We’re in the home stretch. As I look at the calendar and realize we are already deep into October 2025, I find myself taking a long, slow exhale. If you’re anything like me, you started this year with a renewed sense of purpose, a list of goals, and a fire in your belly to demand better for our community.

And now? Now, many of us are just tired.

I want to take a moment to acknowledge the sheer weight of this year. In the addiction recovery and mental health advocacy space, 2025 has been relentless. We’ve seen incredible progress in some areas, with more people embracing diverse pathways to recovery and communities mobilizing like never before. But we’ve also faced devastating setbacks, fought against an onslaught of stigma, and continued to lose too many people we love to preventable overdoses and suicide.

This work—the work of saving lives—is soul-deep. It demands everything we have: our time, our energy, our empathy, and often, our own stability. We show up in the trenches, in the policy meetings, and in the streets because we know that silence equals death.

But as we head toward the end of the year, I want to talk about something just as vital as the fight itself: the fighter. I want to talk about you. And I want to talk about the non-negotiable necessity of self-care.

In advocacy circles, "self-care" can sometimes feel like a buzzword—a soft concept in a hard world. We might associate it with luxury or, worse, selfishness. We constantly grapple with the question: "How can I take a break when the crisis is ongoing?"

I’ve been there. I’ve driven myself to the point of burnout, believing that if I just worked harder, attended one more meeting, or answered one more late-night call, I could fix things faster. But I’ve learned a hard truth over the years: burnout doesn’t help anyone. An empty lantern casts no light.

We must fundamentally reframe how we view rest. Self-care is not a reward for hard work; it is a prerequisite for doing the work sustainably. It is, in fact, the most profound expression of self-love. For those of us in recovery, we fought intensely to reclaim our lives. We owe it to ourselves to actually live those lives, fully and joyfully. Taking time to rest, recharge, and refocus isn't selfish; it’s a radical act of preservation. It ensures that when we return to the front lines, we are bringing our whole selves—our creativity, our patience, and our resilience.

However, this commitment to our own well-being cannot exist in a vacuum. Our movement was not built on individualism; it was forged in the principles of mutual aid and mutual support. We survive through community. As we focus on caring for ourselves, we must simultaneously lean into community care.

This is what solidarity looks like in practice. It means checking in on our fellow advocates, not just about the next campaign, but about their lives. It means recognizing when a colleague is struggling and stepping in to say, “I’ve got this meeting. You take the afternoon off.” It means sharing resources, validating each other's exhaustion, and actively celebrating small victories together.

Equally important is the need to ground ourselves in the world outside of the advocacy bubble. We are more than this struggle. We are parents, children, friends, neighbors, and community members. As the holidays approach, give yourself permission to be fully present with your loved ones. Tend to your home. Engage with your local community. These connections are the anchors that keep us steady when the storms of advocacy rage.

It is this interconnectedness that makes our movement so powerful. And it’s why I want to take a moment to speak directly to every advocate, peer support specialist, clinician, family member, and organizer reading this: Thank you.

Thank you for your sleepless nights. Thank you for your vulnerability. Thank you for turning your pain into purpose. The progress we have made this year is because of your dedication.

I know how hard it’s been. I see the toll it takes. But I remain hopeful because I see the strength and compassion inherent in this community.

As 2025 winds down, please, be gentle with yourselves. Set boundaries. Say no. Turn off the notifications. The fight will still be here tomorrow, and next week, and in 2026. Our goal isn’t just to fight; it’s to win. And to do that, we need you healthy, whole, and energized.

Take care of yourselves and each other. It’s the most important work we can do right now.

In solidarity,

Ryan