Liberation, Not Cure: Let’s Stop Building a World That Hurts
The Question I’ve Never Asked MYSELF
The other day, a stranger I was chatting with who had recently finished a seven-day detox for alcoholism and cocaine use asked me a question I never thought I’d be asked:
“How would you cure addiction, if the sky was the limit?”
I had to pause.
Whoa, I’ve never really thought about it. At least in this way…
This wasn’t a rhetorical question. He wasn’t looking to debate treatment modalities or argue about what “worked for him.” No, he was asking because he wanted the answer—desperately. You could see it in his eyes. This wasn’t curiosity. This was hope. The kind that clings to a lifeline, even when the waters have dragged you under more times than you can count.
And I didn’t have a ready answer.
Not because I haven’t lived close to this issue, or studied it, or led conversations around it for years—but because it’s not a one-sentence question. It’s a systems-level question. It’s a soul-level question. It’s the kind of question that deserves more than bullet points or buzzwords. It deserves a reimagining of how we see suffering, healing, and everything in between.
I’ve watched friends I love relapse after months and years of hard-won sobriety. I’ve seen people do everything “right” and still fall apart. And I’ve stood at trailheads—literal and metaphorical—wondering if I’d ever feel whole again. So when I say I’ve thought about this question, I don’t mean in a think tank or an academic paper. I mean in my gut. In the cold. In community. In grief. And in moments of real hope.
So here I am, working through the thought process. Not to provide the answer, but an answer.
One that reflects the world I believe is possible if we stopped treating people with substance use disorder as broken, and started treating them as human beings worth fighting for.
What would I do if the sky was the limit and I could cure addiction today?
Let’s Stop Pretending There’s a Magic Cure
We’ve thrown billions at addiction. We've built clinical empires around it. We’ve pharmaceutical’d it, criminalized it, twelve-stepped it, and gamified it.
And still—people are hurting.
People are using.
People are dying.
If addiction were just a chemical imbalance, we’d have wiped it out already. But it’s deeper than that. It’s about disconnection—from self, from others, from purpose, from peace. Addiction is not a malfunction. It’s a reaction. A cry for something different, something better.
The good news?
Something better is already starting to take shape. And it’s time we start shouting about it. Because while a magic cure doesn’t exist, what we do have is an evolving map of what liberation can look like. It’s complex, multifaceted, and deeply human.
And it’s working.
Progress Is Happening—And It’s Worth Celebrating
Here’s what doesn’t get enough airtime: we are making progress. Real, measurable, encouraging progress. And that matters, not just for public policy or treatment stats—but for the narrative we carry around about what’s possible.
Let’s start with The Sinclair Method (see video).
Once labeled “unconventional,” it’s now a leading treatment protocol for Alcohol Use Disorder (AUD) across parts of the European Union. It works by chemically disrupting the reinforcement loop in the brain, helping people gradually unlearn cravings—without shame or withdrawal. Since its official adoption in 2023, countries like Finland and the UK have seen statistically significant drops in both alcohol dependency rates and alcohol-related deaths. It’s science-backed, stigma-free, and quietly saving lives by the thousands.
Meanwhile, in the U.S., something beautiful is happening too. Sober bars are trending. Employers are building recovery-friendly workplaces. People are throwing sober weddings (and the vibes are immaculate). Mental health days are being normalized. Recovery coaches are on staff. And—this is big—substance use disorder is federally protected under the ADA. That means you can’t be fired for having SUD, and you can’t be denied time off to get help. That’s not just a win. That’s a revolution in slow motion.
And it’s not just about what’s happening on paper. It’s about the energy that’s shifting in our culture. Conversations around sobriety are no longer limited to whispered exchanges in basement rooms. They’re happening at dinner parties, in group chats, on national stages. People are asking better questions.
That’s real progress.
Reframing the Narrative: It’s Not a Moral Failure
Let’s cut to the chase: addiction is not some personal failing. Period.
It’s not a lack of character.
It’s not “you just didn’t want it bad enough.”
That’s lazy thinking—and we’re better than that now.
This is a medical condition that deserves respect. And you know what else? People with SUD are some of the most resilient, creative, intuitive, emotionally intelligent people walking this planet. The world just hasn’t always known what to do with them.
But that’s changing, too. We’re moving from shame to science. From blame to belonging. And it feels really, really good.
Let’s start building a narrative that doesn’t ask people to prove their worth, but rather celebrates their will to try again—again and again.
That kind of grit should never be reduced to a punchline. It should be honored like the courage it is.
Enough with the Shame
These are human beings who’ve already spent years—decades, in some cases—replaying their past. They’ve thought about every worst-case scenario, and then some. They don’t need more shame. They need relief. They need support. They need to be reminded that recovery isn’t about punishment—it’s about possibility.
And let’s talk numbers while we’re at it. Because despite all our well-meaning intentions, many of the systems we default to have a 7% long-term success rate. Seven. Not seventy. Not double digits. Just seven. That’s the cold, hard reality found in peer-reviewed, double-blind studies—the gold standard of medical research.
Does that mean programs like AA or NA or traditional inpatient are bad?
Absolutely not. They’ve saved countless lives. They continue to serve millions.
But they are not the gold standard for everyone—and we need to stop pretending they are. They are one tool in a much bigger toolkit. A piece of the puzzle, not the entire picture. The brilliance of traditional recovery models is their accessibility, their simplicity, and their deeply rooted community. But we cannot keep offering the same formula to every individual with a wildly different set of lived experiences, traumas, neurodiversity, and co-occurring conditions, and then act surprised when it doesn’t stick.
Shaming? It’s done by people who are lost. Everyone deserves to be celebrated for all that they are. The good. The bad. And yes, the ugly.
What Would It Look Like If the Sky Was the Limit?
It starts with treating the whole person.
Trauma-informed care. Evidence-based treatments. Community integration. Outdoor therapy. Physical movement. Art. Spiritual exploration. Medication-assisted treatment. Psychedelic therapies. Harm reduction. Somatic work.
Connection. Purpose. Belonging.
It means creating systems that support long-term healing, not short-term abstinence.
It means giving people something to live for, not just something to stay away from.
And here’s the part that needs to be said louder for the folks in the back: people with substance use disorder are not fragile beings who need to be micromanaged into wellness. They are resilient, intuitive, powerful individuals who need access to the right supports—not to be forced into prepackaged recovery journeys designed 90 years ago.
Are these new or out-of-the-box ideas? No. Not at all. But they need to be front and center when approaching SUD treatment and how we help those who suffer from it.
And can we stop minimizing someone’s lived experience with addiction to, “just go to a meeting.”
As if it’s that simple. Because it’s not.
What Doesn’t Work—And Why It’s Time to Admit It
We’ve tried willpower. We’ve tried shame. We’ve tried “tough love” and isolation and stripping people down until they “hit bottom.” We’ve handed them 30-day plans for lifelong conditions and pretended it was enough. We’ve taken something complex and tried to cure it with simplicity and slogans.
And listen—it’s not about villainizing what’s been done. It’s about acknowledging the limits. If something only works for 7% of people, then it's time to expand the menu. If something demands total surrender but offers no real support, it's time to reimagine what recovery looks like. What doesn’t work is one-size-fits-all, blame-based, abstinence-or-failure thinking.
What doesn’t work is pretending that addiction is anything but a full-body, full-spirit, full-system experience.
We can do better. We will do better.
Let’s Briefly Talk About Relapse
We need to stop treating relapse like it’s a moral collapse. Like it voids your progress or resets the clock back to zero. It doesn’t. Relapse is data. It’s your brain and body telling you something’s still unresolved.
It’s not weakness—it’s a signal. And it’s common.
So common that pretending it’s a rare outlier only adds shame to the pile people are already carrying. Let’s call it what it is: part of the journey for many, not a detour from it. You don’t lose your place in recovery when you relapse. You don’t get kicked off the team. You’re still in the game.
You’re still worth fighting for.
So What Can We Actually Do?
Let’s start building a world that doesn’t hurt people so damn much.
Look—I’d love nothing more than a miracle pill that could end addiction without any strings attached. One swallow, and the shame lifts. The cravings vanish. The nervous system rewires itself and everything hurtful finally, mercifully, quiets down. But we don’t have that pill. Not yet. And maybe we never will. So in the meantime, we need to ask:
What can we do—right now, today—to start shifting this world from one that wounds to one that heals?
Let’s start at the ground level.
As individuals, the most radical thing we can do is reject the script. Recovery doesn’t have to look like what someone else told you it should. You don’t need to recite old slogans or follow a path that makes no sense to your soul. Ask yourself: What makes you feel alive? What needs to be true for you to want to stay here? Then build your recovery around that. And if you’ve never struggled with addiction—don’t tune out. Tune in. Your voice matters. The way you speak about recovery matters. The compassion you show (or don’t) could be the difference between someone holding on or giving up.
At the community level, we need to be loud and intentional. Recovery should be woven into the fabric of everyday life—not hidden away in dusty church basements. Host sober events that people actually want to attend. Turn your business into a recovery-friendly workplace. Offer a ride, share a meal, create a culture of “you belong here” without a twelve-step vetting process. Community recovery doesn’t have to be formal to be powerful—it just has to be real.
On the bigger-than-us level, we’ve got to think policy, funding, and systems. Push for trauma training in police departments and ERs. Demand public health departments invest in outdoor therapy and peer-led programs. Fight for Medicaid to cover recovery coaches, not just clinical psych evals. And for the love of all that is sacred, stop glamorizing jail time as proof of strength and start celebrating people who walk into a support group instead of a courtroom.
Therapy shouldn’t be a luxury for the emotionally curious—it should be basic hygiene. Just like you brush your teeth, you should brush your trauma. This means providing trauma-informed therapy to everyone, not just those who can afford it or qualify for crisis care. Emotional education should be part of school curriculums and workplace culture, not just something you stumble into during a breakdown.
We also need to stop equating worth with productivity. Addiction isn’t always rooted in trauma—sometimes it’s just the soul-crushing monotony of doing life without meaning. If we invested in purpose—real purpose, not hustle culture—we’d see people come alive again. That means funding the arts, creative expression, and giving people space to do work that fills their spirit, not just their bank account.
And community? It can’t be an app or an algorithm. We’re not wired to heal in isolation. We need real, raw, messy connection—shared meals, shared stories, shared silence when there’s nothing left to say. We need spaces where people are allowed to show up unfinished.
Nature should be treated as a birthright, not a reward. We know the science. We know what happens when people spend time outdoors. Cortisol drops. Breath slows. Hope creeps in. Recovery rooted in nature—programs like Sober Outdoors—should be accessible, insured, and everywhere.
Lastly, recovery needs a full rebrand. It’s not about perfection. It’s about freedom. It’s about building a life worth staying in. Whether that includes medication, meditation, or mountain climbing, recovery should be as unique as the people living it.
We’re not going to think-tank our way out of this. But we can act. Boldly. Messily. Authentically.
And that’s how we turn the tide.
Additionally: Decriminalize the Struggle. Fund the Healing. NOW.
We’ve spent decades criminalizing pain and pathologizing coping mechanisms without ever asking why people use substances in the first place.
Substance use disorder is a public health issue—not a criminal one. Throwing someone in jail because they’re hurting doesn’t treat the wound. It just deepens it.
Decriminalizing substance use means shifting our approach from punishment to compassion. It means acknowledging that punitive systems don't heal people—they harden them. Instead of handcuffs, let’s offer housing. Instead of court dates, let’s offer care plans. Let’s reallocate funding from prisons to programs that actually reduce harm—things like overdose prevention, community outreach, access to clean supplies, and mental health support.
And let’s stop pretending we don’t know what works. Harm reduction saves lives. Full stop. It's not enabling—it’s evidence-based compassion. We must fund it like lives depend on it, because they do.
A New Frontier: CYB003 and the Psychedelic Shift
One of the most fascinating and underreported advances in substance use treatment is unfolding right now in labs, research centers, and clinical trials across the world—and it centers around CYB003, a next-generation psychedelic compound derived from psilocybin.
Developed by Cybin Inc., CYB003 is a chemically modified, deuterated analog of psilocybin designed for greater bioavailability, more consistent dosing, and a shorter duration of effect—all crucial for modern therapeutic use.
Why is this a big deal? Because early trials are showing that CYB003 may not only help reduce alcohol cravings, but may also fundamentally shift how the brain processes trauma and compulsion. Unlike traditional antidepressants or anti-craving medications, CYB003 appears to activate neuroplasticity—helping the brain rewire the dysfunctional pathways involved in addiction. In preclinical studies, it significantly reduced alcohol intake and depressive behaviors. As of 2024, it’s in advanced clinical trials for major depressive disorder, with early safety and efficacy data showing rapid results with few side effects.
What makes CYB003 different is its potential to make psychedelic therapy accessible in a scalable, medically supervised way. Traditional psilocybin treatments require long sessions and careful preparation, making them difficult to scale. CYB003’s shorter half-life and more predictable metabolism offer real promise for the future of outpatient addiction care. If successful, this could revolutionize how we integrate trauma healing, neurological repair, and emotional regulation into recovery.
We are watching the early chapters of something that may become one of the most effective tools in the recovery arsenal—a treatment that doesn’t just dull symptoms but potentially transforms the root cause.
Final Word
We might never find the mythical silver bullet that ends addiction with one dose. But that doesn’t mean we can’t build a world that invites people to stay—one where pain has a place, but not the steering wheel.
No—we’re probably not going to “cure” addiction in my opinion. At least not any time soon. But we can liberate people from it.
We can build a world they don’t have to escape from.
A world that’s beautiful enough to stay sober in.
A world that’s structured not around shame, but around support.
A world that feels like home.
So I ask you and Leave you with this:
If you could cure addiction—or any disease or issue—for good, how would you do it?
Because the sky?
It has no limit.
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*Please note, this is an opinion piece created and written by the author. This is not a representation of Sober Outdoors, Inc.’s official position on any of the discussed topics nor is it indicative of any intention to promote a particular treatment protocol or program as the way to treat Substance Use Disorder. We welcome all programs and treatments, ideas, opinions, reflections, experiences and more as we value meaningful, responsible, and directional discussion and exploration of the ideas mentioned in this post.
