TMP Testimonials: Graham's Alcohol Recovery Story

We are honoured to share the story of Graham Parfitt, our Recovery Service Manager at The Matthew Project. He recently marked an incredible 5,000 days sober and here, he explores his full-circle story, from engaging with TMP services to working in the Recovery Centre.

Graham, our Recovery Services Manager, at The Matthew Project

My sober date is 29^th May 2012. As the 5^th February 2026 marks 5,000 days sober, it doesn’t feel like a moment to celebrate myself, but more like a point in time to pause, look back, and acknowledge how far things have come – and how much of that journey was carried by the support of others.

If I think back to those early days, the memories are stark. A police cell. A hospital bed. A homeless hostel I shared with people whose lives were as chaotic as mine. A fractured spine and a life that felt equally fractured. I had lost my marriage, my connection to my children, my home, and any sense of direction. My world had shrunk to surviving day by day, and alcohol had become both the problem and the only thing I thought was keeping me going.

A small but significant shift began in 2012. While I was in custody, a criminal justice worker from The Matthew Project came to see me. It was a simple conversation – no big promises, no pressure, just a suggestion that I get in touch when I was released. I’m grateful now that I did.

Those early days of 1‑to‑1 support, being listened to, sitting in a peer group where people spoke honestly about things I barely dared admit to myself – those were the moments when something in me quietly began to move.

Sobriety opened doors I didn't expect.

Alongside that practical support, I became aware of something deeper stirring. It wasn’t dramatic or sudden, and I couldn’t name a particular day when it all changed. But slowly, gently, I sensed Jesus calling me toward something different. It felt more like softening than turning. More like being nudged than being redirected. The sense of being invited rather than pushed. Whatever it was, it gave me just enough hope to take the next step, and then the next.

In time, sobriety opened doors I didn’t expect. When I arrived in Norwich and walked into the Salvation Army, I found people who welcomed me without judgement and offered encouragement I hadn’t felt in years. That sense of belonging helped me rebuild confidence and understand who I was becoming.

Years later, in April 2019, I joined The Matthew Project as part of the team. It felt like a full‑circle moment, returning to the organisation that had helped me take my first steps, now hoping to play a part in making that same space for others. I worked with a small team, and over time the service grew. The numbers and outcomes are encouraging, but what stands out most to me is the atmosphere people created together: a place where individuals could come as they were, find connection, and begin piecing life back together at their own pace.

Today, I’m grateful for the life I have: family, meaningful work, and a sense of community.

My role over the years has involved many things: helping develop the Recovery Centre, supporting staff, building programmes, navigating funding, and being part of the transition from Outside The Wire to Next Steps for Veterans. But I don’t see any of that as personal achievement, so much as shared work done alongside committed colleagues and the people who walked through our doors every day.

Through all of it, my faith has been a steadying thread – not something loud or dramatic, but something that kept me grounded when things felt heavy or uncertain.

Graham and his wife after participating in Run Norwich

Today, I’m grateful for the life I have: family, meaningful work, and a sense of community. None of it feels like something I’ve “earned”, more like something I’ve grown into with the help of many others.

5,000 days sober isn’t a badge of success; it’s a marker in a long journey made up of small, often quiet moments of support, grace, struggle, repair, and hope. It reminds me that recovery is less about arriving anywhere and more about continuing, learning, adjusting, rebuilding, and sometimes starting again.

And so, rather than celebrating a number, I find myself simply thankful for the people who helped me when things were dark, for the communities that welcomed me in, and for the gentle nudge that suggested change was possible long before I believed it myself.

Here’s to the first 5,000 days and to carrying on, one day at a time.