Addiction recovery is often described as a lifeline, a chance to reclaim dignity, safety, and a future. But what happens when the very systems meant to protect and heal become sources of exploitation? A recent podcast series, The 13th Step by Lauren Chooljian, investigates this question through the rise and fall of Eric Spofford, a celebrated recovery entrepreneur whose empire eventually collapsed under allegations of abuse, retaliation, and corruption.
Lauren Chooljian graduated here from the Hilltop in the spring of 2010, a member of the field hockey team and graduated with a bachelor’s degree in history in 2010. The students of Mr. Potter’s podcasting class and Dr. Brady’s class on addiction had the privilege of attending and asking questions to her in Perini hall on September 11th.
Eric Spofford built his reputation on a story that was, at first glance, inspiring. After years of heroin use, overdoses, and jail time, Spofford said his clean date was December 6, 2006. By his early twenties, he was sponsoring others in 12-step programs and opened his first sober home in Derry, New Hampshire. With the financial support of his father, he expanded that into Granite Recovery Centers (GRC), which eventually became one of the state’s largest addiction treatment networks.
Spofford marketed himself as proof that recovery was possible. His personal slogan, “Where you’re going, I’ve been,” appeared across the company’s branding. Former clients were often hired as staff, and he sometimes led sessions himself. For many, the environment felt authentic, at least in the beginning.
But beneath that image, beneath being the “god of recovery,” former employees and clients say Spofford abused his power. Women described receiving explicit messages, being pressured into sexual relationships, and suffering retaliation when they resisted. One client, codenamed Elizabeth, recalled that just two days after being discharged from the Green Mountain Treatment Center, Spofford began sending her sexual texts. She was barely a month sober and deeply conflicted, caught between feeling “special” and fearing the influence Spofford held in the recovery community.
Others tell similar stories. Andrea, another survivor, called Spofford the “God of recovery.” Jasmine, still in recovery herself, warned of the dangers of early relationships with people in positions of power. In recovery circles, such behavior is known as “13th Stepping” when someone exploits newcomers’ vulnerability for personal or sexual gain.
As Spofford’s company grew, so did reports of misconduct. A woman had come out and said she was coerced into sex in Spofford’s office and later fired in retaliation. Another described a relationship that began with unwanted advances and escalated into abuse. Even senior staff became alarmed. Nancy Bourque, GRC’s HR director, resigned in protest over how cases were handled. Longtime recovery professional Brian Stoesz recalled Spofford overriding medical advice to admit unsafe patients.
Perhaps most striking was the disillusionment of Spofford’s close friend and early sponsee, Piers Kaniuka. After hearing multiple women’s accounts, Kaniuka resigned, concluding: “He should not be in this field. He should be shunned, shamed, and probably prosecuted.”
Spofford denied all allegations, with his lawyer dismissing women in recovery as unreliable “liars” and “druggies” when they relapse.
In March 2022, reporter Lauren Chooljian published an investigative story on Spofford. Within weeks, she and her family became targets of escalating harassment. Rocks and bricks were thrown through windows. Garages and homes, including those of her parents, coworkers, and boss, were vandalized. At Lauren’s own house, someone spray-painted the words “JUST THE BEGINNING” under shattered glass.
Spofford denied involvement but suggested supporters may have acted “in a misguided attempt to defend me.” Around the same time, he filed a nearly 400-page defamation lawsuit against Lauren, her colleagues at NHPR, and several of her sources, accusing them of a “baseless assassination” of his character. His legal team even threatened to use past recovery confessions against sources, undermining the very culture of honesty that recovery depends on.
The intimidation worked, at least temporarily. Some sources backtracked on their statements under legal pressure, while others grew fearful of speaking out.
Beyond Spofford’s case, the story reveals troubling gaps in the addiction treatment industry. Unlike licensed counselors or doctors, treatment center CEOs do not need professional credentials. In New Hampshire, oversight consists mostly of annual inspections and paperwork reviews. Complaints are often confidential, leaving little accountability for misconduct.
Why does it matter? Addiction is already one of the most isolating experiences a person can endure. Recovery programs are supposed to be safe havens where vulnerability is met with trust. Instead, stories like these show how unchecked power can twist that vulnerability into a weapon. And how it can happen in places meant to heal.
As writer Holly Whitaker reflected, people in recovery are often told: “Shut up, follow the rules, don’t complain.” That culture of silence makes victims “perfect targets.”
Breaking that silence is uncomfortable, but essential. If misconduct in recovery programs isn’t confronted, it won’t stop. And for the thousands of people who turn to treatment centers hoping for a second chance at life, the stakes couldn’t be higher.