03/06/2025
The first article for March written by Dana Pettaway, clinical intern
𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐌𝐲𝐭𝐡 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐀𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐜𝐭: 𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐈’𝐯𝐞 𝐋𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐬 𝐚 𝐕𝐨𝐥𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐫 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐫 𝐢𝐧 𝐓𝐞𝐡𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐢
I sit across from a man I’ve been seeing for weeks. He shifts in his chair, wringing his hands, his voice barely above a whisper
“I just don’t want to be an addict forever,” he says.
This isn’t the first time I’ve heard it. As a volunteer counselor working with people in recovery in Tehachapi, I’ve had this conversation countless times. People aren’t just trying to get sober. They’re trying to escape the weight of an identity that’s been placed on them.
Tehachapi, like much of Kern County, has been devastated by substance use. In 2022, Kern County’s opioid overdose rate was 83% higher than the California state average, with fentanyl deaths nearly doubling from 2020 to 2022. Methamphetamine continues to fuel arrests, homelessness, and ER visits. But the real problem isn’t the drugs; it’s why people turn to them in the first place.
Dr. Gabor Maté, a renowned addiction expert, puts it simply:
“The question is not why the addiction, but why the pain?”
No one wakes up and decides to destroy their life with drugs. They turn to substances because they are in pain and searching for relief—from trauma, isolation, or overwhelming stress.
One woman I worked with started using after her mother died when she was 12. Her father drank himself into a rage every night, leaving her nowhere to turn. “I just wanted to feel okay for a little while,” she told me. Another man, prescribed opioids for a work injury, found they didn’t just numb his physical pain—they softened his shame from being unable to provide for his family. When his prescription ran out, fentanyl filled the gap.
These aren’t rare stories—they are the rule. Childhood trauma, financial instability, mental health struggles, and disconnection drive addiction far more than any chemical hook ever could.
Yet, many recovery programs still require people to call themselves an addict:
“I’m an addict.”
“I will always be an addict.”
“Once an addict, always an addict.”
I’ve seen firsthand how this crushes hope. One man, sober for over a year, told me, “It doesn’t matter what I do. I’ll always be an addict. That’s who I am.” But addiction isn’t who someone is—it’s something they experienced. It was a coping mechanism, not an identity.
Tehachapi isn’t an easy place to get clean. Cold winters, power outages, and limited mental health resources create an unpredictable and high-stress environment. Many must travel hours for therapy, while low wages and few job opportunities make stability feel out of reach. When life feels unstable, the need for escape—through alcohol, fentanyl, or meth—becomes overwhelming.
But I’ve seen what works, and it isn’t forcing people to wear a label. It’s about addressing the pain beneath the addiction. That’s why places like Cornerstone Center for Counseling and Discipleship matter. They offer:
Trauma-informed therapy helps people process pain rather than numb it.
Faith-based and evidence-based counseling treats the whole person, not just substance use.
A community of support replaces shame with understanding.
I’ve watched people rewrite their stories because of support like this. A woman who once saw herself as an addict now says, “I’m healing.” A man who believed he was too far gone realizes, “I was hurting, but I’m learning new ways to deal with it.”
If we want to reduce overdoses and help people recover, we need to shift the conversation.
I’ve seen people transform when they realize they are not their past. Their substance use was a way to survive, not a life sentence. Through Cognitive Behavioral Therapy (CBT) and other interventions, I help clients challenge the shame and self-doubt that are keeping them stuck and replacing self-destruction with self-compassion.
No one can do it alone. Healing happens through connection, learning new skills, and being given a way forward.
