Asked to describe the difference between his life now and his life when he was drinking, Cezario opens up: "When I was drinking, every day was a little more miserable. I wasn't inspired by anything. There were points where I really didn't care if I woke up or not — it was dark, and I went through a lot of dark times drinking."

There was a shift during that second stay at Waterfront. "Something happened while I was in treatment here that's honestly hard to explain. Call it a spiritual awakening or something — it lit a fire in me. A bunch of people, both here and at other facilities I'd been to, told me I should give counseling a shot, that I might be good at helping others."

But it was something deeper that created the shift. When asked whether his son had something to do with his decision to get sober, Cezario doesn't hesitate: "He had everything to do with it. It never really occurred to me until I became a dad. I decided in my own head that I needed to get my act together and figure out how to quit completely. I wasn't sure how it was going to go, but I needed to give it a real shot so I could be a good dad. I'd told myself since I was young that if I ever had a kid, I was going to take care of them, whatever that meant. Drinking was the biggest barrier to being a good father — and honestly, to being a good person in general." His son is six now. "When I left, he was really small — maybe two or three," Cezario says of the treatment stay that set everything in motion.

Cezario did a 60 residential program. "I signed up for College of the Redwoods before I even left here. I'd originally planned to do 90 days in the program, but I left a little early to be home for my son's birthday and to get ready for school. I didn't want to do online classes so I left here in August 2022, did two years of school. I don't think they expected me to come back, but I kept telling them I would. After about a year and a half, I came back and started interning, and they hired me right away. The rest is history — I've been here three years now, almost to the day."

He wasn't alone in that transformation. His wife — the mother of his son — walked almost the identical road, at the same time, on the same campus. "We both went to rehab, both saw the light, if you will, and got healthy and changed our whole outlook. We went to school together, took every class together, did our internships here together, and we both got hired here." They married three years ago, after seven years together — a relationship that survived active addiction on both sides before it became, in his words, a shared commitment to "helping others" that "feels like our duty, in a way."

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These days, the contrast with those "dark times" isn't abstract for Cezario — it shapes how he shows up for the people coming through Waterfront's doors now. "Now, I'm grateful for everything. I've learned to see different perspectives on things — no judgment, no resentment. Now I have a real appreciation for being alive — waking up sober, not feeling like crap, getting to go to work. I don't feel like it's 'work' because of the friendships I've built here."

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Part of that appreciation comes from how far his body has traveled, too. "I used to be a manual-labor guy — busted my butt for years and years, and my body was ready to give up on me. Now I'm at a desk, on a computer all day, and I actually enjoy it."
Asked what he'd say to an old friend still struggling with drinking or drugs who might be considering treatment, Cezario keeps it simple, the same way he says he keeps his one-on-ones simple: "I'd just be honest: this place saved my life. I think it can work for anyone who's serious about quitting and changing their life around.