“I was so heavy in my addiction, my phone had just got cut off. My family had been praying for me to get help. My kids would reach out, breaking down, and I wouldn’t respond. When I was in that dark place, I didn’t want to be around anyone. I didn’t want to connect.”
Davis Garner was living what many call the functional addict myth, working in hospitality, a father of four, maintaining the appearance of stability while his life quietly unraveled. Born on Chicago’s west side in 1976 and raised through the harsh realities of the 1980s, Davis eventually built a life in Texas with a career, marriage, and family. But beneath the surface, he was wrestling with deep wounds rooted in processing childhood trauma, healing father wounds, and confronting the painful legacy of breaking generational cycles.
Like many people struggling with addiction, Davis initially used substances as a form of self-medication, unaware that his journey toward life after addiction would require facing the very pain he had spent years avoiding. His path to healing would involve therapy for addiction recovery, rebuilding relationships with his children, and rediscovering the powerful connection between addiction and spirituality.
This is Davis Garner’s story of transformation through the faith-based recovery program at Men of Nehemiah. Through community service, brotherhood, and deep personal work, Davis began the difficult process of healing, rebuilding his life, and ensuring that the cycles of trauma and addiction would end with him, not continue into the next generation.
The Beginning: Generational Trauma in Chicago
“My mom was like the angel with the halo. My dad was the devil with the pitchfork.”
Davis’s father went to prison for about 12 years when Davis was young. “I remember my mom trying to hold on to him. He finally came out, but he still just couldn’t get it right and went back to the street. So she had to cut him loose.”
His mother remarried, bringing “really terrible stepfathers” into Davis’s life. “As a kid and a teenager, a lot of just misguidance as far as my understanding of what it is to grow into being a man.”
This is generational trauma at its foundation: the absence of healthy male role models, the instability of revolving father figures, and the confusion about what love and family actually mean.
“There were a lot of little issues here as far as neglect,” Davis shares. His mother had to travel for work to provide for them. Grandparents, aunts, and other relatives filled in as caretakers. “My mom had to travel and hit the road and provide. I give her, I take my hat off to her. She definitely provided the best she knew how, but that also came with levels of not realizing I had neglect issues, not only losing my father, but my mom always being gone.”
Childhood Trauma Healing Starts with Understanding the Pain
The discipline in Davis’s household was severe. “I came up in an era where parents would give teachers permission to give you swaps with the board. The discipline was definitely instilled.”
His sister was a straight-A student. Davis was not. “You got beatings when you brought home bad grades. That put a lot of fear in me. My sister got excited on report card days. And I was the guy like, ‘Give me a few days’ because I know what’s coming.”
His grandmother would cry while disciplining him. “She’d break down crying and tell me, ‘It hurts me to have to hurt you, but I need you to understand, you got to have limitations in this world. Some people want to come at you and hurt you, they will really kill you.’”
The lessons were important. The delivery mechanism? That’s part of the childhood trauma requiring healing.
Preacher’s Kid Syndrome: Running from the Calling
“I’m a PK,” Davis explains. “Preacher’s kid. I’ve always known God. I wasn’t raised to do the things I was doing.”
Preacher’s kid syndrome is real: the unique pressure of growing up in a religious household, the expectations, the scrutiny, and often, the rebellion against a calling that feels too heavy.
“I was always running from that calling in my life to be highly connected or be of service to God or to the kingdom itself.”
I ask Davis if being a preacher’s kid made his struggle harder. “It was in so many ways,” he confirms. “I felt like with me having a calling, all my elders telling me there’s a calling in your life to do some things for the kingdom, the devil himself, the evil that’s out there looks for those who could potentially save a life or be a light in someone else’s life.”
“I was stuck in a dark place. That darkness was definitely coming at me in all different directions. And my flesh was so open to it. Not realizing by me not dying to my flesh, I’m throwing myself right back out there in the inferno. The people, places, and things I’m steadily going around are all the bad and negative, toxic things that are not good for me. And I’m aware of this, but I can’t seem to control it and say no to it.”
This is Davis opening up about the control his addiction had over his life.
Addiction as Delay: The Functional Addict Myth
Davis’s outlets as a young man were healthy: sports. “I played football, track and field, did a lot of off-season weightlifting, and cross-country training.”
But when those physical outlets faded, he needed something else.
“My first time ever smoking marijuana was like, ‘Oh, it felt stress-relieving.’ But at the same time, I felt delayed. Not realizing how time just kind of passed me by.”
“I was delayed and stuck in certain places in life. I figured this would relax me and relieve me of stress. But look at all the things I’m not accomplishing now.”
Davis became a people pleaser, numbing out emotions with substances. “I found myself doing more than just drinking and smoking weed. It felt like I could control those things. ‘I’ll just do it on the weekend.’”
This is the functional addict myth: believing you’re in control because you’re still working, still showing up. Davis worked in hospitality, got married, and had four children. But underneath, he was spiraling.
Self-Medication and Rock Bottom
“I found myself having a broken marriage, going through the divorce, and finding myself having to self-medicate. Figuring that was the solution to a lot of my problems.”
His second DWI came with serious consequences. “They were looking to give me three years in state jail. They worked it out because I had no prior. ‘We’ll get you probation.’ And the fact that I couldn’t stay clean on that, I did 190 days in the county and came out and went right back to it. That was the telltale sign right there.”
His kids were trying to reach out. His family was praying. But Davis was isolating.
“When I would be in that dark place, I don’t want to be around no one. I don’t want to connect. That’s the scary part about it, how you will isolate, become self-centered and selfish and so consumed in your own thinking. My heart is like, ‘I don’t want to bring nobody around this. Let me just suffer.’ Poor me, self-pity.”
The Phone Call That Changed Everything: Men of Nehemiah
Davis’s mother kept asking: “Have you called that place?”
He finally called Men of Nehemiah, and when the intake leader called back, he asked, “You think you can be here tomorrow morning at nine o’clock for an assessment?”
I gotta go to work tomorrow morning,” Davis replied
Lt. Jason’s response: “Sounds like you’re not ready then. I have a bed available. It could possibly be yours, but I can’t hold it for you. If you can come in tomorrow and meet our requirements, that bed can be yours. You got to commit to nine months, you have to be willing to surrender. But if what you’ve been doing is working for you, more power to you. If you want help, it’s here. Let me know in the next 15 minutes. I got people on the list who want that one bed.”
Davis took a leap of faith despite his fear, realizing that this was his opportunity that might not come again.
The Breakthrough: Service Work for Recovery
Men of Nehemiah’s faith-based recovery program combines structure, discipline, brotherhood, and something Davis didn’t expect would be so powerful: service work for recovery.
“We’re in Phase One, the first 90 days, we had to do outside community service. We would go around cleaning up neighborhoods, cleaning up trash, picking up debris, picking up limbs and branches. Just out there, me and about 20 other guys. We’d go out and work for about four hours.”
During one service project in South Dallas, something broke open.
“We’re circling up and we’re in this huddle and one of the lieutenants is praying over us. And during that prayer, I just started weeping. And out of nowhere, I didn’t know it was going to happen, but I just started crying and crying and crying.”
“All this pain that was built up on the inside was able to be released. Even when it was over, I was still crying. My heart was so heavy. But everybody’s checking on me: ‘You alright? You okay?’ Those were tears of joy. I had gotten some freedom.”
“That was the first time feeling free. That was the first time feeling the breakthrough of my life. And that was the first time realizing, God, my higher power, you’re as real as I’ve always been taught.”
Healing Through Community Service
Service work became Davis’s path to healing.
“We’d go feed people, set up a table and feed people and give them clothes. I’m like, ‘Wow, there’s so many people out here who need help.’ Where my problems were becoming more minor. All my selfishness started shriveling down. But giving back was taking away a lot of my pain.”
Then they put Davis in the garden. “I haven’t been in a garden since I was 12, 13 down in Mississippi when my mama would send us to Clarksville. Those were happy memories.”
“I like to put my hands in the dirt and plant seeds and watch it grow. It gave me a whole other perspective. I’m in the hardcore streets of the concrete jungle, to being in a garden where things are growing and you’re planting seeds and you’re clipping away all the bad roots so it doesn’t tarnish the rest of the bed. I was like, ‘Oh my God. Only God can orchestrate these hard-core lessons.’”
Service expanded: Cornerstone, Austin Street Shelter, helping move beds for over 500 people. “That was so gratifying. It allowed me to get out of myself. Actually being of service. Get out of yourself and go help someone else.”
Breaking the Cycle of Abuse
One of Davis’s greatest victories is breaking the cycle of abuse for his four children.
“None of them are dealing with any kind of drugs or alcohol,” I observe. “That’s a gift.”
“It is, it is,” Davis agrees.
He’s working on restoring family relationships. “I have my son in counseling now. I’m doing sessions with my siblings, really mending a lot of lost time. It feels good to reconnect. It’s amazing what the healing process with therapy does.”
Restoring Family Relationships: The Reality
Davis’s expectations about family restoration had to adjust.
“Just because you get clean, you expect everybody to throw you a homecoming party. I kind of felt that way. But I’ve come to find that even though I’ve gotten clean, their lives never stopped. Reconnecting to my kids, I’m glad I have a relationship with all my kids, but it’s not what I was expecting.”
Recently, Davis sent his kids money to go bowling. “I try to invite myself. ‘You think I can pull up?’ They’re like, ‘No, dad. No parents. It’s for us young people.’”
Lieutenant Colonel, the founder of Men of Nehemiah, had warned him: “Just because you got clean, don’t mean they’re gonna be all happy-go-lucky. You gotta think about all the times you neglected them.”
But there’s progress. Recently, Davis took his kids to the mall and P.F. Chang’s. “I’m so thankful that I’m capable and able to do that for my kids. A couple years back, I wouldn’t have been.”
Living Clean: Service Continues
Davis now works in hospitality, the same industry where he worked before. But he’s transparent about his recovery.
“I always acknowledge where I’m at with the workplace. Everyone is fully aware that I’m in sober living, I don’t drink, I don’t use.”
A coworker recently came to him: “She’s like, ‘You really inspire me. Thank you. Because right now I’m going through a bad breakup and I’m still drinking. I’m going to bars. And I’m so glad to know that there is someone out here who can get clean.’”
“That was so reassuring and encouraging to stay the course that I’m on. Because that self-doubt comes up at times, those thoughts come through the mind. When that does, that’s me refilling my cup of faith and belief in my higher power. I turn it over to God.”
Davis bought a scooter. “I’m able to scoot along all throughout South Dallas and downtown Dallas. I’m literally able to not just drive right past people, but I can slow down and stop and put time in. Stopping people on the side of the road, praying for them, blessing them with ‘Have a blessed day. Hey, don’t forget to smile.’ Little things, as far as trying to pray for others when I see them out there, that’s part of service.”
“The more I do that, the more it helps me heal.”
The Inventory: Clearing Out What No Longer Serves
Davis offered a brilliant analogy describing the changes we must make in our lives as we heal and overcome addiction.
“Before you go grocery shopping, you go into your pantry and take an inventory. You open your refrigerator, take an inventory. You look for all the old stuff that’s expired, sitting there taking up space. You clear that stuff out to make room for something new.”
“I still use that analogy to this day. Does it serve a purpose? Is it feeding my soul, my spirit? If not, get rid of it and cut loose all that dead weight.”
The Work Continues
“One thing I’ve taken from NA and AA meetings is that recovery is something I’m gonna have to work for the rest of my life until they put dirt on top of me,” Davis shares. “I thank God that no matter how bad and how hard life shows up for me, I thank God I don’t have to turn to using.”
“No matter how bad or how hard it shows up, no matter how bad or how hard life shows up, it’s not as bad as my last day using. It never gets that bad. And I’m thankful for that. Never.”
Davis is in ongoing therapy. “I think therapy is wonderful. I think everyone should do therapy.” His therapist, Lieutenant Kelly at Men of Nehemiah, told him something powerful: “As smart and educated as she is about psychology and dealing with people, she’s like, ‘Even I still go to a therapist.’ For a therapist to tell me ‘My therapist has a therapist’, I’m like, ‘Yeah, you’re really good.’”
“It’s a good outlet just to process life and how it shows up. I realize more now that if you don’t address these things, over time they will come out one way or another.”
Your Journey: Breaking Your Own Cycle
Davis Garner’s story demonstrates that addiction recovery involves addressing generational trauma at its roots, healing childhood wounds, understanding addiction as a delay, breaking the functional addict myth, embracing service work for recovery, pursuing a spiritual healing journey, restoring family relationships, and breaking the cycle of abuse.
As Davis says, “Recovery is something I’m gonna have to work for the rest of my life.”
The difference? He’s no longer alone, no longer numbing emotions with substances. He’s facing life on life’s terms, serving others, and breaking generational patterns.
Davis Garner is living proof that overcoming substance abuse through healing, including community service, faith-based recovery, and breaking the cycle of abuse is possible, one day, one act of service, one restored relationship at a time.
Come on, everyone, let’s heal.