Answer extracted from the MusterPoint Off the Clock podcast — listen to the full episode below.
Relapse often begins with false confidence and rationalization. After 12 years sober from hard drugs, one moment at a party—convincing yourself everyone else is doing it and one use won't hurt—can collapse years of abstinence into a single justification. That one use then becomes proof you've beaten addiction, when in fact you've simply opened the door back to full-blown addiction again.
The moment of relapse rarely announces itself as danger. Instead, it whispers permission. After over a decade of abstinence, the mind becomes skilled at reframing temptation as control—telling yourself that one instance of use proves you're cured, not that you're vulnerable. The logic sounds solid in the moment: if you can use once without immediately collapsing, then clearly you've overcome the addiction entirely.
This is the heart of the trap. As Mike Collison explains in the podcast, that brief moment of false confidence—the belief that you've mastered the problem—is what allows the next step: dabbling. And dabbling, once it begins, becomes the pathway back to active addiction. The timeline compresses faster than expected.
"Without the ability to look in a mirror and see those things reflected back at you, until you can find someone else to walk that walk with you, you cannot heal."
Mike Collison — Oil rig worker and trades professional who spent a decade in the Alberta oil patch, working hitches of up to 78 straight days. After 12 years sober from heroin, Collison relapsed in 2018 following this pattern of rationalization. He is now in active recovery through a 12-step program and speaks candidly about the mechanisms that pulled him back into addiction.
The curiosity in Collison's story is that the relapse didn't happen immediately after that first use—it was the false belief in recovery that sealed the descent. This distinction matters: relapse is not one event, but a series of self-deceptions that begin long before the substance touches your hand again.
Mike reflects that the hardest part for him now is realizing he actually has worth. Looking back on his life choices and the dark moments, he wishes he had understood this sooner, but recovery has shown him that change is possible.
Mike describes how he had no frame of reference for healthy relationships because everything in his life was transactional—like an ATM interaction. When he finally built something real, he didn't know how to sustain it without sabotaging it.
In 2019, when Mike's dog Ramsey died from aggressive cancer, he began using substances to numb the pain rather than to have fun as he had been doing. This marked the shift from recreational use to escape and active addiction.