“What is owning me?”
The morning starts at the shotgun range. There’s something about the focus required to break a clay pigeon — breathing, timing, follow-through — that gets you out of your head. The guys are laughing. The pressure is off. And then, between rounds, the real conversation starts.
Your mentor introduces HALT: Hungry, Angry, Lonely, Tired. The four tripwires that make you reach for the thing you know you shouldn’t. Porn. The bottle. The doom scroll at 2 AM. The rage that comes out of nowhere. He doesn’t shame you. He names his own.
That’s the part that breaks it open. When a man ten years older than you says “I know this road because I walked it,” you stop performing. You stop pretending the thing doesn’t own you. And for the first time, you name it out loud to men who don’t flinch.
“What is owning me?”
Addiction isn’t always a needle or a bottle. Sometimes it’s your phone. Sometimes it’s rage. Sometimes it’s the need to be needed. This question isn’t about making you feel guilty — it’s about helping you see the pattern. Because a habit you can name is a habit you can break.
“When Dave said ‘I’ve been where you are’ — he wasn’t saying it to make me feel better. He was saying it because it’s true. That’s the difference between this and everything else I’ve tried.”