WHITEFIELD — The Holistic Sober Center in this rural town southeast of Augusta opened this month as the only drug treatment facility of its kind in Lincoln County.

It almost didn’t happen.

Owner Kristina Simpson, a real estate agent for most of her adult life, had no experience in drug treatment when she bought the former nursing home in 2022. She was prepared for the community to be skeptical about – if not openly hostile to – her plan to transform it into a coed sober house for up to 54 adults. But she also wasn’t going to be chased off.

“At the first town meeting about this, people were so angry with us,” she said at the center on a recent morning. “I think they were worried about us bringing people (with substance use disorder) to their town. But they’re here already.”

It took more than two years – and she endured plenty of pushback from townspeople – but the facility has finally begun accepting residents. Simpson and her partner, James Birkbeck, expect to have it filled by fall. They know the need is acute.

The story of Holistic Sober Center reflects the challenges of combating the opioid crisis in Maine, an epidemic that has cut short nearly 4,000 lives over the past decade, half of them in just the last three years. Like many states, Maine was slow to embrace and expand treatment options as the problem mounted. Even though there is a better understanding of the need for treatment options, resistance persists, especially in smaller towns, where signs of drug abuse are less visible but the problem is no less acute.

As the state has begun distributing its share of opioid settlement funds – the result of a landmark lawsuit against pharmaceutical companies that produced and aggressively marketed addictive painkillers – bringing treatment to historically underserved areas will be a priority.

“What we’re looking for is gaps in service, and a lot of those are in rural areas,” said Pat Kimball, who chairs the Maine Recovery Council, which oversees distribution of settlement funds.

The council has roughly $11 million to spend in different areas such as treatment and prevention. Simpson hopes to apply for some help, but for now her center is self-financed.

Still, if the reception she received in Whitefield is any indication, it won’t be easy for others with similar plans to succeed. Even as more people acknowledge the ubiquity of substance use disorder and the need to offer a panoply of treatment options, they may be reluctant to accept treatment centers in their own communities or neighborhoods.

Ron Springel, executive director of the Maine Association of Recovery Residences, said his organization has 31 members operating 80 recovery houses and nearly 1,000 beds across the state.

“But we still have four counties in Maine that don’t have any,” he said. “We’ve seen improvements, but stigma is alive and well.”

For her part, Simpson said the only thing she can do now is prove to the community that what she’s doing is vital. And keep proving it every day.

Some of the early residents of Holistic Sober Center, meanwhile, say its remote location is a gift.

“When I first got here and it was this big empty place, an old nursing home in the middle of nowhere, I was a little nervous,” said Chris Shulenski, 37, who grew up in Madison but was living most recently in Lewiston. “I just want to stay sober.”

***

Simpson was done with selling houses but not old enough to retire fully. She had suffered some losses in her personal life and wanted to do something of consequence, something that might make a difference.

The 17,000-square-foot building that for decades housed County Manor Nursing Home went on the market in 2021 after that home closed, a victim – like so many other similar places – of the COVID-19 pandemic.

The nursing home had been an anchor in the small town of about 2,400 residents.

Simpson bought the building as an investment at first, but when she started thinking about how to use it, she kept coming back to the idea of a sober house.

Transitional housing for people in short- and long-term recovery has often been scarce, especially away from more populous areas like Portland, Lewiston and Bangor.

According to the state’s online data portal, there are no other recovery residences or treatment facilities in all of 455-square-mile Lincoln County. The closest options are in Augusta, Portland or Lewiston, each an hour’s drive or more away from many of the county’s towns.

Kimball, who previously ran a treatment center in Bangor, said people would often come to her from far away. When they were released and sent back to their communities, they found scant support services.

“For me, these recovery centers have been a blessing,” she said.

Springel said recovery residences have only recently become widely accepted in the spectrum of treatment, but their numbers are growing.

“A recovery residence is a safe environment for those in early and midstage recovery to promote their own recovery,” he said. “It’s hard to get healthy if you don’t have a roof over your head. That’s why it’s so difficult for people experiencing homelessness to get into recovery.”

His organization exists to certify, and provide some oversight of, these houses – something that has been a problem in other states, including Arizona, where unregulated sober homes recruited Indigenous residents for treatment and failed to provide services but still collected millions of dollars in Medicaid reimbursements for services.

Even with oversight, though, the idea of dozens of people in different stages of recovery all in one place often scares community residents.

When Simpson first wrote to town officials of her plans in the spring of 2023, townspeople immediately voiced their concerns. At a public hearing in May 2023, more than 20 people showed up, and not one spoke in favor. Some even floated the idea of gathering signatures for a moratorium that would block the project. Although some select board members expressed support for a moratorium, the idea fizzled out after the town’s attorney weighed in.

As the process moved along slowly, though, opposition continued to mount.

“We had been here for months and months working, and some of them went down to the local store,” Simpson said. “The people there told us, ‘We know where you work, we don’t want you here, you guys are ruining our town.’ It’s been that type of battle for two years.”

At a planning board meeting in April, nearly 40 people attended to question Simpson’s plans.

“I’m opposed to the application,” said resident Ellen Vickers. “For many years, the nursing home was a good neighbor. The application by Harmony Haven LLC does not set out a plan to create good neighbors. These people seeking treatment need support; however, the concept of creating residential treatment on Main Street would be a mistake.”

Many more raised vague concerns about traffic and safety.

The planning board in early May postponed action on Simpson’s plan, and she worried that all the effort she had put in might be for naught.

But just two weeks later, the board approved the project.

Planning board Chair Glenn Angel said he understood the concerns raised, but that officials acted on the details of the application.

“We can’t just reject something because we don’t like it,” he said.

***

Joe Smith was trying to get into a treatment home in Lewiston, where he has lived for the last five years.

He ran into Birkbeck, who used to run a sober house there before he partnered with Simpson. Birkbeck told him about the facility they were opening in Whitefield.

“I thought it might be good for me to get away from (Lewiston),” said Smith, 47.

Like so many struggling with substance use disorder, Smith has had good and bad periods. Recovery is rarely linear.

“I’ve done good and then relapsed, good and then relapsed. The longest stretch I’ve done is three years,” he said.

Smith is a chef by trade. He graduated years ago from Johnson & Wales in Rhode Island, which has an esteemed culinary program.

“I hope to get back in the kitchen,” he said. “That’s where I belong.”

Simpson said that if things work out, she’ll hire Smith to run the kitchen at the center. But he has to stay clean.

Shulenski, another of the early residents, spent time at Birkbeck’s sober house in Lewiston, but it didn’t stick.

“I wasn’t ready for the streets,” he said. “Everyone in my apartment, they were all addicts, and within two days, I was right on it. It went downhill fast.”

He reconnected with Birkbeck after an overdose last month. Birkbeck drove to Lewiston to pick him up. That’s how they plan to fill the Whitefield sober house: one bed at a time.

Shulenski grew up in the small town of Madison and said substance use is rampant in such communities.

“The thing about small towns, there is barely any work. There is not much to do but do and sell drugs; that’s how everyone is living,” he said.

That’s one of the reasons having a sober house in a town like Whitefield makes perfect sense, Simpson said: “I think there is a bigger problem here than the residents are willing to recognize.”

Last year, the number of drug overdose deaths in Maine decreased for the first time in five years. No one is taking victory laps yet, but with an estimated $230 million in settlement funds coming to the state over the next 18 years, there has never been a better opportunity to solve the crisis.

Kimball, with the Maine Recovery Council, said the biggest barrier to progress is apathy.

“I think that for most people, it’s become normalized. That’s the sad part,” she said. “So yes, there is some complacency.”

Incidentally, some also have criticized the recovery council for moving too slowly to distribute funds. Members met for a year before any funds went out.

“An honest assessment of the recovery council is that they are off to a slow start,” Springel said. “But that’s not all bad. I think they want to do it right.”

There is no guarantee that Simpson will be awarded any funds, but she’s also awaiting approval from the Department of Health and Human Services to accept MaineCare reimbursement.

Candidly, she said she doesn’t know if her facility will succeed long term, or if the town will change its mind about her.

But she’s hopeful.

In early June, not long after they got conditional approval to open, Simpson arrived at the sober house early. Someone had left a bouquet of flowers at the front door.

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