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Home Stories Public Personal Stories

In the Heart of Phoenix,a Recovery Movement Rises

Part of: Public Personal Stories

One Game at a Time

On a Monday night in Scottsdale, Ariz., more than 20 people in recovery gather under park lights, music playing, volleyball in motion. No folding chairs. No fluorescent church basement. Just sweat, laughter and a woman calling out, “Circle up.”

This is recovery in Phoenix — active, secular and built around connection.

Phoenix is one of the fastest-growing cities in the U.S., projecting momentum with year-round sunshine, a vibrant arts scene, and professional sports.

Beneath that growth, however, the metro area ranks among the highest in the nation for substance use. In 2024, a significant share of its 1.6 million residents reported using illicit substances, placing the city near the top nationally across multiple substance use categories.

As Phoenix grows more secular and more transient, recovery here is evolving. For many, sobriety is no longer anchored solely in meetings. It is anchored in movement, community and belonging.

Michael, volunteer manager for the Phoenix chapter of The Phoenix — a nationwide sober active community — has been in recovery for more than 20 years. He began in a traditional 12-step program and found stability, which his siblings did not. As the oldest, he buried three siblings who lost their battles with addiction.

Through that loss and his long-term recovery, Michael found something essential in The Phoenix: accessible connection across every stage of sobriety.

“It’s pretty interesting what someone with three days needs versus someone with six years,” Michael said. “We have a simple solution to a common problem. Connection and community that creates a sense of belonging.”

Monday nights at Northsight Park illustrate that philosophy. Participants warm up, music plays, check-ins happen briefly before games begin. The tone is informal but intentional.

Volunteers like Tiffany help facilitate those gatherings. Becoming involved is straightforward: attend events, complete onboarding, start leading. What keeps people returning is less procedural.

“When you get out of an institution, you go back to your same friends, your same family or your same environment,” Lehman said. “You get to choose to show up and meet new people and socialize.”

Tiffany describes herself as a “straight-up alcoholic.” She found the recreational community — volleyball, pickleball, hiking, mocktail socials — offered the ability to be present in social spaces without alcohol, something she once believed impossible.

“It was a new experience to realize what I can do in recovery,” she said. “I can go to a sober lounge, have conversations and not feel like I need five shots just to be there.”

What groups like The Phoenix offer is not just distraction but substitution. The premise is straightforward: replace chemical stimulation with communal, physical engagement.

Isolation reinforces addictive behavior. Structured connection disrupts it.

Physical activity does not erase cravings overnight, and neurological recovery can take months or years. But consistent, socially reinforced movement, both literal and relational, can gradually retrain the brain’s reward system.

On a Saturday at the Encanto Sports Complex, Amber runs a pickleball group. She has been sober for 10 years. Her path began with alcohol at 14, and escalated despite early resistance and shifted permanently when she learned she was pregnant.

“I was two months sober when I got pregnant, so that fueled me even more,” she said.

She later completed a faith-based recovery program and gradually built a stable life. Today, she brings her 10-year-old son, Keith, to events whenever possible. While he has never seen her in active addiction, he knows her history in age-appropriate ways.

For her, recovery is not only abstinence. It is modeling a different social world — one where celebration does not require substances and where community replaces chaos.

On courts, trails and park lawns across the Salt River Valley, recovery looks less like resistance and more like belonging.


Travis is a journalist with a background in psychology and previous experience in the mental health and addiction medicine field. He currently covers local sports in the Sierra Nevada foothills in Sonora, California.