Matthew's Story

For most of my life I thought asking for help meant admitting defeat. I grew up in and out of hospitals for surgeries to repair a cleft lip and palate. I learned early how to endure pain, to tough it out, to keep going. What I didn’t learn was how to talk about the fear and anxiety that came with it.

By my teens those feelings had turned into panic attacks I didn’t understand. When I had my first drink at 18, everything went quiet. For the first time, I felt calm. Normal. I thought I’d found the solution. What I didn’t realize was that alcohol was numbing everything else too—the fear, the pain, even the joy.

For 15 years I told myself I was fine because I could still function. I worked, I socialized, I hid in plain sight. But I wasn’t living. I was coasting. And I thought strength meant control, not vulnerability.

That changed when my grandmother passed away. I decided not to drink through the grief because I wanted to feel it. That week of sobriety showed me I could honour her by feeling everything I’d spent years trying to ignore. A week turned into two, then a month. I started going to the gym, setting goals and slowly learning that I could face life instead of escaping it.

CAMH represents change. It’s progress. It’s a place that helps people like me—people who didn’t have the words or the space to understand what they were going through. I wish I’d known sooner that checking my pride and reaching out could have made all the difference.

Now I talk openly about my story because I’ve learned that recovery doesn’t have to look one way. I still have a drink now and then, but I no longer use alcohol to cope. I manage my anxiety with therapy, breathing and conversation instead of silence. I’ve found what I call my middle ground: a place between control and compassion.

National Addictions Awareness Week is November 16 to 22. I want to say this to anyone who’s struggling: checking your pride isn’t weakness. It’s the first step toward healing. Vulnerability isn’t the opposite of strength—it’s proof of it.

Recovery starts when you stop hiding and start reaching out.

And it’s never too late to begin.