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    Skyler Ray Live in Vancouver — 2026 Summer Bash with 4D Recovery

    News
    Event poster for the 2026 Summer Bash featuring Skyler Ray and Kala Mulcahy live in concert, presented by 4D Recovery — June 13, 2026, 2–5 PM, 7201 NE 18th Street, Vancouver, WA 98660

    SKYLER RAY & KALA MULCAHY LIVE IN CONCERT

    We've Seen Him Perform. Trust Us — You Need to Be There.

    There’s a moment in our Episode 22 conversation with Skyler Ray that we still think about. He’s talking about his nine-year-old self — the kid who’d been abandoned, who had every reason to believe the world wasn’t going to show up for him — and he says he owes it to that kid to give his dreams a chance. Music gave him hope when nothing else did. That’s the kind of person Skyler is. He doesn’t perform recovery. He lives it, out loud, in front of whoever shows up.

    And now he’s coming to Vancouver!

    Image description

    On June 13th, 2026, Skyler Ray and Kala Mulcahy are performing live at the 2026 Summer Bash — a recovery community event hosted by 4D Recovery at 7201 NE 18th Street in Vancouver, WA. Doors open at 2 PM and the show runs until 5. We had the privilege of watching Skyler perform live at the Recover Out Loud event, and it’s the kind of set that reminds you exactly why music and recovery belong together. And if you haven’t heard Kala Mulcahy yet — her voice will stop you in your tracks. She brings something rare to a stage and we can’t wait to hear her again.

    If you found us through Skyler, welcome — and go listen to his episode before June 13th. We think you’ll hear things about him you didn’t know. And if you’ve never heard of him at all, start there and then come to this show, because seeing him perform after hearing his story hits completely differently. You can listen to Episode 22 on our site or catch it directly on Spotify.

    See you at the Summer Bash. We’ll be the ones near the front.

    Image description

    EVENT QUICK REFERENCE

    Event: 2026 Summer Bash

    Headliners: Skyler Ray & Kala Mulcahy (live)

    Guest Speaker: Adrian Burris

    DJ: Aidan Lynch

    Date: Saturday, June 13, 2026

    Time: 2:00 PM – 5:00 PM

    Location: 7201 NE 18th Street, Vancouver, WA 98660

    Contact: Devan @ 971-490-5136

    Presented by: 4D Recovery

    Key Links:

    Episode 22 – Blog Post: https://mdcr1.com/22b

    Episode 22 – Spotify: https://mdcr1.com/22

    Recover Out Loud Episode: https://mdcr1.com/341

    Recover Out Loud Blog Post: https://mdcr1.com/341b

    Skyler Ray Website: https://www.officialskylerray.com/

    4D Recovery: https://4drecovery.org/

    #SkylerRay #KalaMulcahy #RealRecoveryPodcast #SummerBash2026 #RecoveryMusic #RecoverOutLoud #4DRecovery #AddictionRecovery #MusicInRecovery #RecoveryCommunity #LiveInConcert #SoberAndAlive #VancouverWA #RecoveryEvents


    @therealSkylerRay (Facebook) | @officialskylerray (Instagram) | @4DRecovery | @RealRecoveryPdcst (Instagram) | @RealRecoveyOnX (X/Twitter)

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    RRP 106 — Six Years Clean: Megan C.’s Journey from Homelessness and Heroin to Leading Others Home

    Episodes

    ​From a Hole in Her Lung to Leading Others Home — This Is What Six Years Clean Looks Like

    ​She was coughing up blood. Not a little — huge amounts of it. She was in an abandoned house with people she barely knew, and what had started as choking on a piece of meat had turned into something far worse: bacteria had entered her airway, traveled into her lung, and eaten a hole through it the size of a baseball. By the time she made it to the hospital, she was in quarantine ICU. She went into a coma. Doctors thought it was tuberculosis. She stayed there for nine weeks.

    ​That is where Megan C.’s road to recovery finally, reluctantly, began.

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    RRP 105 — Mark S.; The Group Is My Higher Power: One Atheist’s Path Through Addiction and Back

    Episodes

    They Dumped His Alcohol and Took Him to a Meeting. He Had to Find His Own Way Back.

    We almost lost Mark S. more than once. There was the night he ended up on Laguna Canyon Road after throwing a television through a window, hit by a car, left with partial paralysis. There was the bathtub in Eugene, the fistfuls of pills, the slashed wrists, the three-day coma he came out of to find out his partner of 28 years was not coming back. Every time we talk to someone whose story runs this close to the edge, we think about the people who did not make it. Mark made it. And he is sitting in his home in Oregon right now, two years and eight months sober, hosting Zoom AA meetings, doing service work, and redefining what a higher power can look like.

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    Mark grew up in a strict Pentecostal household in Southern California where alcohol did not exist and being gay was something his church said deserved death. He knew he was attracted to other boys before he had words for it, and he carried that shame into a decade of drinking, blackouts, and survival on the streets before he ever sat in an AA meeting. His first drink was in 1968 at a family wedding. By his early teens he was already living a double life, and by 16 his father had caught him and thrown him out. What followed were years on the streets and in the bars of Southern California in the 1970s, a time and place Mark describes with a candor that is as funny as it is heartbreaking. You need to hear him tell it.

    “My higher power is the group of Alcoholics Anonymous. Not one person — ’cause one person will let me down — but the group of Alcoholics Anonymous. And the principles behind the group don’t let me down.”

    — Mark S.

    Mark found AA for the first time around 1979 or 1980 in Laguna Beach, drunk and suicidal in a motel room. Two AA members came, dumped his alcohol, and took him to a meeting. He kept going for a while. Then he did not. That pattern repeated for decades. He moved to Oregon around 1984 fleeing the AIDS crisis. He found love. He built a life. He also kept drinking, kept destroying things, until the night he took every pill he had. After a month in the hospital and a month at Cedar Hills rehab in Beaverton, he got four years of sobriety. Then a single joint ended it. He drank again until COVID, when a friend told him about Zoom AA meetings.

    That is where he found Extended Family, and that is where Julie first met him. Today Mark hosts his own Zoom meeting, does significant service work, and meets weekly with his sponsor John, who has 42 years of sobriety. He does all of this while homebound with COPD, running his meeting with more energy than most people bring to any room. What we find most powerful in this conversation, and what we think you need to hear in his own words, is how Mark talks about a higher power. He is an atheist. He says so plainly. And he has one.

    Websites Discussed

    Listen / Blog / Newsletter

    Mark recorded this episode just days after losing his mother, having lost his father four months before. He talks about grief, about death, about what it means to still be here when you spent decades trying not to be. This is a conversation about surviving yourself. If you know someone who thinks AA is not for them because they do not believe in God, send them this episode. If you know someone who has tried and relapsed and tried again, send them this. If you just need to hear that it is possible to come back from almost anywhere, this one is for you.

    Listen now at https://mdcr1.com/105.

    #RealRecoveryPodcast #RecoveryPodcast #SoberLife #AARecovery #AlcoholicsAnonymous #AtheistRecovery #SecularRecovery #HigherPower #LGBTQRecovery #SoberCommunity #RecoveryIsReal #TwoYearsSober #ZoomAA #ExtendedFamily #RealRecovery

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    RRP 104 — Justin Rye; From the Streets to Service: Finding Faith, Sobriety, and Purpose in Recovery

    Episodes News Resources Round Tables Treatment Centers

    From a Doorway on Skidmore Fountain to the Front Lines of Recovery

    Justin Rye, a substance abuse counselor with nearly three years of sobriety, joins hosts Julie and Peter on Episode 104 of the Real Recovery Podcast to share his journey from gang culture and years of incarceration to faith-based recovery and service on the front lines of addiction treatment.
    Thank you image in the real recovery podcast logo design

    Episode 104 marks two years of the Real Recovery Podcast — and we could not be more grateful. Two years. One hundred and four episodes. Guests who trusted us with their most painful and most triumphant moments. Listeners who showed up week after week and reminded us why this work matters. As we step into our third season and our third year, we want to say thank you. To every guest who sat down with us and told the truth. To every listener who shared an episode with someone who needed it. You are the reason this podcast exists, and we don’t take a single one of you for granted.

    Now, onto Episode 104...

    ​When Justin Rye told us his mother was the first person he ever did meth with, the room went quiet. Not because the story was unfamiliar — we’ve heard a lot on this show. But because of the way he said it. No anger. No drama. Just fact. Like it was simply the way things were.

    ​That moment is about ten minutes into this episode, and it tells you everything you need to know about who Justin is and why you need to hear this conversation.
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    ​Justin grew up in Fresno, California — gang culture, weed at nine, juvenile hall at 12, 16 group homes he ran from every single one of them trying to get back to his mom. What followed was, in his own words, life on the installment plan. Roughly 12 incarcerations. Two state prison terms in California. One federal. Seven years living in a van. And then Portland — five years on the streets, using intravenous meth, with no family nearby to slow him down.

    He robbed a bank. With a note. No weapon. Federal agents caught up with him six months later. He did two years in federal prison.

    Justin Rye sat across from us — calm, grounded, nearly three years sober — and talked about every single piece of it like a man who has made peace with his past and is now using it to help other people make peace with theirs. He carries 12 clients at Adult and Teen Challenge in Estacada, Oregon. He runs three groups a day. He’s working toward his CADC certification. He has a driver’s license — the first of his adult life.

    There’s a moment late in the episode where Peter asks Justin what he tells clients who are struggling to hold on. And Justin says something we haven’t been able to stop thinking about since we recorded it. We’re not going to give it away here — but it has nothing to do with relapse being inevitable, and everything to do with what it actually takes to build something that lasts.

    Justin doesn’t sugarcoat recovery. He doesn’t make it sound easy or painless or wrapped up neatly. He says clearly that if you’re not uncomfortable, you’re not growing. And he means it — because he lived it.

    “It’s not easy. It’s uncomfortable as fuck. Excuse my language, but if you’re not comfortable, you’re not growing.” — Justin Rye ​

    — Justin Rye

    A woman he had smoked spice with on his way to Rob Black’s house that same evening died from it before the night was over. He never touched it again. The structure that saved him when nothing else had. The faith he found feeding homeless people on Sunday mornings. The moment he stood in a courtroom and thanked a judge for sending him to prison.

    ​You need to hear this one in his own words. 🎧 Listen now at mdcr1.com/104. Read more at mdcr1.com/104b.

    ​Websites Discussed

    Adult and Teen Challenge — Faith-based addiction recovery and counseling

    Skyler Ray — Recovery artist and advocate

    Real Recovery Podcast — www.realrecoverypodcast.com

    ​Listen / Blog / Newsletter

    Listen: https://mdcr1.com/104

    Blog: https://mdcr1.com/104b

    Newsletter: https://mdcr1.com/newsletter

    #RealRecovery #RecoveryPodcast #AddictionRecovery #SoberLiving #FaithAndRecovery #AdultAndTeenChallenge #SubstanceAbuse #MethRecovery #PeerSupport #RecoveryIsPossible #SoberCommunity #StreetToService #RecoveryWorks

    @RealRecoveryPodcast @SkylerRayOfficial

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    RRP 103 — Luciano N.; Don’t Stop Before the Miracle: One Man’s Journey Through Homelessness, Relapse, and Real Recovery

    From the MAX Train to the Treatment Center — and Finally, to Himself

    Some recovery stories begin with a single rock bottom. Luciano N.’s story includes several — and the grace to find the miracle in the journey between each one. A Salem-raised, bicultural gay Latino man, Luciano spent years wearing masks: the devoted cheerleader, the charming bartender, the self-sufficient kid who had it handled. When the masks finally slipped and he found himself sleeping on MAX trains and in Portland parks, he could not have imagined that nineteen months later he would be sitting with Julie and Peter on the Real Recovery Podcast, nineteen months sober and serving as Director of Operations at Atlas Treatment Center.
    This is a story about identity, performance, codependency, and loss. It is also a story about what it looks like to stop outrunning yourself and start leaning in — into treatment, into service, into a community that does not require you to earn your place.
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    Guest Background

    ​Luciano grew up in Salem, Oregon, the product of two very different worlds. His mother’s side of the family was Americanized, grounded in Salem. His father’s roots were in Veracruz, Mexico — a place of warmth and tropical summers that Luciano visited throughout his childhood. Those two cultures pulled back and forth in the best way, shaping a young man equally at home in Spanish and English, equally drawn to both worlds.
    ​When Luciano was five, his father was incarcerated. His mother became the sole provider for four children, working cleaning jobs and harder-than-hard shifts to keep the family afloat. Luciano responded the way he would for the rest of his life: by becoming self-sufficient. He taught himself to cook breakfast for the family. He told himself he had it handled. He told himself he did not need anyone.
    When his father was released from a Georgia prison and deported to Mexico, Luciano was thirteen. He spent a summer there, expecting the father he had built up in his imagination. What he found was a man still trying to find his footing, and an emotional reckoning Luciano was not ready for. He came home and shut his father’s side out. He was independent. He was fine.
    ​In high school, Luciano discovered sports, choir, and cheerleading — and in them, community. He was also quietly figuring out his sexuality, a process that intersected with new faith, new pressure, and the first time someone poured vodka into his lemonade at a family gathering. He came out to his sister that same night, drunk, emotional, and weeping. She already knew. She loved him anyway. But Luciano filed the experience away as a reason never to drink again. For a while, he kept that promise.
    ​Portland was already becoming his home before he moved there. He was making weekend trips from Salem to dance at all-ages clubs, discovering a queer community that did not require explanation. When he tried out for the Portland State cheerleading team and made it, the decision was made. He moved to the city that would shape the rest of his story.

    Struggles and Turning Points

    ​College brought freedom and compression in equal measure. Luciano was doing everything at once: school, competitive cheer, a title at a nightclub (Mr. Junior Gay Portland No. 7), a job coaching youth cheer teams, bartending and serving on the side. The drinking escalated slowly, as it does — one night a week, then three, then whenever anxiety needed somewhere to go. He started blacking out. His cheerleading teammates noticed. He told himself he could control it.
    ​After college, Luciano entered a seven-year relationship — three years together, four years of trying to stay a family after the breakup. His partner was a trans man with three children. Luciano stepped into a stepfather role at twenty-two, not ready, determined to manage it anyway. When the relationship finally ended and the crutch of that household was gone, he was left with isolation, the pandemic, and alcohol as his only remaining constant.
    ​In one year, he went through seven jobs. The shakes started. The vertigo. He walked out of his cousin’s place after an argument, then a friend’s place after it became unsafe, then a bar where his boss had let him sleep. Within two months, he was on the street. He had no phone, a little money, and the logic of someone deep in addiction: the bars downtown were still open. He slept on MAX trains. He slept in parks. He ended up at the Portland Rescue Mission.

    “Don’t give up on yourself in the journey. The journey is the miracle, the path that you lead every day.”

    — Luciano N.

    From there, Luciano made his way to Blanchet House — a shelter and transitional program in Old Town Portland where residents work in the kitchen for 90 days, serving meals to the community they now belong to. The discipline of it steadied him. The humility of it cracked something open. Sitting on the balcony at the end of his first week, feelings rushing back after months of numbing, Luciano wept. He called his family. He told them where he was.

    Near the three-month mark, as he was about to be eligible to start looking for work, he relapsed. Too prideful to come clean, he ran off rather than disclose it. A friend let him stay for a month. When that situation grew unstable, he asked Blanchet if he could come back. They said yes. He came back with more gratitude and more groundedness — and relapsed again at New Year’s. This time, he owned up to it immediately. It was one of the first times he had been fully honest without running. Blanchet’s rules required them to let him go, but they gave him a week to find a plan. A peer suggested treatment. The next day, Luciano sat across from John Morgan at Another Chance and, as he put it, went “full therapist, deep level kind of stuff” before realizing he just needed to talk about his substance use. He got in. He got a job at a credit union. He finished treatment. He invited his family to his graduation. ​

    Months later, he relapsed again. Ten days of bar-hopping, losing his phone, losing his wallet, losing everything. He collapsed at Laurel Hurst Park, unable to get up. Strangers walked by and called him a bum. Something in him fired. He crawled to the hospital. The next morning, he walked across the city to the offices of what was then MHAAO — now The Peer Company — and found Terry, a peer support specialist he knew from the Kings and Queens meeting at True Colors. He walked in in scrubs. He broke down. He said he had messed up. Terry said: what do you want to do?

    He wanted detox. He went to Hooper. He went back to Another Chance — this time to the east side, this time as an angry, defeated, finally-honest version of himself. And this time, for the first time, he allowed himself to feel whatever he was feeling without performing his way around it.

    ​The Work He Is Doing in Recovery and His Community

    After completing his second round of treatment, Luciano moved into a sober home through Sober Housing Oregon, one of Rob Lock’s houses. He went to one, sometimes two AA meetings a day. He took it slowly. Eventually, Rob asked him to become house manager.


    ​He almost said no. A friend in his home group stopped him. The role would force him to set boundaries, his friend said. Boundaries were his biggest problem. He said yes.

    Being house manager was not easy. It required him to enforce rules with people he cared about. It required accountability in moments where he would rather look away. And it required him to hold steady through something he had hoped would never happen: a housemate died of an overdose.


    ​Luciano had to jump through a window to reach him — and found him unconscious, already past the point of saving. He held steady. He held the house together in the aftermath, organizing a celebration of life when the man’s family flew in. The family kept saying they were grateful their son had been surrounded by people who loved him in his final months. For Luciano, the loss reawakened something essential: the understanding that recovery is real, the stakes are real, and there is no performing your way through it.


    The day before his second treatment graduation, Luciano stopped by Atlas Treatment Center to ask about housing resources. The founder asked what he was doing with his life. Luciano listed his options. The founder said: work here. Luciano told him he was taking a big chance on someone who did not know much. The founder said he was not taking a chance — he could see it.


    ​Luciano graduated the next morning. He has been Director of Operations at Atlas ever since. He is also reconnecting with his Latin culture and his queer community, dancing sober at Portland clubs, and building a life that does not require a mask.

    ​Luciano’s story resists easy framing. It is not a straight line from suffering to salvation. It includes relapse, and relapse again, and the slow painful work of learning that being honest is not a weakness but the only foundation that holds. It includes the LGBTQ community and the recovery community finding each other, and the particular grace of people like Terry who ask, without flinching: what do you want to do?


    Nineteen months in, Luciano is not claiming to fully love himself. He is claiming something harder and more real: awareness. Acceptance. A willingness to feel whatever today brings without running from it. A belief that the journey itself is the miracle — not the destination, not the gold star, not the performance. The path you walk every day.


    ​If you are somewhere in the middle of your own story, Luciano has a simple message: don’t stop before the miracle happens. And if you see him — at the gym, at a meeting, on the street — go ahead and say hi. He gives good hugs.

    #RealRecoveryPodcast #AddictionRecovery #SoberLiving #RecoveryIsPossible #LGBTQRecovery #HomelessnessAndRecovery #MiraclesHappen #DontStopBeforeTheMiracle #PortlandRecovery #SoberCommunity @RealRecoveryPodcast

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    RRP 102 — Lee Anne K.; Turning On the Light: Recovery, Resilience, and Radical Self-Acceptance

    ​One Day, One Choice, One Light Switch at a Time

    Some episodes arrive at exactly the right moment. When Julie and Peter sat down with Lee Anne K. on February 12, 2026, they did not know they were recording on the 20th anniversary of one of the most painful days of her life. Lee Anne did. And she showed up anyway — with humor, candor, and an unshakeable belief that no matter how dark it gets, the light switch is always within reach.
    ​Lee Anne is a nearly nine-year member of the recovery community, a devoted AA participant, a proud straight ally, a pen pal to strangers, and, by her own admission, the podcast’s self-appointed number one fan. From Scappoose, Oregon, she brings a story that is equal parts raw and redemptive — one that travels from a first marriage entered too young, through relapse and treatment, to the life she has built with intention, grace, and a 140-item list of things to do instead of drink.
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    This episode is about what recovery actually looks like when the cameras are off and the clichés run dry. It is about reframing. It is about self-care that does not apologize for itself. And it is about choosing, every single day, to turn on the light.
    About Lee Anne K.
    Lee Anne first arrived in the rooms of AA in May 2008, though her current sobriety date is March 12, 2017 — her nephew’s birthday, a date she holds as both anchor and reminder: she cannot be Aunt Lee Anne if she goes back out.
    Her story does not begin with a dramatic rock bottom in the conventional sense. It begins with a young woman who married right out of high school, found herself deeply unhappy, and turned to alcohol as a way to escape the question she kept asking herself:
    “What the hell did I do?
    There was a stepson to raise whose mother had drunk herself to death. There was a husband who was later found to have another child in Virginia. There were compulsive patterns that predated the drinking — a depression-era scarcity mentality passed down through generations, a middle child’s hunger for recognition, and a need to fill something she could not yet name.
    ​Lee Anne is also candid about her neurodivergence. She was in talented and gifted programs as a child, attended private school, and describes her brain as one that does not necessarily work the same way as others. The same intensity that made her dance so hard at a treatment center karaoke night that she medically discharged herself the next morning is the same intensity that today fuels her pen pal network, her 140-item recovery toolkit, and her commitment to showing up for everyone around her.
    Struggles and Turning Points
    Lee Anne’s relationship with alcohol deepened in her first marriage and tracked alongside unhappiness rather than any single catastrophic event. She describes watching a Simpsons episode in which Marge challenges Homer to go 30 days without Duff beer and sitting there convinced her family must be watching her. The next day she texted them:
    “I’m going to beat Homer Simpson.”
    ​They had no idea what she was talking about. She did 37 days — then a neighbor came over with a vodka orange juice and she decided she had already won, so it was fine.
    ​Her first real entry point into AA came through a women in IT meeting at Nike, where a colleague stood up and mentioned her 17 years of sobriety. Lee Anne nearly broke her neck turning around fast enough. After the meeting she could not get a single word out. The woman simply handed her a name tag with her extension written on it. That woman — Fran — became Lee Anne’s first sponsor, and colleagues even lent her their cars so she could drive to meetings.
    “If you are in a dark place, turn the light on. There are light switches around, there are candles. You have a choice. You are responsible for your own happiness.”
    — Lee Anne K.
    ​A DUI eventually led to required counseling, which opened a spot at Pathways in St. Helens — a treatment center she reframed as summer camp in order to get through the door. She danced so intensely at a karaoke event during treatment that she could not walk the next day, which led to a medical discharge before completion. She moved back in with her parents, then into their garage, then into an apartment with her son, relapsed while working a fourth step, and arrived at her current sobriety date on March 12, 2017.
    ​Two weeks after that last drink — not recommended, she is clear about this — she met the man who would become her husband. She told him immediately: she was new in recovery, her time would be limited. He respected that. He still does.
    ​The Work Lee Anne Does in Recovery
    Lee Anne’s recovery is built on a foundation of practical tools, deep community, and a philosophy she keeps printed in rainbow colors behind her monitors at home:
    I am living life on life’s terms. I am protecting my peace. I am forgiving others for not being how I expect them to be. I am responsible for my own happiness. I am giving myself and others grace and mercy. I am choosing to turn the volume down on things that do not align with my emotional, spiritual, physical, mental, intellectual, social, occupational, financial, environmental, and life goals. Self-care is not selfish.
    Among the tools that anchor her:
    • Letter-writing. Lee Anne buys stamps in bulk and periodically reviews her contacts asking: who needs a love note today? She types 96 words per minute, and writes with the same ease. Julie keeps a portion of one of Lee Anne’s letters taped to her computer. Letter-writing, Lee Anne says, is therapy — a form of journaling that reaches outward instead of staying private.
    • The 140-item list. A running document of things to do instead of drinking: send love texts to family, cook a meal for someone else, review the church prayer directory and mail cards, read a comic book, dust picture frames. The list exists to interrupt negative thinking and redirect energy toward connection and care.
    • The 10-minute coin. Lee Anne distributes these to newcomers: one side reads Unity, Service, Recovery — 10 Minutes. The other carries the Serenity Prayer. Her message is simple: if you can wait 10 minutes, you might be okay.
    • Meetings. Lee Anne attends the Lunch Bunch / Extended Family online meeting, introduced to her by Colette, where she found the safety she had not felt at the men-only Monday meeting in Scappoose. She has spoken at NARA three times and at Pathways in St. Helens twice. She sponsors, and she receives sponsorship.
    • Allyship as service. Lee Anne makes it a point to love everyone with a beating heart — a value rooted in watching family members treated poorly for being gay or lesbian. She carries a straight ally sticker on her car and is deliberate about inclusion in every space she enters.
    • Nature and higher power. From her easy chair in Scappoose, on windy days, she can watch the movement of the trees between the houses. For Lee Anne, that is a glimpse of something larger — the God she grew up with, offering balance without demanding anything in return.
    Lee Anne K. did not come to the Real Recovery Podcast with a polished narrative. She came with a clipboard of notes, a Lee Jeans t-shirt with her name stitched underneath the logo, socks that declare her a delicate flower, and 20 years of hard-won perspective on a day she once thought might define her forever.
    ​What she leaves listeners with is not a formula. It is a posture: face toward the light, protect your peace, love generously, and when the darkness comes — and it will come — remember that the switch is right there. You just have to reach for it.
    Recovery looks different for everyone. Lee Anne’s version involves stamps and pen pals and a shitty attitude coin she brought back from the East Coast and a rainbow mantra on her wall. It is entirely her own. And that, she would tell you, is exactly the point.
    Listen & Read More
    Listen: https://mdcr1.com/102
    Blog: https://mdcr1.com/102b
    Newsletter: https://mdcr1.com/newsletter
    #RealRecoveryPodcast #Recovery #Sobriety #AA #AlcoholicsAnonymous #RecoveryIsPossible #SoberLife #MentalHealth #SelfCare #Resilience #RecoveryCommunity #LGBTQ #StraightAlly #Neurodivergent #Portland #Oregon #Podcast #Hope #YouAreNotAlone #TurnOnTheLight