Hey, it’s Matt with The Addiction Newsletter.

Here’s what’s inside today:

Let’s get started.

If you want some extra accountability from me, feel free to reply this newsletter with how many days it has been.

I read every single reply and do my best to reply to them. I am always here for you.

(Example: “Hey Matt, it’s been 33 days since I have used X”)

Days Since Last Use: 343

Thought: Today I realized that healing isn’t dramatic. It doesn’t arrive with applause or lightning. It happens quietly, in ordinary moments you once rushed past. It’s in the first sip of coffee, the sunlight on your face, the laugh you didn’t have to fake. For so long, I thought I needed something big to feel alive. Now I see that life was always happening right here, waiting for me to notice. Recovery isn’t about chasing happiness. It’s about remembering that peace was never gone, it was buried under the noise.

It began with hunger. Not for food, but for something harder to name. A craving for calm, for excitement, for escape, for a moment that felt full. Life felt like a table that was always missing something. Then one day, you found it—the thing that promised to fill you. It offered flavor, color, warmth. You thought, This is it. This is what I’ve been missing.

At first, every taste was bliss. Every moment with it felt rich and alive. You felt sharper, happier, more yourself. You told yourself you had found balance. That this was your treat, your relief, your way to feel okay. But over time, the feast began to change. You needed a little more to get the same feeling. The flavor dulled. The satisfaction faded. The joy turned into habit, and habit turned into hunger again.

Alan Carr says addiction is like eating air. You keep taking it in, believing it will fill you, but it never does. It gives the illusion of fullness while quietly emptying you from within. You tell yourself you’re feeding your needs, but what you’re really feeding is the craving itself.

The cruel trick is that the more you consume, the less you receive. It promises nourishment while taking your strength. It promises comfort while deepening your unease. Every moment of pleasure comes with a quiet cost your energy, your confidence, your peace.

Soon, the feast becomes your only focus. You stop noticing the rest of the table friends, laughter, sunlight, stillness. The world narrows to one dish. One flavor. One way to feel alive. You keep eating, but the hunger never ends.

Then comes the emptiness. You begin to realize that what you’ve been calling comfort is actually control. What you’ve been calling fullness is dependence. You feel hollow, even in the middle of the feast. That’s when the truth begins to break through.

Carr says freedom comes not from deprivation, but from understanding. You don’t have to fight the craving you have to see through it. The moment you see that it has never fed you, you stop wanting it. You don’t lose anything by walking away. You only stop starving yourself.

When you finally push the plate away, the silence feels strange. You expect pain. You expect loss. But what you feel instead is space real, open space. Your senses begin to return. Food tastes richer. The air smells sweeter. The smallest things a song, a walk, a breath start to fill you again.

You realize that life has always been offering you a feast. You were just too distracted by the imitation to notice.

Addiction pretends to give you more. In truth, it gives you less of everything. Less joy. Less strength. Less peace. It leaves you hungry for a version of life that already exists within reach.

Now you know that the real feast doesn’t come from what you take in it comes from what you allow yourself to feel. Connection. Calm. Honesty.

You are not giving anything up. You are simply standing up from a table that was never feeding you.

And when you walk away, you’ll discover that you were never starving. You were just looking for nourishment in the wrong place.

It starts small, a thought, a pattern, a promise that things will finally feel easier. You tell yourself you’re in control. That you can stop anytime. And for a while, you can. But slowly, it begins to rearrange your life. The days blur, the laughter fades, and everything starts to orbit around the thing you swore you could manage. That’s how addiction works, not as a storm, but as a slow leak.

And yet, recovery isn’t about hating who you were. It’s about meeting that version of yourself with compassion, the one who was just trying to survive. Because the moment you stop fighting your past, you start freeing your future.

Here is the win of the day for one of our readers. I will keep most of the information anonymous:

"Tonight, I felt lonely. The kind of loneliness that used to make me reach out to anyone who would answer. But instead, I lit a candle, played soft music, and stayed. I didn’t try to fill the space. I realized I can be alone without being empty. For the first time, the quiet felt kind. That felt like healing."

(Note: If you have a win, no matter how large or how small, reply to this email and I’ll include it in the future.)

I refer thousands of people every month to detox and treatment centers across the United States. Depending on if you have insurance and what type, a lot of the time you can get treatment completely free. If not, it does cost money unfortunately.

If you’d like to use this free service, click below.

(Click here)

Disclaimer

This newsletter is for educational and motivational purposes only. It is not medical advice or a substitute for professional treatment. If you’re in crisis or need immediate help, please contact your local emergency services or the SAMHSA helpline at 1-800-662-HELP (4357)