Chad Caruso’s Road to Sobriety: The Man Who Pushed Through America

Skateboarding • Recovery

He got hooked on painkillers after a knee injury took away the only thing that had ever made him feel like himself. He spent years digging a hole — debt, broken relationships, an identity that had caved in around him. Then he got sober, bought an iPhone he couldn’t afford, and started filming himself doing tricks in parking lots for an audience of nobody. Then he skated 3,162 miles across America alone. Then he did it again — faster. This is the full story of how Chad Caruso turned a painkiller addiction into a Guinness World Record. And why he gave twenty-five percent of everything he raised to an organisation that might be the most quietly revolutionary youth drug prevention programme in America.

*Chad Is currently raising money for Natural High.

By Sober Standard

There is a photograph from May 19, 2023, taken on a beach in Virginia Beach, Virginia, of a man flipping his skateboard into the Atlantic Ocean. He is surrounded by hundreds of people. Behind him, somewhere in the crowd, is the mayor of Virginia Beach, who has just declared this day — this specific Saturday in late May, a date that would otherwise mean nothing — Chad Caruso Day. Reporters are there. Local skaters who joined the final ten miles are there, their boards still rolling on the sand. A police escort that materialised somewhere in the last stretch of the journey is there. His future wife is there.

Chad is in the water.

He has just skated 3,162 miles. He left Venice Beach, California, fifty-seven days, six hours, and fifty-six minutes ago, with nothing but a backpack holding one change of clothes, some tools, water, and whatever gas station food he could find along the route. He planned his roads but not his hotels, finding somewhere to sleep most nights only when he arrived within range of wherever he happened to be — somewhere in the American interior, one day indistinguishable from the last. He did this alone, with no support vehicle, no crew, no one handing him things. He edited a video of every day’s skating at whatever motel he checked into after covering fifty to sixty miles on a regular skateboard — not a longboard, not a purpose-built distance board, a skateboard — and posted it to YouTube before sleeping five or six hours and starting again.

He is now a Guinness World Record holder. The fastest solo crossing of America on a skateboard, male division. He is also, as he will tell anyone who asks and many people who don’t, over nine years sober.

He didn’t do this in spite of his sobriety. He did it because of it.

Long Island, a Knee, and the Pills That Filled the Gap

Chad Caruso grew up on Long Island, New York, in the specific kind of suburban environment where skateboarding functions not as a sport or a hobby but as a complete alternative identity — the culture, the community, the language, the way of understanding yourself in relation to the world. He started skating young and built himself, over years of parking lots and DIY spots and the specific Long Island skate scene that produced its share of characters before and after him, into someone who was genuinely good at it.

He was a camp counsellor at Oil City Skatepark in Oceanside. He was known in his local scene. He had the kind of skate reputation that exists below the professional radar but above the civilian one — the guy who the younger kids watched, the guy who had tricks nobody else was doing, the guy who mattered to the people who mattered to him. Skateboarding was not something Chad did. It was what he was.

When a knee injury arrived and took that away from him, what followed was predictable in retrospect and catastrophic in real time.

The specific injury that began the chain — a torn ACL, PCL — required surgery, recovery, months off the board. He was prescribed painkillers. The painkillers did what painkillers do in the gap where your identity used to be: they filled it. Not permanently. Not well. But sufficiently, in the short term, that the alternative — sitting with the loss of the thing that had been the organising principle of his life — felt more unbearable than continuing to take them.

This is the configuration that the addiction literature identifies as particularly common in athletes: the injury that removes the activity through which the person processes everything, creates a void of identity and regulation, and positions prescription medication as both the medical solution and, gradually, the emotional one. The biology of opioid dependency does the rest. The drug that was treating pain becomes the drug that is managing grief, managing boredom, managing the absence of purpose that the injury created. By the time the physical pain has healed, the dependency has established itself independently of its original cause.

Chad has described this period in multiple interviews — on The Nine Club, on The Addicted Mind Podcast, on the Team Never Quit Podcast — with the honest specificity of someone who has worked out, in sobriety, what actually happened to him. The painkiller addiction accumulated alongside financial debt. Relationships frayed and broke. The sense of who he was — a skateboarder, someone good at something, someone with a community — contracted and then seemed to disappear entirely.

The hole got deep enough, eventually, that getting out of it was the only remaining option.

He got sober. He doesn’t name a specific dramatic rock-bottom moment in most of his interviews — no single event, no single night. Just the accumulation of evidence that the life he was living was not the life he was capable of, and the decision, at whatever point it became possible to make, to stop.

The iPhone He Couldn’t Afford and the Channel Nobody Was Watching

Early sobriety arrived with the same problem it arrives with for almost everyone: the hole where the substances were. The days that used to be organised around a certain kind of activity now required something else to organise them. The identity that addiction had occupied needed somewhere else to live.

Chad went back to skateboarding. Which sounds simple. It was not simple. His body was not what it had been. His confidence was not what it had been. The skateboarding community he was returning to had continued without him in ways that were not always comfortable to witness. But the board was there, and the pavement was there, and muscle memory — which survives extraordinary amounts of damage — was there.

He also, in the pattern that the recovery research consistently identifies as protective, found a project. A goal. Something external and concrete and ambitious enough to fill the space that had been filled by substances and before that by the active skating career he had been building before the injury.

He started a YouTube channel. He could not afford an iPhone to film it with. He bought one anyway.

The channel began as trick tips and vlogs — the basic currency of skateboarding YouTube — built around an explicit commitment to giving back to the skateboarding community, in sobriety, something he felt he owed it. The audience was small at first. It grew slowly. He posted consistently, with the daily discipline that early sobriety requires of everything you commit to. By the time he conceived of the journey that would define his public story, he had built a community of over eighty thousand loyal subscribers who had watched him, over several years, become himself again.

In August 2018, he filmed a new trick every day for a month. In 2019 — in the tradition of ambitious athletic sobriety projects that we have documented from Ryan Sheckler to others who found their recovery in extreme physical challenge— he upped the stakes dramatically: fifty tricks in fifty states. He documented the entire thing, driving between states, landing tricks, filming himself, posting it all, proving that sobriety had not reduced what was possible but expanded it.

The fifty-tricks challenge worked. The audience grew. The sense of purpose that had been the missing element in his life for years was now present, daily, in concrete and achievable form.

What came next was the idea he had been turning over for two years before he finally committed to it: skating across America.

The Plan That Wasn’t a Plan

On February 10, 2023, Chad posted a video titled I’m Skateboarding Across America. He had been trying to figure out the right version of this idea since early in his sobriety. He had considered skating across Italy, but COVID closed borders. America was the obvious alternative. He had been training for months — pushing longer and longer distances every week, sharing updates with his Instagram following, building the physical foundation for something that had no obvious precedent in his experience.

The precedent problem was real. Other skaters had crossed the United States before. Jack Smith had made the journey. But Chad’s specific conception — solo, unaided, no support vehicle, carrying everything in a backpack, on a regular skateboard rather than a longboard — was either unprecedented or unrecorded in a way that gave him a legitimate shot at a Guinness title. He applied. The category was confirmed: fastest crossing of America on a skateboard, male, solo. The clock would start when he left Venice Beach.

He left on March 24, 2023.

The backpack weighed between ten and fifteen pounds. It contained one change of clothes, tools, water, and whatever snacks he could carry. He had planned his general route — through California, Arizona, New Mexico, Texas, Arkansas, Tennessee, Virginia — using an app called Komoot. He had not planned his hotels. He didn’t know where he’d sleep most nights until the night arrived and he was within range of something. He ate fast food and gas station snacks. He was, as Jenkem Magazine put it, operating on a true athlete’s diet.

He averaged fifty-five miles a day. He pushed switch — the uncomfortable, non-dominant stance — when his primary leg tired, to balance the muscular load. He wore out the soles of his sneakers repeatedly. He ran out of water in the desert. A moth flew into his ear and stayed there for what was presumably one of the more surreal stretches of the journey. The wheels he used for the entire trip — 68mm polyurethane, which started the journey as perfectly round objects — became so chunked and pockmarked by the Texas roads that it was genuinely impressive they could still turn by the time he arrived in Virginia. He kept them for the whole journey.

He also, every night, edited a daily video of everything that had happened since the morning and posted it to YouTube. After fifty to sixty miles of pushing on a skateboard through whatever the American road had delivered that day, he sat in a motel room and made a video. He went to sleep. He woke up and pushed fifty to sixty more miles.

The physical toll was documented in real time and supplemented in interviews afterwards. He started the journey with a re-injured meniscus — a pre-existing vulnerability that his training had managed but not resolved. Shin splints developed and were managed and redeveloped. Blisters. Chafing. Sunburn through long exposure on open roads. The particular psychological challenge of the long middle stretch — past the excitement of the start, not yet within sight of the end, just the road and the miles and the daily arithmetic of how far today, how far tomorrow.

He told the Dose interviewer, mid-journey, still in Arkansas and still skating while they spoke: “It’s raining. I just entered Arkansas. It’s basically me skating about fifty to sixty miles, eating when I can, and then editing the daily YouTube videos right afterwards.”

He said it without complaint. Like a man describing Tuesday, which it was.

The Cause That Made It More Than a Record

Chad Caruso did not skate across America to set a Guinness World Record. He set a Guinness World Record in the process of skating across America to raise money and awareness for addiction — and specifically for a non-profit called Natural High, which received twenty-five percent of every dollar raised through his GoFundMe campaign.

The choice of Natural High as the recipient organisation was not incidental. It was the most considered decision of the entire project. And understanding what Natural High actually is — what distinguishes it from every other drug prevention programme — matters enormously for understanding why Chad chose it and why the choice was right.

Natural High: The Drug Prevention Organisation Built on the Opposite of Everything That Hasn’t Worked

Most drug prevention programmes are built on fear. On information about what drugs do to your body. On warning labels, cautionary tales, statistics about addiction rates and overdose deaths. On the implicit or explicit message: this is bad, don’t do it.

The research on these approaches is not encouraging. Fear-based prevention, even when the fears are accurate and the information is correct, has consistently failed to produce lasting behaviour change in young people. Information changes what people know. It does not reliably change what they do. And the specific population that drug prevention most needs to reach — adolescents, for whom risk-taking is developmentally normal and for whom adult warnings carry a particular kind of counter-productive authority — is least likely to be moved by the traditional approach.

Natural High was founded in 1994 by a man named Jon Sundt, who had lost two brothers to addiction. He was not a policy expert or a public health professional. He was someone who had watched the people he loved most be destroyed by something, and who had a specific theory about why the existing responses weren’t working.

His theory: the conversation was entirely about drugs. What drugs are. What drugs do. Why drugs are bad. The conversation never asked the prior question, which is: what is the drug filling? What is the absence that made it feel necessary? And what could fill that absence instead?

Natural High’s answer to that question became its entire programme. The name describes its central premise: the feeling of being fully alive in the pursuit of something that genuinely matters to you — a skill, a passion, a sport, an art form, a vocation — is neurologically real and functionally equivalent to the feeling that substances produce artificially and at cost. If you help a young person find their version of that feeling, and help them understand that it is available without the cost, you have given them something no warning label can give: a reason to say no that is actually grounded in something they want more.

The programme delivers this through storytelling. Not lectures. Not curricula in the traditional sense. Short-form videos of people young people already admire — athletes, musicians, artists, skaters — talking about their natural high, their passion, their reason to live without substances. Tony Hawk discusses the feeling of creating in his field and shares his reasons for choosing to live drug-free. Kelly Slater. Bethany Hamilton. NBA players. Musicians. Fifty-plus storytellers whose lives demonstrate, in concrete and aspirational terms, that the version of existence available without drugs is more interesting, more capable, and more worth having than the version with them.

The programme is free. It is aligned to Common Core State Standards and National Health Education Standards. It reaches 43,000 educators in its network across all fifty states. It has been used by millions of students. Eighty percent of educators report a change in their students’ perception about drugs and alcohol after going through the Natural High programme. An independent evaluation found that after engaging with Natural High, eighty percent of students are more likely to avoid drug and alcohol use.

What makes Natural High genuinely different from DARE, from traditional school drug education, from the fear-based approaches that have dominated this field for decades, is that it never argues against drugs. It argues for something better. It doesn’t tell young people what not to want. It shows them something to want instead, embodied by people they already look up to, in the most credible possible form: a story.

Chad Caruso is now one of those storytellers. His page on the Natural High website — featuring a four-minute video of his journey, discussion questions for educators, and the activities that accompany it — is one of more than fifty such stories, available free to any teacher in America who wants to show their students what it looks like when a person finds their natural high and builds a life around it.

The discussion questions attached to Chad’s story are worth reading in full, because they capture exactly what Natural High is trying to do and why it is different. They don’t ask: what are the dangers of addiction? They ask: how did setting ambitious goals help Chad stay focused and motivated during his recovery? In what ways did engaging in positive activities help him avoid or overcome addiction? How can you find your own natural high?

The focus is forward. The frame is possibility, not prohibition. The question is not “what did he stop doing?” but “what did he start doing instead?” — and the answer is something every young person watching can imagine doing some version of for themselves.

57 Days, 6 Hours, 56 Minutes: The Record and What It Cost

On May 19, 2023, the final ten miles of Chad Caruso’s journey looked like nothing the preceding fifty-seven days had looked like.

Local skaters came out and joined him, rolling alongside through the Virginia Beach streets as he approached the ocean. A police escort arrived to accompany the procession. Photographers documented it. Reporters were there. The crowd at the finish line had grown to hundreds. When he crossed whatever invisible threshold constituted the finish, the mayor of Virginia Beach, Robert M. Dyer, gave a speech. He declared the date Chad Caruso Day. Officially. Formally. The date is in the municipal record.

Chad grabbed his board and ran to the Atlantic.

He flipped the board into the water.

He had completed 3,162 miles in 57 days, 6 hours, and 56 minutes, becoming the Guinness World Record holder for the fastest solo crossing of America on a skateboard by a male. He had also raised substantial money for Natural High and, through the daily YouTube videos and the media coverage of the journey, had reached an audience far beyond his subscriber base with a recovery story that was simultaneously one of the most extreme physical achievements in the sport’s history.

He later wrote about the physical cost with characteristic honesty: “The trip definitely took a toll on my body, but seeing how many people it’s inspired makes it all worth it. It took nearly two years for the pain in my feet to fade, and now I’m scheduled for knee surgery.”

Nearly two years. For the pain in his feet to fade. And he would do it again.

The GoFundMe raised close to one hundred thousand dollars, twenty-five percent of which went directly to Natural High. He released a book — Pushing Through America, a photo book capturing images and stories from the journey. He toured a thirty-four-minute documentary, also called Across America, directed by his friend John Testa, through film festivals including the Montauk Film Festival, where audience members lined up to ask him questions and told him, afterwards, that his journey had inspired their own first steps toward sobriety.

He proposed to his partner shortly after finishing. She said yes. In the video, you can see exactly what a person looks like when they are living the life that sobriety made possible and that addiction would have taken from them.

The Comeback That Required Surgery, and the Record He Broke Himself

What happened after the first skate across America was, in several respects, as demanding as the skate itself.

The knee that had been a pre-existing vulnerability throughout the journey required surgery. He underwent the procedure and began rehabilitation. He was couch-bound during recovery, a particular kind of difficult for a man who had organised his sobriety around physical challenge and daily movement. He used the time to write about his journey with sobriety — deepening the record he had been building since he first picked up that iPhone he couldn’t afford and decided to film himself doing tricks for nobody.

He also, in 2022 before the first skate across America, had gone to Moldova. He partnered with Skate Aid to set up a skatepark and skate camp for the children of Moldova and for refugees from Ukraine. The man who had found his own way out through skateboarding building a skate infrastructure for kids whose lives had been disrupted by a war they didn’t start. The mission of Natural High, extended outward through the same medium that saved him.

Then, while rehabilitating from the post-America surgery, he tore the same knee again. Two months before the second skate was scheduled to begin.

He went anyway.

On May 1, 2026, Chad Caruso pushed off from Venice Beach, California, for the second time. This time, the route ran from Venice Beach to Jacksonville, Florida — approximately 2,800 miles rather than 3,162, a different southern trajectory through the American interior. He had three years of additional training and the particular motivation of a man who has already done something impossible once and has specific ideas about what doing it better looks like.

He completed it in thirty-nine days.

A new world record. The mayor declared it Chad Caruso Day again.

The progression from fifty-seven days to thirty-nine — eighteen days faster across a comparable distance — is not simply an improvement in athletic conditioning, though it is that. It is also the compounding effect that he described to the Dose interviewer in terms that apply to his sobriety as directly as to his skating: “With years of sobriety, it just keeps compounding, and life just gets better and better.”

The body that pushed across America the second time was not just the body that had trained harder. It was the body of a man who had been sober for over nine years, who had been building physical and mental capacity on that foundation since the iPhone he couldn’t afford, who had spent those years converting the obsessive tendency that addiction had occupied into the specific kind of sustained, disciplined, goal-oriented effort that makes extraordinary things ordinary.

What He Said About Sobriety That Stays With You

Chad Caruso has given a lot of interviews. He has appeared on The Nine Club — the most credible long-form skateboarding podcast there is — and on The Addicted Mind Podcast, and on Team Never Quit with Marcus Luttrell, and on Dream Stoic, and in Jenkem Magazine, and in the pages of the Guinness World Records website and the Surfer Today profile and the WAVY local news coverage from outside South Hill, Virginia, where he retraced his steps a few dozen yards back to the exact spot where he had stepped off his board to speak to the camera before beginning again. Not walking ahead. Retracing. Because one foot on the board at all times was the rule, and rules matter, and he kept all of them.

What he has said across these interviews about sobriety has a particular texture that I keep returning to. It is not the language of gratitude and learning and personal growth that characterises a certain kind of recovery public speaking. It is more specific than that. More concrete. More honest about what it actually took and what it actually gave back.

“The whole point is you’re usually drinking and/or doing drugs to hide from the truth. People don’t want to face the truth and grow from it. So you keep trying to mask it, but once you face it, you give it time. With years of sobriety, it just keeps compounding, and life just gets better and better.”

“There’s going to be some growing pains. You have to adjust. But those adjustments help you to find what it is that you actually like to do. Rather than just hanging out and doing nothing and partying, you’re forced to find a passion or something.”

“I wouldn’t have been able to attempt this skate across the country without the energy and focus that sobriety has given me.”

“Sobriety helped me turn my entire life around and brought me back to what I truly love to do.”

That last sentence is the one. Back to what I truly love to do. The addiction took him away from it. Sobriety brought him back. Everything after that — the YouTube channel, the fifty tricks, the first skate, the second skate, the record, the book, the documentary, the Natural High partnership, the proposal on Instagram, the knee surgeries he kept recovering from — everything is downstream of that return.

This is the consistent shape of the recovery stories that actually last: not the dramatic cessation, but the slow accumulation of a life that becomes, through sustained sobriety, more interesting and more capable than the life that preceded it. Ryan Sheckler found it in his daughters and in Lifer. Bradley Cooper found it in the film he made about addiction and in the fatherhood that followed. Robert Downey Jr. found it in Tony Stark and in Susan and in the career that sobriety rebuilt. Eminem found it in running seventeen miles a day and in three daughters he could be present for.

Chad Caruso found it on a board, pushing through the American interior at fifty-five miles a day, editing videos in a motel room at midnight, telling anyone who would listen that the thing they were hiding from with substances was not as frightening as it seemed — that on the other side of facing it, the road was open and the wheels were turning and there were people coming out of their driveways along the highway to hand you water and food and cash and to tell you that whatever you were doing, they were glad you were doing it.

Why the Passion-First Model of Prevention Might Be the Most Important Idea in the Field

Drug prevention in America has a long and largely unsuccessful history. DARE — the programme that sent uniformed police officers into elementary schools to deliver information about drugs — was one of the most widely implemented prevention initiatives in the country’s history and produced, by the most rigorous evaluations, essentially no measurable reduction in drug use among participants. The fear-and-information model is intuitive. It is also not supported by evidence of effectiveness.

Natural High’s approach is not merely different in style. It is different in theory. The central insight — that addiction is, in substantial part, a search for something, and that the most effective prevention is not making substances seem frightening but making the alternative feel real and attainable — is grounded in several decades of behavioural science.

Research on protective factors in adolescent substance use has consistently identified the same variables: meaningful engagement in activities the young person values; strong relationships with adults who model the behaviour being encouraged; a clear sense of identity and purpose that does not depend on peer-group conformity. Natural High’s programme addresses all three simultaneously, through the most accessible and credible medium available: a short video of someone the young person already admires, talking about the thing that makes their life worth living.

The Guinness World Record holder for the fastest solo crossing of America on a skateboard, talking directly to a fifteen-year-old about what it feels like to have found your natural high and built your life around it, is a different order of prevention from a poster on a school bathroom wall.

The eighty percent of educators who report a change in their students’ perception after going through the Natural High programme are seeing this mechanism in action. The students who watch Chad’s video and then answer the discussion questions — how did setting ambitious goals help him? what is your natural high? how can you find it? — are not being warned away from something. They are being invited toward something. The something is their version of what Chad has. And the implicit message, which lands precisely because it is implicit, is: the route to it does not go through the bottle or the bag. It goes through the board. Through the road. Through showing up, every day, and putting one foot on the pavement and the other on the grip tape, and pushing.

The Things You Should Know If This Story Has Landed Close to Home

Chad Caruso’s painkiller addiction began with a prescription following an injury. If your own relationship with prescription drugs or any other substance has begun to feel like something other than what you intended, the assessment linked there takes five minutes and asks the questions that your doctor probably hasn’t.

The five steps toward sobriety at Sober Standard are the practical version of what Chad describes in his interviews: not a sudden transformation, but the accumulation of daily decisions, the building of structure, the finding of the passion that makes the daily decision feel worth making.

The science-backed healing timeline shows what happens to the body and mind in early sobriety and over the months and years that follow. The energy and focus that Chad credits with making the skate across America possible are on that timeline. They are real. They return.

The sobriety savings calculator puts numbers on what the habit costs. The free sobriety calculator counts from whatever your date is. The treatment directory is there for anyone who needs professional support. And the socialising sober guideis for the question that Chad answered directly in his Dose interview: how do you handle the early days when sobriety still feels like deprivation and the social world still feels like it was built for people who drink?

You find your natural high. You build toward something. You get a board — or whatever your version of a board is. You push.

You would be surprised how far you can go on nothing but that.

The Record, the Book, the Documentary: Where to Go From Here

The Guinness World Record: Officially confirmed — fastest crossing of America on a skateboard, male, solo: 57 days, 6 hours, 56 minutes. Set May 19, 2023. Venice Beach, CA to Virginia Beach, VA. Full record page on Guinness World Records website.

The Second Crossing (2026): Venice Beach, CA to Jacksonville, FL. Completed in 39 days. A new world record. The mayor again declared it Chad Caruso Day.

The Book: Pushing Through America — photo book documenting the first crossing, available at chadcaruso.com.

The Documentary: Across America, directed by John Testa — 34 minutes, following the full journey with honesty about both the highs and the lows. Screened at the Montauk Film Festival and other venues.

The Natural High Storyteller Page: Chad’s profile on naturalhigh.org — including the full video, discussion questions for educators, and the activities framework. Free for any teacher or parent who wants to use it.

Chad’s YouTube: youtube.com/@ChadCaruso — the daily vlog series from both cross-country skates, the trick videos, and everything in between.

Chad’s Instagram: @chad_caruso

Chad Caruso: Key Timeline

Year	What Happened
~Late 1980s	Born and raised on Long Island, New York; discovers skateboarding as a child
Early 2000s	Works as skate camp counsellor at Oil City Skatepark, Oceanside; builds local reputation
Mid-2000s	Knee injury (ACL, PCL tears); prescribed painkillers; addiction develops
Mid-2010s	Achieves sobriety; starts YouTube channel on an iPhone he couldn’t afford
2018	New trick every day for a month challenge
2019	50 tricks in 50 states challenge — the project that announced his recovery
2022	Moldova: teams with Skate Aid to build skatepark for children and Ukrainian refugees
Mar 24, 2023	Departs Venice Beach, CA — Skate Across America begins
May 19, 2023	Arrives Virginia Beach, VA — 3,162 miles in 57 days, 6 hours, 56 minutes; Guinness World Record; Mayor declares Chad Caruso Day
2023–24	Post-journey knee surgery; Pushing Through America book; Across America documentary
2025	Re-tears same knee two months before second skate; decides to go anyway
May 1, 2026	Departs Venice Beach, CA — second Skate Across America begins
Jun 8, 2026	Arrives Jacksonville, FL — ~2,800 miles in 39 days; new world record; Mayor declares Chad Caruso Day again

If Chad’s story landed close to your own, Sober Standard has the resources for what comes next: the free assessment, the healing timeline, the treatment directory, and the five steps. And if you are an educator who wants to bring this story — and fifty others like it — into your classroom for free, Natural High is where you start. It is the most quietly radical drug prevention programme operating in America right now, and it costs you nothing.

Disclaimer: This article is for informational purposes only and does not constitute professional medical or addiction treatment advice. If you or someone you love is struggling with substance use, please consult a qualified healthcare provider or use the treatment directory at Sober Standard to find professional support.

Author: Carter Davies

Music, Travel and Sobriety writer for Sober Standard. More articles can be found here and on X https://soberstandard.com/profile/carter-davies/

Chad Caruso’s Road to Sobriety: The Man Who Pushed Through America — Twice