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: 345

Thought: Today I realized that recovery lives in the space between moments. Between the urge and the action. Between the thought and the choice. It’s the pause that saves you, the breath that reminds you you’re free. I used to think progress meant constant motion. Now I see it’s often found in stillness. In that quiet space, I remember who I am and who I no longer need to be.

It began with restlessness. You wanted movement, something to shake the silence inside you. Stillness felt unbearable, like standing in a room with no air. So when the storm appeared on the horizon, wild and alive, you ran toward it. It looked powerful. Free. Untamed. You told yourself that’s what you needed. Something that made you feel something.

At first, it was thrilling. The rush of wind, the sharp rain, the way it drowned out your thoughts. The storm became your hiding place. Every gust swept away a worry. Every drop erased a fear. You thought, This is peace. But peace built on chaos never lasts.

Alan Carr says addiction gives you the illusion of control in moments when you feel powerless. It offers distraction, not healing. It makes you mistake intensity for life. You think the noise is relief, when it’s only drowning out the discomfort you haven’t faced.

Over time, the storm changes. What once carried you starts to push you down. You lose sight of where you are. The ground disappears beneath your feet. You tell yourself you can manage it, that you can step out whenever you choose. But the truth is, you no longer remember what calm feels like. You begin to believe you need the storm just to exist.

That is the lie. The storm was never freedom. It was only movement that kept you from seeing how strong you already were. You did not need thunder to feel alive. You needed stillness to remember your own strength.

When you finally stop running, the silence feels strange. The world seems too quiet, too plain. But if you wait, you’ll notice something beautiful. The air smells clean. The sky opens. The ground beneath you feels solid again. The stillness that once scared you now feels safe.

Carr says freedom is not found in control, but in clarity. The moment you see the storm for what it is, it loses power. You stop chasing it. You let it pass.

And when it does, you find something stronger than the storm could ever give you: peace that doesn’t depend on chaos.

You walk through the quiet now with steady steps. The sky above you is wide and open. The air is still, but it is alive. You do not need the noise anymore. You do not need to chase anything.

The storm can rage somewhere else. You are home.

Addiction convinces you that peace is boring. That you need chaos to feel alive. But there’s a different kind of aliveness in calm the kind that doesn’t need fixing, chasing, or escaping.

When you learn to sit in that stillness and call it enough, that’s when freedom begins. Not when the noise ends, but when you no longer need it.

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

"Today, I walked past the store where I used to buy what hurt me. My body remembered before my mind did. For a second, I felt the pull. Then I smiled and kept walking. I realized the craving wasn’t real, it was just an old echo. The part of me that used to listen is gone now."

(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)