The Journal | Gentle Steps Recovery Coaching

If you have ever loved someone with an addiction, you have probably said it. Maybe not those exact words — maybe it was "why can't you just control yourself?" or "if you really wanted to stop, you would." The intention behind those words is almost always love. But the impact is almost always the opposite.

Here is what nobody tells you: the person you said it to has already said it to themselves. A thousand times. At 3am, staring at the ceiling. In the shower before work. In the quiet moments between one use and the next. They have bargained, promised, and pleaded with themselves more times than you will ever know. The problem is not that they haven't tried. The problem is that the part of the brain responsible for rational decision-making is not the part driving the addiction.

What's actually happening in the brain

Addiction fundamentally alters the brain's reward system. When someone engages in addictive behaviour — whether that's alcohol, substances, gambling, or anything else — the brain releases a flood of dopamine. Over time, the brain adapts. It downregulates its own dopamine receptors, meaning the person needs more of the behaviour just to feel normal. Not good. Normal.

At the same time, the prefrontal cortex — the part of the brain responsible for impulse control, long-term thinking, and rational decision-making — becomes less active. This is not a character flaw. It is a neurological change. Telling someone to "just stop" is a bit like telling someone with a broken leg to "just walk normally." The mechanism required to do so has been compromised.

What shame actually does

When we tell someone to "just stop," we are implying that their failure to stop is a choice — a moral failing. This triggers shame. And shame is one of the most powerful drivers of addictive behaviour there is. Research consistently shows that shame increases the likelihood of relapse, not recovery. People do not recover because they feel worse about themselves. They recover when they feel safe enough to be honest, when they believe change is possible, and when they have support that does not come with conditions attached.

What actually helps is not pressure. It is presence. It is saying "I don't fully understand what you're going through, but I'm not going anywhere." It is removing the expectation that they must get better quickly, cleanly, and without setbacks — and replacing it with patience.

A different way to show up

If someone you love is struggling, here are a few things that actually help. Ask questions instead of giving instructions — "what does it feel like?" goes further than "why do you keep doing this?" Educate yourself — understanding the neuroscience of addiction changes the way you see the person, and they will feel that shift. And encourage professional support without making it an ultimatum.

The people who recover are not the ones who were pressured the hardest. They are the ones who were finally met with enough compassion that they believed they were worth recovering for.

The statistics on relapse in addiction recovery are often cited to discourage. Relapse rates sit somewhere between 40 and 60 percent depending on the study. For many people — and many families — that number feels like a verdict. If most people relapse, what is the point?

But here is what those statistics actually tell us: recovery is not a straight line. It never was. And treating relapse as the end of the story rather than part of it is one of the most damaging things the recovery world has ever done.

What relapse actually is

A relapse is information. It tells you something about your triggers — the emotional states, environments, or thought patterns that make the pull of the addictive behaviour stronger than your current coping tools. It is not evidence that you cannot recover. It is evidence that your recovery plan needs updating.

Think of it like learning to ride a bicycle. Falling off does not mean you will never ride. It means you have identified something you now know to approach differently. The fall is part of the learning, not the end of it.

The danger of all-or-nothing thinking

One of the most common patterns after a relapse is what psychologists call the abstinence violation effect — the feeling that because you have broken your streak, everything is ruined. This thinking is extraordinarily dangerous and almost universal. Understanding that one slip does not erase all progress is not just compassionate — it is clinically important.

The most effective response to a relapse is not shame. It is curiosity. What happened in the hours before? What was the emotional state? What need was the behaviour trying to meet? These questions, explored honestly with a coach or therapist, are the raw material of sustainable recovery.

I was diagnosed with ADHD as an adult. By that point I had already spent years watching patterns in my behaviour I could not quite explain — the impulsivity, the search for stimulation, the way certain activities could pull me in completely while others felt impossible to start. When the diagnosis came, it did not feel like a label. It felt like an explanation.

What I did not know then is that ADHD and addiction are neurologically linked in ways that make one significantly more likely in the presence of the other.

The dopamine connection

ADHD is, at its core, a dysregulation of the dopamine system. People with ADHD have lower baseline dopamine activity, which means the brain is constantly seeking stimulation to generate the dopamine it is not producing efficiently. Addictive behaviours are highly effective dopamine delivery systems. The connection is not coincidental — it is neurochemical.

Studies suggest that people with ADHD are between two and three times more likely to develop a substance use disorder than the general population. This is not because people with ADHD have less willpower. It is because their brains are wired to seek the very thing that addictive behaviours provide.

What this means for recovery

Understanding the ADHD-addiction link changes how recovery needs to be approached. Standard willpower-based strategies are even less effective for people with ADHD. What works better is addressing both together — building structure, managing dopamine through healthy channels, and developing specific strategies for the impulsivity that makes moments of craving feel impossible to resist.

You go to work. You answer your emails. You show up to family dinners and say the right things and laugh at the right moments. Nobody knows. And the gap between who you are in public and what is happening in private grows wider every week until the performance itself becomes exhausting — almost as exhausting as the thing you are hiding.

This is the quiet addiction. Not the kind that shows up the way people imagine — obviously struggling. The kind that hides in plain sight. Carried alone, in silence, for years.

The weight of secrecy

Hiding an addiction is its own kind of suffering. The energy required to maintain the appearance of normalcy — to cover tracks, manage timing, construct explanations — is enormous. And it compounds the isolation. Because the one thing that most helps people through difficult experiences is being known. Seen. And a hidden addiction cannot be seen.

The shame that comes with hiding is also self-reinforcing. The longer it is hidden, the more shameful it feels, and the harder it becomes to bring into the light. This is the trap that keeps so many quiet ones quiet.

What breaking the silence looks like

It rarely looks like a dramatic confession. For most people it starts smaller — a call to a helpline, an anonymous online search at midnight, a self-assessment taken alone that finally names what the person already knew but had not been able to say out loud. If you are reading this and recognise yourself in these words: the exhaustion of carrying this alone is real. And it is not a life sentence.

The people around someone in recovery are often desperate to help. That desperation is love — and it matters. But love without understanding can accidentally make things harder. Here are five things I wish more people knew.

1. Setbacks are not betrayals

When someone you love relapses after doing well, it can feel like a personal betrayal — like they chose the addiction over you. They did not. Relapse is a clinical feature of addiction, not a moral choice. Responding with anger or withdrawal at this moment is one of the most damaging things a loved one can do.

2. Unsolicited advice usually backfires

The urge to fix things is natural. But recovery cannot be fixed by someone else. Ask what they need. Do not assume you know.

3. Your own wellbeing matters too

Supporting someone in recovery is genuinely hard. Setting limits on what you can offer is not selfish — it is necessary. You cannot pour from an empty cup.

4. Small progress deserves recognition

Three days. One week. A difficult conversation handled without using. These are real victories. Acknowledging them builds the motivation that makes the next step possible.

5. Professional support complements — it does not replace — you

Encouraging someone to work with a coach or therapist is not an admission that you are not enough. The love of family and the structure of professional support are most powerful when they work together.

The Gentle Steps Journal

Why "Just Stop" Is the Most Unhelpful Thing You Can Say to Someone with an Addiction