Three years ago, Dean McDermott hit a wall—and then decided to climb out.
On Friday, June 26, the 59-year-old actor marked his third year of sobriety with a heartfelt Instagram post thanking the people and the program that got him here. But what makes this milestone worth paying attention to isn’t just the number. It’s the specificity of what he’s escaped. In November 2023, just months after his divorce from Tori Spelling was finalized, McDermott opened up to the Daily Mail about the depth of his addiction: drinking a fifth of tequila every night, seven days a week, alongside a handful of prescription medications—all while five beautiful kids were in the other room.
That honesty is the kind of detail that separates genuine recovery stories from the kind of celebrity news that evaporates after a weekend news cycle. McDermott didn’t just say he was drinking too much. He painted the picture of isolation, of waking up angry at waking up, of being so dark and hopeless he couldn’t see the family around him. He described how his alcohol-fueled fights petrified Spelling and their kids. He talked about codependence and how Spelling came from a place of love, putting his well-being ahead of her own while he spiraled.
What’s striking is how he’s framing recovery now. In a video posted alongside his announcement, McDermott—calling himself“clean Dean”—wasn’t offering a victory lap. Instead, he extended his hand to anyone still struggling. He acknowledged that reaching out for help feels like climbing Mount Everest when you’re in your darkest days. But he insisted it’s possible. Not because he’s special. Because he did the work: surrendering, asking for help, leaning on family, friends, fellowship, a sponsor, and a 12-step program.
The divorce from Spelling was finalized in November 2025, but by then something had shifted. McDermott told Us Weekly that month that they’ve become great coparents, a united front focused on the kids. He said he loves Tori and always will, and she’ll love him for the rest of her life. That’s not the language of someone running from his past—it’s the language of someone who faced it, owned it, and chose to rebuild on steadier ground.
Three years is a long time. It’s long enough that sobriety stops being a white-knuckle daily battle and starts becoming a life. McDermott’s message on Friday wasn’t about him patting himself on the back. It was an outstretched hand to the next person standing where he stood.
About the Author
Local Lawton
Local Lawton is a contributor to LocalBeat, covering local news and community stories.