For many of us, to become sober today is to enter into a conversation that began with two people—one sober and one not—at a small kitchen table in Brooklyn in late November 1934.

Before the majority of the language we use today existed, Bill Wilson and Ebby Thacher sat at that small kitchen table, while snow fell lightly from a concrete-colored sky outside, and had the first of what would become decades of disparate conversations all revolving around the concept of achieving and maintaining sobriety.

Bill would go on to found Alcoholics Anonymous and create the now-familiar Twelve Steps.

Ebby would spend the next thirty years slipping in and out of sobriety, eventually dying a drunk and virtual ward of charity.

But the conversation they had that day, and the words they used — admission, powerlessness, spirituality have informed the ways and means of countless recoveries since, mine included.

I had my final drink and last line of cocaine on January 28th, 2005, right before I shipped off to a rehab in Center City, Minnesota.

In the years since (I wrote a book about the years before), everything in my life has changed.

Sobriety was hardest in the early years, when I was trying to find a way forward, and then less hard as time went on—and I stayed sober, I think, through a mix of luck, commitment, hard work, strategy, stubbornness, and one impeccably timed interruption.

And interruption, I’ve learned, is the most powerful force in recovery.

The Power of Interruption

The central idea of inpatient rehab, like the one I went to in Minnesota, is to interrupt an addict’s behavior long enough for some of what they’re learning while they’re in rehab to start to sink in.

The fog of substances needs to lift before an addict or alcoholic can begin to see and process their life clearly, and the only way to get that fog to lift is to lengthen the amount of time that has passed since their last use. It’s only then that clear thinking can begin.

But interruptions don’t always have to be long.

Quick, unexpected interruptions can work, too.

I know firsthand how they can change a person’s behavior. I also know firsthand that the right interruption, at just the right moment in time, can mean the difference between recovery and relapse.

This is the primary—and personal—reason I founded RecoveryAI, an AI-powered platform designed to revolutionize addiction recovery by integrating cutting-edge science, technology, and behavioral insights.

At the heart of our platform is Ebby™, an AI-driven companion named in honor of Ebby Thacher, co-founder of Alcoholics Anonymous and driving force behind the Twelve Steps.

Ebby™ leverages cutting-edge AI to provide real-time, personalized support, adapting to each user’s unique recovery journey, and providing just the right type of interruption at just the right time.

From AI-enhanced therapy sessions that learn and evolve, to predictive analytics that anticipate and intervene before potential relapses, Ebby™ represents a paradigm shift in how support is delivered in addiction recovery.

We’re integrating technology with traditional recovery approaches to offer a more comprehensive, effective solution that is accessible to anyone with a smartphone, anytime, day or night.

Harnessing the Power of “Interruption”

If there’s one thing we know smartphones are exceedingly good at, it’s interruption—and we’re harnessing that power for good.

To illustrate just how life-changing the right interruption at just the right time can be, here is an excerpt from my upcoming book, And You Will Call It Fate (Nebraska, 2026), that explains where the idea for RecoveryAI came from.

For my first month home from Minnesota, I balked hard at the idea of attending ninety A.A. meetings in ninety days, as they had suggested I do in rehab. A.A. seemed repetitive and boring and cultish, and I felt smarter and better than the people I saw in those rooms. So I didn’t attend meetings and instead convinced myself I could live a life similar to the one I’d lived before rehab, only without the vodka and without the substances. And then one night perhaps a month after I’d returned home from rehab, on a night that dripped with nostalgia for my old life, when I felt that familiar desire to be outside myself, to not feel myself, to disappear into the comforting oblivion of substances, I went with Richie to a bar.

It was a weeknight and I should have been in bed, and I think I knew that too, at least on some level, but it felt so good to rebel, to nurture that destructive part of myself, to know the right thing and do the wrong thing anyway. I wanted to be out, to be part of the city’s ether, to feel the Epsom-soak of the nighttime air, to feel the skin-prick of desire from not knowing where the night would lead. I stood in a bar with Richie in the early hours of the morning, sober, as the lights flashed and the music played, trying to have fun, trying to lose myself in the music the way I used to, staring at the shimmering bottles on the shelf. All around me people were drinking and laughing and dancing, and for a moment I felt something that I can only describe as danger. I suddenly wondered why I was there and what I was doing, and just as I began to think that maybe, just maybe, this bar on this night wasn’t where I wanted to be, Richie came up to me.

“What’s up,” he said.

“Do you want to get some pills?” I said, not knowing where the words were coming from, as if someone else was saying them.

Richie looked at me, puzzled. “You sure you want to do that?” he said.

“Why not?” I said, “It’s not like I was addicted to ecstasy.”

And then before I knew it I was dialing my dealer’s number on my phone, and the line was ringing, and the music was playing, and the people were dancing, and Richie was looking at me in a way that seemed both concerned and excited. My heart was pounding and then a voice was talking on the other end of the phone, and it was my dealer’s voice, and I was about to ask about the pills, about a whole handful of pills, and then suddenly I realized it was my dealer’s voicemail, and it felt in that moment like my heart might explode. I looked around once more at the people, and the lights, and the look on Richie’s face, and I knew I couldn’t be in that place, that bar, for one more second, because I knew for certain in that moment something I hadn’t known until right then — I wanted to be sober. I didn’t want to drink and I didn’t want to take pills and I didn’t want to lose the small amount of sober time I’d amassed, because it suddenly mattered in a way I could physically feel. In the frame of time that existed between the flash of light and the pulse of music, I felt everything I’d worked through in rehab, all the tears I’d cried and all the conversations I’d had with men who were just like me, all the promises I’d made to stay sober, to work The Program, to not do what I was doing in that exact moment. I felt the weight of all the late nights I’d laid in a hard mattress on a twin-sized bed in Minnesota, staring at an unfamiliar ceiling, vowing to myself over and over that I was going to be a different person, a responsible one, a better one. In that small stitch of time I was given a sort of grace — and I understood. I snapped the phone shut and put the phone in my pocket and I told Richie I have to go, I have to go right fucking now. He nodded his head and said okay and then we moved towards the door. I felt the air on my face and the night glistened on my skin, and the city lights danced from the buildings and my heart beat loudly in my chest and my breath quickened and then, finally, we were in the back of a cab and headed to our apartment. I knew in that moment that I had been saved from myself, by a power greater than myself, by a force I couldn’t name but felt, and I was grateful I’d made it out of that bar, and that I’d somehow held onto the thing that mattered most: sobriety, the gift I’d been given, which I had just discovered I wanted.

My dealer’s voicemail was the interruption—and maybe it was luck, or providence, or divine intervention, but it was that moment, that quick interruption in what was happening, that changed everything for me.

I often think about what my life would have been like had that not happened.

I know it would have been different in every possible way.

I also often think that we’ve evolved to a point where technology, especially right now, with the massive proliferation of AI, can interrupt us in just the same way my dealer’s voicemail did.

Or, even better, before that.

How RecoveryAI Uses the Power of Interruption

Imagine if, on that night at the bar, I had Ebby™ in my pocket, the AI-powered sponsor that RecoveryAI offers. This is how Ebby™ would have responded.

Predictive Relapse Prevention: The moment I got out of the cab at the bar, Ebby™ would have known my location based on geolocation data.

Recognizing that I was in a high-risk area filled with bars and restaurants, and considering the late hour, Ebby™ would have proactively sent me a notification.

Ebby™: “Hey Tim, it looks like you’re in a high-risk area. How are you feeling? Do you need support?”

This interruption could have been enough to make me reconsider my choices, even before stepping into the bar.

But let’s say I ignored it and walked in anyway.

Immediate Crisis Support: When I pulled out my phone to dial my dealer, Ebby™ would detect the action and intervene.

Ebby™: “Tim, I see you’re trying to call someone. Are you sure this is what you want to do? It might help to step outside for a moment and talk. Or even leave altogether. Do you want me to call you an Uber?”

If I had agreed, Ebby™ could have called an Uber for me, helping me leave the risky environment.

Real-Time Guidance: But even if I had stayed inside the bar, Ebby™ would continue to support me.

Ebby™: “If stepping outside isn’t an option, try finding a quieter corner where we can talk. Remember why you chose sobriety. Let’s focus on that.”

Beyond just the immediate intervention, though, RecoveryAI’s predictive relapse prevention would have been analyzing my patterns.

It would notice the deviations in my behavior like skipping AA meetings or visiting locations replete with bars and could have sent earlier warnings or reminders to stick to safer routines.

Ebby: “Tim, I’ve noticed some changes in your routine. How about scheduling a virtual meeting tonight? It might help to talk things through.”

RecoveryAI Uses Prediction to Mitigate Risk

RecoveryAI, with Ebby™ as the always-available sponsor, proactive crisis manager, and predictive relapse prevention tool, could have been the lifeline I needed that night.

It’s designed to be there for those critical moments, offering support, guidance, and intervention to keep individuals on the path to recovery.

Ebby™ doesn’t just react; it anticipates and acts, providing a comprehensive safety net for anyone navigating the challenging waters of sobriety.

RecoveryAI Offers a New Path to Long-Term Sobriety

RecoveryAI isn’t just an app; it’s a lifeline for millions who are currently underserved by the existing paradigms in addiction treatment. It’s also affordable in ways that traditional in-patient rehabilitation isn’t.

Our platform promises to democratize access to essential addiction recovery services, making it possible for anyone with a smartphone to take a significant step towards a healthier, more stable, and sober life.

Our mission—my mission—is to increase long-term sobriety rates by decreasing reoccurrence rates. Because getting sober, and by staying sober, I’ve had a life I could have never imagined.

And I want everyone possible to experience a life unburdened by substance use.

What It Means to Recover

The word “recover,” from the Anglo-French rekeverer, meaning “to regain consciousness,” feels like both the right word and wrong word to describe what I’ve encountered in the last twenty years of sobriety.

In one respect, to recover — or, to be “in recovery,” as is often said — has allowed me to become conscious, to inhabit an awareness toward my life and feelings and motivations that was once blurred and shaded by substances.

On the other hand, I haven’t “regained” or recovered anything at all; for nothing I have now is anything I possessed before I entered into sobriety.

And that’s what I want everyone to feel, to know, to understand on a fundamental level.

I want as many people as humanly possible who are struggling to stay sober to experience what I’ve experienced in long-term sobriety.

RecoveryAI can’t do the hard work of sobriety for you, but it can help support you in ways that simply haven’t been possible until now.

Will you give it a try?