Voices of Native Harm Reduction
The following stories of healing, cultural connection, community, and belonging uplift our relatives’ experiences within California. These testimonies show the impacts of cultural connection and Native harm reduction principles, where our community members who use drugs or who are navigating addiction are empowered through the transformative action of love.
We are so grateful and so proud of our storytellers for the bravery and strength of spirit shown in their words. We are forever thankful for the medicine you bring!
-
I’m Native both from [a California tribe] and other parts of the continent, born and raised in the Bay Area. I started my substance use when I was around 16, mainly with alcohol and cannabis, but also prescription pills and uppers like cocaine. I don’t currently use anything besides cannabis at the moment, and I haven’t used any other substances besides cannabis for around 10 years. I last used alcohol in 2016. I currently use cannabis every day.
I believe in the tools and strategies that help reduce both interpersonal and state violence against people who use drugs, and which help give people autonomy in making their own choices in how they use their body. When I was using more substances, I don’t think I was super aware of these principles explicitly. But looking back, there were things that I was doing, like testing any substances I would have. If you are gonna be using something, might as well test it and get to know what’s in it, get a familiarity with the substances and what could be in them. I think it’s preventative for any unintentional consumption of things that you don’t want and preventing overdose.
Stigma reduction is also really important to me. Not having any judgments against people or blaming people for how they are choosing to use drugs. There’s a lot of systemic factors that come into play. People’s focus could be more effective trying to do systemic changes rather than placing blame on any individual person. When there is stigma around drug use, or certain drugs in particular, it leads to people trying to be more secretive about their use, which is something I found true for myself. I tried to hide things from my family or loved ones or friends… with that comes more challenges, when it’s hard to be transparent. When there’s less stigma around using, there can be more openness and transparency. Let’s say there’s a medical situation or some kind of complication with drug interactions, if you’re being secretive or feel shame or stigma, you might not want to say what you’re using. That can lead to even more health complications or issues.
When I was secretive, hiding, and shameful, it caused me to feel more isolated and disconnected from my family and loved ones and community members. You have one lie because you feel ashamed… and then you have to lie to cover up that lie, and another lie for that one, and it keeps building. People value honesty in relationships, so if people find out or suspect you’re lying to them, it can negatively impact your relationship with people. But I found if there’s a reduced stigma around things – whether the person I’m talking to, or have a relationship with someone that changes to become more open – then you’re able to open up more about the drugs you’re using and your experiences with them, it can lead to a deeper relationship because you’re sharing yourself. If the other person isn’t being weird about it, and is being more accepting or understanding and coming with compassion, then it could lead to you developing a better relationship, trust and openness.
Growing up, there was a lot of emphasis around abstinence. I’ve seen my own family members being shamed or outcasted from family gatherings or cultural events. Not even just my own family members but other community members and people in the Native community who do use. I’ve seen access being taken away from cultural events or gatherings, and that’s just kind of what it was growing up. But after learning about different approaches, it changed my mind and how I saw things. Now I think it’s super important, especially for Native people who use drugs, to be able to still have access to community or cultural or ceremonial spaces, because people who are using might be struggling with personal stuff like emotional things, traumatic things – I know I was. That’s when people need community and culture and ceremony the most. That was a big shift for me, changing my approach. My family has for so long been in that other world of shutting people out, but now I see how beneficial and important it is not to exclude people from access to these things, especially for Native people.
Community spaces, these cultural spaces, are essential. This is who we are as Native people. It’s deeply embedded in our identity and our spirits. For me, a lot of my healing came from the land and learning about traditional, cultural foodways. Another important part was learning how to be a good role model for my siblings. When I was using a lot of drugs and drinking a lot, it wasn’t good for them to see that, and I wasn’t proud of it. Being Native, a lot of us come from families that have a lot of substance use, and that was true for me personally. I’ve lost family members due to drug and alcohol use, and I think about how a different approach could have prevented their deaths from happening. My family was still operating from the shameful perspective, so I often wonder what could have been different.
Being able to keep family members alive is a culturally important thing because our family members are our culture keepers… if you’re able to save a family member’s life, that’s so tied to Native culture. When I was using, I wasn’t too interested in cultural things. But I think more so what I needed was the interpersonal. Having people you can talk to and be honest with, where it doesn’t come from a judgmental or carceral place. Mostly just having someone to talk to, whether a community member or a family member, about things like stigma reduction would have been really helpful. Having access to drug testing kits, supplies is really important. I think more education in the Native community for individuals, but also for service providers, would be important. Also even for cultural or spiritual practitioners to have education would be important, so everyone in the Native community can have a better understanding of non-judgmental care. I would be interested in seeing more land-based programs that are culturally relevant, especially in the city. Healing the land, healing our bodies, and healing our communities is so important for us as Native people.
-
Crossroads Recovery tries to do something genuinely meaningful for people struggling with addiction, trauma, and isolation in a rural area where resources are limited. They don’t present recovery as just “stop using substances”, they focus on rebuilding community, dignity, culture, and purpose. It’s deeply community-centered and culturally informed, especially for Indigenous and tribal populations in the Eastern Sierra region. They work on healing historical trauma, reducing overdose deaths, and using peer support instead of only clinical or punishment-based methods.
They emphasize empowerment and overdose prevention. That matters because many people are not ready for perfect sobriety overnight, but they still deserve support and a chance to stay alive long enough to recover. They’ve reversed dozens of overdoses and have helped many community members connect to services and healing circles. I also think it’s encouraging that they’re working on sober living housing in Bishop. In small towns especially, stable housing can make the difference between relapse and rebuilding your life. Crossroads is trying to create a place where people who have been written off, where those dealing with addiction, incarceration, or trauma can feel accepted and supported instead of judged.
The good in Crossroads Recovery Center comes from hope, human connection, cultural healing, and giving people another chance when they may feel like they’ve run out of chances.
-
I grew up in the Bay Area and didn’t know a lot about my culture until I got older. I’m not from a Cali Native tribe, but my family all lives here now. My drug use began when I was around 10 years old. I started off drinking alcohol and smoking cannabis. I experienced sexual abuse, trauma, neglect, and homelessness since I was a kid. The chaos of my life made me feel like I didn’t even want to be alive anymore. I was only 7 when I started having suicidal thoughts. Alcohol and drugs became a way for me to forget what I was going through. As a kid, I was so ashamed of myself about the abuse I experienced so I didn’t tell anyone what I was going through because I didn’t want CPS to take me away or to feel judged by everybody or to get people I loved into trouble. So I dealt with everything alone.
In middle school, I stopped going to school most days and could be out all night drinking or doing drugs. Nobody in my family noticed or cared what was going on with me, and the shame and disappointment that my family didn’t care made me feel worse and more alone. I was judged by all the adults at school. None of them bothered to ask why a little kid would be messing around with this stuff and be coming to school drunk every day. Because I was bad in school, and I would be drawing or misbehaving, they just called me a problem child and wrote me off. But inside I was hurting bad. I just wanted to feel like someone loved me. I was crying out for help the only way I knew how. I didn’t have anyone safe to go to, and a lot of days I was just struggling for survival, dealing with no food at home or being homeless or heavily neglected by my family.
By 9th grade the trauma and shame was so bad that I would have killed myself if I wasn’t drunk and high all the time. I was introduced to benzos, cocaine, morphine, ecstacy, psychedelics, and meth. As long as it would help me forget about the world, I would use it. I was drinking a fifth of liquor a day and constant drugs on top of it to manage the pain I was experiencing.
I dropped out of high school and was going nowhere fast. I nearly died multiple times. What started to change things for me was making a friend who introduced me to history. I started off being introduced to Malcolm X and the Black Panther Party, and then I learned my own peoples history. I started to realize that everything I was experiencing was bigger than myself. It felt like my eyes were finally open. I knew I couldn’t keep living like I had been. After so many failed attempts, I successfully began to taper off from drinking and slowly stopped using other drugs. I learned about how I was a survivor of PTSD and worked hard to heal from my shame. I ended up getting my GED, learning more about my culture, getting involved in community spaces.
I survived because of the radical idea that we should show someone love and care on their worst days imaginable, that nobody should have to feel alone in this world, to recognize that no matter what our lives look like we are people with interests and histories and important things to say. Recognizing that we as Indigenous Peoples have survived more than anyone should have, that we have so much beauty to us and no amount of pain can ever take that away. Now I’m 8 years sober on my own terms. I started to learn my language and crafts like weaving. I think about how culture could have changed my life sooner if someone had reached out and offered it to me. No matter where our people are at, they deserve to have a hand reach out.
When I was younger, I couldn’t have quit before I was ready. I would have killed myself because I had so much pain inside with nowhere for it to go. Programs need to understand that sometimes asking that much of people who aren’t interested or ready can be more harmful than the drugs themselves. I needed someone to be there for all the times I slipped through the cracks, for all the times I felt like a failure, when I felt like nothing more than an addict or alcoholic. I needed someone to see the beauty in me and to be there with me, to help show me I was worth loving regardless of the things I had to do in order to survive. I was always a person.
For those of us whose people were almost completely exterminated, we didn’t make it out of all that without a scratch. We have wounds and traumas that continue to hurt us because they never got to heal, whether it feels as small as a rock in our shoe or as big as a knife in our back. Its why we need to be seeing each other at our worst moments – like for me being up for days on drugs or babbling outside my psychotic thoughts and being a “public nuisance” the way a lot of people nowadays look at homeless people – and instead of looking down on us or crossing the street, seeing that we are a survivor of some of the worst things that ever happened on this planet. See that we’re someone who deserves love, unconditionally.
Harm reduction means to me means that we never give up on our healing journey, and our healing journey involves all of us. The urban Native community here is really strong, events and craft nights. But who has access to find a flyer on facebook? Who feels comfortable going into a room without people plugging their nose because they smell bad or avoiding sitting next to them because they look dirty. And a lot of people in the community see past those things or they lived through it themselves and have a lot of compassion, and those people are my role models. Those are the rockstar auntys. But there’s still so much stigma there from people too. Or just little things that people don’t think about. Getting a ride out to go to sweat... who has a car? Who knows someone with a car? I sure didn’t back in the day. These are the cracks that I can see because I was someone who fell through them. So to me, culture-based wellness looks like us being able to connect back to our cultural and spiritual ways that were taken from us or that they made hard to preserve. But also, it means always working to do a better job of holding the people who can’t get there yet. Cultural ways saved my life, but there’s so many more of us out there who are lost and craving that connection badly. It’s our job to never give up on finding them.
This world we live in can tear us completely down if we don’t have the support to make it through. A lot of our Indigenous families have been broken apart by the system, and then the kids growing up in that brokenness don’t have the environment to know we’re worthy or have someone to look after us and help guide us when we’re lost. The programs that require too much from us and want us to be perfect before we’re welcome in their door, they’re not there for us when we’re needing them the most. When we’re at our most hurt, that’s when we need culture and ceremony to help us learn about ourselves and see how worthy we are. But a lot of places or people don’t let us have access to that because of the shame and the stigma. We all belong to a beautiful lineage of our own peoples and we deserve to take up space. I wish more people could see us like that. I wonder how many people in my life would still be alive today if they were given that kind of understanding.
What gives me hope is seeing things change. Seeing people who used to be judgmental and shame everyone start to change and be more understanding. I feel so much hope with how alive our cultures are and that kids are growing up getting to do things I didn’t even know existed when I was a kid. Every generation is working to heal and that gives me so much hope every day. We deserve to feel that hope and know we’re worth the work it takes to get there.
I feel my ancestors with me everywhere I go now, and now I know that even in my darkest days they were with me. I see the beauty in everyone I meet on the street, everyone having their worst day, and I see their ancestors walking with them too. The more we can do to recognize those strengths in each other and greet them with love and care above anything, the stronger we become as a community.
-
(Sherwood Valley Pomo). Harm reduction means equity, safety, and access. I’ve seen it save and help lives. I don’t love the idea that the terms we use are being called bad words in today’s society. That makes me angry and sad for the lives that have been touched and impacted positively by it. It’s healing, it’s another form of medicine.
Not having access to harm reduction killed my mother, so in that way it was very damaging. I have friends who have utilized safe needles and things of that nature, and some of them are completely off suboxone, completely off methadone, and I can’t say they would have survived that stuff without the gentle hands and safety that harm reduction provided them.
I see that a lot with the cultural practices, community spaces where we’re doing dance and things like that and if the person is loaded they can’t enter the dance space and they can only sit and observe. I have mixed feelings about that, I struggle, they need the prayers, they need the drum. But I understand the thought behind if they’ve used meth or whatever they’re trying to keep the rest of the community safe and the children that might be present. I have mixed feelings about it for myself. I don’t think I would have stayed clean or been able to do it if I hadn’t been able to find culture and drum and songs and prayers and those kinds of practices. For me as a native person, that is coming home. That’s ancestors, that’s strength, that’s resilience, in a way that 12-step could never touch. It’s different. So I feel sad for the people who can’t do sweats because they’re detoxing but then they need that medicine. But I also get why, to a certain extent. It’s a very nuanced thing. I want everybody to heal, to use their culture to get out of these generational cycles of addiction.
Some years into doing 12-step work and abstinence, I was feeling stuck. I wasn’t feeling right. I can’t explain more than I just wasn’t feeling right.
It led me to a place of looking at my addictive family, the dysfunction there, the abandonment, the trauma, all of that stuff. And then I arrived in a place where I was around the drum and culture, and everything shifted from then on. It was like I wasn’t just an addict, or an alcoholic, I was whole again. I spent so much of my life feeling like I didn’t fit in any one particular space, being a mixed Native person, and the culture for me and being in those community spaces made me feel whole. I wasn’t part Native, I wasn’t part this or part that, I was just whole. It gave me a different healing path. It gave me access to wisdom, strength that runs in my veins. It flows through me, and it changed my relationship with Creator.
Doing the steps, it was like yeah I’m giving my will to god and whatever, but it shifted. I felt like I was being guided more by my ancestors and I felt more purpose. I watched my own journey and how it was impacting my dad’s relationship. He had his own path with addiction and he abandoned me as a result of that. And because of my recovery journey, my amends process, my beginning to learn my culture and who I was, he has an opportunity that was given to him to change that, like is a grandpa, he shows up for his grandkids, he gets to raise them and show up in a way that he didn’t have the capacity to do in his own addiction struggles.
Because I started reconnecting with my ancestry and learning about my culture and doing this work, all of that’s shifted, and that wouldn’t have happened if I wasn’t engaging with culture and all of that stuff. None of that would have happened.
I think that there’s value in talking circles, I think there’s value in gathering the medicines, I think that there’s stuff that, you know, because like you said, it’s not all like one size fits all with people.
I didn’t start learning about red road recovery or like white bison. I didn’t know about any of that stuff until like way later. So I think that those are things that would have benefited me on a multitude of ways, I might not have had the relapses that I did in the very beginning if I had known about those things.
I would love to see more generational healing things where there’s an opportunity to connect with like elders or medicine people. I would love to see more incorporating of like, Indigenous foods, and like putting those things back into our body, how would that impact our early recovery days?
There’s so many different possibilities. But I’d love to see a drumming meeting where, like, we’ve got our tobacco and we’re drumming and we’re singing and we’re opening like a talking circle with something like that. Or, you know, something like that would feel really powerful, really beautiful. A campaign of: fund these programs, fund culture, save lives, heal people, heal our earth. They have to be done simultaneously. I don’t know what the bridge is to get those two in the right relations.
I feel like I’m a part of the journey in building it. I’m doing this. So I feel honored and blessed to share.
-
I want to share how Crossroads Recovery in Bishop, California, has profoundly changed my life. When I was trapped in drug addiction, I felt lost and alone. But through Crossroads, I found hope. They provided me with clean instruments, essential education, and dedicated therapy services for drug counseling. These programs gave me the strength to rebuild, to reconnect, and to believe in a future. Today, I stand here in recovery, and I know that Crossroads gave me so much more than just a second chance—they gave me a new life.
-
I’m born and raised in San Francisco, but my ancestry is Mixtec/Zapotec from the Mixteca Sur in so-called Oaxaca, Mexico.
When I think about the concept of harm reduction, to me it’s being compassionate. People coming from a harm reduction approach are way more effective than people who are supportive of the War on Drugs, or who think that people who use drugs are subhuman, or force drug treatment. The War on Drugs policies are still implemented today. The conditions that people have adapted to still mirror what it was like in the ‘80s and ‘90s. I grew up in the ‘90s: I grew up with commercial PSAs from DARE, seeing commercials about “what drug use does to you”, while also being surrounded by it in my real life, being from a family of addicts and being from the city where addiction is everywhere.
I’ve witnessed in San Francisco how people have moved from using meth and heroin to fentanyl. I’ve seen how the community has changed. It feels like there’s more violence within the community. It’s hard to see people deep in fentanyl use, but I understand how that came to be and why people are using fentanyl. It’s way more accessible, it’s cheaper. And I also see the state of the world change in ways that make it so people need to use. If poor people had accessibility to meet their basic needs such as housing, healthy food, and mental health support, I feel like people are less likely to get deep into harmful drug use. The economy is really bad, we’re in a housing crisis where people can’t afford rent, and if they are able to get into these SROs then they don’t have any space. There’s no community spaces where people can just be. People are criminalized for hanging out on the street as if they have living rooms and allow visitors in these SROs.
I remember growing up in the ‘90s in San Francisco, I saw people shooting drugs in the street since I was a child. My auntie died in the early 2000s from Hepatitis C. She admitted to me when I was sixteen that she got Hep C from sharing needles and didn’t have access to clean supplies. It was her DARE PSA to have me know the truth about her illnesses and struggles with addiction. I was always very aware of what was going on socially even as a kid. But these days, there are so many more people using on the streets, and that is a symptom of people not being able to afford housing or food, and the state’s boot pressing even harder on our necks than ever before.
It affects us as Black and Brown people. Historically, substance use has been used strategically by colonizers to keep us down. In Mesoamerican Mexico, fermented maguey is traditional to our people. In my culture, we have the beverage Pulque (Nahuatl word is Metoctli) which does get you drunk – but I was taught this drink was only used in ceremonies. If you were caught over indulging, you would be punished, sometimes even killed for breaking protocol. Every Indigenous culture has different protocols with different substances that alter a person’s mind, thus proving these are medicines that are not to be used carelessly. I think about that a lot especially when it comes to alcohol; I come from the belief that alcohol does have spirits. That’s why they even call it spirits. Being Native, I think about this cultural practice of not over indulging in medicines being overthrown by colonialism and capitalism to where Pulque is now sold in bars or in bottles. I feel like the bastardization of these medicines makes it easy for colonizers to take advantage of us while exploiting our relationship to these ancient ways.
You see they put bars and liquor stores in border towns by reservations or how crack cocaine was unleashed into poor urban neighborhoods. The War on Drugs was a strategic way to keep a population down, which in the United States means poor, Black and Brown people. Natives make up the lowest percent of the population but we’re the highest to die from overdose, more likely to end up in prisons, or more likely end up missing or murdered and this is done on purpose. They don’t want Natives alive, they want European supremacy.
All of this makes me think about [my friend] Mama Julz and the Mothers Against Meth Alliance on the Pine Ridge Reservation. On the Pine Ridge rez it’s extremely criminalized to any kind of outreach, but she’s just underground railroading and prohibition style bringing people supplies. She stands in her beliefs that if you give people the tools, it will save lives. She carries so much powerful medicine for that. The reservations were designed to keep Native people sick. The U.S. government greatly benefits from keeping tribal people sick, and like in Mama Julz’s case it’s especially true with the Oglala Lakota people. They are ancestrally hardcore warriors – look at the Battle of Little Bighorn. It benefits the U.S. government to keep the Oglala people sick. Mama Julz is constantly being harassed just doing harm reduction for her people, getting them life-saving supplies, taking care of children who need support while their parents struggle with addiction. She’s the only one doing that on her rez. To me, that’s powerful. To be caring for your people who are dealing with so much sickness, that’s powerful medicine. Shes going against the current to provide support to her people who are being plagued with illnesses. She says it all the time, she’s battling ‘the meth spirit’ on her rez.
The dominant politics around drug use is that they don’t want to offer support… they want to eradicate people. That’s the reality. That’s what these forced treatment centers are, where it’s “if you’re on the streets, you’re going to jail”. That’s not resources, that’s not help, that’s straight up disappearing people. That’s pushing people far away into other places.
It’s good that here in urban cities, that we have resources and less stigma than on the rez. It’s different. There’s parallels and differences between people in low-income urban communities and rez life, but you can see rural communities have less resources and it’s all by design. Being in urban Native settings, having organizations that do things like drum circle nights, or having round dance, or doing more cultural things to bring people together is so cool. Being less isolated and getting people more involved in community, it builds trust and helps people feel comfortable to get the resources and help that they need. But we need more ceremony. People in the community want more ceremony, it’s missing here. As Native people, spirituality is a part of our culture, to have a relationship to nature. We need more of that.
The real work is making sure people have their basic needs met: that they have rent, they have food, they have childcare. If people had more of their basic needs met, they might not have to seek out substances to feel better, to self-medicate, to escape. Usually people are trying not to think about what’s happening in their life, and for poorer people especially a lot of that is not getting basic needs met, dealing with that stress. That’s why programs that give funds to people for daily living are so important. Pay off whatever you need to pay off, no questions asked. “Here’s a band, thank you for still being here”. That is the work. I fully support Universal Basic Income! We live in a capitalist society where the wealth gap is getting bigger and bigger, and that’s why we see more people living on the street. People don’t know what to do, they get caught up in lifestyles that end up being harmful. The Native community is tight-knit and takes care of one another, but at the end of the day, we are living in a colonized world. We have to pay rent, go to the grocery store, and pay gas. We’re not sovereign. That’s a big reason why people use.
Community spaces are another major tool for community empowerment. For example, even though [a program in San Francisco] Vanguard Labs wasn’t Native, they were a vital space for the 6th Street community that is mostly Black folks living in SROs. They had a full kitchen so people could come and get meals, they had an archive in the back with books and zines as old as the ‘80s about San Francisco art and music. Upstairs, they had a computer lab with open-source programs like video and audio editing. I would see a lot of people upstairs making music, all totally free. They had a free store upstairs in the back where people could pick out clothes for free. People could come and spend time in community without having to be around other people who would trigger their use. People would say, “we could hang out on the block but everyone is so fucked up or on something. I just want to sit and talk to someone”. And there were also people who might be on something but they also just needed a safe place to sit, they could just relax and make art.
There was this one woman, she was constantly fighting on the block because she was someone who was dealing. She was usually a very aggressive lady, but she would come in sometimes to use the bathroom. But one time she came in for the bathroom and stopped, looked around and asked, “what is this place anyways?”. When she learned it was a community space with free art supplies , books, and computers, she stayed and made a mosaic. This woman who was outside most of the time dealing with her life, hustling, on her toes because she’s living a certain lifestyle… she was able to come in, use the bathroom, and create a work of art. She could let her guard down, her tough exterior. This org provided that safe space for her to let her guard down and express herself in a creative way. Community spaces that have free resources like computers, literature, food and supplies are such a major resource for people to be able to gather safely and express themselves freely, creatively. That’s big. Whether that’s an urban or rural location, people need community to not feel lonely, to not spiral. That, to me, is what we should be moving more towards. I don’t know why we don’t have more community spaces like that. Building a community saves lives: so people don’t get swept up, people don’t die from overdose because they’re using alone, people don’t feel isolated. In places like San Francisco, where there are so many empty buildings because people can’t afford rent, people should be able to open up community spaces.
Right now in San Francisco, the police are taking over [public transit] plazas, they don’t want people out and congregating. They don’t want people selling stolen goods as if we’re not on stolen land and in a huge recession. Unfortunately, people have to get into things like crime. But nobody inherently wants to be a criminal. Nobody inherently wants to go into a store and steal a bunch of deodorant. That’s not something that people want to do. One guy told me his story, he said “I was so tired, I was so exhausted, and I didn’t know what to do. So I just stole a couple pairs of jeans and sold them to get a hotel room”. The stigmatization of why people get into petty crime is ridiculous. Even now they’re locking up baby formula. You walk into a convenience store, they have baby formula behind glass. It’s not fair. Colonization messed everything up. The earth provided everything we need to survive on it, but we see people struggling and dying just from not having enough. So now I’ll get my toothpaste from the vendors on 24th & Mission, thank you very much.
-
My tribal community comes from Anadarko, Oklahoma. I am an Apache tribal member. My mother was born there in Oklahoma, she is Native American. My father is Hispanic, he was born in El Paso, Texas. I have family tribes that go from Cheyenne, Arapaho, Potawatomi, Shawnee, and now the majority of them are here in the West Coast, but some are in Kansas, Texas, or Oklahoma. I’m a father of three; I have an oldest son and then a set of twins, I have a wonderful pitbull who keeps the energy going with me which I love, and I’m heavy into family unity. That’s why I’m trying to learn the best version of myself so my kids can see their father leading a different life in his journey.
Culture-based wellness is the all-out healing for me as a Native American man. Growing up here in California with a single mother living in poverty, having to grow up fast, I didn’t have the wellbeing and resources that a young man could have utilized without having a father at that time. It means so much to me because I now have so many resources that I not only use for myself, but that I get to share with other young men, my daughter, my extended family, my community. To share that there is an opportunity out there for healing in so many forms – whether dealing with alcohol addiction, anger management, the opioid crisis. It’s been wonderful to be able to tailor that to my new walk in life.
That brings me to these approaches. It’s so incredible to see the true meaning of “meeting people where they’re at” – that’s about as good as it gets when it comes to the raw reality of addiction. I was lost, and I needed help. As a man, I was afraid to ask for help. When my brothers and my elder offered that to me… when I took that leap of faith, they opened my eyes to what healing could provide for me. So many different resources for my alcohol addiction, my opiate addiction, and so much more: individuals navigating HIV, transitioning into housing, it’s so vast. There’s resources out there but a lot of people won’t know unless they ask, and for people in certain lifestyles it’s hard to ask for help, especially as men. Now that I see the light at the end of the tunnel, I can see that I don’t have to wait for someone to reach out and ask. I can let someone know that they’re loved and that a brother’s looking out for them. June 2nd, 2026 I will have 7 years of sobriety under my belt. It’s been a long journey, and my gratitude is so vast for what Creator has done in my life. But also, knowing the journey is not done. There’s so much more that I’m learning. In the beginning, it was about me wanting to get through alcoholism, getting into treatment, having to walk away from a lot of things in order to get sober but also realizing that life goes on. As I’m restructuring my life and getting back into society, into work and everything else, it led me to being rigorously honest about the fact that I also developed an opiate addiction after having a back surgery. But at the beginning of my journey it was about starting somewhere, it was about getting me to somewhere safe. I was in so much pain that I was going to harm myself or harm someone else. I love my brothers for seeing me there and being able to point me in the right direction. It took me a couple months of sober living, being around other people working towards that same goal. Being able to meet other people who understood that we all come from different walks of life but we’re all fighting for the same thing: to get back to our families, to take the next step forward in our lives, to understand what boundaries mean, to think about the environment we want to live in.
This is what led me to my community and my culture. Working in NA and AA is wonderful, 12 Steps can help with a structure of reinventing your lifestyle and I recommend it for people looking for that. But a lot of individuals struggle with the higher power part. I’m Native American, so my elders said “let’s come back to the fire”. They brought me back to the fire, back to the circle. I came to understand that my spirituality was far greater than I thought it was. It was about coming back to my culture, being grounded around the fire, being in the lodge, and praying. Understanding that prayer is so powerful: I’m not here to ask for monetary value, I’m here to pray for peace, pray for individuals that I thought I would never be able to pray for. Even my enemies too deserve the opportunity to work with Creator the same way that I do. This is what let me live in love rather than living in fear. That’s what ultimately has helped me be a better family man, a better father. I am honored to not just talk but walk in it, to let my kids see the best version of their father, to let them express themselves and have conversations to rebuild our relationships. Having the relationship with my daughter, with my sons… we need to be there for them. Our jobs are never done. I take that wholeheartedly, that I am able to walk upright and that they’re able to witness it – I don’t have to talk about it, I let my walk speak for itself. It’s helped my family circle so tremendously.
This healing path provided me knowledge that there were resources available to me. Now I’m having other brothers come to me and talk to me and ask questions about myself. I would see brothers come by the circle but be afraid to step in, but then they would notice things about me – either my tattoos, or talking about county jail or prison – and it’s like a connection was made. When you make that connection, you can speak upon opportunities and about what is out there to be offered. It makes me happy that brothers who have walked a troubled lifestyle in the same ways that I have, feel comfortable coming to ask me. Having brothers come up to me and say, “I heard what you said, and it sounds like our lives have crossed similar paths in what you’ve been through and what I’ve been through. Would you be okay to grab a coffee and talk about it?”. And I always say, “Absolutely”. It’s that dynamic right there, where with the help of Creator I can give the same support that was given to me back to someone else. When they hear someone who walked a similar lifestyle to themselves say these things – how important it is to find a way to fight for yourself and fight to love yourself, that you have to live for yourself, that this is all for you – it stuns them for a bit. But then they know they can do this. I’ve had conversations with my sponsors and they say, “man, there’s a lot of ex-convicts and individuals getting out of prison, and they approach you,” and I always say “I’m okay with that”. They too need healing, I need healing. They have to know there’s a bridge there somewhere. There’s a lot of individuals who will say, “they will never understand”. But I’m here, and I understand. I just want to be here as a guiding light… let’s lace them boots, let’s get to work. That’s where you can see the light at the end of the tunnel: seeing that this whole time I thought this was possible, seeing that everyone doubted me… but now you let that go, you forgive yourself.
In my journey of healing, to be around the fire with so many brothers dealing with so many things in life – from jail, to prison, to trouble with family, to generational trauma, to death – and to see that it’s okay to cry, it’s okay to grieve and learn how to grieve, knowing that there’s resources and meetings there, to see the process of how an individual can be brave enough to take those things on and learn from it and grow from it. Words can’t express how much I wish everyone had an opportunity to work with an elder, to be at lodge, to be at sweat, to hear the prayers going on, to be at powwows, to be at functions for the elders. Understanding there’s so much culture involved – our food, our jewelry – it’s been so eye-opening. And I’ve been part of it even as a young man, but understanding more of it the older I get, and to where now I get to see the youth. It’s a beautiful thing, I love being around it. Getting to go to certain functions and seeing all my brothers there, all my sisters there.
And more importantly, we see a lot of brothers and sisters who are still fighting addiction, fighting the recovery portion. We see them there and meet them where they’re at. We love them, there’s no judgment whatsoever, we understand how tough this can be. And it brings happiness to my heart to see someone who is trying so hard and we’re there for them, and I see them at a powwow and give them a big old hug and tell them we love them and we’re praying for them, remind them we’re here for them and we’re not here to judge them. And the support we get from our elders and brothers is so huge. I’m shocked sometimes that I don’t even have to call on my brothers… they call me! That’s Creator working in my life. Sometimes we have issues reaching out or asking for help. I’ve learned how to do that more, but sometimes I’ll be thinking about something and get a phone call from a brother reminding me he’s there for me. It reinforces that communication among us culturally, that we’re only just a phone call away.
As a young man, I wish I had access and had been more in-tune with my culture to be around the circle. Being Native, being a proud Native man, we need more circles out there. More cultural healing, we need a vast outpouring. We have so many brothers and sisters out there who feel alone. The circle is for all of us. Just come with the respect of learning about what is calling you there. The more we have, the deeper our understanding culturally. I learned I had been blocking my blessings for years, and I no longer do that. But I know countless individuals doing that now, and I know if we had more resources to do more circles and have more resources, especially having more circles in close proximity to cities, they could witness what kind of healing is going on. If I would have had that access for myself, I might not have walked the way I did when I was younger. I would have had more men in my life to be able to help out, because my father wasn’t there at a time when I needed him. Growing up, healing myself, making amends with him – getting him to understand that I love him and that he did the best he did with what he had – but at the same time other men could have stepped in and helped at that time of my life. We need more of those approaches. I know we have to learn life hard sometimes, but if there’s these things right there in front of us, then we might be able to make different choices. We might be able to avoid some of the traumas we experience or put ourselves through. If we had more circles out there, there would be more upright decisions being made within the youth. I pray for all of us, it’s definitely needed: for all our relations looking for peace, those looking for freedom from everything they’re struggling with, for those suffering in silence to know they’re not alone.
I want my people to know they’re not alone, that they’re loved. That it’s not an easy road, but it’s so worth it. The fight could be tough but we can do it. We’re all worth it, we’re worth the fight.
-
I was an addict for 20 years. For about eight of those years, I was [an intravenous] user and it would be very difficult getting my hands on new and sterile supplies. I would reuse them and would even share them at some point of desperation because they were so hard to get a hold of.
Then, a program came to our town where they supplied sterile supplies for free, they even delivered. They also supplied [naloxone]. I’ve witnessed that same [naloxone] save my friends life. Without it they would not be here today.
I will admit I was totally embarrassed not a lot of people knew that I used that way, but I never felt judged. I never felt looked that wrongly. I was met with kindness and compassion. I felt safe, I trusted them. When the day came that I wanted to change my life and get sober I knew exactly who to call. They got me into a rehab and I was able to take my 2 kids. Today I am 3 years clean and sober. I live a beautiful life. I am so thankful for this program. They saved my life. And even now they are still there for me and my family.
-
My ancestry comes from colonial Spanish ancestry. Those ancestors unfortunately came here during the time of the Spanish Inquisition, the late 1400’s early 1500’s, in order to obtain land illegally, wealth illegally, at the cost of my Indigenous ancestors. On my mom’s side, my Indigenous ancestors come from the four corners area of Colorado/New Mexico, on my dad’s side my Indigenous ancestors come from Texas, Chihuahua, Mexico areas. In terms of which tribe, unfortunately I do not know. Around that time, my family was swept up into colonization. I’ve shared a sales receipt/baptism record from 1840. That record belonged to the grandfather of my grandfather on my mom’s side. That was the last relative my family had who was actually a part of a tribe. That ancestor was purchased and baptized. He was taken from the culture, from the community, and since that time my family has pretty much solely identified with colonial identity, culture, and spirituality.
Culture-based wellness means to understand oneself, one’s healthy traditions through a lens of their Indigenous culture. There are a lot of healing ways, a lot of traditions centered around balance that is missing in modern colonial culture. In addition to understanding oneself and ones healthy traditions, culture-based wellness also means using that knowledge of healthy culture and self as a way to live in wellness: to have wellness be a lived experience, not just a fractured component of life, but a balanced and integral part of life. What’s important also means taking all steps towards recovery possible. If a person is unable to abstain from addiction, no matter how big or small, taking steps to keep oneself safe and others safe is the structure of wellness.
Coming from Catholicism, I came from a very black-or-white thinking; you’re either a “sinner” or a “saint”. Healing, either through Catholicism or other colonial ways, just didn’t seem to be available. You either had to show up perfect or suffer in silence. The harm reduction approach for me was a way to get a start, to get a footing in my recovery. The addiction that I live with is sex addiction, where unfortunately seeing unhealthy intimate behavior from immediate family, extended family, and community made it the norm. Even as I tried to “improve upon” my unhealthy behavior, I was still unhealthy. “Meeting people where they’re at” taught me that I didn’t have to be perfect, or have all the answers of recovery to start a healing journey. That was one of the biggest barriers. It felt like I didn’t have a footing in healthiness. I had to either hide my addiction in shame, or white-knuckle it, and that didn’t help at all. Focusing on healing rather than abstinence allowed me to have conversations in a healthy way with healthy community, free from shame. I was able to just be present with what was happening with myself, with my addiction, with my challenges, but also with my strengths. I was able to see the harm that my addiction was doing to myself and my community. I was able to not just identify my own characteristics that I wanted to change, but also to normalize talking about it when other people working on themselves were sharing the same difficulties. From those conversations, that understanding, and that desire to change, I was able to begin those healthy changes within myself. I was able to have a goal, have a vision, and with this model I could have the support to learn how to make those changes.
It just so happens, and is a blessing, that the healthy communities I found which were supporting either a non-abstinence based approach or sobriety/recovery, were Indigenous. My condition had me inherently isolated. I didn’t feel like I was healthy enough to be part of any kind of healthy relationships: my friendships suffered, my family relationships suffered, and my intimate relationships suffered. I was isolating, not reaching out to folks, suffering in silence. But as I began to look for help, it was a blessing that I found it in the Indigenous community. I’ve done 12 Steps and things like that, but it was missing that cultural piece; it felt like another form of telling people what to do without facilitating the inner work and inner change that was necessary. It was about reaching out to those elders, learning from their healing knowledge, traditional viewpoints, and traditional ceremonies. Although these traditions were not of my own ancestors – mine being from the Four Corners and Chihuahua, Mexico regions, and these elders being from the Nisenan and Miwok peoples. Back in the day, after colonization began, when my ancestors would be taken from their tribes and placed into households as servants, if someone didn’t have a ceremony or prayer, they learned it from the people who were around them. If one person knew a creation story, they would share it with the people who no longer had that knowledge. If one person had an eagle prayer, they would share that. In a way, it was culturally appropriate for me to be fostered by Indigenous elders when I didn’t have access to my own. I would learn their prayers and ceremonies from the communities who still had that knowledge. Being in an urban environment obscured my ability to find healthy, Indigenous communities, but it shows that culture can grow despite the challenges of the urban setting.
Unfortunately, my family has not utilized these concepts. There’s still a lot of shame and secrecy around addiction. My family doubled-down on it. I wish that they could get some momentum in recovery through healing work, through simple but consistent and poignant steps in their lives. But unfortunately, a lot of people are just hiding their addictions, whether it’s substances or codependence or whatever... a lot of people are not interested in healing.
Whether it was Spanish colonial or United States colonial society, and the Catholic religion that went along with that, I struggled to heal in those spaces, and in some ways I suffered under those systems. Getting involved in cultural, Indigenous communities around me allowed me to find a support network that I didn’t necessarily have. These could be people that I reach out to, or even organizations. While I was getting those teachings from elders, I was blessed to learn about healing ways and practices that guide my walk today. I felt like I was walking aimlessly in that colonial, Catholic society. The healing really did come from my cultural involvement.
In terms of addiction, it’s thrown around that “connection is the medicine for addiction”, and healthy cultural connection is the antidote for colonization. When I started to learn from my elders, I was leaving this black-or-white thinking of “I’m good or bad”. I learned about the medicine wheel teachings, systems of balance, systems where things happen in phases – not the all-or-nothing thinking – especially when it comes to someone’s healing journey. The small steps approach was the start of the healing process for me. As I learned about these traditional healing ways, a non-abstinence approach made sense. I could learn, grow, and heal without having to have everything ready or completed or figured out right away. I could leave the old colonial view of sinner or saint, clean or dirty, addict or sober. It provided me the space to learn about myself.
I grew up in domestic violence. I was witnessing sexual harm of family members and I too was harmed sexually. This completely threw off my understanding of healthy connection to self and to others. Even as I tried to improve upon that, I was still living in unhealthiness. I told my parents about my initial harm, and they got mad at me. As a kid, when I was caught hurting a peer, they got mad at me, and rightfully so… but I didn’t learn anything except shame, fear, anger. At that time, there weren’t any supports in school.But out of nowhere, a peer talking circle popped up called “Rainbows”, and I loved it. Because I had asked my parents for help, and they said no. I asked my parents for support, and they outright told me as a kid, “do it yourself, find help yourself”. I couldn’t get the help I needed when I asked, but that talking circle was great because I didn’t need anything – I didn’t need parent’s permission, they didn’t have to know what I was talking about or worry about them hearing what I discussed. That was one of the first times that I had a shame-free, supportive environment.
A lot of kids who are experiencing domestic violence, they can’t ask their parents for help. Like, “hey dad, I’m witnessing all of your abuse. Can you send me to a counselor to talk about you?” No abuser is gonna agree to that. So having more in-school support, more emotional support. And this is a little controversial, but also having healthy relationships courses for kids. Have them understand what healthy relationships look like, proactively. Have these topics be normal discourse for kids at school. In addition to peer groups, I wish I had access to counselors at school. As a kid, I can’t navigate insurance or anything, so going to school and knowing they’d be there would have been a huge support. Also, growing up I would hear about ceremonies and sweat lodges here in Sacramento, but I just didn’t have access to it. The people I did know who had access to traditional ceremonies or prayer were people who were already living in addiction, or who were incarcerated. In some ways, cultural connection was so hard to find or so diluted unless there was some sort of legal referral or people incarcerated doing sweat inside prison. And there’s more now, but I wish there was more visibility around these cultural ways. I can’t imagine what it would have been like to have this supportive community as a kid when I was going through this stuff. And for the clinical support, elders have told me we live in a multi-faceted society. It’s not just all Indigenous or all colonization… if we’re experiencing afflictions in those areas, they do have their healing modalities. The clinical mental health treatment for trauma, things like that, I wish were more accessible and available, even as an adult, too. I learn and I heal in talking circles, but sometimes I wish I had easy access to clinical support to get more understanding of myself. But a lot of times it’s inaccessible, or there’s a lack of available therapists. As an adult, I’m starting to see a lot of these things happen. They’re putting counselors in schools, there’s AA/NA meetings, there’s organizations like Native Dads Network holding events like talking circles.
The harm reduction approach, for me, is so in alignment with traditional cultural values because it supports the process of healing, the process of going within, connecting with self, connecting with Creator, connecting with community as a means to understand what our addictions are doing to ourselves and others, and to have the support to heal. That was difficult to find in colonial thinking. I couldn’t find a footing in those constructs, it just didn’t connect to me. And at the time I didn’t have the understanding of why they didn’t connect to me. Now that I’m enveloped in a lot of cultural support, it became clear that the colonial ways that I was floundering in and struggling to heal in just wasn’t the right soil for me to grow in. These traditional, healing ways were the correct soil. Even things from Erik Erikson’s Stages of Child Development to the AA structure, those were Indigenous-based; those people learned that from Indigenous communities and then tried to colonize them. For myself, when I took time to learn these cultural ways, it was that authentic soil that allowed my healing to begin and for me to grow. It wasn’t about me being perfect, but about supporting me in the process. In that way, being allowed to take gradual steps was the biggest initial footing I had in my recovery, and it was thanks to these cultural practices and cultural ways.
-
Hello, what’s up. I am Muskogee of the Raccoon Clan. I go by he-him.
A thing of harm reduction I see is my father, as an active meth user, he was slinging dope a lot of time. Fentanyl has been so big in these past couple years that he would test all of his drugs to make sure that people weren’t getting fentanyl, at least. He understood it wasn’t good, [that he was slinging dope] but he also didn’t want people dying from fentanyl. So I think of that as care in my eyes. That’s what I think of care over abstinence: people being there for others during their times of struggle.
It runs in our family that we have a lot of heart issues on my father’s side. When he was first telling me, “oh, like, if I stop, I’ll die,” and I thought, “Oh, that’s just very, like, you’re actively using meth, of course you’re gonna believe those kinds of things.” But it was true, his heart was so used to it and he’s done it his entire life, there was only two times he had ever been off it. The last stint being he was forced to not partake in his active addiction because he ended up in the ER for a heart attack, trying to just stop. So I truly believe, unfortunately, that he did have to depend on that stuff so his heart would keep going, and his body just couldn’t take that anymore.
For the longest time, and still now even, I don’t have a lot of access to community or non-judgmental areas, especially as someone coming from a place of cancellation due to past harms.
I will always, no matter where I go, feel I’m being judged in one way or another. Maybe it’s just anxiety though. So it is really hard to go to community and seek that non-judgmental help, especially with my understanding of how elders and olders are and their views in this world. You can’t always go to them without being judged, because they can be judgmental. Most of the time it’s 99% for a good reason/cause or due to past traumas.
So it would be ideal if we lived in a world where people were [less] judgmental. It’s 2026 and a world full of colonization and mixed views, sadly.
A world free of free of judgment: understanding and acceptance and love and care in the space.
All I know is it’d be a lot easier to go to members in our community and not have all the weight of stress and fears and guilt and all that on us. That would be so great, so, so sacred and sexy. That’s like some sexy fucking shit right there. It would be comfortable – that’s what it would be. But we just can’t erase those emotions, those feelings, that’s a part of being a human being, what we’ve been blessed with by Creator, you know? Creator. Sky Daddy. Look at me. Did you ever think I’d be 30 years old and smart?
I do not know how to put [cultural involvement] into words. I think growing up with imposter syndrome and still dealing with that today, being seen and being accepted is huge. The wound is just a scar now. That’s what it feels like: the scars are healing nicely. I’m no longer feeling the cut on my pinky... but also those feelings still come back up. But having those connections, having you in my life especially, and having more aunties now, more foci, more uncles, access to good shit, it’s all been so helpful in being seen and recognized, even with a muddled adoptive past and being a mixed Native.
I think in the end with everything that you’ve introduced me to, people introduced me to; people-wise, ceremony-wise, and where that’s led me now; [the red road’s] stones have been set in place to where I’m 30 now and I know what I want to do with my life and my heels are in the ground – I’m not a pretendian. I get to be a part of community. People love me and I love people.
Tomorrow will be day four of the new job, [working trails] but already in the past three days I’ve gotten to share my language, share the like good medicine with people I’ve been able to trust and see the joy and curiosity in those people’s faces. Like white, brown, whatever. I’m making connections and that’s due to all the things that have been taught to me and I’ve been brought to in the end. It’s that continuous healing every day.
As an Indigenous individual, not a lot of us get the opportunity to get paid to learn and take care of the land and preserve it and get these skills and be able to hand it off to the next generation. I never thought I would be 30 years old at this position in my life… this is what I want to do. That end game is to continue to be taught medicine, be taught skills and be able to pass it on to the next generation. Cause that’s all I’ve known about for these past multiple years. It’s up to us to preserve, protect, share, and be role models, you know? So this, all of this has brought me so much fucking healing… I feel like I want this shared with everybody.
I wish I had more access to friends, you know. I wish I didn’t ruin all that. I’ve ruined that is what I was saying because of who I was during that. I mean, again, it came down to having community would have been nice.
Yeah, that would have been helpful because after getting canceled, you don’t have any of that. And that’s what me and you were speaking on earlier about like cancel culture pushing someone out of the community, and how they want restorative justice or accountability, well, how the fuck is someone supposed to fucking learn? How is someone supposed to get better when you’re pushed out of that?
That’s how either people go out and continue to harm or people go out and fucking kill themselves. And especially when it comes to Brown and Black folk, you know, non-fucking-white folk marginalized people. It is already extremely hard for people like that in this world to have access to resources and community. Community. Community would have been the best fucking thing. People with an understanding for support and just like, that’s fucking it. There’s nothing any further. I want the Native community to, instead of shunning people and taking medicines away, we need to hold spaces.
That’s what I want to see in community. Because again, if you’re just gonna run people fucking out, people aren’t ever gonna learn, and they’re gonna fucking die.
We don’t have the perfect answer as to what restorative justice or accountability looks like, or how do we handle someone who’s like gonna be a serial fucking rapist, a serial pedophile, serial fucking murderer, right? To follow this hypothetical abolish prisons kind of shit – kill-your-inner-cop shit, in our Native community – I think we need to do better in that field.
I hope we can see a space like that one day, if we all get to live long in this horrible fucked-up world. Right now we do need as many people as we get under the belt to learn, and grow, and try to keep not only this planet alive, but the culture and community alive – to be able to teach others how to not make the same mistakes that we have in our past or even in current spaces.
-
I’ve been regaining my warrior spirit back through teachings with the Miwok people up here in Sacramento. They’ve taken me in and brought me to the community and are showing me how to walk the Red Road. I’ve been a drug and alcohol user since I was about 15 years old, and then I moved up to harder substances when I was about 19 years old until I was about 35 years old. Once I had my son at the age of 35, I got sober, but I didn’t do the work. I relapsed about 5 or 6 years after reaching sobriety. This time around, I’ve been learning more about spirituality. I’ve never really had it in my life before. This Red Road work has helped me find a closer relationship with Creator, and finally getting more in tune with the spirituality that I’ve always known I had but had never tapped into.
Culture-based healing means being more active with the community. Wellness is having more of a community around you, giving your loved ones more of your time, the love that they deserve. Learning more about your ancestors, learning about the ancestors of those you respect and who bring you into their culture. Incorporating culture into your life, learning how to be a better person on this planet. What I’ve learned more recently is that culture and community makes it so much easier to walk the Red Road or go on a sober path. When you’re not alone, when you have people who have your back when you’re ready for it, who show you support and love, who show you what love means. People who show you how to not be scared of who you are.
This work also means learning ways to take care of ourselves better. It includes learning how to communicate and express how we feel, dealing with emotions and expressing those in good times and in bad times. It’s about learning how to not fall back on the things that would hurt us, even when we’re in hard times. It means going into the sickness and turning it into healing.
I learned how to have a relationship with Creator, how to speak with Creator, how to let Creator into my life. I’ve always been a community guy, but culture-based healing showed me how such a big impact having those relationships can have on people. Being able to communicate with people… making somebody’s day just by saying hello, instead of holding my thoughts or feelings inside. It means expressing positive things, too, without thinking it’s lame or something. To tell people I love them and I care for them, that used to be hard for me prior to taking these wellness classes.
I learned to see how substance use harmed my relationship with my son. Even though I was present, I wasn’t fully present when I was intoxicated. Being aware that kids, that people around us, can notice those things. It opened my eyes, it pointed out the damage our actions can cause to the people around us and the trauma that it can cause. I learned how to acknowledge these harms, to make amends.
Cultural connection has gotten me more involved with my own emotions, but also understanding why other people might be expressing their emotions in their own ways. These ways have shown me ways that we can deal with this crazy world… bring it to the fire, pray to Creator, burn medicine. It’s also showed me how a lot of people need this work and need support with their lives. Even if someone isn’t using substances, there could be something going on that’s blinding them to reality. It’s made me realize how much people need this type of healing and education. A lot of society needs this healing.
I’ve been able to connect with my son. I’ve been able to bring him to Native Dads Network events, to sweat. It’s been amazing with my bonding relationship with my son. We burn medicine, and he likes the smell of it… I was never taught stuff like this. Showing him this pathway, not forcing it on him but giving him the option of this cultural ways, and he’s just soaking it up. That’s been very healing for me. It means a lot to me to see that he’s been learning to respect Mother Nature, to respect other people, to respect all living things, and to be grateful for what we have every day. That’s been my biggest drive for life right now. It also shows him community, how to help others that are in need, and also how to love yourself and be who you are. It’s helped me also embrace those things more, being content with who I am and seeing that I’m doing a pretty good job, even though it’s hard sometimes.
Being a past addict, I’ve always been hard on myself. Every time I mess up, it’s like, “damnit, you messed up”. I’m always concerned with the things that I do wrong instead of all the things I’m doing right. Learning more about the Red Road, and being in the Fatherhood/Motherhood is Sacred classes, I’ve been doing a better job at saying, “yeah I made a mistake or two, but I can’t stay stuck on that. I’ve got to focus on all the positive things I’ve been doing”. Some of the guys in my group went on a Warrior Walk the other day, and when we were there sharing stories about our past issues and the harmful things we’ve all done to ourselves, and then seeing the successes that we have now… it’s a big reminder to not dwell on that past, or those past bad decisions. And we’re human, we could always make bad decisions… but we can choose to keep moving forward and keep bettering ourselves. Being the type of person that I was, or that I am, it’s easy to be caught in feeling bad. I always felt like I just liked feeling bad. Even if I got cleaned up, I wanted to use just to feel bad. But you come to a point in your life where you don’t want to feel bad anymore, you want to feel better, you want to be better for everyone around you. The hardest part is reaching out, and that’s still hard for me to this day. When I’ve wanted to use or to drink, I’ve thought, “oh I don’t want to bother this person or that person”, but in reality it’s the opposite. We have to get over those thoughts and be able to accept the love and help when we want it.
I remember I was using pretty hard for a while, and I was tired of it. I was done, I was asking for help from people around me and a lot of the answers I got was, “you can do it on your own, you got it”. But it’s like, “I can’t. I need somebody”. I called all these facilities across the Bay Area and it was like a three month waiting list. I wasn’t able to access treatment when I needed it, when I really needed it. The only way I could stop was when my son was going to be born, and I moved up to Sacramento. Available treatment right when I needed it meant I could have stopped a lot earlier than I did. I wish I had more influences in my life that were more hip to how I was… but I don’t know if I would have listened to them then either. More in-person Red Road groups. I know there’s a ton of AA groups, but that’s not a spiritual resource. Red Road is much more spiritually incorporated. I never learned about Red Road until I was introduced to it by some friends, it should be put out there more for people to learn about it.
The support from the Native Dads Network organization has been phenomenal. The group of people I’ve been able to share with and learn from, it’s been amazing, it’s been a blessing to have this environment to learn in. And the educators have seen it all. They know what they’re talking about. It’s been amazing, and I appreciate it so deeply. That opportunity to learn how to be a better dad, a better communicator, and how to take care of myself in the best way that I can.
-
Harm reduction programs — programs without barriers, judgment, or shame — are deeply needed in our communities. These programs save lives. They prevent overdose, create connection, and offer hope to people who often feel forgotten. They show up when others don’t.
I want to share my story because these types of programs saved my life.
The last time I got out of prison, I met someone working in a community wellness program. For the first time in my life, someone looked at me and told me that my life was worth something. I will never forget those words. More importantly, they didn’t just say them once — they showed up for me again and again when I needed support the most.
That consistency, compassion, and belief in me changed everything. Today, I am over four years sober. I helped start a company rooted in healing and giving back to the community. I’m now doing work I never imagined I would be capable of doing, and I have the honor of helping my people and walking alongside others on their healing journeys.
Sometimes healing starts with something as simple as one person showing up and reminding someone they still matter.
-
I am Chiricahua Apache and Purépecha Indian. I was born and raised in Northern Californian, grew up in Lake County around the Pomo communities. My father was Mexican Indian, and my mother was Italian.
Culturally based wellness, to me, means being rooted in your own cultures, traditions, customs, rituals, practices, values, and beliefs. This has come to me in the form of languages, oral histories, foods, and lifestyles tied to our culture, balanced with spirituality. To me, non-judgmental care means reducing risks rather than relying solely on abstinence. It is about being non-judgmental and respecting a person’s choices about how they aim to minimize harmful behavior and usage. Meeting a person, “where they are” using pragmatic interventions.
These practices have benefited my life in so many ways; number one is that I was able to quit heroin with suboxone back in 2006. I was one of the first groups of people to use this drug at the time. There were only two clinics in California, one in Southern California and the other in Northern California, in Santa Rosa, because it required special licensing to prescribe the medication. I used it for over a year and a half in conjunction with AA. I then enlisted in the US Army in November 2007 and got out of it. I have been sober for over 20 years and have never touched or used heroin again.
In 2015, I was medically discharged from the military and was suffering from major injuries related to combat, and was prescribed heavy pain medication from the VA. As an addict, I knew this was unsustainable and sought out a better way to manage my pain related to my injuries using suboxone on my own volition. I found out about the services that the VA provides for Veterans with substance use problems. At that point, I had been sober for more than 10 years; however, I was being prescribed heavy narcotic pain medications, and I knew from my experience that I would benefit from suboxone as an alternative to the prescribed narcotics.
I entered the Opioid Treatment Program to get access to this medication. At the time I was considered a rare case of a veteran who was coming into the program to find an alternative to manage pain through medication, however, I was also suffering severely from PTSD, Depression, and Suicidal Ideation after exiting the Military. I participated in all the services that were available to me counseling, self help, groups, marriage counseling, short-term and long term out patient counseling, special programs for veterans, etc. I have used Suboxone in a very low dose of 2 mg a day to manage my pain rather than rely on heavily prescribed narcotics, and it has made it possible to have a life without using pain medication related to my injuries. I continued to participate in AA and NA.
I was not until I met my current partner and fiancé, who is Native American and a recovering alcoholic and addict for 21 years, I reconnected with my culture, and she got me connected with the Native Dads Network, The Red Road to Wellbriety, and the greater Native community here in the Central Coast. It has given me the ability to connect with my community and culture began with Native Dads Network, which helped me reconnect with culture and my family. It helped me grow and evolve with my partner and our family.
Cultural involvement was the piece that had been missing for all these years, going to ceremony, participating in lodge ceremony, The Red Road to Wellbriety really was and has been the link to greater healing on my journey.For me, inclusive services and traditional healing intersect through cultural practices and spirituality, for example, the Red Road Wellbriety Movement.
For myself, the kinds of service and approaches I wish my people would use were suboxone/buprenorphine, which was how I was able to quit using heroin on June 25, 2006. It was a life-changing experience. I was able to get off heroin, and a year and a half later, I went into the military in November 2007, in 2015 I was medically discharged for injuries related to combat, along with suicidal ideation, related to PTSD and depression. I was prescribed extensive pain medication that I would theoretically be on for the rest of my life. To me, that was not an option as a recovering addict.
I found out about a comprehensive substance use treatment for Veterans that was an Opioid Treatment/Replacement Program (OTP). This also coincides with treatment and support for mental health problems related to substance use problems, such as PTSD and Depression. I voluntarily entered this program seeking an alternative option for pain management treatment that would give me a chance to get off these addictive pain medications and have a chance at reducing harm in my life, to have a chance at a future. I am aware that our people have these programs available to them; however, my hope is that in sharing my story about how these medication options coupled with cultural and community, we can get over the stigma historical stoic nature of our people, and seek and ask for help by any means necessary.
-
I grew up in San Francisco, I was born here.
Culture based wellness is about someone who’s in it already. If you’re using and rippin’ and runnin’, sweat lodge can’t do much for you. I used to think sweat lodge could do magic, but it’s just gonna be a hot place for you to sit for a while. But a healing journey is another thing. Then, all those cultural things make sense. I had to go through my journey and focus to get to a place where I could understand culture based wellness.
When my mom and my dad split up, my mom started drinking at the Native American bar with the community. And I didn’t like the fact that she would leave us on Friday and Saturday nights, but I understand she was just trying to have fun and socialize. When you socialize with a lot of the Native community, there’s the sober part – and that part wasn’t as big in the 70s, but it’s growing now – and there’s the rest of them. And she was there, playing pool. She even won a few championships. Similar families hang around similar families in the Mission. Substance use that went on around me at such an early age made me think it wasn’t such a big deal. Using hard drugs at 12 or 13, I think about my sons now and I would be horrified… 12 years old trying to smoke cocaine out of a cigarette or drinking wine ‘til you blacked out… that’s the stuff I would do, but I just found it normal back then. But I found recovery in the Friendship House, and it opened up my life.
As a kid, there’s fear, and then the fear turns to shame. When I was a kid, it was, “okay, you’re 15 and drinking you’re gonna get smacked”. But when I turned 21 or 22, I didn’t want to come in the house. I didn’t even want to cuss around the house. I didn’t want them to see me using, but I had to come home. It forces us to go down that other path for longer and longer, push us further down along it. Stigma and shame kept me outside, and from there it was so many elements – getting involved with criminal activity, parks, late night. It was, “well I can’t drink in the house, so now I’m out here”. And then when I began my recovery, I noticed myself acting the same way to shame others, because I was shamed myself and I was taught that behavior. I suffered that with my brother… I was enlightened to it the week before he passed, that he wasn’t let in the house because of stigma and shame.
And I look at other people, and I wonder how do these other people come home and just have a beer after work – “dad gets the biggest piece of chicken, and here’s the beer with his dinner”. There’s norms there. And of course some people don’t have the same kind of relationship with alcohol, neurologically or biologically, but I wonder. There were kids I knew growing up, the Italian families, where they’d be drinking beer casually. But my world has been so based on stigma and shame, and I’m so far out here in it, that I can hear the peanut gallery around me of people in my life: my mom, my grandfather.
I tell my sons, “if you’re gonna drink, do it”. You might get shame from everywhere else, but you’re not gonna get shame from me. Don’t put your head in the sand, and hide in the park. All of that leads to it ruling your life, and it puts a weight on you. That shame becomes you. It fans the fire of alcoholism. And when it comes to shame… well, I’m going through that right now. There’s a friend where I just want to say, “man, get it together! What are you doing?” but I have to catch myself. Because I’m currently in recovery, I find myself going, “you need to be like me”, I keep catching myself wanting to repeat those messages that I grew up hearing. But that pushes these people in my life away from me, and it keeps me from being able to hear them and their perspective.
And I know tough love works for some people, but it doesn’t work for everybody. Other options have to be in the arena too. Although I know tough love got me… the judge said I was going to prison, the bailiff was walking over with handcuffs, but my lawyer got me 30 days and that’s when I went to Friendship House. I was like, man I almost went into the meat grinder. They say that a power greater than yourself will get you right, well that power to me was made out of steel.
When I think about what I wish was different when I was younger, I think about that other kind of family where [drinking] was normalized. And a lot of the guys I know who grew up in families like that, they’re not progressive or aware of the world. They’re into football, other things like that. But that other kind of family, the one that’s sober or where they have respect for the people in their family who are sober, they tend to be more aware of the world. My grandfather was very progressive. He’s the one who took me to my first protests, he taught me about unions, about civil rights, about women’s rights. A lot of that rubbed off onto my kids, and they always respected him for it. That road of, “here son, you’re 21, have a drink with me”, the thing you see in the movies, I see where it could have led me and the kind of family that is and I can’t see that turning out good for me. And so in that way, I don’t know if I would have wanted it different. But what I do wish was different was that I wish my brother’s father was around. Mothers are obviously important, but there’s a lot of people I know who don’t have their fathers around and it makes a big difference. They’re gonna get fathers somewhere… and it’s gonna be either through the streets, relatives, sometimes they just get it in increments.
I always feel welcome in the community, and I try to be welcoming to others. Community healing means that it allows someone to be a part of something, and I feel established. I remember not always feeling that way, when I first got [to community] I felt like I didn’t know anything about their traditions or events, like Mother’s Day is Stanford Powwow, or my mom’s friends and their kids who I didn’t know, all those little things. But being part of that community added to me – I had respect in the community, and now I wanted to uphold that. The other people I was running around in the streets with, I didn’t know their families, and so I had no weight on my shoulders to act appropriately. My whole goal before was to be the craziest guy in the streets. But now if I know this guy’s parents, or this other guy’s sister, I want to act right in front of them because I’m known.