Full Circle Addiction & Recover Services

Welcome to Full Circle Addiction & Recovery Services

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Full Circle Addiction & Recovery Services has been providing professional, compassionate and highly effective intervention, long term recovery care and premier sober living for over 20 years.

Full Circle’s team of exceptional certified addiction professionals and licensed clinicians provide individualized and intensive relapse care for our clients. Our personalized and nurturing treatment approach ensures that the experience in our care, will address the specific needs of men and women in early recovery. We work closely with our clients in order to provide them with the very best individualized and professional addiction treatment.

I am very proud of our highly respected team, who are passionate about recovery and dedicated to providing the highest level of care for our clients. We consider it our privilege to guide our clients, their families and our sober living guests through the despair of addiction and into a life of long-term recovery.

As the founder of Full Circle Addiction and Recovery Services, I have been working in recovery for over 20 years and have continued to stay on the cutting edge of intervention and treatment modalities. Motivated through years of personal addiction and 25 years of long-term recovery, I have made it my life’s work to study and understand addiction and the advancements in the treatment of the disease. I believe in recovery. I believe in hope and change. I am an example that it is never too late to find recovery and that the possibilities of sobriety are endless.


Full Circle Intervention

Full Circle Intervention was founded in 1995 and for the last two decades has been providing professional, compassionate intervention for families and addicted individuals. Internationally recognized as a leader in the field of intervention, I have been invited to speak for conferences
across the US and in the UK sharing my innovative process of inclusive, invitational respectful
intervention process. Working with families to intervene on active addiction and enabling with
uncommon sense of transparency and honesty that results in long-term recovery for the whole
family. As the founder of Full Circle Intervention, I have been invited on Good Morning America
as their addiction specialist. My intervention work has been the highlighted on two televisionground breaking documentary series.

Addicted, which premiered on TLC, went on to win the prestigious Prism Award, for the most
realistic depiction of addiction and mental health issues. Codependent, which premiered and LMN and currently airs on both on LMN and A and E channels, allows viewers a real life insight into the complicated and loving ties of codependent addicted relationships.


Full Circle Living: A premier Sober Living Community

With the passion, mission and my desire to change the face and quality of sober living environments, I founded Full Circle Living in 2015. I believe that sober living, should be a warm
welcoming environment, where guests can feel supported and encouraged to continue on the,
often very difficult journey of early recovery. FCL guests feel at home, as they transition back into their daily lives. Located in the heart of the San Francisco Bay Area, Full Circle Living homes are premier sober living communities that promote a culture of family and connection for our guests. To help raise the success of sober living, every guest receives complementary recoverycare services. The FCAR care team offers professional recovery case management while living at FC.


Full Circle Relapse Prevention Program

To expand our circle of care, the Full Relapse Prevention Program, an outpatient treatment service. The RPP is a successful solution for our clients who need treatment services while maintaining and building their active lives. The RRP is a monthly service, which provides, private sessions with a Full Circle Recovery Care professional, two 2-hour process/education groups weekly along with drug testing. The Relapse Prevention service is a clinical addition to continuing care plans for men and women who are needing the support of an ongoing therapeutic group process.


Please call the office directly, 415 202 6255, for questions and admissions.

Sincerely,
Kristina Wandzilak, CAS, CIP
Founder and CEO

To All the Children Who Have Lost a Parent to Suicide

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To all the children who have lost a parent to suicide:

September 5, 2011 my dad shot himself.

When I was 9 years old my dad put a gun to his head and pulled the trigger. My mom told me he lost the battle with not feeling he was good enough and was in so much pain he felt like he could not live anymore.

I was barely 9, when I lost the greatest love of life. People say I am too young to know love. People say kids don’t know real life love or loss. But I disagree. I felt love the moment I was born and my dad held me in his arms. I know I felt love because as I grew up I felt safe whenever he was in the room. When he would walk in the room, I felt like the luckiest kid in the world. I wondered if all dads were as great as my dad. When he cheered for me at my volleyball games his voice was the loudest, even when we lost, he stayed until the very end. Sometimes, he would get angry at me for not doing homework or talking back but even when angry I felt love. My dad believed I could do anything and when He told me I could do anything I believed him.

I know my dad’s suicide wasn't my fault. And it wasn’t my brother’s fault, or my mom’s fault. It wasn’t even my Dad’s fault. Sometimes, I feel like it was God’s fault. But, now after some time, I realize that God didn't take my Dad away for no reason or out of anger. He did it because my Dad served his purpose.

My Dad’s purpose was to show me and everyone around him that kindness and lightheartedness are two very important things you need in life. My dad was the best role model. He showed me so many important skills. My Dad was such a gentleman. My mom was so lucky to have fallen in love with him. My Dad would do anything in the world to keep me and my brother safe. When walking on the sidewalk he would stand on the side where the cars were passing to protect me from traffic.

My Dad had so many people who cared for and loved him. He had family and friends who would take a bullet for him but instead he took a bullet for us. I believe that he chose to end his pain for us. I think he didn’t want us to see him pretend anymore. He wanted his wonderful amazing smile to be real but it wasn’t. Behind his electric blue eyes, he was suffering and could not hide it anymore so, he did the unimaginable, and took a bullet to his head.

Suicide is a crazy thing to wrap your head around. It makes no sense. No one knew how much my dad was suffering. On the outside, he seemed happy. He accomplished a lot in his life. He was most proud of his years in the United States Coast Guard and had a love of baseball and world history. He played every day with me and my brother and supported my mom in her career of intervention and television. No one would have guessed that on the inside was a deep dark secret of depression and twisted thoughts that took him over.

For a long time, after my dad’s death, I would shut people out and cry. I hated it. I felt so alone and so sad. My mom told me every day that I was loved, it was not my fault and I was not alone. I struggled with trying to understand why my dad left us but with the help of family, friends and therapy, I know he did not leave us, he simply could stay any longer. It was not personal to me and even the love for his children, could not fight the painful dark thoughts in with head.  

I felt like I went hell and back again the day I found out my dad committed suicide. 6 years ago, I never thought the pain I felt in my heart would end. I believed that life would never make sense and that I would never laugh or smile again, but it does get better. I have a heartache every day but it's getting smaller as more time passes. The pain feels different and easier to live with.

I learned very young, that life has surprises that we never expect, ask for or even agree with but I wouldn't trade a single second of my life. I feel this experience has been a blessing and a curse.
Knowing that I have my dad in heaven guiding me in my life, is definitely a blessing, that not many people have but, knowing that I will never physically see him again, is a terrible curse.

I try to focus on the blessing. My Dad will not see me grow up, and that is one of the hardest things I will ever face. Knowing that he won't be there on the day I turn 16, or the day I leave for college, or my wedding day, brings me down at times but these struggles have only made me stronger.

My Dad’s death left a huge impact on me but it has made me who I am today and I love who I am. I have turned my greatest pain into an experience that I use to help others. I am wiser and more sensitive. I am a better friend and daughter. I appreciate every day and I know no matter how much life can hurt, it always gets better.

I hear terrible things about suicide in the media and in public. People are afraid to even say the word. It doesn’t matter who you are or what you have, we all have really hard feelings and thoughts at times. Sometimes, I feel people judge my dad for killing himself and my mom for not be able to save him but I will not allow suicide to my dad’s legacy. It is how he left but it is not how he lived. I have his blue eyes, his nose, big smile, long hands and most importantly his lighthearted and kind attitude.

No one will ever change how I feel about my dad or my family. I will always remember my Dad as one of the greatest heroes in my life.

In loving memory of John Wandzilak.

 

Do Interventions Really Work?

Working as an interventionist for the last 23 years, I have been a maverick in the field, swimming against the current “surprise model” so much the center of many reality shows and the media. I don’t believe in subjecting unsuspecting addicts to surprise attacks. All my research, studies and practice have continually reinforced the belief that addiction is a family disorder. We need to move from the idea that we’re treating addicts as flawed individuals to an approach that recognizes that addiction is a family disease.

I specialize in an open and inclusive model of intervention. Where, with coaching, the addicted person does become aware of the intervention. The message being that we as a family are ready for change, and we would like you to join us, but with or without you, we are moving forward.

My main problem with the surprise method is that the process is entirely addict-focused, with the whole family’s health hanging on its most dysfunctional member. I do not want the success of my interventions--and the health of my clients--to be contingent on the choices of the most impaired person. There was a time in my career that I considered getting a person into treatment a great success but I’ve learned over the years that this is actually the easiest part of my job. The real challenge is working with the families. There can be one person drinking and many people affected by addiction. Why create an intervention for just one person when the whole family is hurting and needing help? I consider it a successful intervention when I have a family who is looking at their caretaking and enabling behaviors and at their own relationships with the addict and asking themselves, “How did we get here?” “What is my part in this?” “What can I change in me that will benefit my life and my family?”

Families and partners play a major role in the progression of every addiction. Behind every addict is a codependent, and the main thrust of my job is to collapse the codependent inter-family structures that allow addiction to progress. Often driven by misguided love and loyalty the codependency will cripple the addict and splinter the family. Trying to control and contain addiction will result in many lost and unhappy years. Families don’t have to wait for their addicted relatives to decide to change their lives. They have power to influence the lives and decisions of their loved one. Families can create an atmosphere of curiosity by changing their behaviors and reactions to the addiction. Families are engaged in a sophisticated and deadly dance but when family members decide to change the ways they interact with troubled members, addicts will shift their behavior in return.


I’ve come to understand that underneath the massive weight of addiction is a lost, hurting, terrified, good and decent person. The skill of a great interventionist is to be able to access that person quickly and effectively. I don’t think that surprising a person with their closest friends and family is the way to begin a trusting relationship. It is my job not just to get addicts help but also to inspire change and it’s my calling to ignite the small flicker of light that is buried deep within every addict. And I begin this connection by being honest, up front and respectful.

With the invitational process, 95 percent of the time, the addicted person will join the intervention day but in cases where they don't, the intervention continues as it is as much for the family as the addict. Families do not have to suffer with addiction; they can heal, with or without, their loved one. We look at addiction, codependency and enabling and caretaking behaviors. If the addict agrees to treatment, he or she leaves as soon as possible. If help isn't accepted, we talk about how the relationships in the family will have to change. Either way, treatment recommendations are made for each member of the family.

"Aftervention" – a copy righted concept -- is when we come back together, once the addicted person and the family have completed their treatment plans. We look at how far they have come as individuals therefore creating a healthier family system that is in recovery. Aftervention is a beautiful time of reflection and commitment moving forward.

While working as an interventionist is not always easy but it is fulfilling and I consider a great privilege to have spent half my life helping addicts and families. I am fueled and driven in this endeavor by my hard-earned personal experience with addiction, education and my great passion for addicts and their families. Recovery is possible and families do heal, change and grow.

I meet people and their most broken, create a connection and help illuminate the way out. I have a front seat to watching the most extra ordinary stories of redemption. I am humbled and forever grateful for this career that has taken me on great adventures and to the door steps of some of the most exceptional families. Like the faint smell of a beautiful perfume that lingers in the room, long after the person is gone, so it is with every family I have ever worked with. I carry on my heart a piece of every intervention: I am changed. I am stronger and I am wiser for this work. I thank every family that has trusted me enough to open your door and lives to me, you are my greatest teachers and I am better for having met you.


Sober and shameless, Kw

The Gunshot

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I was at a neighborhood BBQ with our children. While the hamburgers were grilling, John was loading the gun. As my son opened his soda, John was laying himself on the bed. As my daughter ate her ice cream, John texted’ I love you’ to each of us. And as the band began to play, he put the gun to his head and pulled the trigger. Like an earthquake, powerful enough to roll concrete, the gunshot echoed through the hot sticky air, and fell onto us, deep within, where the heart beats, and breaks, and aches, changing our lives, forever.

Through the exit wound of his beautiful head, splattered not only a 6’4 man with electric blue eyes and a smile that would light up a room, but the annihilation of my life and the lives of our two children obliterated in a split second. The coroner said John felt no pain. The pain he did not feel, was sprayed all over me and our children. Everything I knew about myself and my life, my children and family, my marriage, the future, the past, were vaporized instantly. With the pull of a trigger, my world was blackened never again to be the same.

John was liquid in my hands. I tried to hold onto him but he slipped through my fingers. I tried to pull him back from the blackness that was taking over his life. Right in front of my eyes, his light dimmed until finally he looked dark and hallow. At times, I could have sworn I could see straight through him.

The children slept in my room on my floor for months after Johns death. I would listen to them breathe in and out and wonder how I would I ever make sense of this. Once they were asleep I would sneak out of the room and would sit straight up on the couch in silence staring at the family photos that hung on the wall. Each picture documenting a picture-perfect time in our family’s life and they were mounted perfectly in frames, like a fucking pottery barn catalog. I would rock back and forth begging for daylight. The nights were a thousand hours long. The silence of the house was screaming at me and I could not escape the looping memories of John that raced across my mind. Like a movie stuck on play… over and over again.

In the light of day, I could not escape the truth of my life. I would be standing in line for a bagel and a kind friend, or colleague or another school family would offer their condolences and I would fell as if I was drowning, standing still, in the middle of the shop. My feet going numb as the blood began to run cold, creeping up my body, freezing my torso, squeezing the air from my lungs, and finally immersing my whole body in grief. Breathless, fighting for air, no one able to help me as I drown in plain sight.

I picked up Johns ashes from the morgue. He was in a cardboard box placed in a large paper bag, that was very heavy. And, as if I was leaving Safeway with groceries, I walked down the steps of the funeral home, with the father of my children in a shopping bag. In that card board box not only held the body and bones of a 6 foot 4 man, but the ashes of 12 years of marriage, two children, two dogs, years of laughter, love, struggles and a short lifetime of together. It was stunning how a whole life could fit in a small box in a large shopping bag.

The road from despair and anger to healing, at times, felt impossible and unbearable. In the beginning, I wanted to die and I burned with anger that I had to live a life I never asked for. I stood on the barren landscape of my life, and as far as my eyes could see there was no hope or light on the horizon. With my two children at my side, looking to me for direction and reassurance, I felt incompetent to guide and heal them. It was like they were burning alive, engulfed in the raging fire sparked by the back fire of his hand gun and I could nothing but watch in horror.

My choice became clear. I had to exist of expand. I chose expansion. With John’s blood dripping from my hands, I had to figure out a way to collect my children in my shaking arms and move forward. Inch by inch.

I was thrown into the journey of grief, even though I did not choose to embark on this path. I have come to learn that grief is not a feeling but a state of being, ever changing. It is a new universe in which I find myself living. The journey has been encased in despair and the darkest sadness, I have ever known. The kind that buckles me at the knees and paralyzes my body, helplessly lying motionless on the floor. I have learned how to get up, for the children, even though everything ounce of me wanted to disappear. I have felt a helplessness that has left me breathless; sitting by my sweet children hearing their agony, as they nearly spilt in two, with a pain no child should ever feel. I have learned that the grief journey also includes a joy and sweetness to life that is only offered to those who have faced the wrath of tragedy and healed.

We have figured out how to be three instead of four. I have learned to accept Johns death even though I don’t agree with it. I have found my husband dead, the most beautiful parts of him, his humor, kindness, loyalty and his dedication to his family and the complete and perfect love for his children, splattered against a wall. Digging desperately through the ashes of his suicide I have come to discover a wisdom blessed upon us, that allows us to be more sensitive, insightful and better armed to face the world and all of its bittersweet wonders.

As for me, I remember him and smile. Sometimes I still long to hear his voice. I long to sit with him and simply talk about the children. I have never known a pain so big and vast it actually steals my breath making it hard to stand. Only held up by the love of family and friends, have I emerged through the dark, still standing. I have come to accept and love this life and his choice to go home, far sooner than I ever imagined.

I realize that John never belonged to me, or even our children. He was always in the care of something far greater than us. His journey, although brief, was meaningful and his impact on the world, timeless, as our children are a living testament to his life’s purpose. I know he is still with us; watching, loving and guiding. Sometimes, in the middle of the night, when the house is still, If I close my eyes and listen hard, I can hear his voice, bringing tears to my eyes and a tender smile across my lips.