When I made the decision to seek treatment, one of the biggest questions I faced was what would happen to my dog. I was blessed to have a friend who cared for him while I spent 60 days in residential treatment, but that was only the beginning of the challenge.

Immediately after completing treatment, I flew from Florida to Asheville under the impression that I had been accepted into a sober-living home that allowed dogs. The program had known for a month that I was coming, had coordinated with my case manager throughout my residential stay, and knew my arrival date. But when I landed and reached out, I was told they had accepted someone else with a dog the day before. Because the home allowed only one dog at a time, they could no longer take me.

Suddenly, I was in a new city in very early recovery with my dog, my luggage, and nowhere appropriate to live.

The only place I could afford that would accept us was the Mountaineer Inn on Tunnel Road. It was not a safe or stable environment for someone just beginning recovery, but it kept us from being on the street. I was fortunate that I had sold my car before entering treatment and could use that money to pay for the hotel. Without it, I essentially would have been homeless.

Even basic recovery supports became difficult to access. Dogs were not allowed on the bus, which made getting to meetings or work a challenge. The hotel was within walking distance of my intensive outpatient program, and thankfully the program sometimes allowed me to bring my dog. Money was so limited that there were times when it came down to feeding him or feeding myself—and I usually chose him. I was blessed to have the support that I did, and for the kind people along the way who showed us grace.

My dog was my greatest source of comfort, motivation, and purpose during early recovery. Caring for him gave me a reason to keep moving forward, but having him also created barriers to housing, transportation, treatment, and other essential services. I learned firsthand that the bond that helps someone survive can also make it harder to access the care that could save their life when no safe pet-care option exists. In my work today as a Substance Abuse Counselor, this is one of the primary barriers I hear from clients that would otherwise love to be in detox or inpatient treatment getting better.

Today, my dog is happy, healthy, thoroughly spoiled, and still by my side. I am four years clean and sober. Sidekick Sanctuary grew from our story and from a belief I carry deeply: no one should be forced to choose between recovery and the companion who gives them a reason to recover.

-Justine Decker, Founder