Nothing grows your family quite like joining the millions in recovery from substance use disorders. Yes, while substance use can and does tear families apart, recovery has even more power—not just to pull families back together, but to profoundly expand the scope of our familial bonds. That was never more apparent than at the national recovery rally held recently in Dallas. The Big Texas Rally for Recovery, as it is known, was the hub and capstone for this year's National Recovery Month activities. And, for me, it felt like the few thousand people in attendance were all family. Everywhere I went, I was just as apt to get a hug as a handshake. In fact, I got an extra special embrace from a young girl—she couldn't have been more than 4 years old—who was making a point to give away free hugs to anyone she and her mom could find that day on the Ronald Kirk Pedestrian Bridge. There's something about recovery—with a culture defined by gratitude, humility, courage, forgiveness, resilience and service to others—that bonds us unconditionally, without regard to race, religion, gender, status or anything else. Anywhere in the world, I could meet someone in recovery and feel a strong, instant, family-like connection. Recovery rallies are always a case in point, providing close-up evidence that my family now extends far beyond those people on my family tree. I'll never forget that during the week of the Unite to Face Addiction rally on the National Mall—an historic event that celebrated its one-year anniversary on Oct. 4, 2016, just two days after the Dallas rally—I received way more friend requests on Facebook than I ever had before. Mostly from people I did not know—folks who felt connected simply by the social media activity that proved I was there at the event, like them. Looking back, I definitely get it. For many folks, it might be akin to "friending" a cousin or aunt you just learned about, though have never met. That's not to say everyone in recovery ought to be connected on Facebook. And, of course, we're as imperfect as the rest of the universe, and prone to our own disagreements. Much like family. What we do have, also like family, is an undeniable connection—a reference point for loving one another despite—and in some cases, because of—our inevitable differences. That's how I feel about my fellows in recovery, anyway. This bond is why, when I was at my mother's funeral last year, I was not surprised to see two recovery friends show up out of the blue. And why I was comforted knowing they were sitting just a few pews behind me. It's why I can return to a recovery support meeting I haven't been to in months and feel like I never skipped a beat. It's why I can accidentally leave a $400 camera in Dallas and trust, with no doubts, that the person who has it—someone I just met—will absolutely return it. It's why I offered my home to someone I met only once, for a brief time, in Washington, DC, and to others I've only met online at TheDailyPledge.org. All of us in recovery, everyone connected to the recovery culture—we are a community. We are family. That was on my mind throughout the Big Texas Rally for Recovery—this notion that recovery not only restores families but also expands them.