Delonte West lived a dream millions of kids chase — a standout at Saint Joseph's, drafted into the NBA at 21, and years in the league alongside legends like Paul Pierce, Gary Payton, and LeBron James. He was, by his own description, sheltered inside the business of professional sports, growing as a player while the rest of life stayed on pause.

When the game ended, everything he'd built his identity around went with it. In this conversation, Delonte is open about the long, slow progression of addiction that followed his career, his diagnosis and lifelong battle with bipolar disorder, and the years he spent cycling in and out of his lowest points — much of it playing out in the public eye in ways that were painful and dehumanizing.

But this episode isn't about the videos the internet passed around. It's about the man behind them, and the work he's doing now. Delonte is coming up on a year sober this December, and he credits consistency, the right medication and treatment, his faith, and the people who never gave up on him. He's found peace in staying in the moment, and he's using his platform to reach the person out there who's still where he was.

#RiseAbove #DelonteWest #AddictionRecovery #NBA #MentalHealthAwareness #RecoveryIsPossible #SoberLife#BipolarAwareness #Comeback #SobrietyJourney #SaintJosephs #Boston #RiseAbovePodcast #KevinLanning#SecondChances #MensMentalHealth #TheManBehindTheVideos #Redemption #YouAreNotAlone #OneMoreThing

Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Jerod Thomas grew up in what he calls a "house of horrors" — two alcoholic parents, a father who drank a fifth of vodka a day and turned violent, and weekends spent walking on eggshells. He was dyslexic in an era when no one caught it until his second year of eighth grade, bullied relentlessly, and told by his own father that if he didn't learn to fight, he couldn't stay in the house. Football became the one place the chaos made sense — fast, loud, and violent, just like home.

Against every odd, Jerod became a college football star at Marshall, playing under future NFL head coach Rex Ryan, with a real shot at the pros. Then, weeks after his final college game, his father died — and a bartender at his dad's old bar handed him cocaine. Within weeks it was crack. He tried out for NFL teams while secretly smoking it, showing up 45 pounds underweight and unable to explain why. The football dream collapsed, and everything else went with it: two marriages he torched, restraining orders from his own mother, and years cycling between homelessness and prison. By the end he'd been charged with 12 felonies and convicted of four, all drug-related.

What turned it was a conversation with his grandmother in jail, where he listed every reason he couldn't get sober — and she gently told him that a man who could find a way around all those obstacles would be valuable to the world. That night he started writing a program. Today, 18 years sober, Jerod has built treatment programs inside prisons across the country — including the largest in-prison treatment center in the United States — turning the exact system that once held him into the place he now saves lives.

Jerod Thomas grew up in what he calls a "house of horrors" — two alcoholic parents, a father who drank a fifth of vodka a day and turned violent, and weekends spent walking on eggshells. He was dyslexic in an era when no one caught it until his second year of eighth grade, bullied relentlessly, and told by his own father that if he didn't learn to fight, he couldn't stay in the house. Football became the one place the chaos made sense — fast, loud, and violent, just like home.Against every odd, Jerod became a college football star at Marshall, playing under future NFL head coach Rex Ryan, with a real shot at the pros. Then, weeks after his final college game, his father died — and a bartender at his dad's old bar handed him cocaine. Within weeks it was crack. He tried out for NFL teams while secretly smoking it, showing up 45 pounds underweight and unable to explain why. The football dream collapsed, and everything else went with it: two marriages he torched, restraining orders from his own mother, and years cycling between homelessness and prison. By the end he'd been charged with 12 felonies and convicted of four, all drug-related.What turned it was a conversation with his grandmother in jail, where he listed every reason he couldn't get sober — and she gently told him that a man who could find a way around all those obstacles would be valuable to the world. That night he started writing a program. Today, 18 years sober, Jerod has built treatment programs inside prisons across the country — including the largest in-prison treatment center in the United States — turning the exact system that once held him into the place he now saves lives.

#RiseAbove #AddictionRecovery #18YearsSober #CrackAddiction #RecoveryIsPossible #SoberLife#FromPrisonToPurpose #Football #MensRecovery #SobrietyJourney #SecondChances #FromRockBottom#RiseAbovePodcast #KevinLanning #JerodThomas #GenerationalTrauma #Redemption #Dyslexia #ServiceWork#OneMoreThing

Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Marina Lacerda is a survivor, an advocate, and a mother who spent most of her life carrying pain she was told to keep quiet. Now 6.5 years sober and one year into publicly breaking her silence, she sat down with Kevin to talk about all of it.

Marina was born in Brazil and raised largely in New York. From around the age of nine, she was sexually abused by her stepfather — abuse that continued for years while she was made to feel she had to stay silent to keep her family together. That wound shaped everything that followed. By her teens she had found the nightlife, and by adulthood she was self-medicating the trauma with cocaine and, eventually, a devastating Xanax addiction — at her worst taking 15 to 20 pills a day and going through dangerous withdrawals before she finally got clean.

The turning point wasn't just getting sober. It was finding her voice. In the last year Marina has connected with other survivors, spoken publicly for the first time, and become an advocate determined to make sure other people — especially children — don't suffer in the silence she was trapped in. She's candid about the guilt, the complicated relationship with her mother, the long road of recovery, and why service to others has become the center of her life.

This is a hard, brave conversation about surviving abuse, the addiction that so often follows it, and the freedom that comes from finally telling the truth.

Sponsored by Caron Treatment Centers

Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Bob Zbikowski wanted to be one thing his whole life: a cop, like his dad. He got there — nearly two decades in law enforcement, including years as a K-9 handler. From the outside he was living his dream. Underneath, he was a first responder carrying the weight of thousands of traumatic scenes with no healthy way to put it down, and a brain wired for addiction he didn't yet understand.

Bob is open about the two things that took him under. First, gambling — when New Jersey legalized sports betting, what started as a little action turned into compulsively running his account to zero night after night, in debt by morning, doing it all over again. And then, after being prescribed Adderall for ADHD, a shortage left him without his medication — and someone offered him meth, a chemical cousin of the very prescription he'd lost. He describes it as "Adderall times a hundred," and it pulled him into a secret addiction he carried while still on the job.

He's candid about the impossible bind so many first responders face: the fear that asking for help means losing everything — the career, the income, the identity — and the culture that told him to shut up, take the next call, and never show emotion. Eventually it all came apart, and Bob got sober in 2025.

Now he's turned his pain into purpose with the Behind the Badge Project, using his voice to reach cops, firefighters, and first responders who are silently struggling — before self-destruction, before it's too late. Because the first responder suicide rate is staggering, and Bob believes the system has to make it okay to raise your hand and ask for help.

This is a powerful conversation about addiction behind the badge, the cost of carrying trauma in silence, and finding a new identity in service.

Sponsored by Caron Treatment Centers

Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

This one is different. Addiction is a family disease — it doesn't just happen to the addict, it happens to everyone who loves them. So in this episode, you'll hear both sides. First from Brandon, who nearly lost his life to it — and then from his wife Katelyn, who lived every moment of it beside him.

Brandon Cheek looked like he had it all — a successful business, a family, a life built with his college sweetheart. Underneath was crippling depression and anxiety that a Xanax prescription turned into years of destruction. He walks through the spiral: drinking from the moment he woke up, sipping vodka slowly just to keep it down, multiple trips to rehab, staying merely abstinent without ever doing the deeper work, losing the family business, and the suicidal ideation that convinced him there was no way out. Now two years sober and grounded in his faith, he's honest about all of it — including the damage he did to the people he loved most.

Then Katelyn joins. As she puts it, loving someone through addiction is not for the weak. A self-described fixer and problem-solver, she tried to control and rescue her way through it — hiding it from everyone, white-knuckling his recovery, getting her hopes up and crushed with every relapse — until she realized in therapy that she had become just as sick with codependency. She speaks with staggering honesty about learning to separate "sober Brandon" from "addict Brandon," about mentally rehearsing his funeral, about surviving the betrayals of active addiction, and about the moment unconditional love and real boundaries finally broke the cycle.

Together, they're a picture of what's possible on the other side — a marriage that didn't just survive, but rebuilt. If you love someone in addiction, or you're the one struggling, this conversation is for you.

Sponsored by Caron Treatment Centers

Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

One of the biggest fears I had before going to treatment — all five times — was the unknown. What is it actually like inside? Will I be comfortable? Will they get to the root of what's really going on? So in this vlog, I'm taking you behind the doors of a rehab to show you exactly what it's like.

I got a full tour of Caron's Keele Center in Delray Beach, Florida — one of their two inpatient facilities — and honestly, it feels more like a five-star hotel than what most people picture when they think "rehab." I'll show you the private rooms, the outdoor space and nature that's so important for healing, and the dining hall (the food genuinely blew me away). But the real difference is what happens on the inside: I sat down with Allie, a clinical supervisor who's also a Caron alum with 12 years sober, to talk about how they treat addiction as a brain disease — using brain mapping, neuro-restorative care, and diagnostic clarity to actually get to the root of the problem instead of guessing.

The thing that's always meant the most to me about Caron is that they treat the patient like family and the family like the patient. You'll hear that firsthand from a staff member who lost her sister to this disease, was cared for by Caron through that grief, and changed her entire career to come work here.

Whether you're thinking about taking that first step yourself, worried about a loved one, or just curious what treatment really looks like — this one's for you. Asking for help is scary. My hope is that seeing what's behind the doors makes it a little less so.

Sponsored by Caron Treatment Centers

Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

7-OH is one of the most talked-about drugs in the country right now — a concentrated kratom derivative sold legally at smoke shops and gas stations, often pitched as a natural remedy for pain. Isabella "Izzy" Saravi is a 26-year-old who got caught by it, and she's here to warn other young people what it actually does.

Izzy grew up in Knoxville, Tennessee, in a chaotic home — her parents divorced young, her father was, in her words, an abusive narcissist who wanted little to do with her, and she carried low self-worth into a string of unhealthy relationships. She found escape first in alcohol, then Molly and the festival scene, then ketamine — the drug that became her "I've arrived" moment and eventually pulled her into paranoia, psychosis, and daily use. Then a smoke shop employee handed her 7-OH, telling her it was a natural, over-the-counter fix for her pain. She had no idea she'd just been given what amounts to a legal opioid.

She's remarkably honest about what followed: the fast physical addiction, nodding off standing up, the hundreds of dollars a day, and the withdrawals almost no one warns you about — not just the flu-like sickness, but a psychological crash so severe she became suicidal and couldn't be left alone. This episode goes deep on the parts of the 7-OH crisis that aren't in the headlines yet.

Now sober alongside her boyfriend, Izzy is part of a growing wave of young people rejecting the party lifestyle — and putting a face to a danger sitting on smoke shop shelves across the country. If you or someone you love is using kratom or 7-OH because it's "legal," this is the episode to hear.

This Episode Is Sponsored By NOCD

Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Jared Watson is the frontman of the Dirty Heads — the voice behind songs millions of people have sung along to. He's also, in his own words, an alcoholic who spent more than a decade fighting to stay sober while the disease kept pulling him back.

Jared grew up in Southern California surf and skate culture, born in a beach apartment to "cool parents," raised in a world where everything — surfing, fishing, good times, bad times — came with a drink. He didn't know until much later how deeply alcoholism ran in his family, or how genetically loaded the deck was against him. He talks candidly about roughly ten years of back-and-forth sobriety: getting a year, getting a few months, telling himself he could use just one night, and watching that one night stretch into another lost stretch.

The bottom underneath the bottom came recently. What was meant to be a single night in Vegas spiraled into the worst year and a half of his life — three rehab stays in six months, full-blown withdrawals within thirty minutes of a drink, pacing himself through a three-week tour just to function, and begging for beers on the flight to treatment. He's raw about what it's like to go through that as a father, the shame that comes with it, and the "feel free" kratom products he calls dangerous and dark. Now a few months into his most honest sobriety yet, Jared has given up the "1%" he always held onto — and he's here sharing it while it's still fresh, because someone else needs to hear it.

Sponsored by Caron Treatment Centers

Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Tyler Bowers grew up in Pennsylvania with what looked, from the outside, like everything — a nice house with a pool, travel baseball, a mom who gave him whatever he needed. But underneath was a kid carrying guilt for his parents' divorce, a complicated relationship with a father who battled his own addiction, and an entitlement he now names as the core of his disease.

It started with weed, then a Xanax at a party that blacked him out — and instead of scaring him, it became the thing he wanted to chase. A baseball injury and rotator cuff surgery introduced him to opioids and the euphoria of morphine, and from there his addiction took off. Cocaine became the great love of his life; he describes doing eight balls alone and using around the clock through a chaotic college and fraternity chapter. There were DUIs, a totaled car he somehow parked in the driveway, a night he punched a police officer and ran, and thirteen separate trips to treatment.

What finally changed wasn't the consequences — it was surrender. Tyler is honest about how long he faked the steps, manipulated the system, and leaned on his mom to fix everything, until a counselor called him out, a breakup cracked him open, and he cried for the first time in his sobriety. Now sixteen months sober, he works in the treatment field, sponsors other men, and has rebuilt his relationships with his mom and sister from the ground up.

This is a story about entitlement, surrender, and the truth that addiction doesn't care how good your childhood looked.

Sponsored by Caron Treatment Centers

Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

7-OH is one of the most dangerous drugs almost nobody understands yet — a concentrated kratom derivative sold legally at gas stations and smoke shops, often marketed as a harmless supplement. Ian Crawford is here to tell you what it nearly cost him.

A surfer, lacrosse player, and Florida kid whose athletic future was derailed by concussions, Ian had moved through years of experimenting — weed, psychedelics, the festival scene, cocaine — while mostly holding it together. Then a friend mentioned kratom, and Ian picked some up at a smoke shop, figuring anything sold legally over the counter couldn't be that serious. He'd taken it only a handful of times.

Then came the night that changed everything. Ian and a close friend each took 7-OH, and over the course of the evening his friend stopped responding. Ian describes performing CPR, clearing his friend's airway, and calling for help as his own body was shutting down — until he collapsed in front of the arriving officers and flatlined. Both of them ended up in comas. By what Ian can only call a miracle, they both survived.

Now four months clean, Ian has turned that night into a mission. He's testified before his city council, shared his story with local news, and become one of the few young voices putting a face to the 7-OH crisis and pushing to get it off the shelves. This episode is essential viewing for anyone — especially young people — who's been told these products are safe because they're legal.

Sponsored by Caron Treatment Centers

Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices