Recently, someone suggested that my passion for writing has morphed into a substitute for my gambling addiction. However, this perception didn’t imply that I had chosen a healthier outlet for my struggles; rather, it was hinted that my writing had become an obsession in a detrimental way.
I embarked on my blogging journey just weeks after I finally confronted my addiction. My life was in disarray. I had recently admitted to close friends and family that I’d concealed my addiction for several years, which included engaging in illegal activities to sustain it.
That moment marked my personal rock bottom. Rock bottom can look different for everyone. For me, it wasn’t about facing law enforcement or explaining my actions to my children; it came from the overwhelming weight of my own shame. This burden was so heavy that darkness felt like my only refuge.
As whispers about my addiction circulated within my social circle, my shame transformed into a monstrous force that I could no longer contain. I retreated deeper within myself, feeling lost and uncertain about facing the world, consumed by self-loathing.
Soon after my secret was revealed, I started seeing a counselor specializing in gambling addiction. We discussed the unpredictable path of recovery, emphasizing that it involves confronting pain rather than masking it—an approach I had previously relied on. She warned me that while the feelings of shame might intensify before they improved, those feelings were a necessary part of healing.
Indeed, my shame grew into an all-encompassing identity, and I found myself overwhelmed by emotions I hadn’t allowed myself to experience in years. This time, however, I couldn’t escape through gambling.
One night, the weight of my remorse became too much to bear. With a bottle of wine in one hand and a container of sleeping pills in the other, I found myself alone in my dark bedroom, consumed by despair. I felt like a despicable human—a liar and a thief. I began to strip away any good I had ever done until all I saw was darkness.
A sip of wine followed by a pill, then another sip, and another pill. I wanted to end it all.
But here I am, clearly alive. I fell asleep before I could take that final step. Was it luck? Or perhaps a sign that I didn’t truly want to die?
That was my rock bottom.
The following day, despite grappling with a monumental hangover, I knew it was time to confront my demons. My motivation came from the faces of my two teenagers, who still looked at me with unconditional love. They didn’t see the monster I believed I had become; they only saw their mother.
I scheduled an appointment with my counselor for that afternoon. Now, in addition to my addiction, I had to face the shame of an attempted suicide—an embarrassing act that no mother should ever consider. During our session, she encouraged me to write. “Write until the tears stop, and when they stop, write some more,” she said. Those words struck a chord within me.
When I returned home, I put pen to paper, letting the tears flow freely. I wrote a heartfelt letter to my younger self:
“If I could speak to you in this moment, I’d reassure you that everything will be okay. I know it feels like you’re trapped in a nightmare, but you will get through this. You may wonder how I know, but it’s because I’m here now, writing to you. None of this is your fault. You’ll find strength you didn’t know you had.”
I continued to write. Every word served as a stepping stone toward my recovery, allowing me to confront the addiction that almost claimed my life. I didn’t edit; I just wrote.
Many women battling addiction often have a history of trauma. For me, articulating my pain on the page has empowered me to reclaim my life. It reminds me that I am not alone—not just in overcoming my gambling addiction but also in healing from past traumas.
Each day that I dedicate to writing, I discover more peace within myself. I will never revert to the person I was before my addiction, and that’s a truth I’ve come to accept. The recovery journey is about taking it one day at a time. Through writing, I’ve uncovered a passion that keeps me away from gambling—a healthy alternative to fill the void. Others may choose different paths, such as exercise or art, but whatever you choose, be proud of your progress in overcoming an addiction that once loomed over you.
Writing has granted me the strength to rise above the initial shame that nearly consumed me. It not only serves as an escape from a troubled mind but has also provided me with the freedom to forgive myself. Today, I can confidently say that writing has been as transformative for me as my counseling sessions. By channeling my energy into something I cherish, I’m reclaiming my self-belief.
So, no, writing hasn’t replaced my addiction; it’s a vital reason I can proudly say I’m clean. In a way, writing may have very well saved my life.
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Summary
Writing has been my lifeline, helping me confront the shame of my addiction and enabling my recovery. Through the power of words, I’ve found healing, self-forgiveness, and a renewed sense of purpose. By sharing my journey, I hope to inspire others on their paths to recovery.
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