One of the most beautiful words Jesus used for the Holy Spirit was not “judge,” “manager,” “controller,” or “rescuer.” He used the word Advocate.
Jesus said to his disciples:
“And I will ask the Father, and he will give you another Advocate to be with you always, the Spirit of truth, whom the world cannot accept, because it neither sees nor knows him. But you know him, because he remains with you, and will be in you… When the Advocate comes whom I will send you from the Father, the Spirit of truth who proceeds from the Father, he will testify to me. And you also testify, because you have been with me from the beginning.”
That word has been sitting with me lately: Advocate.
Not because I pretend all Peer Support Specialists are somehow constantly moved by the Holy Spirit. We probably are not most of the time. Not even close. We are flawed people. Tired people. Imperfect people. Sometimes, emotionally exhausted people. And many of us, including me, still have rough edges sharp enough to sand furniture.
But this alcoholic absolutely believes the Holy Spirit—”The Advocate”—is fundamental to the very heart of authentic Peer Support. Because true peer support is not about superiority. It is not about fixing people. It is not about controlling outcomes. It is about accompaniment. It is walking beside another struggling human being with honesty, compassion, humility, truth, and hope.
That spirit of advocacy—standing with rather than standing over—reflects something deeply sacred to me. Whether people realize it or not, I believe many of the most powerful moments in recovery happen when that advocating spirit quietly enters the room. Sometimes it happens through a sponsor, a spouse, or a mentor. Sometimes it happens through a Peer Support Specialist. And sometimes, it happens through a broken, recovering alcoholic simply saying: “Me too. I understand. And you are not alone.”
At our best, we stand beside people when the rest of the world has already decided who they are. Historically, the world has not exactly had a stellar record when it comes to addiction. For generations, alcoholics and addicts were viewed less as suffering human beings and more as moral defects with car keys. Society labeled them weak, selfish, sinful, irresponsible, hopeless, dangerous, embarrassing, or simply disposable.
Addiction was commonly described as “a vice, a sin, and not the purview of medicine.” In other words: “Pull yourself together.” “Try harder.” “Have more willpower.” “Stop embarrassing the family.” “Just say no.” It is amazing how simple addiction looks to people who do not have it.
Tragically, for a very long time, that misunderstanding shaped public policy, medicine, families, churches, and culture itself. Even today, people still whisper words like alcoholic in ways they would never whisper words like cancer or diabetes. That stigma kills people. Not metaphorically. Literally. Because shame isolates, and isolation feeds addiction.For centuries, alcoholism was viewed primarily as a moral failure until a few courageous voices began challenging that narrative. In the early 1800s, physician Benjamin Rush argued, “Habitual drunkenness should be regarded not as a bad habit but as a disease.” At the time, that was radical.
Then came Marty Mann, one of the great early advocates in recovery history, who boldly stated, “Alcoholism is a disease and the alcoholic a sick person.” Today, those statements sound almost obvious, but at the time, many people viewed alcoholics as weak-willed degenerates who simply lacked character. And honestly, some of us in recovery helped reinforce that stereotype quite a bit. I know I did. I was not exactly starring in Citizen of the Year: The Director’s Cut.
Recovery requires honesty. Sometimes, brutal honesty. One old AA-style line says, “I thought everybody drank like I did. Then I found out most people stop at two.” That one still makes me laugh. Another says, “Who’s the only person who looks up to a bum in the gutter? The alcoholic lying next to him.” Funny. Brutal. Accurate. Humor has always had a strange place in recovery because sometimes laughter is the first crack in denial.
My own story involved thirty-seven years in the wine business, plenty of success, plenty of ego, and enough denial to qualify as an Olympic event. I genuinely believed achievement somehow exempted me from alcoholism. Apparently, my liver did not get the memo.
That is part of why advocacy matters so much. An advocate does not excuse destructive behavior. An advocate does not pretend addiction is harmless or remove accountability. An advocate simply refuses to reduce a human being to their worst moment.
That distinction matters. The Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration (SAMHSA) says: “Peer support workers advocate for people in recovery, help reduce stigma, and support individuals in finding their own voice and pathway forward.” I love that definition because it does not describe control; it describes companionship. Walking beside. Standing with. Helping someone rediscover their voice. Not dragging, rescuing, fixing, or lecturing. Just refusing to let another human being disappear under shame.
That advocacy shows up everywhere in recovery. A sponsor advocates for a sponsee when they remind them they are capable of change even after another relapse or round of self-hatred. A mentor advocates when they lend belief before the struggling person can believe in themselves. A spouse advocates every time they choose love while maintaining healthy boundaries. Brothers and sisters advocate when they refuse to define a family member solely by addiction.
Peer Support Specialists occupy a uniquely powerful role because they can look someone in the eye and say, “I understand.” Not theoretically, academically, or clinically. Experientially. There is something profoundly healing about being understood by someone who has survived the same fire. We don’t have to have identical circumstances or stories, just enough shared pain to create credibility. That credibility helps reduce stigma because recovery changes the conversation from “What’s wrong with you?” to “What happened to you?” and eventually to “What’s possible for you now?” That shift changes lives. Even broader society has slowly started recognizing this.
Former U.S. Surgeon General Vivek Murthy said, “For far too long, too many in our country have viewed addiction as a moral failing.” Patrick Kennedy has repeatedly pushed the conversation further by urging society to move away from shame and stigma, noting, “They’re medical issues, not moral issues or character flaws.” That does not eliminate personal responsibility. Recovery absolutely requires responsibility. But responsibility without compassion becomes condemnation, and compassion without truth becomes enabling. Healthy advocacy somehow holds both.
That balance reminds me again of the language Jesus used: Spirit of truth. And: Advocate. Truth without advocacy can crush people. Advocacy without truth can mislead people. But truth wrapped in love? Truth standing beside someone instead of standing over them? That changes people. I have seen it in AA rooms, in Peer Support, in sponsorship, and in families trying to heal. I have seen it in people who somehow found the courage to stay alive one more day because another human being simply sat beside them and said, “You are not alone.” That sentence may save more lives than most grand speeches ever will.
I sometimes think about how future generations may look back at the way society treated addiction and see us the same way Dr. McCoy – AKA “Bones” from Star Trek looked at primitive medicine. There is a famous scene where Bones sees twentieth-century doctors using scalpels and reacts like they are barbarians. Part of me wonders whether future generations will someday look back and say, “Wait… they treated addiction primarily with shame, punishment, humiliation, and stigma?” And honestly? They would not entirely be wrong.
Thankfully, advocacy is changing that story. Peer advocacy. Family advocacy. Recovery advocacy. Medical advocacy. Spiritual advocacy. People standing beside suffering human beings and saying, “You are worth fighting for.” That matters. Deeply.
And maybe that is why the word Advocate keeps staying with me. The Holy Spirit does not merely condemn; the Holy Spirit accompanies, guides, convicts, strengthens, comforts, and advocates. Not from a distance, but beside us. The more years I spend in recovery, sponsorship, peer support, and honest conversations with struggling people, the more I realize how life-changing it is when someone simply refuses to abandon another human being to shame. Not rescuing. Not controlling. Not fixing. Standing beside.
That is advocacy.
When I write pieces like this, I sometimes feel like I am participating in something bigger than myself. I can take credit for the typing, the lived experience, and certainly for decades of mistakes. But some of the deeper connections, insights, and words? Those often feel less like they come from me and more like they come through me.
That is exactly how much of Gratitude, Grit & Giggles felt while I was writing it. I did not sit down trying to sound wise. Most days, I was simply trying to sound honest. But somewhere between the wreckage, the recovery, the laughter, the humility, and the grace, something meaningful began emerging on the page that felt beyond my own abilities at times.
As a man of faith, I believe the Holy Spirit still advocates today. Sometimes through Scripture. Sometimes through sponsors. Sometimes through Peer Support Specialists, spouses, brothers, sisters, and friends. And maybe sometimes through imperfect recovering alcoholics sitting at keyboards trying to tell the truth. Truthfully, I even believe God can work through unexpected tools, technologies, and imperfect vessels in ways we may not fully understand yet. Because advocacy itself is sacred. The moment one human being looks at another hurting person and says, “You are not alone. You are still worthy. And your story is not over.” That moment changes lives. Sometimes forever.
*** If themes like recovery, humility, humor, faith, and second chances resonate with you, my memoir Gratitude, Grit & Giggles: Reflections From My Perfectly Imperfect Journey explores many of these same roads—including the long, stubborn journey from high-functioning denial to discovering that sobriety is not the end of life, but the beginning of finally living it honestly.
