I spoke at the National Cathedral in Washington, D.C., the other night. It was a remarkable moment for me. There I was, in a national monument of spirituality — "America's house of prayer for all people" — telling my story of addiction, redemption and recovery. From the floor of a crack house in Atlanta in 1994 to the sanctuary of the cathedral 14 years later ... go figure.

Of the several hundred people in the audience were a group of women from N Street Village. It's an organization dedicated to preventing and eliminating homeless, and it starts by helping women overcome their addiction so that they regain dignity and respect.

I had a chance to meet with some of the women and the staff before the event. It was a potent reminder that recovery is possible even when you lose everything. "N Street not only gave me my life back, but my kids, a job and hope, too," said one woman.

Not everyone's story is like hers or like mine.

Dear Mr. Moyers: With all due respect, sir, I can't relate to your story of addiction. When you hit bottom, you still had a wife who loved you, parents who cared for you and a job that supported you even though you were addicted.

What do you tell somebody like me? I'm on the streets in Indianapolis, when I am not in a homeless shelter. But even in the shelter there are people drunk or dealing drugs. I can't get a job. I have no idea where my ex-wife is, and she's got our boy, who's 6.

What am I supposed to do? I can't keep getting high, but I can't seem to stop, either. I am 28 and can't live like this anymore. — Art D. in Indianapolis

I wish I had met the women at N Street Village before I got Art's letter. At the time, it was difficult to offer him any advice that reflected a reality that matched his need. He's right — I had all the advantages when I finally hit a bottom that made me get serious about recovery. From my family to my job to health insurance that paid for most of my treatment at Ridgeview Institute in 1994, I was fortunate. Like Art, too many people in America have nothing when they need help.

But the stories of the women at N Street Village remind me that there is hope.

I don't know where Art is now. There was no return address on his letter. But this is how I would reply today.

Dear Art: Although our circumstances were different, the bottom that you and I hit is the same. We were sick and tired of being sick and tired. And so it is the end of the insanity of getting high and the beginning of another chance for people like us.

Your obstacles are formidable. But if the women of N Street Village can make it, you can, too. It starts with the desire to change your life and the personal conviction that you can.

Like you, those women had nothing except that burning desire and conviction to change. They were addicted, lost and did not know where to turn. But they never gave up. And without hope, there is no possibility of help.

In Indianapolis, Salvation Army Harbor Light offers solid treatment and supportive services like a roof over your head and job counseling. Most of all, it offers you that chance to realize you are not alone.

There are so many others just like you and the women I've met. No matter who we are, where we come from, or what we possess or lack, recovery is possible as long as we believe it is and are willing to do the hard work.

The women of N Street Village laughed, nodded in agreement, shook their heads in sympathy and shed a few tears during my talk. Seeing their faces in the crowd reassured me that I am not alone. Even though we come from different walks of life, the commonality of our experiences with addiction strengthens us in the journey through recovery. If they can make it and I can, too, then there is hope for others like Art who still suffer from our disease.

William C. Moyers is the vice president of external affairs for the Hazelden Foundation and the author of "Broken," a best-selling memoir. The paperback edition was released in August 2007. Please send your questions to William Moyers at [email protected]. To find out more about William Moyers and read his past columns, visit the Creators Syndicate web page at www.creators.com.