Finding fire again: How I turned addiction into purpose through The Sow Project

I was lost in a kitchen haze for many years – blazing burners, flashing knives, a full book of reservations, and a head full of chaos. I was a chef on the rise, but I was falling apart behind the pass. I’d built a life around food, creativity, ego, and lies, but I carried an addiction that was cooking me alive. 

My name is Ben Vaughn, and this is the story of how I found sobriety after years of deplorable behavior and how, today, that story has helped me connect with others through The Sow Project in Memphis and beyond.

For chefs, the grind is real. We wear long hours and bruised knuckles like badges of honor. The culture can be brutal, romanticized by television, and glamorized in memoirs, but behind the scenes, it’s often darker. Addiction is common – cocaine to stay sharp, alcohol to come down, pills to forget. I was no different. I was textbook.

At first, I told myself it was just to take the edge off. But eventually, the edge took me. I drank to numb the pressure and unhealed childhood trauma. I used to stay awake, to push harder, to feel something (or nothing). 

The lines between pleasure and punishment blurred. The restaurants stayed full, the reviews stayed good, but my soul was emptied. I became someone I didn’t recognize. I was living a lie, faking it until I made it – angry, paranoid, egotistical, dishonest. I hurt the people who cared, broke promises. I disconnected. I spiraled. I failed. 

I wore success on the outside but lived in shame on the inside. I justified every dark choice with the same three words: I’m a chef. That excuse worked – until it didn’t.

There wasn’t one big dramatic fall. There were dozens of issues, legal, money, and a lack of integrity. It was more like death by a thousand cuts – relationships failed, opportunities dried up, and the respect I once had began to vanish. I hit my personal bottom. I woke up alone, sick, and scared – not of dying, but of living like this forever. 

That’s when I finally asked for help.

Sobriety didn’t come easily. I fought it. I relapsed so many times I lost count. I lied in meetings, to my family and friends, my wife. I hid behind my reputation, which was a false sense of bravado and an ego that was nothing but fear. But somewhere along the way, I got tired of the performance. I wanted peace more than I wanted perfection. I began to listen. I began to trust. And, slowly, I began to heal.

Early in recovery, I realized I had to change everything – how I worked, how I thought, how I cooked, even who I surrounded myself with. A life of servanthood was my true key to sobriety. It still is. I wasn’t just trying to get sober; I was trying to rebuild a life I could live with, a life that my children, wife, mother, and sister could be proud of. 

With a friend group of zero, I began the uphill task of consistency, something I never thought about until I needed it most. Every day, I was determined to show up for anyone and everyone who needed me. 

That’s where The Sow Project was born – from a simple idea: What if we gave people who had been counted out a real shot?

I launched The Sow Project, a nonprofit program that offers free culinary training and 100% job placement for the unemployed and underemployed – especially those with backgrounds like addiction, incarceration, trauma, and poverty. Since then, we’ve built a kitchen, a classroom, and, most importantly, a community.

We don’t just teach knife skills; we teach life skills. We talk about respect, teamwork, and showing up even when you don’t feel like it. We help people believe in themselves again. We give them structure, dignity, and accountability. We walk with them – because someone once walked with me.

Today, I watch students come through The Sow Project doors broken and unsure, just like I was. And I see them leave with certifications, jobs, confidence, and a new sense of purpose. We’ve helped single mothers, returning citizens, young men who never had a mentor, and older folks trying to rewrite their story. And every time we place one of them in a new employment position or help them cater an event, I’m reminded that this is what real success looks like.

Memphis is our home base, but our vision goes far beyond the city limits. We’ve begun working with partners in other states, expanding our model, offering consulting to other chefs and kitchens who want to create sober-friendly, inclusive spaces. Because it’s not just about food, it’s about the people making it.

I still cook. I still love the fire, the smell of garlic hitting hot oil, the way a well-plated dish tells a story. But I’m not chasing stars anymore. I’m chasing substance. I’m not obsessed with what the critics say – I care about what our students say. I want to build kitchens where people can thrive, not just survive.

Sobriety gave me back my life. Service gave me back my purpose.

I’m not perfect, I still have my hard days. But I don’t hide that anymore. I talk to my team. I cook with intention. I mentor. I forgive myself. I keep planting seeds, even when I don’t see results right away – because The Sow Project taught me that transformation is slow, yet sacred.

If you’re reading this and struggling, know this: You are not alone. If you’ve made mistakes, so have I. If you think it’s too late, it’s not. If you’re a chef, a dishwasher, a server, a farmer, a felon, a dreamer – there’s room for you here.

The Sow Project isn’t just about changing careers. It’s about changing lives. And it started with one broken, tired, ashamed man who finally got honest, got help, and got to work.

My name is Ben Vaughn. I found sobriety in the wreckage of addiction. I found hope in the hands of strangers. And today, I get to pass that on, one plate, one person, one promise at a time. You’re not too far gone. You’re right on time.

If you're seeking a fresh start, we invite you to apply to The Sow Project and discover what you can grow.