Sunlight Recovery Residence has been a model for what the perfect sober living home looks like. They’ve received no complaints or violations. And yet, their very presence in the community is causing a rift—not because of what they’ve done, but because of who they serve.
Recently, local residents have taken umbrage to the service’s continued operation. They have started petitioning for its permits to be revoked by the local government. Why? Fear. Misunderstanding. Stigma.
This isn’t an issue of public safety. This is an issue of prejudice disguised as civic concern. Unfortunately, it’s not a one-off incident. It’s part of a broader pattern of discrimination against people in recovery. People who, just like anyone else, deserve safe, stable housing.
Also known as sober living homes, recovery residences are supportive housing environments for people rebuilding their lives after addiction. They provide structure, community, and accountability during the critical period of healing in early sobriety.
These homes are not treatment centers. They are not flop houses. They are bridges. Places where individuals can transition back into daily life with the necessary tools and support needed to maintain sobriety.
According to the National Alliance for Recovery Residences, longitudinal studies have shown recovery houses, on average, increase chances of long-term sobriety, reduce potential for relapse, and strengthen overall mental well-being for residents.
In a country facing unprecedented rates of addiction, overdose, and mental health crises, recovery residences aren’t optional. They are essential.
Camouflaged as concerns about safety, property values, and the integrity of the neighborhood, opposition to recovery residences are presupposed on the idea that people in recovery all look and act the same. There is an undercurrent of prejudice without any real factual evidence to back it up. In fact, the numbers show the opposite.
Numerous studies have shown that recovery homes do not increase crime, disrupt the community, or negatively impact home values. To the contrary, most homes are quiet, well-maintained, and supervised. What they do disrupt is the illusion that addiction is someone else’s problem.
That’s not concern. That’s stigma.
Under the federal Fair Housing Act, people in recovery from substance use disorders are protected from housing discrimination. This includes individuals living in recovery residences. Attempts to revoke permits or block access based solely on who the residents are—not what they’ve done—can constitute a violation of civil rights.
This isn’t just a zoning issue. It’s a justice issue.
Forcing recovery homes to close is a net negative for the entire community. People lose their stability. They lose their support systems. They lose the hard-earned momentum that sobriety demands. The risk of relapse skyrockets. Access to employment, education, and medical care is interrupted. Connections to peer communities are severed.
These are not hypothetical consequences. They are real. And they are happening right now across the country in towns just like ours.
Recovery is a personal journey, but it’s also a public good. When people get sober, everyone wins. Crime goes down. Families reunite. The workforce strengthens and communities heal.
But none of that can happen without safe places to live. Sunlight Recovery Residences, and others like it, represent hope in action. They deserve to exist without being pushed to the margins by those who are misinformed.
We don’t get to say we care about addiction and mental health and then turn our backs when recovery moves in next door.
Because recovery belongs here. It belongs everywhere.