Often, this turned out in my favor, and it became a vicious cycle; gambling and earning, gambling some more and earning some more. There were losses too, of course, but the wins far outweighed them. As I pursued this path, I often felt sick to my stomach as I became more and more entangled in the web of lies and avoidance required to continue gambling at the pace and intensity I wanted to.

I continued through high school and into college. I was more aware than ever of my being blessed with incredibly generous parents when one day my father asked me to bring a large sum of my tuition to the finance office. On my way to deliver the money, an opportunity to bet on the outcome of a game arose. I knew I could likely double the money if I won; I thought of what it could save for my parents if I presented the office with double the amount my father had given me. I was good at this. I’d win this. I had it in the bag…

Until I didn’t. My team lost the game, and I, the money. I crumpled as I realized I had no choice but to share the truth with my parents. In so doing, I believed myself to be “cured.” Surely I couldn’t continue down this road after the humiliation and guilt of gambling away my father’s hard-earned money.

But it wasn’t enough. My shame made itself comfortable there on that Petri dish, with my secrecy, silence, and self-judgment aiding its growth. It followed me into my marriage, and at first, my wife was blissfully unaware of my addiction.

I was good with money; so good, in fact, that I worked my way up to becoming a partner in my hedge fund. I loved my job and the familiar adrenaline rush and satisfaction it brought me, but the addiction was affecting every aspect of my life.

I remember one particular family vacation; it was meant to be a week away from the frenzy of our every day, time to spend together without distractions. I wanted to put away my phone. I wanted to focus on my wife and my kids and to give them the attention they so desperately wanted and needed. But there was a big game that week, and I’d put a nice sum of money on the outcome.

I slipped away to “use the bathroom,” obsessively checking on updates and outcomes. I’d return to my wife’s questioning look, and try my hardest to brush away the shame and the pain that threatened to break me if I wasn’t careful.

Carrying the secret alone made the shame heavier than any financial loss I’d yet endured. Gambling was no longer enjoyable, and I felt as if I was constantly in chains, wanting desperately to move in another direction, but being held back by something bigger and stronger than I was. I wasn’t the father I’d always wanted to be, and I wasn’t the husband I knew my wife deserved.

The secret grew ever larger when Ben, a wealthy childhood friend of mine, asked me to invest a million dollars in the stock market. He knew I was a partner in a hedge fund and that this was my forte. He asked me to do it for him as a favor, and I was more than happy to help him.

It occurred to me that I could not only wisely invest his money, I could likely triple his money by gambling. I’d never touch his money for my own benefit; that wasn’t who I was. But I knew that I could really do something amazing for Ben, and I imagined his incredulous excitement if I were to triple his earnings.

But somehow, that didn’t happen. Instead, I lost every single penny of Ben’s money. It was the worst day of my life.

Looking back, the loss of that gamble was a tremendous gift. Revealing my secret finally forced me to get help. I had no choice but to come clean and share my incredible shame with Ben, with my wife, and with my family.

Ben could have ruined my future and ruined my family’s life, and he would’ve been justified in doing so. But he chose not to.

As a friend from way back, he was worried about me, and firmly but kindly insisted that as part of my pay back, I needed to get some real help. He arranged a payment plan so I could pay him back over a long period of time, and he checked in weekly to see how my recovery was going.

My life has turned around since that nightmarish day. I know now that I had to hit rock bottom to begin climbing out of the deep, dark hole I’d dug for myself. I’m still on the road to recovery, and I’ve recognized that I always will be. I’m here on this journey for life — and really, we all are.

I have no more secrets, as I’ve learned that secrets are where the danger lies. Bringing light to my darkness has diminished it — and, as it turns out, you’re only as shameful as your biggest secret.

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 732)