those who appear to have “everything” — a good childhood, a dream career, a loving family — can struggle silently with addiction.
And it shows that no matter how many times a person falls, one moment of surrender can change everything.
FAQs
How do I know if I or a loved one has crossed the line from social drinking to addiction?
If alcohol or substances become a “need” rather than a choice, or begin affecting work, relationships, or self-care, it may signal addiction.Can someone recover even after multiple failed rehab attempts?
Yes — recovery is still possible; relapse does not mean failure but often reflects the need for a different approach or greater willingness.What role does family play in addiction recovery?
Family education and involvement can drastically improve outcomes by addressing enabling, boundaries, and misunderstanding around addiction.Why do some people return to the same environment after rehab and relapse?
Returning to old people, places, and routines can trigger old behaviors; changing environment is often essential for long-term recovery.Is asking for help a sign of weakness?
No — asking for help is an act of courage and a critical step toward healing.
Related episodes
ABOUT CROSSTALK
CROSSTALK reveals real stories of everyday people and notable figures, sharing their journeys from struggles to life-changing 'aha' moments with all kinds .
