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With his unbreakable faith and value of “relational capital,” David Daniels lives to help the community navigate recovery, just like the community has helped him.
Originally from rural New York, Daniels has lived many lives, working in several different industries, building many complex relationships and shedding his troubled past with addiction.
While the pandemic slowed things down for some, going virtual “opened up the entire world” for Daniels, accelerating his journey through a 12-step recovery program with his sponsor and close friend Gabriel Gomez. One of his online meetings, facilitated by Positive Action Against Chemical Addiction (PAACA) in New Bedford, is where he met his now wife, Lauren Daniels. They eventually moved to Massachusetts to build a life and future together.
Now working as program director at the RISE Recovery Support Center in New Bedford, Daniels is dedicated to helping struggling community members self-rehabilitate and build roots and lives they are proud of.
Daniels spoke with The New Bedford Light to discuss his past adversities, present work in the field and future hopes for the community.
New Bedford Light: What brought you to Massachusetts?
David Daniels: I moved here [from New York] on Dec. 7 of 2020. I am a guy that has an addiction story and background. I had a reasonable amount of success in my life, but there was always this undertone of this secret life going on — and then things would get very bad and then better and then very bad. Toward the end of all of that mess, I’ve been in jail more times than I can remember — between seven and 10 times in county jails, a number of times in rehabs.
My official sobriety date is Jan. 1, 2020. I finally got off methadone and I went to rehab to get off a doctor-prescribed medication. I got involved in a 12-step recovery fellowship when the pandemic hit. All of the meetings went virtual. At first, I was very resistant to change. I wasn’t too fond of it. I liked the recovery culture and in-person meetings — but when we went online, it kind of opened up the entire world. It began to be something we enjoyed. At the time we were all locked in our houses so we were going on four or five meetings a day. The meeting we would go on in the morning started at 10 a.m. and it met right here in New Bedford at PAACA — who I now work for, in an ironic twist of fate. I would go on that meeting with my now wife who was calling in from Washington state. Her family is from New Bedford and she knew the recovery community over here. I didn’t come here right away. She did. I stayed in New York for another couple months — but something kept calling me here, so eventually I came.
NBL: How did you start to work at RISE?
DD: My lived experience is the thing that makes me qualified to do what I do. Honestly, up until this point of my life, I never had any social work job. In my early 20s, I was a partner in a couple restaurants, I was in hotel management with Hilton for a while. At one point I was a photocopier and fax machine technician. I also had an exterior roofing and siding business for a number of years. So when I left New York, and I told everyone I was doing that, they were like, “You’re giving up a reasonably successful business to go work for 15 dollars an hour in Massachusetts?” When I moved here, I actually didn’t start at RISE, I started at the house right next door, which is a residential re-entry program. When [the former director] moved on to become full-time elsewhere, that’s when I took over.
NBL: Is there anybody who inspired and encouraged you to make a change in your own life?
DD: Yeah, his name is Gabriel Gomez. He was a Narcotics Anonymous guy. We met in those circles. At that time, I was going to every Anon under the sun. I met him, and he just had this passion about him. You can tell he meant it. At one point I approached him, and we began to build a relationship. And I asked him to be my sponsor, which is the way it works. You have a mentor who walks you through the process. But I was on methadone, and NA is a complete abstinence program. If you’re on some drug or drug treatment therapy, some people aren’t really willing to be your sponsor. They will be your friends, but they won’t start the formal process. He told me, “If you have a plan to get off of it, we can have this conversation again.” We stayed in touch.
A couple months later, I felt like I was going through the tapering process with the medication. I got to this point of crisis, where I tapered too fast and I started to get ill and feel withdrawal symptoms. And I used again. I used for like a week. I picked up drugs until I could get the doctor to increase my dose. And then I stopped, thankfully. I lived through that experience. But when I did that, I told Gabriel the truth about what had happened. And I also told them that I needed help to get to some sort of controlled environment to get off of it. And I shared in a meeting, and I told the truth. A bunch of the members of that fellowship were connected to a treatment center, which is super common, right? A bunch of people that find recovery usually find passion and purpose in helping other people do that. So they were connected to treatment. And in less than a week, I was on a van and I was headed to a place down in Pennsylvania.
When I was there, I was so connected to the recovery community at that time, that the place must have thought I was like a celebrity. It’s because you’re in rehab, you know, they gotta open your mail. It’s like you’re in jail. So, you got to open your mail in front of the staff or the director. Every day I was getting like five or six cards and letters from people saying I was an inspiration because not a lot of people choose to get off of medical support and treatment because you get sick and who wants to get sick, right?
And two of the letters that I got when I was in there were from Gabriel. And in one of them, he told me how much he loved me and he appreciated me. But he said, “If you’re still interested in sponsorship, like, make sure you give me a call when you get out.” And it’s rehab, so you don’t have any of your stuff. But when you leave, they give you your property back. So I got my cell phone back. The first call that I made was to him.
And from that point forward, I did the things that he asked me to do. I did commit to one fellowship. That’s the thing that led to the digital meetings, and my wife and all the stuff that’s happening right now. And then I got to that point where I’m leaving — they gave me a going away party. And about a year after that, my life had changed so radically that I had bought a house, I was married, I had the baby, I got my driver’s license back after 16 years. Everything started to happen. I got the director role at the Recovery Center. And Gabriel gave me a call. And he’s like, “Listen, I don’t want to live here anymore. Can you help me?” I was well enough connected to this community. I called a friend at Steppingstone. I got him a job as the recovery coach supervisor. And not only did he move out here, he moved into my spare bedroom until he got established. And if you think that’s not crazy enough, about eight months after that, I then officiated his wedding on Horseneck Beach just last summer.
NBL: What is one of your philosophies regarding recovery?
DD: A thing I say often is that people don’t care how much you know until they know how much you care. That a genuine real relationship is the hinge pin of wellness. Trouble is gonna come with drugs, without drugs. In every person’s life difficulties come, trials come. The thing that people want to know most is that they got somebody to walk it out with them. They don’t always need an answer. They need to know that there is support. It’s about relational capital. It’s about real relationships. Nobody wants to hear you spew theology at them. First, you’ve got to earn the right to speak into people’s lives.
NBL: What is a resource that you think New Bedford needs to improve for people who are struggling with recovery?
DD: There is a significant amount of need for shelter beds. Homelessness is a huge problem in our city. There [are] more people homeless than there are beds available. And even within that, the system is not designed in such a way that it moves quickly. The shelters that we do have are considered long-term programs. There’s a huge amount of barriers in terms of sober housing, opening those places, availability. In fact, there’s a strong pushback from the municipality towards those places. There’s been rallies about it, because of the neighborhoods that they’re in. A thing that we’ve thought of quite a bit is the idea of having a designated section of the city that was a recovery community. Where if you could procure most of a block or something. That model has had a tremendous amount of success in other areas in the state. That particular model has shown promise, where you designate an area and you create a recovery ecosystem. If you were able to do something like that, it would solve everybody’s problems. The neighborhoods wouldn’t be so upset about it, because it wouldn’t be scattered throughout the city. The recovery folks would have a central location to go and know they were safe and comfortable.
NBL: What is something you want people to know about you?
DD: Just that it’s real, that I actually care. A lot of time, you’ll hear people in recovery are just immediately resistant. Their perception is that you think you’re better than them. It’s all words and no action, and you’re trying to lord over people and tell them how they should live their lives and the things they should do. … I would hope that people never feel that myself, or the staff, or anybody at RISE are disingenuous. I want the best for everybody.
NBL: What is something that you would tell someone who wants help, but is either too intimidated or too scared and doesn’t know where to start with that?
DD: Well, I would tell them first and foremost that help is available. That feeling intimidated and scared of the unknown is normal. It’s to be expected. It’s very human. And I know for me that in the beginning of my journey, I did not know how to ask for help and was extremely intimidated by the response that I may get. But the freedom that was there on the other side of doing that can’t really be put into words. So, I would encourage you to seek out the help, to know that help is available and that places like RISE are available.
Aliana Liz Tavares is a freelance writer for The New Bedford Light.
This interview has been edited for length and clarity.
