Addicted to the Chase

Learning to Love The Dark Side and Embrace the Gifts in Addictions

~ You don't heal by hating the parts of you that helped you survive.

When I First Noticed

Earlier this year, I met someone who said, “Wow, I’d guess that takes an addictive side.” 

That comment stuck with me. 

I’ve always known I had an addictive part, but I never explored it too deeply. It felt like a dark corner I was afraid to touch. 

Sometimes, the parts of us that feel “dark” are really just waiting to be understood. 

We don't have to fix them right away, we just have to get curious. 

I avoided drinks for years, not because I didn’t want them, but because I didn’t trust myself to stop. 

Many of us fear losing control, not because we’re weak, but because somewhere inside, we remember what it felt like to have none. 

The Functioning Addictive Part

There were nights I was completely dissociated but still functioned, retrieving my phone, finding my way home, all on autopilot. 

At the time, I told myself, “See? I’m independent. I don’t need anyone.”

But looking back, I see how easy it was to confuse ‘independence” with “self-protection.”

Many of us learn to wear competence like armor, to prove we’re okay, even when we’re falling apart inside. 

My "functioning" wasn’t strength. It was survival. 

Caffeine As a Mirror

Lately, I’ve been trying to quit caffeine. 

For so long, coffee wasn’t just a drink, it was a ritual of safety. “If I can just get to my coffee,” I’d think, “then I can face the day.”

We all have those small rituals, things that soothe us, ground us, or help us perform. The question isn’t whether we have them, but what role they play. 

When comfort becomes avoidance, the body starts to whisper. Sometimes, what we call “motivation” is actually fear in disguise. 

The Somatic Shift

In a recent session with my coach, I saw how my need to “take full responsibility” had quietly drained me. 

Through tears and breaths, something softened:

The addictive part was actually trying to help me. 

So often, we judge the parts of us that overwork, overthink, or overdo. But those parts are usually the ones that once kept us safe. 

Healing begins not when we silence them, but when we listen. 

You might ask yourself: What part of me has been working so hard to keep me safe?

What Am I Addicted To?

I realized my “addictions” weren't just about WHAT they were, but they were about states.

The high of performing.

The rush of figuring things out.

The comfort of food.

The chase. 

Addiction isn’t always dramatic. Sometimes, it looks like constant self-improvement, people-pleasing, or busyness. 

It’s not about what we do, it’s about what we’re trying not to feel.

Integration Over Elimination

The most integrated people I know aren’t the ones who’ve “figured it out.” They’re the ones who’ve befriended every part of themselves, even the messy, inconvenient ones. 

True embodiment isn’t perfection. It’s partnership with the self. 

That’s why I’ve started thinking in terms of rhythms instead of routines, a practice that might support you too. 

Routines	Rhythms
Rigid: a fixed series of actions, to be completed in a specific manner consistently.	Fluid: a flexible pattern that ebbs and flows, allowing room for variation and spontaneity.
Practical: focused on ‘doing’. Driven by a search for efficiency and productivity.	Purposeful: focused on ‘feeling’, driven by an intention to nurture the mind, body, and soul.
Monotonous: encouraging sameness in the shape and structure of our days.	Seasonal: constantly adapting to the nuances of everyday life and the changing seasons.
Demanding: defined by all or nothing expectations that can feel stifling.	Forgiving: defined by the pursuit of movement rather than perfection.
Restrictive: stipulating exactly when and how specific actions should be performed.	Expansive: leaving room for creativity and experimentation in the way priorities are met.

The Gym + Resilience

I haven’t stepped into a gym in four months. The gym used to be my safe space, a place to let my addictive side roam freely. There was beauty in that. 

But eventually, it became another numbing tool, a way to avoid stillness, or to earn my worth through pain. 

Sometimes the practices that once saved us start to suffocate us. The key isn’t to abandon them, but to meet them differently. 

Movement can heal, but only when it’s chosen from love, not fear. 

Closing

The better relationship you build with yourself, the more safety you create for others to do the same. That’s how healing ripples outward, quietly, but powerfully. 

Before you go, take a deep breath. 

Notice what part of you feels most alive after reading this.

That’s where your next conversation with yourself begins.

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With Love,

Britney