113. The Hobbies That Gave My Life Back
When I first stepped into recovery, I thought sobriety would mean a life stripped down, empty, and dull. I believed that without the substances, there would be nothing left to fill the void—the silence would swallow me whole. Addiction had consumed so much of my life, my time, and my identity that I had forgotten what it meant to enjoy something for the simple sake of enjoyment. What I’ve learned is that in recovery, finding and nurturing hobbies isn’t just a way to pass the time—it’s a lifeline. It’s a way to rediscover who I am beyond the addict.
For years, my days and nights were dictated by one obsession: using. Every decision I made revolved around how I was going to get the next high, and everything else—family, work, my own passions—fell by the wayside. When I began recovery, I was terrified of the emptiness that came with putting drugs down. I was scared of the stillness, because in that stillness I’d be left alone with myself and the wreckage of what I had done. But in that emptiness, I’ve been given the chance to rebuild myself piece by piece. Hobbies, the little things that once seemed so ordinary, have become extraordinary sources of healing for me.
Take reading, for example. When I was in active addiction, books collected dust on shelves, ignored and forgotten. I didn’t have the patience or clarity of mind to read even a few pages of any book or magazine. My attention span was wrecked, and the only thing I cared to focus on was my next fix. Now, reading has become a way to quiet the chaos in my head. When I pick up a book, I can step into another world for a while, one that isn’t filled with pain and regret, but with imagination, growth, and perspective. Every chapter reminds me that my mind still has value, that I can still focus, still learn, still dream. Even more than that, reading teaches me patience—something I’ve never been very good at. Addiction was all about instant gratification. Sobriety, and the simple act of turning pages, has taught me to slow down, to take things one step, one word, one day at a time.
Movies, too, have taken on a new meaning in my recovery. They are no longer just background noise to numb myself or fill the silence in a dark room. Now, when I sit down to watch a film, I’m able to feel the emotions, to connect with the characters, to allow myself to be moved. Movies let me laugh when I need to laugh. They remind me of the beauty in storytelling, of how pain and triumph weave together into something worth experiencing. In many ways, movies have mirrored my own recovery journey—messy, heartbreaking at times, but ultimately filled with hope. They’ve shown me that even the broken can find redemption, that even the flawed can be loved, and that every good story is about getting back up after the fall.
Sports have always been a part of my life, but in addiction, even that passion began to fade. Games that once thrilled me became background noise. I would watch, but I wouldn’t feel. I was there in body, but never in spirit. Recovery has given that passion back to me. Attending a sporting event or even just watching a game on TV fills me with a sense of belonging, of shared excitement and unity. Sports are one of those rare things that can bring strangers together, and for someone who has felt isolated for so long, that matters. It’s more than just a score or a team—it’s the feeling of being alive, of being connected to something larger than myself. When the crowd roars, when the underdog makes a comeback, I feel a surge of hope in my own chest. Sports remind me that no matter how far down I’ve gone, there is always a chance to fight back.
Last but not least, coaching soccer—that’s the one hobby that has truly changed the way I see myself in recovery. Addiction robbed me of my confidence, my sense of purpose, and my ability to believe I could be a role model. When I coach, I get to give back, to pour into the lives of young athletes the lessons I wish I had learned earlier. It’s not just about drills or winning games—it’s about teaching resilience, teamwork, and discipline, all values I’ve had to relearn in my own recovery. When I step onto the field, I am reminded that I am not defined by my past failures. I am someone who can inspire, encourage, and lead. Coaching has become more than a hobby—it’s a symbol of redemption. It’s living proof that I can take the pain of my past and turn it into something good for someone else.
I won’t pretend it’s always easy. There are days when the cravings creep in or the depression whispers in my ear, telling me I’ll never be enough, that I’ll always fall back. On those days, it would be easy to lie down and surrender. But having hobbies gives me something to turn to. They give me a way to fight back against the darkness. A book can distract me. A movie can comfort me. A sporting event can excite me. A practice with my teams can give me purpose. These aren’t just hobbies. They’re anchors. They keep me grounded when the storm tries to drag me away.
One of the hardest truths about recovery is this: it’s not just about not using. If recovery were only about putting the drugs down, I don’t know if I would have made it this far. Recovery is about building a life worth staying sober for. Without hobbies, without passions, without things that bring me joy, sobriety would feel like a punishment. But with them, sobriety feels like freedom. My hobbies are the bricks that help me lay down that new foundation. They give me joy, purpose, and healing. They remind me that I am not just an addict trying to survive—I am a human being learning how to live again. And maybe the most powerful part is this: every time I open a book, watch a movie, cheer for a team, or coach a group of kids, I am proving to myself that I don’t need drugs to feel alive. I don’t need substances to feel joy. I don’t need to escape reality because reality, with all its ups and downs, is enough. Hobbies have given me my life back. They’ve given me myself back. And for someone like me, who once thought all was lost, that is nothing short of a miracle.
And remember, if you’re struggling or know someone who is struggling, please don’t lose hope. If that had happened to me, I wouldn’t be able to help spread awareness today.
