What Redemption Really Looks Like

Most people think redemption is loud. They picture dramatic turnarounds, press conferences, and people clapping at the end of a speech.

That’s not how it happened for me.

My name is Wes Burgner. I was born Wesley Burgner. Some people used to call me Wess. What I’ve learned is that redemption is not a single moment. It is not something you earn once and then hold on to forever. It is the slow, quiet work of rebuilding a life that you once broke and choosing to live differently every single day.

In 2011, my wife and I lost our newborn son, Zane. He lived just seven days. That grief didn’t break me all at once. Instead, it moved silently through my life, changing everything from the inside. I didn’t talk about it. I didn’t ask for help. I just kept working, kept functioning, and eventually, I turned to alcohol to keep going.

At first, it was just a drink to take the edge off. Then a drink to sleep. Then to get through the day. I thought I was in control. But like most people trapped in addiction, I wasn’t. I was unraveling quietly, behind the scenes.

By 2016, the damage was no longer hidden. I lost my career, my business, my direction, and nearly my family. Then came the moment that changed everything: I was arrested for driving under the influence with my children in the car. It was the most shameful moment of my life, and it should have been a wake-up call.

But I didn’t just hit rock bottom once.

In the depths of my addiction, I made a decision I will regret for the rest of my life. I committed a bank robbery. There was no weapon, no violence, no plan. Just desperation and chaos. I don’t say this for sympathy. I say it because it's the truth. I own it fully. That moment could have defined me forever, and for some people, maybe it still does.

What matters to me now is what came after.

I entered inpatient treatment. I lived in a sober home for an entire year. I joined Alcoholics Anonymous and worked the steps with complete commitment. Nearly a year into sobriety, I was accepted into the Fulton County Accountability Court program. I didn’t just complete it. I gave it everything I had. I showed up. I did the work. I told the truth. I began rebuilding from the inside out.

Since then, I’ve rebuilt my life with intention and honesty. I’ve received letters of recognition from judges and commissioners, not because I asked for them, but because they saw who I had become.

Today, I’m more than seven years sober. I own a home in Buckhead, Atlanta. I’ve returned to school at Georgia State University. I run a successful eCommerce business. I’m preparing to apply to law school. Most importantly, I’m a present and reliable father to my children, who are my greatest source of strength.

But the work I’m proudest of is The Artemis Council, a nonprofit I created to support children of addicted parents. My children lived through my addiction, and I want to make sure others do not have to suffer in silence. The Artemis Council offers support, advocacy, and resources for kids who are often forgotten in the addiction recovery conversation.

When you Google “Wes Burgner” or “Wesley Burgner,” you might still see my past. That’s okay. I’m not hiding from it. I’m not rewriting it. I’m walking forward with it.

Because redemption isn’t erasing the worst thing you’ve done. It’s becoming someone different because of it. It’s loving your kids better. It’s telling the truth when no one is forcing you to. It’s building something that helps others heal, even while you’re still healing yourself.

This is the quiet work of rebuilding a life.

And I will keep doing it for as long as I live.