“You can always find a distraction if you're looking for one.”
— Tom Kite
Another week forward in sobriety, and another week appreciating what this sober life is giving me. But it was also a somber, heavy week. I made the difficult decision to pause a possible long-term partnership with a beautiful, kind, loving woman. Partly because I don’t yet feel strong and certain enough in my sobriety, and partly because of the unanswered questions that surfaced:
I don’t yet trust myself in sobriety. And if I don’t trust myself, how can those I’ve harmed with past relapses trust me? How will I know when that trust is real?
Am I still burying unresolved fears from the past — fears that keep me guarded, trying not to hurt others and trying not to get hurt myself?
And where am I truly in my recovery? Am I emotionally available for a long-term relationship, or still finding my footing?
In a counseling session, while talking through the first question, I admitted that I actually was feeling strong in my recovery. My sober foundation is solid. I’ve been combining healthy habits, mindfulness, accountability, creativity, and structure into something that feels like a real practice. But my lack of self-trust still lingers because I continue to engage in other long-term problematic behaviors — distractions that numb, excite, or occupy my mind when I’m feeling overwhelmed.
These behaviors bring their own shame. And shame leads to hiding. Hiding from others, hiding from myself. Drinking wasn’t the only way I numbed out. I used distraction the same way.
Here are three recent examples of the behaviors I’m talking about:
One afternoon when I felt bored and restless, I opened Netflix “just to find something light.” I found an action series called Night Agent. The synopsis hooked me. I watched one episode… then the next… then the next. Hours passed. Before I knew it, I had binge-watched the entire season. I told myself it was harmless. But afterward, I felt that familiar hollowness — like I had disappeared into something instead of living the day.
On another low-energy day, I turned to video games. I’ve always enjoyed older first-person shooters and adventure titles, and I told myself a little play time might help lift my mood. Five hours later, I resurfaced. Engaged, yes — but unfulfilled. It was escape, not enjoyment.
The tech-and-gadget trap has always been there for me. The “shopping trance” is real: reading reviews, hunting for deals, comparing specs, chasing the hit of excitement. Recently, I convinced myself I needed a new tablet. I bought it quickly, riding the dopamine rush of the hunt. But as soon as the purchase was done, that excitement evaporated. What replaced it was shame. And again — I hid it from friends and family.
These experiences showed me something uncomfortable but important: my sobriety is strong, but my relationship with distraction still needs work. I’m using these behaviors for the same reasons I used alcohol — fear, boredom, loneliness, uncertainty. Different tools, same purpose.
So I’m starting a new practice: treating these behaviors the same way I treat drinking. Not with harsh judgment, but with awareness and honesty. I’ve decided to focus first on the most costly behaviors — financially and emotionally — and when the urge rises, to pause and ask myself a simple question: How does this serve me?
By slowing myself down, I can look directly at what I’m feeling, understand the motivation beneath it, and choose a healthier response instead of an automatic escape. The more I do this, the more I begin rebuilding something I lost for a long time: long-term trust in myself.
Learning to trust myself again isn’t just for my own peace of mind. It’s also for the relationships I hope to build down the road. I want to be dependable, emotionally steady, and trustworthy — not only in sobriety, but in the way I live day to day. If I can trust myself over time, then others can trust me, too.