So, when I was asked to write a blog for the Reframe Coaching newsletter, I jumped at the opportunity to contribute to such an important piece of work. The subject that I’m covering today relates to community and connection, which has had a significant influence on my recovery from gambling harms.
Recovery gets talked about like it’s something you do on your own. You “do the work”, build new habits, change how you think and that is all relevant. However, the thing that’s made the biggest difference in my own recovery and in the work that I do now, is connection. Recovery doesn’t have to be done alone, and I’d say that it works best, when it isn’t.
I see this every Tuesday night in the Reframe Coaching group that I help co-facilitate. The conversations are honest and vulnerable at times. People share wins, setbacks, fears, and hopes for the future. This allows something to shift within the
room. The isolation that people have been dealing with, the uncertainty, the confusion relating to gambling harms. I see this subtly beginning to shift towards empowerment, belief, hope, and clarity. You hear someone else describe exactly what you’ve been feeling, and for the first time in a while, you don’t feel so alone. I’ve watched people come into the group quiet or unsure if they belong. Over time, as they hear others speak openly, they start to believe that they can share their vulnerability without being judged. The belief starts to shift from ‘I’m on my own’ towards ‘I’m part of something’.
My journey into this work wasn’t straightforward. I started out in finance after leaving school and thought this was something that I wanted to pursue as a career. However, after experiencing around 12 years of gambling harms amongst other significant challenges and setbacks in life, I moved towards recovery. I started involving myself in the gambling harms community which involved working on projects, attending forums, networking, and connecting. I then moved on to become
a Recovery Coach with Reframe Coaching and have just recently completed my postgraduate diploma in Cognitive Behavioural Therapy. Through all of it, one theme kept coming up for me: connection.
In between this, I ran an amateur football team and was the chairman. On the surface, it was about sport, but really, it was about people. The team became a small community with players of all different ages, backgrounds, and life experiences.
Some of the players were struggling with work, relationships, or their own mental health and being part of that group gave them and me a sense of belonging that went way beyond 90 minutes on a pitch.
Trying to get all kinds of people involved, not just the obvious players, showed me how powerful inclusive communities can be. For some, that team was the only place they felt seen. For others, it was a lifeline during a tough period. The friendships, the banter in the changing room, the shared pride after a hard-fought draw. All of it helped mental health, even if no one called it therapy.
All the above experience shapes how I work now. Whether I’m facilitating a group, coaching one-to-one, or offering CBT, I’m always looking for ways to build connection. Not just between me and the person I’m working with, but between people themselves.
Working in the gambling harms space for the last four years has deepened all of this for me. Being alongside people in recovery day after day has increased my own connection to the process, sharpened my understanding of what recovery looks like, and reminded me just how powerful peer support can be. I’ve learned as much from the people I work with as they may have learned from me. Their honesty, courage, and willingness to keep going, even after setbacks, has strengthened my own
recovery and reinforced why community matters so much.
Gambling harms thrive in secrecy and isolation. It’s easy to believe no one else could understand, or that you’d be judged if they did. Over time, that belief shrinks your world. You pull back from people, avoid situations, and spend more time alone with the very thoughts and urges you’re trying to manage.
Connection breaks that cycle. When people start showing up to groups, joining walking sessions, getting back into the gym, or trying out new activities, something shifts. It might be a weekly walk with others in recovery, a casual five-a-side team, or
simply meeting someone for coffee instead of hiding away. These moments build a different kind of routine; one based on support rather than secrecy. People begin to form friendships around shared interests, not gambling. They find reasons to leave the house, to be around others who understand, and to rediscover passions that were lost along the way. That sense of belonging, whether in a recovery group, a sports club, or a hobby, becomes part of the foundation for lasting change.
Recovery isn’t about perfection. It’s about connection, one small step at a time, in spaces where you feel safe, seen, and supported.
