You may be asking yourself how Lionheart Recovery Center came to be.

My story is sewn into the fabric of this center. I’m deeply committed to our mission and cannot think of anything I’d rather put my energy towards. This passion and purpose have been years in the making.

Since the early ’90s, I have personally vetted numerous facilities on behalf of loved ones suffering from addiction.  I know first-hand the juggle of emotions, the untethered urgency, the disruptions in the middle of the night, the wanting that everything will be OK. But through all these years, I have never experienced the sense of relief I was looking for when the doors closed behind me after saying goodbye, good luck, I love you.

These recovery centers have not been what they should have been, what they could have been.  To be very specific, I have left both relatives and friends in centers that have felt cold and even stale, where the staff felt spread thin and tired. I have noticed details that show a lack of care and attention.  I’ve even been asked by my loved ones in residence to bring them better food and a basic, good pillow. In these moments, I thought that if I ever had an opportunity to open a rehab, these issues would be addressed above and beyond.      

But worst of the worst, I finally experienced a center so ill-equipped that it literally killed my cherished friend. Dana was beautiful, healthy, and vivacious. She was truly my best friend and confidant. We lived life to its fullest until we didn’t anymore. 

When she was 37 years old, Dana fell off her horse and hurt her back. After surgery, Vicodin was prescribed and she became addicted.  Two quiet years passed with her not realizing and me not knowing.  What followed was a difficult, sad, and laborious three-year journey that had us visiting dozens of rehab centers, and ultimately admitted her into several of them, with the hope that each would provide the care and the rehabilitation that was needed. 

Indeed, hope is a powerful thing. In fact, Dana and I were both infused with it the day she died. I had visited her in the late afternoon. She died 11 pm that night from an accidental overdose of medicine administered to her by a careless member of the staff.

LionHeart is not born from this pain and loss. Those emotions were fully experienced. LionHeart is new growth. It’s a proclamation in the memory of Dana. We are as strong as a lion’s heart, here to hold and to heal and to always be the resource for professional and sustainable recovery from addiction. 

You have my word.