I never gambled — or really knew much about it — until a friend suggested we go out and gamble for fun. We were both looking for a way to escape our hurts. I had just gotten divorced from an alcoholic husband and my friend had recently become a widower. I also suffered depression associated with MS, and a gambling outing helped me escape that.
Gambling allowed us to forget about everything. I didn’t have to talk to anyone. I started with maybe $60 per outing but
it escalated. Eventually, I couldn’t stop. I would always need another $100 bill. My friend (who later became my second husband) could sometimes go home making a few hundred dollars, but I never could.
I would gamble for any reason — to celebrate a good day or to help raise my spirits from a bad day. Eventually, after 11 years of gambling, I started thinking I had a gambling problem. I told my husband that I thought I had a problem, but he didn’t believe me. Neither did my in-laws, whose vacations frequently included considerable amounts of gambling.
Once I determined I needed help to keep me from gambling, I explored options. I was hesitant to join a group because I had a poor experience with Al-Anon back when I sought ways to cope with my then- husband’s alcoholism.
I ultimately found a program online that I ordered for $99. I figured I could do the program in the privacy of my own home and figured it had to have value given its cost.
Unfortunately, not being particularly savvy with computers, I needed help setting up the program. I didn’t expect that the person I would call for computer help would be a therapist, but that’s what happened. The person I ended up talking to, Dawn, would become the therapist who would lead me out of the darkness of gambling addiction.
After helping get the program set up, Dawn gently asked some additional questions. Why did I want the program? How serious was I? Had I looked into alternatives? Dawn then said she would check on me in a few weeks to see how I was doing. That started us down the path of telephone counseling, something she was able to get covered by insurance.
I really connected with Dawn, and found myself wanting to follow the program because I didn’t want to disappoint her. She was also the first therapist I had who knew anything about gambling and could explore the connection between gambling and depression.
One thing that I’ve learned about gambling addiction that’s different from other addictions is the randomness of the reward. Someone who drinks or uses drugs knows the impact it will have on them — they will get drunk or high. But gambling is so unpredictable. You could do five spins and win hundreds or lose hundreds. That unpredictability is something gambling addicts love.
I am doing well in my recovery. I lost my second husband to cancer but have not gone back to gambling. I have worked too hard to throw away my freedom from gambling.
COVID, and the related restrictions, has also actually helped me. Even when things reopened, my husband and I were too afraid to go back to the casinos.
As part of my recovery, I told my adult children about my gambling problem. That was a big deal to me. It feels so good to spend the money that I previously spent on gambling on my children and grandchildren instead. I take them out for dinner, get them birthday gifts and spend more time with them. That, not gambling, now means the world to me.
I’m in the process of determining my future. Given what I’ve learned about myself and the relationship between trauma and the ways in which we deal with it, I’ve given thought to taking a smart recovery position outside of St. Cloud.
After my deployment was over, I was faced with the challenge of trying to somehow match that excitement and high-tempo routine.
It’s hard to replicate the adrenalin rush that one gets working in the military. For me, nothing can match the sense of doing something dangerous, and doing something dangerous for a purpose.
In my role with the Navy, I was among the boots on the ground in the Middle East. I saw the effects of war and came home with a darkness inside me that so many other veterans have experienced.
After my deployment was over, I was faced with the challenge of trying to somehow match that excitement and high-tempo routine. Of course there is no substitute in civilian life for what I did while with the Navy, but I tried to find it.
The closest I could come was gambling. It offered me some of the same aspects of life in the Navy: adrenalin, something to engage in, and a form of escapism. It’s only recently that I’ve begun to understand the connection and similarity between the highs of gambling and my life in the Navy.
My gambling started in a very casual way. I remember taking a long drive into the mountains when I was based in the Washington, DC, area. I ended up at a casino in West Virginia by complete accident. I enjoyed myself and it was simply fun recreation.
My gambling didn’t really become a problem until I left the Navy in 2006. I started going two to three times a week and it was my only real outlet. It became my social pastime.
I continued to gamble for much of the next ten years. But things really went off the rail in 2016, when I was a taxi driver and made frequent stops at a casino in the small town where I lived. Rather than wait for the phone to ring to transport passengers from the casino, I would end up inside the casino spending all the money I earned that day. Things got very bad and life felt hopeless.
At this point, I knew I had a problem. But I wasn’t sure that anything could be done about it, nor did I know how I could actually get help.
Then an unexpected thing happened. While on Instagram, I was viewing photos from an old Navy colleague. I didn’t recognize the buildings in his photos and decided to message him to learn more. He told me they were from Minneapolis. When I asked, “Why Minneapolis?” he explained that he was in Minnesota after getting out of a VA rehab facility in St. Cloud.
When we eventually talked—for the first time in about 10 years—it all started making sense. I knew him personally and knew about his dangerous streak, so hearing that he was in rehab made sense. I also saw many parallels to my story. I asked him questions about the process and then obtained the link for the VA facility that could help me.
As soon as I got off the phone, I started packing my car. I drove three days to make it to St. Cloud from the west coast. I didn’t even call ahead of time and walked right to the urgent care desk and said, “I need help.” I was feeling suicidal and couldn’t take no for an answer.
When I got to St. Cloud, I told the doctor that in addition to a problem with drug and alcohol addiction I also had a gambling problem. I was placed in a residential treatment program on July 14 with a dual addiction diagnosis and stayed for 60 days. Until then, I didn’t know that treatment programs like this existed.
A part of the program involved cognitive behavioral therapy. During these sessions, I gained a better understanding of how my actions were related to the trauma I suffered in the Navy and how the things I did were efforts to try to deal with that trauma. When you get into a program like this, you see the bigger picture. More importantly, you see that this addiction can be managed and that it can be cured.
I’m trying to start anew in a place where I have no routine connected with gambling and where there is no casino in town. I’m living in the House of Charity in Minneapolis and am following through with my aftercare, including meeting with a therapist to keep me on my path.
. . . when I was a taxi driver and made frequent stops at a casino in the small town where I lived. . . I would end up inside the casino spending all the money I earned that day. Things got very bad and life felt hopeless.
I’m in the process of determining my future. Given what I’ve learned about myself and the relationship between trauma and the ways in which we deal with it, I’ve given thought to taking a smart recovery position outside of St. Cloud, something that would require a certification program. From past experience, I realize that I have to feel fulfilled in my occupation or it won’t work.
I’m prepared for this to be a long, slow process. But that’s OK. It’s taken me a long time to get to this point and I realize how important it was for me to get there.
I had my first big win of $500 as a 7-year old at a church picnic in a small town in Minnesota. I was like a celebrity for a while after that. I chased that feeling for 34 years, becoming very competitive in sports, games, spelling bees and just about everything else. I figured out I had a gambling problem in 1994 and went to a few meetings but didn’t take anything away from them at that time. That same year I went through outpatient treatment to help control my gambling. But I did not want to stop; I wanted to get back to the winning streaks I thought I had.
Over the next two years I had periods where I abstained from gambling to prove to myself and others that I had it under control. But I didn’t. In 1997, I stole $250 from my employer to cover gambling losses. By the middle of 1998, I was taking much larger sums, with the last theft being for $25,000. With each theft, I convinced myself it would be the last time I’d do it.
Every time our company had an audit, I would pray and pray that they wouldn’t pick one of the stolen checks I had cashed. I felt really bad about what I did, and the pressure to hide my gambling problem increased. I even worked on plans to have someone kill me, put me in the trunk of a car and abandon the car. I thought it would be better for my parents and others to see me murdered than to learn about my gambling problem and the illegal activities I had committed.
I white knuckled it and floundered around for a while, staying gambling free but still trying to “find recovery” on my own.
I was eventually caught, and was fired from my job on December 6, 1998 – yet that was not my bottom. I worked out a repayment agreement with my employer, but I reneged on it when I couldn’t make the payments because of my continued gambling. In February of 2000, I was charged with 24 federal felony counts of theft by swindle for the money I stole from my employer, a securities firm and a banking institution. I plead guilty to much lesser charges, served my time and am still making restitution payments.
My last day of gambling was two days before I entered inpatient treatment on September 20, 2000. I white knuckled it and floundered around for a while, staying gambling-free but still trying to “find recovery” on my own. I believed that I was not worthy of God’s or any other higher power’s help or caring.
On November 7, 2001, I was involved in serious accident that changed my outlook on recovery and life in just a few seconds. My SUV was demolished after rolling over three and a half times. I was pulled from the wreckage by a good Samaritan. I walked away from the accident with very minor injuries because I heard from within the car that I needed to lay down. There was no one else in the car with me, but I listened to that voice and laid down on the front seat, seat belt still intact. The roof of the car was crushed down to the steering wheel. Had I not laid down, I would have most likely been killed or paralyzed.
I knew then that I did have faith in God. If I didn’t or had hesitated about lying down, I may not have survived. I began to live a different life the next day, one where I am involved in GA, the conference and the fellowship that GA has to offer. I am alive today because of the choices I have made in recovery. Some choices have been made without hesitation while other choices have taken longer – like asking for help during sad times.
I have a few friends from before recovery who tried to help, but I wasn’t ready to accept help. They still stood by me in courtrooms and then a treatment center, having accepted my addiction without necessarily understanding its affect on me. The hundreds of friends I have met through recovery do understand the effects my addiction has on me. I have been willing to accept their help and they in turn are willing to help me.
What a different life I am experiencing thanks to my higher power, my friends and my choices.
My nearly 50-year relationship with gambling started when I was six years old. My father, an illegal sports bettor, introduced me to gambling and would take me to sporting events everywhere he placed bets. I remember that he would split his winnings with me on baseball bets because I knew the sport better than him.
This continued until about age 17 when my mother — and best friend — died suddenly. The trauma from that started a period of depression that changed my relationship with my father.
The situation with my father caused me to move out of the house at a time when I really wasn’t prepared for life. I worked six days a week and went to school five days a week. To break up the monotony, I went to the local dog track. It was a great stress reliever and provided some excitement from the pain of my day-to-day life.
That started an off-and-on cycle of gambling that would last until four years ago. I went from dog racing to horse racing to the lottery (casinos wouldn’t come until the mid 90s). I took my first trip to Las Vegas around that time and that changed everything for me.
My gambling became more aggressive and I started spending money from paychecks that should have gone to bills. I started borrowing on credit cards, maxed them out, and then stole from my employer to gamble. That led to charges, and I eventually ended up spending three years in prison.
You might think that spending three years in incarceration would have changed everything for me and that I’d value the opportunity to start anew. And I did — at least for several years. But about four years after my release from prison in December 2003, I went to Las Vegas again and binge gambled for an entire week. Things continued to spiral down from there.
By 2008, I knew I had a problem and sought help. That’s really when my recovery should have started.
Unfortunately, the agency where I sought help did not have a certified gambling counselor. And although I poured out my heart and soul, the counselor diagnosed me with depression. At the end of my intake session, I’ll never forget what she said: “You have to admit that you’ve brought all this upon yourself.” Needless to say, I didn’t feel I was provided with the support and help I needed and, despite my heartfelt intentions and desire to get help for my gambling addiction, I didn’t have success.
In 2012, I went on another Vegas binge, but this was worse. I came home feeling humiliated, frustrated and broken. I’d spent all this time on counseling and had nothing to show for it.
Finally, in 2016, after my worst binge of all, I’d had enough. I told my wife I needed to gain control of myself or I’d kill myself.
I looked online for inpatient treatment options and ultimately landed on Project Turnabout. I sensed an immediate understanding on their part. I knew they could give me my life back and rebuild me from the inside out. I learned so much. Ultimately, my experience in residential gambling treatment motivated me not just to embark on my own recovery, but also to help others as much as I can and to take a leadership role. I have since become a strong advocate for problem gamblers by sharing my experience with as many people as possible.
I sometimes think about the experience I had in 2008, when the counselor I saw was ill equipped to help me and only added to the stigma that I had failed. Had that counselor better understood problem gambling, I believe I could have started my recovery eight years earlier. But I believe that everything happens for a reason, and that that experience helped me to become the advocate I am today.
For me, gambling led to two lifechanging experiences.
The first changed me for the worse. The second connected me to a support network I’d never had before.
My first experience gambling was when my brother gave me $20 and took me to a casino. His intent was to teach me a lesson in how easy it is to throw money away gambling. Our birth father had a gambling addiction that devastated my brother’s childhood and he didn’t want the same thing to happen to me. (I was adopted at an early age and escaped those consequences.) But the problem with that lesson was that I actually turned that $20 into $60, and I guess I became unknowingly hooked.
The next time I gambled was several years later when I was out on a date after I’d been divorced and gone through having breast cancer. I just loved it. So much so that I went back the next day by myself. I enjoyed not having to answer to anyone. I’d been through a lot and figured I deserved to have fun.
I started going to the casinos more often. I’d make the 200-mile drive from Wichita to casinos in Kansas City and sometimes even further to play at larger casinos. It was a big investment of time and money, but I looked forward to it.
What started as recreation and something fun to do, became an obsession. I probably gambled for more than 20 years.
It got to the point where I lost a whole paycheck. That was the most irresponsible thing I’d ever done. I remember thinking, “What the hell?!” I endeavored that that would never happen again, but it did.
Things got scarier and scarier. I lied about where I was going and to friends about the reasons I needed money. At the same time, I felt pressure to provide for my girls. I convinced myself that I would try to win to pay everyone back and pay my bills. It got so bad, I started writing bad checks and stealing.
I couldn’t reconcile the person I had become with the person I thought I was. I didn’t understand then — because I didn’t know about gambling addiction — but now I realize I was in the throes of addiction.
I couldn’t keep up with rent and was continually evicted. I ended up living in my car, which I tried to hide. I then lost my job because I performed badly after being out all night gambling.
I decided I was going to kill myself. I went to the Emergency Room and explained that I felt suicidal. The staff wanted to admit me but I convinced them I’d be OK and left.
A short time later, I found myself back in the hospital parking lot, ready to go back in, but I fell asleep in my car. That’s when the first of several extraordinary moments happened. A security guard knocked on the window, waking me up. She walked me into the hospital, where I was admitted to the Behavior Health unit and for a week had three meals a day and a roof over my head.
The next extraordinary moment occurred when the social worker at the hospital, who knew about gambling addiction, recommended a residential gambling treatment center in Minnesota (Vanguard Center for Gambling Recovery at Project Turnabout) where I could go at no cost. She made the arrangements and, not trusting I wouldn’t try to go back to gambling after treatment, made me think about planning my life after I finished treatment.
I finally told my daughters about everything and they were very supportive. I felt this, too, was extraordinary.
I expected to return to Wichita but Sheryl Anderson, program coordinator at Vanguard, convinced me that I’d be better off starting a new life of sober living in Minneapolis, where I could live with other recovering addicts and learn how to build a life without gambling. Another extraordinary moment in the series was having John Rundquist as my counselor after I left Vanguard. He has made such a difference for me.
Perhaps the crowning extraordinary moment was getting involved in Gamblers Anonymous (GA). Through GA, I have met such wonderful people that have supported me in my recovery and in so many other ways. It is such a gift to be honest, to be accepted and to be understood.
I was five months pregnant with our second daughter in August 2014 when I received a call from my husband that would forever change my life. He told me he had won $20,000 at a casino — $10,000 in cash and $10,000 in a check. I figured we’d use the money towards paying off debt and giving generously to our church.
I was surprised by this news because I wasn’t aware that he was going to the casino. When I asked him about it, he told me he’d been going for a few months. All the while he seemed tired, but I knew that something was not right with him. I later learned that he’d been gambling a lot longer than a few months when I noticed gambling activity started to show up in our credit union accounts. I also discovered that he was using money he’d put away for our daughter and started dipping into his bill money. When I confronted him about it all, he always told me he could stop whenever he wanted.
He continued to gamble after our daughter was born. He eventually made a bad personal decision and lost the job he’d held for eight years in May 2015. I was working part-time and he was the primary breadwinner. Without his $45,000 income, we were in trouble. He continued a downward spiral into depression, anxiety, cross addiction with drinking, scratch off lottery tickets, candy crush and deeper into gambling.
The stress created by my husband’s addiction took a toll on me. My blood pressure spiked and I developed alopecia in the front of my hairline. That was a wakeup call!
By August, I sought help and learned about Gamblers Anonymous (GA) for my husband and Gam-Anon for myself. He went to GA once and refused to go again. But for me, going to Gam-Anon turned out to be the next big thing that would change my life.
On numerous occasions my husband admitted to me that he had a problem, but refused to seek treatment. After being separated for a few years I filed for divorce, which was finalized in June 2019 so I could chart my own path. I am now the primary breadwinner and speak at the annual GA/Gam-Anon conference. I have focused on my career as well as learning about addiction and recovery and how to better support people that come after me, because there will always be more addicts and families affected by addiction.
I was asked what advice I might give to other spouses and families who are going through the same thing that I went through. I would tell them that addiction is a time sucker, a hell of a roller coaster ride and that even in the midst of the storm they need to realize the importance of self-care — choosing joy and finding their own purpose.
It’s easy to become so co-dependent on the addict that you stop living your life. There are things spouses and family members can do to protect themselves if the problem gambler isn’t willing to get help. Some of these things include:
Knowledge is power — learn as much as you can about addiction and how it’s an actual mental illness.
Control your financial assets and don’t allow the gambler’s behavior to damage your credit or your mortgage.
Don’t enable and bail out the gambler by helping with gambling-related debts.
Get the support you need from people who understand your situation, such as what Gam-Anon offers.
These were hard lessons to learn. It’s unfortunate that I had to go through this but if I didn’t, I wouldn’t have a story to tell and be able to influence others. The ability to speak at an annual conference, for example, is a door that never would have been opened if I didn’t have a spouse that’s an addict.
One day, my ex-husband will realize what he has thrown away and will choose recovery for himself. For me, I am excited for new beginnings. To create new traditions and memories for my daughters. I’m in control of my future and looking forward to writing the next chapter.
The state of Minnesota offers 12 sessions of family therapy (per year) through the state problem gambling program when visiting an approved provider. An approved provider list can be found here.
