William Cope Moyers shared the story of how he recovered from near-fatal drug and alcohol addiction in “Broken,” his bestselling 2006 book. He told of being hauled out of a Harlem crack house by his father, journalist and former White House Press Secretary Bill Moyers.

William Moyers’ new book, “Broken Open,” is something of a sequel subtitled “What painkillers taught me about life and recovery.” It comes at a time when it’s critically needed. The CDC reports that from 1999 to 2021, nearly 280,000 people died in the U.S. from overdoses involving prescription opioids.

After a stay at Hazelden Betty Ford Foundation in Center City, Moyers took the long journey to recovery with the help of the 12-step program and the Alcoholics Anonymous community. He joined the foundation in 1996 as a policy analyst and is now the organization’s vice president of public affairs and community relations. He became the face of Hazelden Betty Ford treatment facilities, traveling everywhere speaking about recovery in large venues and more intimate meetings.

Moyers, who lives in St. Paul, had been sober for two decades when he had an affair and his marriage was ending, leaving him to parent two teenage sons and a preteen daughter.

“My home life was crumbling. I was exhausted and unable to say no,” he writes. “I was successful by some measures, but much of my life — the part people didn’t see and I didn’t share — was far from uplifting or inspiring. People sought and celebrated me as an example of the peace and joy that come from healthy sobriety, but in some ways, I felt like an imposter. My success was skin-deep, my happiness incomplete.”

In 2012 Moyers went to the dentist for major work on his mouth and was given pain pills that he immediately loved so much he lied to get prescriptions filled by different doctors. He never took the right amount, swallowing multiple pills instead of the one prescribed. As his “fierce” cravings increased, he continued to work and didn’t share his secret addiction with anyone. Finally, a specialist put him on Suboxone. The drug took away his craving and he wanted to share his experience with the world. At a big meeting attended by his bosses and others important in the recovery field, he tried to tell his large audience about how the drug took away his cravings. But, as articulate as he is, he couldn’t find the right words. He kept saying he had a “run-in” with pills, minimizing his problem.

There was backlash. Some in the AA community felt betrayed, believing that taking meds was “a crutch,” and “a relapse is a relapse.” His bosses and colleagues asked why he hadn’t come to them.

Throughout his sober life, Moyers had been an adherent of abstinence-based recovery. Now he asked himself questions. Was he abstaining when he took a drug to calm opioid cravings? What does “relapse” mean? Was it necessary for him to go “back to square one” as some AA followers suggested? He struggled to articulate how to integrate the ways he successfully faced drug/alcohol addiction with a different method of recovery for pain pill addiction.

Moyers answers some of these questions near the end of his new book:

“Today, I can happily attest to a pair of truths that once seemed impossible to reconcile: the program and fellowship of Alcoholics Anonymous saved me, and so did Suboxone. AA provided a place of safety and acceptance, and a path to follow … the Twelve Steps helped me understand how to be human and whole again after cocaine and alcohol had hollowed me out and ground me into pieces. Two decades later, Suboxone gave me a new kind of freedom. Opioids had invaded and overpowered what I thought was a secure sobriety and trapped me in a cycle of craving and chaos. Dr. Frenz’s prescription gave me clarity and courage enough to reclaim my recovery and begin rebuilding my life with renewed honesty and passion.”

“Broken Open” is published by Hazlelden Publishing in conjunction with the 75th anniversary of Hazelden Betty Ford Foundation. Moyers will discuss his book at 6 p.m. Thursday, Sept. 5, at Next Chapter Booksellers, 38 S. Snelling Ave., St. Paul.