Randy Stevens, executive director of Hope for New Hampshire Recovery, at left, speaks with Raymond Smith of Manchester. The drop-in recovery center offers peer-to-peer coaching, group counseling, social activities and wellness services, such as acupuncture, Reiki and massage.
Dale Gorman of Manchester, who is in treatment for alcohol and drug addiction, drinks coffee before the start of a meeting at Hope for NH Recovery in Manchester.
Sharna Steinhart, wellness coordinator, and Randy Stevens, executive director, said Hope for New Hampshire Recovery offers a variety of programs and activities to meet the needs of people in recovery.
Randy Stevens, executive director of Hope for New Hampshire Recovery, at left, speaks with Raymond Smith of Manchester. The drop-in recovery center offers peer-to-peer coaching, group counseling, social activities and wellness services, such as acupuncture, Reiki and massage.
The man built like a linebacker wrapped his arms around a petite woman, who disappeared into the hug with a smile.
A well-dressed woman poured herself a cup of coffee before heading down the hall to a meeting. A friendly black and white dog named Monte maneuvered around her as he scrambled for the ball that a young man was tossing for him, again and again and again.
Inside a lavender-hued room, soft music and aromatherapy offered a respite from trauma, self-doubt and shame.
This is what recovery looks like in New Hampshire.
Hope for New Hampshire Recovery in Manchester is both a beacon and an oasis, a drop-in center where people who struggle with addiction find fellowship and support in their sobriety. They also find respect, the antidote to the stigma that would keep them in the shadows of shame and isolation.
At Hope, group meetings, peer-to-peer coaching, yoga, music and social activities are led by people who have “lived experience.”
Lonnie Crocker said he came to the recovery center “sick and suffering, and wanting to change my life.” Addicted to heroin, he had been in and out of jail, and was estranged from his family. “I had nowhere to go,” he said.
Crocker is now Hope’s social media and activities coordinator, his warm empathy coming out of his own experiences. “I’ve been at that table,” he said, nodding at a table in the center’s common room, where a man sat nursing a cup of coffee. “I’ve had nothing and no one.”
Peer support is powerful, said Randy Stevens, executive director of Hope. “There’s a deeper connection when you can speak in the same language as somebody, and you can look them in the eyes and they know that you’ve been through that,” he said.
Stevens has been in recovery for six years, a choice to get well that was spurred by the birth of a baby daughter — and an arrest on drug charges. Sitting in a Strafford County jail cell, he resolved to change his life. “I decided at that moment I was going to use every single day to become the person I wanted to be,” he said.
Stevens’s wife is a Manchester police officer who works with the community response unit, reaching out to those struggling with addiction to remind them that treatment is available. Hope is also gearing up a mobile outreach program for homeless individuals, Stevens said.
These days, Stevens said, “I’m very optimistic. I really think we’re working toward normalizing the recovery process.”
“We recover loudly so others don’t have to suffer silently,” he said.
Sharna Steinhart is the wellness coordinator at Hope.
“We’re people movers,” she said. “Moving them through their individual stages of change.”
Recovery takes “constant vigilance,” Steinhart said. And the programs Hope’s wellness center offers, including massage, Reiki, aromatherapy and acupuncture, provide needed support.
“We’re here to help them find their way back to themselves,” she said.
Sharna Steinhart, wellness coordinator, and Randy Stevens, executive director, said Hope for New Hampshire Recovery offers a variety of programs and activities to meet the needs of people in recovery.
The big man dispensing hugs is Rod G, who arrived at Hope 11 months ago.
“I love this place,” he said. “This place saved my life.”
What was his drug of choice? “Everything,” he said, as others nearby chuckled knowingly.
Rod G hit the proverbial bottom, but then kept falling, he said. “My bottom had trap doors.”
And then, “I surrendered,” he said. “I’d had enough.”
These days, the self-described “gentle giant” runs meetings and supports others at Hope. “This place is a staple in the community,” he said.
Connections count
Helena Vega, who is in recovery, first came to Hope because her partner was struggling with addiction and she feared that “would mess with my sobriety,” she said.
The mother of three is now a regular here. “It’s that human contact and support,” she said.
Likewise, a woman named Deb first came to Hope when she was in treatment for alcohol use disorder, and stayed on to volunteer. “I want the connection,” she said. “I love the people, I love to help.”
Vega believes that one reason behind the decline in fatal overdoses in New Hampshire is a greater awareness of, and support for, those who struggle with substance use disorders. “Everybody belongs to somebody,” she said. “People are starting to realize that. It’s somebody’s brother, sister, mom ….”
Steinhart, Hope’s wellness coordinator, agreed. “People are feeling safe to come here and ask for help.”
Randy Stevens, too, has seen a change in the wider community, from judgment and stigma to support and empathy. “The culture is shifting, and that’s what we’re witnessing,” he said.
Crocker, the activities coordinator, said having naloxone more widely available is helping to decrease fatal overdoses. But it’s more than that, he said.
“There’s more compassion out there,” he said. And that’s a powerful treatment in itself, he said.
“Our disease wants us in a room, alone and suffering,” he said. “You beat this thing through connection.”
Dale Gorman of Manchester, who is in treatment for alcohol and drug addiction, drinks coffee before the start of a meeting at Hope for NH Recovery in Manchester.
The recovery center is funded through the state Bureau of Drug and Alcohol Services, Medicaid reimbursements and fundraising. With an annual operating budget of around $626,000, Hope sees between 800 and 1,000 members visit a week, Stevens said.
When he realized that the organization was spending about $2,000 a month on coffee and supplies, Stevens called New England Coffee to say they couldn’t afford their standing order any longer. The person on the phone had one question, he said: “How can we help?”
The company donated a six-month supply of coffee to the organization.
Well into the second decade of this deadly epidemic, Stevens has a message for state leaders. “Make sure that you’re including me and my peers in all the decisions you make up there,” he said. “I want the voice of the person who’s still in active use, I want the person who’s been through it and is a professional working in the field. Include all of us so you can gain a broader perspective.”
Stevens also wants the state to invest more in “transitional living” programs, so that people who are working on their recovery can stay safe and sober.
He worries that as fatal overdoses decrease, people will move on to other concerns. “One death is too many, and I think we should never slow down,” he said.
“Here’s the reality: Dead people don’t recover,” Stevens said.
He thinks about what would have happened had he died from an overdose like so many others. “I don’t know how many people I’ve impacted in my recovery journey,” he said. “But what I do know is I’ve been placed in a position to affect a lot of positive change.”
And he wonders about those who have been lost to this epidemic, and about whom they might have helped had they lived to recover. “We have no idea what somebody would have done with their life,” Stevens said.
