September is Recovery Month, and that simple fact should change how we talk about addiction. Recovery Month isn’t a parade for willpower or a pity party; it’s a public reminder that substance use disorders are illnesses — treatable, manageable and far more common than we admit.

When I explain why addiction is a disease and not a choice, I often use a comparison that makes some people squirm: Type 2 diabetes. We accept, without much controversy, that Type 2 diabetes is a medical condition even though it is strongly linked to years of poor nutritional habits, limited physical activity and social conditions that make healthy choices harder.

Some could argue, then, that diabetes is “a choice.” But we don’t treat it as a moral failing. We diagnose it. We treat it with lifestyle support, medication and ongoing care. We recognize that biology and environment intertwine. We don’t shame people out of insulin.

Addiction deserves the same clarity.

Yes, initial substance use involves choices. But the transition from use to disorder is not a simply a character failure. It involves genetic vulnerability, stress, trauma, mental health conditions and social determinants — availability, advertising, despair — shaping the brain’s reward, learning and impulse-control systems.

That’s not an excuse; it’s an explanation. Once those circuits change, “just stop” is about as helpful as telling someone with diabetes to “just produce more insulin.”

We’ve misunderstood relapse in the same way. For chronic illnesses, relapse isn’t proof that treatment failed or that the person didn’t want it enough; it’s a signal to adjust the plan. Diabetics tweak dosages. People with asthma update inhalers. People in recovery might change medications, intensify counseling or seek more support.

The measure of success isn’t perfection — it’s continued engagement, improved health, and a life that gets bigger than the illness.

Words matter, too. Calling someone an “addict” reduces a whole person to a single struggle. Try “person with a substance use disorder.” It sounds small, but language can be the difference between someone reaching out and staying silent. Stigma is not a side effect; it can be a lethal barrier to care.

Recovery Month offers another necessary truth: recovery is common. People do get better. Medications for opioid use disorder cut overdose risk dramatically. Harm-reduction tools like naloxone and syringe programs keep people alive long enough to choose treatment — and they do not increase use; they increase survival. Mutual-help groups, therapy, supportive housing and community — these are as vital as any prescription.

Addiction is not a referendum on worth. It’s a health condition that thrives in the spaces where pain, isolation and opportunity gaps live.

Recovery Month calls us to fill those spaces with connection, competence and compassion. We already know how to do this. We do it every day with diabetes. It’s time we extend the same steadiness — the same science and the same grace — to people with substance use disorders. That’s not just good policy. It’s decent, and it saves lives.

It’s at this point I tell you that I am in long-term recovery from a substance use disorder. As of July 5, my recovery has lasted 30 successful years. Recovery is possible, and it’s so worth pursuing. But it works best with support.