Skip to main content

SAME ACHE. DIFFERENT OUTFITS.

 


You see it in people who clock in early.

Put on scrubs.

Cut your hair.

Teach your kids.

Fix your wiring.

Preach on Sunday.

Deliver your packages.

Answer emails like a hero.

It wears a name tag.

A tool belt.

A blazer.

A cross.

A wedding ring.

A smile that says, I'm fine.

It has a calendar.

A reputation.

A "Sorry… just busy" text.

It doesn't always look reckless.

Sometimes it looks responsible.

Dependable.

High-functioning.

Admired, even.

And that's the part we miss.

Because addiction doesn't always stumble in drunk or crash through the front door.

Sometimes it shows up early.

Does the job.

Pays the bills.

Makes the jokes.

Holds it together in public.

Then goes home...

starving for relief.

For a long time, I thought addiction had a look.

Like... that person.

You know the one we quietly judge so we can reassure ourselves we're different.

But it's not them.

It's us.

Because addiction isn't just substances.

It's anything we reach for so we don't have to feel what we're feeling.

A drink.

A scroll.

A snack.

A late-night "Add to Cart" like we're restocking our soul.

A schedule so packed there's no room left for a thought to catch us.

And don't act like you don't have a show you "hate" but somehow know eight seasons of.

We like to think addiction lives over there.

Dark alley.

Rock bottom.

Sad piano music.

But what if it's right here?

Holding your phone.

Opening the fridge.

Refreshing your inbox...

hoping something inside finally says,

"There you are.

You're okay now."

Some people numb with alcohol.

Some with work.

Some with food.

Some with porn.

Some with staying so productive their calendar needs therapy.

Same ache.

Different outfits.

We don't all have the same addiction.

We all have the same escape plan.

We just rename it until it sounds respectable.

"I'm unwinding."

"I deserve this."

"I'm just staying informed."

"I'm fine."

Sure.

And I watch garbage TV for the character development.

Here's the part we don't like to admit.

The people with the "obvious" addictions?

They simply ran out of places to hide.

The rest of us?

Better branding.

Better lighting.

Same hiding.

Because underneath it all, it's the same instinct.

This hurts.

I don't want to feel it.

So we reach.

Not because we're weak.

Because we're human.

And the world is more than happy to help.

Feeling anxious?

Here's another notification.

Feeling lonely?

Here's another purchase.

Feeling overwhelmed?

Here's another distraction.

Anything...

except sitting with your own heart.

The truth is...

We don't want the drink.

We want peace.

We don't want the scroll.

We want relief.

We don't want the purchase.

We want enough.

We don't want the high.

We want home.

And home was never in the bottle.

Or the app.

Or the pantry.

Or the applause.

It was always in the place we keep abandoning.

Ourselves.

So the next time your hand reaches...

Pause.

Before you pour.

Before you scroll.

Before you buy.

Before you eat.

Before you run.

Ask one question.

What am I trying not to feel right now?

That question has a way of interrupting everything.

Because maybe the deepest addiction isn't alcohol.

Or work.

Or shopping.

Or social media.

Maybe it's our habit of leaving ourselves.

And everything we're searching for...

peace,

love,

God,

rest,

enough...

has been waiting...

for us to come home.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Wooden Tulips

  Wooden Tulips T he first time I was ever really afraid- the kind of afraid that makes your body cold from the inside out- was the night Sadie was born. She was supposed to come on Valentine’s Day. Of course she didn’t. Sadie and Erin are both stubborn, so naturally she showed up early. I remember kissing Erin’s forehead, paper hearts taped to the hospital window, me rehearsing the one job I’d been assigned: cut the cord. I was ready to nail it. Dad of the Year. Opening scene. Cue applause. And then- she was here. Tiny cries, a flurry of nurses, scissors in my hand, cord cut, done. Erin was drifting in and out from the C-section meds, crying, laughing, floating. I was waiting to hold our baby. Our brand-new everything. And then a nurse leaned in. Whispered. “I’m sorry. I think your baby has Down Syndrome.” That was the first thing anyone said about my daughter. Not “She’s beautiful.” Not “Congratulations.” Just: I’m sorry. I didn’t even know what that meant yet. How could she k...

The Jacket

E very man has one item of clothing his wife has begged him to throw out for years. Mine was a light-blue jean jacket with a fake white cotton collar. Erin hated that jacket with the kind of passion most people save for politics or pineapple on pizza. I’d had it for years. Presidents had come and gone. My career had risen, collapsed, and tried to rise again. Our kids had grown taller than Erin — which isn’t saying much, but still. And through it all, that jacket kept hanging by the door like a stubborn dog that refused to die. It was hideous. I can admit that now. The collar looked like dirty clouds glued on by a kindergartner’s craft project gone wrong. The denim was the exact shade of regret you get when you bleach jeans one cycle too many. And still - I wore it everywhere. School events. Grocery runs. Parent-teacher conferences. Probably even funerals. It wasn’t clothing. It was my emotional support jacket. Erin tried everything: gentle hints, sarcastic digs, quiet donation runs tha...

The Spirit of Division (and Why We’re All Being Played)

  W e hear stories all the time about the supernatural—miraculous healings, near-death experiences, strange whispers in the night that make even skeptics pause. But how do we know what’s real? That’s what investigative journalist (and former atheist) Lee Strobel asks in his new book Seeing the Supernatural . He dives into evidence of the unseen world and invites us to consider something both ancient and terrifyingly current: What if God really does still rule over the spiritual realm—angels, demons, all of it? And maybe that’s where we need to start. Because the real battle today? It’s not just political, cultural, or ideological. It’s spiritual. We like to think politics is about ideas—policy, vision, leadership. But underneath the hashtags and press conferences, something darker is happening. Something feeding on us. Every election cycle, every argument at the dinner table, every “unfriend” click on Facebook— it all fuels a spirit that thrives on outrage. That sp...