Recently, someone remarked that my writing has simply become a substitute for my gambling addiction. Rather than seeing my writing as a constructive outlet, the implication was that it has taken on a harmful obsession of its own.
I began my blogging journey shortly after I emerged from the shadows of my addiction. My world was chaotic; I had just revealed my hidden struggles to friends and family, admitting that I had concealed my addiction for years. The lengths I went to feed this habit even included illegal actions.
For me, hitting rock bottom was a profound experience. It’s different for everyone; for some, it might be the police knocking on their door, but for me, it was an overwhelming wave of shame that I couldn’t escape. This burden was so intense that I found solace only in the darkness, where I felt a sense of safety.
As rumors about my addiction spread, my shame morphed into an insurmountable monster. I retreated into myself, feeling lost and terrified, unsure if I could ever face the world again without the weight of disgust hanging over me.
Soon after my secret was out, I began seeing a therapist specializing in gambling addictions. She shared insights about the recovery process, emphasizing that confronting pain is essential and that my feelings of shame might intensify before they improved.
And intensify they did. My shame transformed into a part of my identity, overwhelming me with emotions I hadn’t faced in years. In a moment of despair, I found myself alone in my dark bedroom with a bottle of wine and sleeping pills, consumed by a desire to escape my reality. I started to dissolve all the good within me, leaving behind only darkness, where shame wrapped around my every thought.
I wanted to die.
But the unexpected happened: before I could take that final step, I drifted into sleep. Was it luck, or did I subconsciously want to live? That was my rock bottom.
The next day, nursing a severe hangover, I realized it was time to confront my demons. The unconditional love reflected in the eyes of my two teens gave me the strength to face my darkest moments. They didn’t see the monster I felt I had become; they still saw their mom.
I made an appointment with my counselor and faced not only the shame of my addiction but also the embarrassment of my suicide attempt—an action no loving mother would choose. My counselor encouraged me to write. “Write until the tears stop,” she told me. “And when they stop, write some more.” Those words struck a chord.
That evening, I wrote, tears streaming down my face. I poured my heart out in a letter to my 4-year-old self:
If I could speak to you now, living in what feels like a nightmare, I promise it will get better. You may not see it, but you will overcome this. I know because I am here, writing this letter to you.
Remember, none of this is your fault. You have the strength to get through it. You’ll face challenges, but you won’t be alone. I want you to let your feelings out. Pain is part of healing, and it won’t last forever.
I wrote those words to aid in my recovery from an addiction that nearly claimed my life. I poured out my heart without editing or holding back. For many women battling addiction, past traumas are often intertwined with their struggles. For me, writing has been a powerful tool in reclaiming my strength and understanding that I am not alone in this journey.
Every day I write, I find more peace with who I am becoming. While I will never return to the person I was before addiction, I have learned the value of taking life one day at a time. Writing has opened up a new world for me—one filled with passion and purpose. It has not replaced my addiction; rather, it has become a healthy alternative. Just as some find solace in exercise, painting, or volunteering, I have chosen to write.
Writing has empowered me to move past the initial shame that almost engulfed me. It has become a refuge from a troubled mind and has provided me with the freedom to forgive myself. Today, I can confidently say that writing has been as transformative for me as my therapy sessions.
So, writing hasn’t replaced my addiction; it has become a vital part of my recovery. It might even have saved my life.
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In summary, writing has allowed me to navigate the complexities of my addiction and emerge stronger. It serves as a testament to the healing power of expression and self-discovery.