For much of my early life, I believed I knew exactly who I was and what I was meant to become. My identity was deeply rooted in one singular pursuit: basketball. From the time I was about five years old—before I could even shoot high enough to reach the hoop—I dreamed of becoming a basketball player. That dream consumed my thoughts, shaped my habits, and defined my ambitions. I envisioned myself rising through the ranks, from high school to college, and maybe even going pro. My life revolved around the game. It wasn’t just something I did; it was who I was.

After graduating high school, I earned the opportunity to play college basketball at a small junior college in southern Illinois. The first half of that academic year was promising. I felt as if I were on track, my childhood dream becoming a lived reality. My hopes and ambitions only grew stronger with every practice, every game. But life has a way of rewriting the script, often without warning.

During a game in the second half of the season, I sustained a severe knee injury—one that abruptly ended my basketball career. The sudden loss of my athletic identity was a traumatic rupture. In a matter of minutes, I went from being a basketball player with dreams of greatness to someone without direction or purpose.

That injury didn’t just take away my physical ability to play—it shattered the foundation of my self-concept. With the loss of identity came a deep and unsettling depression. I turned to alcohol to numb the confusion and grief. I felt like a ghost, drifting aimlessly through life, unmoored and uncertain. I no longer had a vision for my future, nor a sense of who I truly was.

Eventually, I decided to return to school, hoping to rebuild myself and my purpose. I enrolled in a local university and began studying philosophy, drawn by a yearning to understand life on a deeper level. Philosophy gave me a language to explore the big questions: Who am I? What is the purpose of suffering? How do we make sense of identity, meaning, and change?

My academic journey eventually led me to a doctoral program in philosophy at the University of Toronto. I moved to Canada with optimism, believing that I was finally on the path to personal and intellectual renewal. But financial struggles forced me to return to the United States before completing the program. I was disheartened but determined to continue growing.

Back in Chicago, I accepted a job in a mental health facility—an adult care home serving 140 residents, most of whom were diagnosed with schizophrenia. I had no formal background in psychology or clinical work, but I was eager to learn. I began reading everything I could about mental health, therapy, and human behavior. The transition from abstract philosophical thought to practical psychological care was demanding, but it also felt deeply purposeful.

It was during this period that a transformative moment occurred: I discovered the work of Dr. Albert Ellis. His book A New Guide to Rational Living offered me a mirror into my own mind. Ellis’s message was simple but profound: our suffering is not caused by events themselves, but by the beliefs and thoughts we attach to those events. I came to understand that much of my pain, grief, and depression stemmed not from the injury itself, but from the destructive thoughts and limiting beliefs I had formed about myself as a result. That insight marked the beginning of my psychological transformation.

After five years in Chicago, I decided to once again pursue academic growth. I moved to Boston and enrolled in a doctoral program in Human Development at Boston University. It was there, in the midst of rigorous coursework and practical training, that another pivotal discovery occurred. On a crisp fall afternoon, I wandered into the Harvard Bookstore and stumbled upon a book by Louise Hay. Her work introduced me to the concepts of self-esteem and self-love—ideas that would come to shape not just my academic research, but my entire worldview.

Working in Boston’s mental health system while studying Human Development, I began to integrate cognitive psychology and self-esteem theory. I saw the profound connection between how individuals think about themselves and the mental health challenges they face. Over time, this integration became the central framework of my doctoral dissertation.

After earning my doctorate, I relocated with my family to Miami, Florida. I continued my work in the mental health field, but over time, I grew disillusioned with the prevailing practices and assumptions of the industry. Too often, treatment seemed impersonal and mechanical—focused on symptom management rather than genuine healing. It was during this period of professional stagnation that I accepted a part-time position in an outpatient substance use program in North Miami.

What began as a part-time job quickly became something much more. I was offered a full-time role as a psychotherapist in the agency’s residential treatment program for addiction. For the first time, I was able to apply my conceptual framework—developed over years of personal struggle and academic inquiry—to real-world treatment for addiction and dependency.

What I found was both startling and affirming. The same underlying issues I had identified in individuals struggling with depression, anxiety, and other mental health conditions—negative self-image, low self-worth, and toxic thought patterns—were also at the heart of addiction. Whether someone was battling schizophrenia or substance use, the root cause was strikingly similar: a belief that they were unworthy of love, healing, and change.

I began to implement my new paradigm of treatment, one centered not on diagnosing and labeling, but on empowering and uplifting. The cornerstone of this approach was love—specifically, self-love. While many in the addiction field were resistant to this idea, I witnessed firsthand how individuals began to heal when they embraced their intrinsic worth. I saw transformations that conventional treatments had failed to produce.

This book is born out of that experience and that belief. Our current addiction treatment industry is, in many ways, broken. It continues to recycle outdated methodologies and philosophies that fail to address the core issue. It is time for a change. And not just any change—a fundamental, epistemic shift. A paradigm shift.

Addiction is not a disease to be managed—it is a symptom of a deeper psychological and spiritual wound. It reflects a distortion in self-perception. If we can change how individuals see themselves—if we can guide them to rediscover their value, their power, and their capacity for love—we can begin to truly heal.

This book is dedicated to that vision. It is written to support a transformation not only in individuals but also in the entire treatment industry. The old models have failed us. The time has come for a new understanding, one rooted in the power of love, the truth of self-worth, and the limitless potential of the human spirit.

Dr. Harry Henshaw

Enhanced Healing Counseling Music

Positive Affirmation Recordings

Relaxation Music Recordings

Testimonials