I wasn’t expecting clarity at a funeral, but when my friend passed away, I knew something had to change. His life, much like me own was consumed by addiction, but had been cut short. I just stared at the coffin and thought, “That could be me next.”
That moment punched me in the gut. I was fading fast—physically, mentally, spiritually.
I picked up the phone, trembling, and called my social worker. All I said was, “Please take me away from all this.” It was terrifying. All I knew was how to get high. I’d been doing it since I was thirteen. Cannabis led to harder stuff, and after a head injury during an assault, the spiral steepened. By my thirties, I wasn’t even chasing a high, I was using just to feel normal.
Leaving Newcastle to enter rehab in Sheffield was brutal. That first year nearly broke me. Four to five months of withdrawal, sweating it out, feeling like I was going to die every single day. I can’t sugar-coat it. It was pitch black. But I kept going, even when everything inside me screamed to stop.
Once I’d dried out and stepped back into the world, I was put into supported accommodation. Sounds stable, right? But it wasn’t. Just sitting in that flat, alone with cravings and memories, it was a dangerous quiet. I needed something else. Something to anchor me.
That’s when fate or maybe just a notice in a pet shop stepped in. A mate spotted an advert for someone to poo-pick a few fields. Glamorous? Not really. But I called, took the job. That’s when I met Alison, the owner of the livery yard. She said I’d get a three-month trial. I’m still here.
I’ve gone from barely riding to exercising competition horses. I muck out, lunge, tack up and I ride. These horses don’t judge me. They don’t care what I’ve been through. All they want is my presence, my energy. If I’m anxious or angry, they feel it and step away. But when I relax? They come close. They head-butt me or snuggle in. That quiet trust saved me.
I still get triggered. Every day. When I sit in my flat too long, those old cravings knock. But if I spend even thirty minutes with the horses, that noise fades. It’s like they siphon off the worst of me and leave the good behind.
Out of the 39 people in my rehab group, only me and one other are still clean. Most of them are dead. I think about that constantly. I know how easily I could’ve joined them. But the horses pulled me back from that edge.
And the ripple effects? My mam’s proud. My dad and I talk like father and son again. That bond we thought it was lost for good. But it’s back, and it’s brilliant.
I’m sharing my story in hopes that someone out there reading this, doubting whether life can ever change realises help is out there.
But you just reach for it. Admit the problem. Say the words. It’s scary as hell, but it’s worth it.
I found my purpose in a field full of horses. Yours might look completely different. But if something speaks to you, grabs hold and gives you peace—chase it. That one decision might just save your life.
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