William Bruce on the Path

When you hear William Bruce in a recovery meeting, what stands out is how candid he is about the challenges he’s facing in real time. There’s great warmth as well as some spicy language, and a readiness to put it all out there that some long-timers leave behind.

You might then be surprised to see a tattoo on his forearm signifying recovery, with the number “40” at the center.

How does someone who’s still so young have 40 years in recovery? “I got really lucky, really blessed,” William said. “People were put in my path at a time when I was able to hear them, to question what I was doing and be open to doing something else. You can call it Higher Power or whatever; certainly that’s a part of it.”

Like many of his friends, William began using substances at an early age; he was just ten. Unlike some of his friends, he describes his home as a place where he felt safe and loved. He had a big circle of friends. Despite this, he said, “Reality was painful. I sought distraction from reality from as early as I can remember and in so many ways: drinking, drugs, motorcycles, skydiving … moving fast. I was addicted to risk and to diverting from reality.”

On one of those days, William was riding motorcycles with friends. They’d been out near Sebago, going fast. As they came back into town, he saw his parents at an ice cream stand. He honked and waved just as the friend in front of him slowed down. William crashed, breaking his collarbone. He remembers telling his dad to get the car just as he blacked out from the shock. It was his mother’s birthday.

In the emergency room and thereafter, William was prescribed opiates. “I was instantly addicted,” he said.

In addition to obtaining medication by prescription, William worked as a pharmacy technician at a local hospital where he was well-liked and trusted. His addiction accelerated, as did his lying.

One day, a woman at work approached him. “You don’t look too good,” she said. “What’s going on?”

William recalls, “I said, ‘I’m not feeling that great…’ and then I told her about my use, and told her I was really worried. I trusted her. Again, it felt higher powered. This woman happened to be four or five years in recovery. I didn’t really know her, but for some reason I felt safe telling her.”

Shortly thereafter, William underwent an intervention initiated by his girlfriend, Jane, and the director of the recovery program at Mercy Hospital, Dr. Stanley Evans. William thought he had other more pressing things he needed to do and began listing those things. “Dr. Evans told me, ‘If you don’t do this now, you’re not gonna have any of that. You’ll lose it all.’ And even at that age, I believed him.” William was 23.

In rehab, what he remembers best was the realization that, in addition to his addiction to opiates, he was also an alcoholic, and he felt the power of the recovery community. “I started writing things down, as they tell you to do, and that’s when I realized: I’m not just a drug addict, I’m an alcoholic. I’d never considered how much I was drinking. At that age, and the way alcohol is so woven into our culture, you can see why I would have just dismissed that, yet somehow that got through.”

Regarding community, William felt and still expresses such appreciation. “The camaraderie and friendship in the meetings, I thought, ‘Wow, we’re all helping each other,’” he says. “There were many young people who had significant sobriety at that time in Portland. I was able to start a new life. The people made that attractive, made it possible.”

William had one brief lapse in early May of 1986. He still has the two white chips, the one he picked up in March and the one he picked up in May. The white chip symbolizes clarity and surrender.

Today, William is married to Helen, whom he speaks of with great love for her and the life they share. They have two children, now in their twenties, whom he also speaks of with pride. “I thought I was too immature to have kids but Helen said, ‘We’re having kids.’” The couple adopted first, thinking they couldn’t conceive. Later their second child was born.

He describes the “high” that he gets in so many ways now: being of service in the community, being open about his challenges, and traveling to places near and far. Last year, he decided to summit Mt. Katahdin, the highest peak in Maine, for the first time. He knew not to do that alone, too, and reached out to an experienced hiker who could safely get them there. That moment at the summit is captured in the photo on the cover of this magazine.

Reflecting on his life in recovery, William describes a scene in the show “Deadwood” to illustrate the power of connection: A man has a brain tumor and is confused, not knowing who to trust. He approaches two men, saying he doesn’t know who his friends are and doesn’t know his way home. The men grasp the severity of his confusion. They reassure him, set down what they are doing, and offer to walk him home. The man’s face turns from confusion to relief as the two men join with him. “This,” William says with great feeling, “is what we’re doing… walking each other home.”

Joanna Free is the author of four books, including the Amazon bestseller BUTTKICKERS: Twenty Ways to Leave Tobacco. She joined Team Journey in 2022, the same year we featured her smobriety story on our cover.