For a long time, I thought I was physically there with my loved ones—but the truth is, I wasn’t really present. My body might have been sitting on the couch or gathered around a table, but my mind was in another world entirely—one filled with odds, parlays, live lines, and the constant dopamine hits of wins and crushing losses. I didn’t realize how deeply gambling had pulled me away from the people I cared about until it was too late.
In the Corner of the Room
I remember one night a few years ago, a group of us were at our friend’s house. We were all there—laughing, eating, sharing stories—but I was in the corner of the room, glued to my phone. I wasn’t just checking it casually—I was locked in. I was live betting on a European soccer match. Portugal, I think. Or maybe it was the Bundesliga. It honestly doesn’t even matter anymore.
What does matter is what one of my friend’s wives said to me that night.
She walked over, looked at me and gently said, “You’re always in the corner, on your phone. You’re here, but you’re not here.”
That hit me. But not enough to change me—not yet. I brushed it off with a fake laugh, maybe even made a joke about a “lock” that was about to hit. But inside, I knew she was right. I wasn’t laughing with my friends, I wasn’t soaking in the memories. I was sweating the over/under on a meaningless match in another continent while the people who truly cared about me sat just a few feet away.
I missed so many nights like that. I thought I was multitasking. I thought I could have both. I couldn’t.
The Night Before My Last Bet
There’s another night I’ll never forget—because it was the last time I let gambling rob me of a moment I could have shared with someone I loved.
It was the NBA Playoffs—Lakers vs. Warriors. High-stakes matchup, LeBron and Curry going head-to-head. My significant other at the time was in another room of the house. I don’t even remember what she was doing—reading, maybe? Watching her own show? What I do remember is sitting in the living room with the glow of the TV and my phone lighting up my face.
I was live betting throughout the entire game. Chasing losses. Bet after bet. Warriors first half. Lakers to cover the third quarter. Over on Curry’s points. I lost all of it.
And while I spiraled through every possession like it was life or death, she was just one room over. Alone. I could have been sitting next to her. I could have been holding her hand, laughing about the game or just being still and enjoying her company. But instead, I was consumed by numbers and stats and money I didn’t have.
That night, something broke in me. And the next morning, I placed my last ever bet.
Presence is the Gift of Recovery
One of the most powerful things recovery has given me is the chance to be present again. To look someone in the eye when they’re talking. To laugh without checking my phone. To sit at dinner and remember the conversation—not the odds for tomorrow’s game.
As recovering gambling addicts, we carry a heavy past. But we also carry something powerful—a renewed ability to show up fully for the people we love.
Because here’s the truth: moments are fleeting. The game you’re watching? There will be another one tomorrow. But the people sitting across from you at dinner tonight? You don’t get infinite nights with them.
You don’t realize how many memories you miss until you start making new ones sober.
Be Where Your Feet Are
Today, I try to live by a simple phrase: “Be where your feet are.” When I’m with family, I put my phone down. When I’m with friends, I lean in. When I’m in conversation, I listen—really listen. And when I find myself drifting into thoughts about the past or cravings for the rush, I bring myself back.
I remind myself of that corner of the room. I remind myself of that playoff game. I remind myself that presence is something I once lost—and I will never take it for granted again.
To anyone in recovery: be present. Be grateful. And soak in the moments we used to trade for bets we couldn’t afford to lose.
Because this—connection, love, laughter, quiet nights and meaningful conversations—this is the real jackpot.