It began innocently — a single glass of wine late at night.
At first, it was a comfort.
A softening of the edges.
A pause from the relentless weight of mourning.
I told myself it was just a way to unwind.
But then came the second glass.
Then the habit.
The new routine.
The reward at the end of a long, lonely day.
That’s when I realised something hard and honest: mourning doesn’t just leave you sad.
It leaves you vulnerable — to escape, to numbing, to habits that offer relief.
And when those habits offer even a moment’s break from the pain, they are tempting enough to become dangerous.
This chapter is not just about addiction in the clinical sense.
It’s about the shadows that mourning casts — the ways we try to soften grief’s edges and sometimes get stuck in patterns that no longer serve us.
Some are obvious. Some are subtle. All deserve attention.
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1. Why Mourning Makes Us Vulnerable
Grief is overwhelming. It is full-body. It is spiritual. And it hurts.
When a loved one dies, the body and brain go into survival mode.
The loss is not just emotional — it’s biological. The brain floods with stress hormones.
Sleep becomes erratic. Appetite changes. Decision-making becomes foggy.
The pain doesn’t let up.
And humans, by nature, seek relief from pain.
We are wired to survive discomfort.
So in grief, when the emotional pain feels like too much, it’s natural to reach for something — anything — that offers escape.
A drink. A sleeping pill. A dopamine rush from online shopping or binge-watching.
Even over-exercising or overworking can become subtle addictions when they’re used to numb rather than process.
That is why mourning opens a back door to addiction: not out of recklessness, but out of desperation for stillness or comfort.
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2. What Addiction Looks Like in Grief
Addiction during mourning doesn’t always look like rock-bottom.
Often, it looks like:
• One more drink than usual — just to sleep.
• Needing noise — constant TV, podcasts, or music to drown out silence.
• Obsessive distractions — scrolling through social media for hours or playing mindless games.
• Overeating or under-eating — food becomes either a comfort or control mechanism.
• Compulsive organising, exercising, or working — masking productivity as purpose.
• Risky behaviours — gambling, reckless spending, or sudden sexual activity that feels out of character.
Here’s the hard part: some of these behaviours are normal parts of early mourning.
It’s only when they become patterns of escape — and we can no longer function without them — that they begin to mirror addiction.
Addiction in grief is often not about the substance or behaviour itself, but about why we’re doing it.
Are we avoiding pain or processing it?
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3. The Addiction–Grief Loop
Once the cycle begins — numbing the pain, temporary relief, followed by guilt or shame — it often becomes a loop:
1. Pain: Intense grief, loneliness, fear.
2. Numbing: Drink, scroll, eat, gamble, shop.
3. Relief: Temporary. Fleeting.
4. Crash: Guilt, self-disgust, feeling even more alone.
5. Repeat: To escape the guilt, we return to numbing.
Over time, this loop solidifies. It becomes a routine.
And mourning, instead of being a process of slow acceptance and life remodeling, becomes a fog where the pain is simply avoided — never transformed.
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4. Energy, Perseverance, and the Hidden Cost of Addiction
Mourning already demands extraordinary energy.
We’ve spoken in earlier chapters about perseverance — the willingness to keep going despite everything — and how good emotions like gratitude, joy, and hope need to be nurtured alongside the hard emotions like anger, sadness, and fear.
All of that takes fuel.
Add addiction into the mix, and suddenly you’re carrying a double weight.
Not only are you dealing with the grief itself, you’re now spending precious energy battling the hangover, the fatigue, or the mental fog from your coping mechanism.
And the worst energy drain of all? Sitting in guilt or self-pity after giving in.
The shame of that extra drink, the hours lost to pornography, the regret after reckless spending — these don’t just make you feel bad. They push you into a dangerous spiral: guilt → depression → hopelessness → suicidal thoughts.
This spiral is real, and it’s fast.
Perseverance requires you to guard your energy as if it were gold.
Every bit of strength you waste fighting guilt could be used to take a walk, call a friend, plant something, create something, or simply rest without shame.
If you can design your mourning in such a way that you’re not constantly recovering from your own coping tools, you’ll have far more energy for the life-rebuilding that grief demands.
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5. Replacing Addiction with Real Comfort
The opposite of addiction is not sobriety.
It’s connection.
It’s presence.
It’s being able to sit with the pain without running.
That doesn’t mean you have to sit in sorrow all day.
But it means slowly, gently, replacing the escape mechanisms with tools that honour your grief — not suppress it.
Some tools to begin that replacement:
• Stillness practice: Even five minutes of silence a day can help you face your grief directly.
• Connection rituals: Lighting a candle, visiting a memory spot, writing a letter to your loved one.
• Naming the emotion: “I’m lonely.” “I’m scared.” “I feel numb.” Naming it removes its power.
• Grief walks: Take a walk with no phone. Let yourself think of them.
• Creativity: Journaling, painting, gardening — any activity that transforms emotion into expression.
And when the need to numb arises, pause. Ask yourself:
• What am I trying to avoid right now?
• Is there a gentler way to care for myself?
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6. Where to Get Help
If you recognise that your way of coping has slipped into something addictive or harmful, help is available — and it’s closer than you might think.
• Talk to someone you trust: A friend, family member, spiritual leader, or mentor who will listen without judgment.
• Seek professional support: A therapist, psychologist, or counsellor experienced in grief and addiction can guide you without rushing your process.
• Join a grief group: Many communities and online spaces host meetings for people going through loss — you’ll hear from others who understand.
• Look into addiction-specific support: Groups like Alcoholics Anonymous (AA), Narcotics Anonymous (NA), SMART Recovery, or local rehab services can help even if you think “it’s not that bad.”
• Use helplines:
• In South Africa: SADAG Suicide Crisis Line — 0800 567 567
• In the UK: Samaritans — 116 123 (freephone)
• In the US: Suicide & Crisis Lifeline — 988
You don’t have to “hit rock bottom” to deserve help.
You only have to be human — hurting, and willing to reach out.
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7. Rebuilding from the Ashes
Once you acknowledge that mourning has led you into an addictive pattern, you’ve already taken the first, hardest step.
The next steps are small. Quiet. Steady:
• Limit access: Remove the apps, the bottles, the credit cards, the triggers.
• Tell someone: Even if it’s one trusted person, say, “I need help.”
• Create routines: Replace the addictive behaviour with rituals of remembrance.
• Rest and nourish: Eat well. Sleep. Be kind to your body — it’s carrying a lot.
• Celebrate progress: Even one day of choosing connection over numbing is victory.
Grief doesn’t vanish. But it changes shape.
And when you choose presence over addiction, you give yourself the best chance to carry grief in a way that still honours life — yours, and the life of the one you lost.
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8. Turning Addiction Into Drive
Not all addictions destroy.
Some fuel life. Some build joy.
The energy and focus that once went into destructive patterns can be redirected into what some people might call habits — but which you might find yourself “addicted” to in the best possible way.
When you strip away the shame of the word, addiction is simply repeated action with emotional reward.
The key is making sure the reward is life-giving.
Think about what it would be like to be addicted to:
• Walking on the beach every morning — feeling the sand under your feet and the salt air on your skin until you crave it in the best way.
• Going to the gym — not out of punishment, but because you’ve learned to love the strength and clarity it gives you.
• Creative work — painting, writing, woodwork, gardening, music — losing yourself for hours in something that leaves you better, not emptier.
• Learning — reading, taking courses, exploring topics you’ve always been curious about.
• Acts of kindness — making it a personal game to brighten someone’s day every single day.
• Collecting — seashells, postcards, recipes, bird sightings — things that connect you to life and make you smile.
These aren’t escapes in the way destructive addictions are.
They don’t leave you drained, ashamed, or further away from your grief.
They become rituals of presence — things you actively look forward to, that remind you you’re still living.
Replacing bad addictions with good ones works best when you:
1. Start small — commit to something enjoyable you can repeat daily or weekly.
2. Anchor it — do it at the same time each day so it becomes a natural part of your rhythm.
3. Link it to meaning — connect it to your loved one if it helps:
• “I walk the beach for both of us.”
• “I paint because they believed in my creativity.”
4. Celebrate the streak — keep track of how many days or weeks you’ve done it. That little dopamine hit will now come from a life-giving source.
The truth is, our brains don’t care whether the addiction is for something harmful or healthy — they simply respond to repetition and reward.
Your job now is to make sure that the rewards you crave bring you closer to life, not further into numbness.
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Conclusion: Not a Straight Line
Mourning and addiction often travel together. Not because you are weak — but because pain looks for escape.
The journey of grief is not a straight line. Neither is the journey of letting go of harmful coping tools. There will be steps forward and backward. Days when numbness still seems like the best option.
But you are not stuck. And you are not alone.
Every time you choose to stay present with your grief — even for a moment — you are honouring your love, your loss, and your life.
You are building something new.
Not despite the pain, but through it.
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Reflective Questions
1. What habits have I used to avoid the pain of mourning? Are they still serving me?
2. What would it look like to replace those habits with ones that support my grief process?
3. Who can I talk to — openly and honestly — about my struggles?
4. What small comfort can I offer myself tonight that doesn’t involve escape?
5. What positive addiction could I begin today that would make my life richer?
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Because of Angé
Because of Angé, I stopped pretending I was fine.
I realised the wine glass wasn’t helping.
The endless TV shows weren’t healing.
What helped was walking. Writing.
Telling the truth — even the ugly bits.
Because of Angé, I started facing my mourning head-on.
And when I stopped running from it, I began to feel again — not just the pain, but the memories, the gratitude, and, eventually, the moments of peace.
Because of Angé, I learned that my energy was too precious to waste on guilt, shame, or self-pity.
I learned that perseverance, good emotions, and even the courage to ask for help all need fuel — and I could choose where that fuel went.
Because of Angé, I now crave the things that make me more alive — the walks, the creativity, the kindness — and I let myself be “addicted” to them.
