For most of her life, Susan believed her struggle was about willpower. 

For more than 40 years, she battled her weight—trying every diet, every program, every plan. She could follow them for a short time, but inevitably she would fall off, often in big ways. Food wasn’t just food; it was comfort. It was numbing. It was how she coped. What she didn’t realize—what no one ever named for her—was that she wasn’t weak. She was dealing with addiction. 

“I didn’t understand until I got into the rooms of AA that food had been her addiction all along,” Susan says. “I wish someone had told me that sooner.” 

At 43, after years of research, Susan chose gastric bypass surgery. She felt informed and prepared—except for one crucial piece of information that was never discussed in her research or in pre-surgical consults: addiction transfer, the phenomenon where one addiction is replaced by another after weight loss surgery. 

Susan had no history of alcohol addiction before surgery. She drank socially. She never drank alone. No one—including Susan—would have said she had a problem. 

That changed quickly. 

“Within two years, I was in Alcoholics Anonymous,” she says. “It came on fast and furious.” 

Once food was no longer available as a coping mechanism, alcohol took its place. Drinking escalated rapidly. Blackouts became common. Her behavior changed. She drove drunk. She forgot to pick up her children from activities. Each morning, she woke up terrified, checking her driveway to see if her car was there—and how it was parked. 

“I became someone I didn’t recognize,” she says. 

Susan was in her mid-40s when alcohol took control of her life. Her children were in late elementary school and high school. Though she never hurt them physically, the emotional impact was lasting. 

“I hurt my kids (the greatest joys of my life) terribly,” she says plainly. “They grew up in chaos.” 

Professionally, Susan was thriving—until she wasn’t. She had built an impressive career, including nearly a decade as a senior vice president at the Ad Council, working on nationally recognized public service campaigns. But as her drinking progressed, cracks began to show. After an economic downturn and job loss, Susan believes her addiction limited her ability to pivot and protect what she had built. 

 
Susan first got sober in 2008. It took time. There were relapses. Eventually, she strung together three years of sobriety, rebuilt her relationship with her children, and experienced what recovery could be. 

She sees the bigger picture now. 

“If I hadn’t lost that job, I would have missed being a sober mom for my kids when they needed me most,” she reflects. “I never would have walked away from my career on my own. Those early years in sobriety were beautiful.” 

Then came the quiet warning signs: fewer meetings, growing resentments, distancing from her sponsor. 

At a basketball game at MSG , after three years sober, she ordered a glass of wine. 

That single decision began a decade-long descent marked by deeper bottoms, repeated job losses, isolation, and increasing shame. She worked in recovery spaces while secretly drinking. She believed she was hiding it—until a DUI made the truth undeniable. 

“I wasn’t ready yet,” she admits. “I had never really smashed the idea that I could drink normally again.” 

By 2022, Susan’s life had narrowed dramatically. She lived alone, drank heavily, and her apartment fell into complete disrepair. When she was diagnosed with breast cancer later that year, her children came to help—and saw the reality of how she was living. 

“That was one of the hardest moments of my life,” she says. 

In early 2024, after a terrifying relapse that nearly caused a house fire, Susan finally asked for help. Her last drink was January 15, 2024. One week later, she entered treatment at Ashley. 

“Ashley was what I needed all along. I finally surrendered.  I heard messages and wisdom that I’d never considered before.” To this day, Ashley’s campus is sacred ground for me. “Treatment stabilized  me—and thanks to Ashley’s encouragement, sober living changed my  life. 

“I never imagined I’d end up in sober living at 60,” she says. “But I also know without it, I wouldn’t be sober today.” 

Sober living offered structure, accountability, community, and something Susan had never fully embraced before: one day at a time. Random testing, shared responsibilities, and honest conversations helped her navigate cravings instead of hiding them. 

“When the urge hit, I said it out loud,” she explains. “That’s what saved me.” 

Over time, something deeper shifted. Susan let go of control—something she’d spent her entire life clinging to. 

“I don’t try to manage everything anymore,” she says. “And as promised, things work out the way they’re supposed to – Better!” 

Having recently celebrated two years sober, Susan has moved on to her next chapter. She’s stepped out of sober living—not because she had to, but because she was ready. Instead of rushing into a new life, she’s choosing stability, staying near her recovery community, and continuing to build a life rooted in connection and honesty. 

“I don’t have 50 years ahead of me,” she says. “But I have today. And today is really good.” 

Susan shares her story to raise awareness—especially for women—about addiction transfer after weight loss surgery, the importance of long-term support, and the power of accountability and community. 

“Recovery didn’t just save my life,” she says. “It gave me one worth living.”