03/06/2025
The first article for March written by Dana Pettaway, clinical intern
๐๐ก๐ ๐๐ฒ๐ญ๐ก ๐จ๐ ๐ญ๐ก๐ ๐๐๐๐ข๐๐ญ: ๐๐ก๐๐ญ ๐โ๐ฏ๐ ๐๐๐๐ซ๐ง๐๐ ๐๐ฌ ๐ ๐๐จ๐ฅ๐ฎ๐ง๐ญ๐๐๐ซ ๐๐จ๐ฎ๐ง๐ฌ๐๐ฅ๐จ๐ซ ๐ข๐ง ๐๐๐ก๐๐๐ก๐๐ฉ๐ข
I sit across from a man Iโve been seeing for weeks. He shifts in his chair, wringing his hands, his voice barely above a whisper
โI just donโt want to be an addict forever,โ he says.
This isnโt the first time Iโve heard it. As a volunteer counselor working with people in recovery in Tehachapi, Iโve had this conversation countless times. People arenโt just trying to get sober. Theyโre trying to escape the weight of an identity thatโs been placed on them.
Tehachapi, like much of Kern County, has been devastated by substance use. In 2022, Kern Countyโs 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 isnโt the drugs; itโs why people turn to them in the first place.
Dr. Gabor Matรฉ, a renowned addiction expert, puts it simply:
โThe question is not why the addiction, but why the pain?โ
No one wakes up and decides to destroy their life with drugs. They turn to substances because they are in pain and searching for reliefโfrom 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. โI just wanted to feel okay for a little while,โ she told me. Another man, prescribed opioids for a work injury, found they didnโt just numb his physical painโthey softened his shame from being unable to provide for his family. When his prescription ran out, fentanyl filled the gap.
These arenโt rare storiesโthey 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:
โIโm an addict.โ
โI will always be an addict.โ
โOnce an addict, always an addict.โ
Iโve seen firsthand how this crushes hope. One man, sober for over a year, told me, โIt doesnโt matter what I do. Iโll always be an addict. Thatโs who I am.โ But addiction isnโt who someone isโitโs something they experienced. It was a coping mechanism, not an identity.
Tehachapi isnโt 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 escapeโthrough alcohol, fentanyl, or methโbecomes overwhelming.
But Iโve seen what works, and it isnโt forcing people to wear a label. Itโs about addressing the pain beneath the addiction. Thatโs 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.
Iโve watched people rewrite their stories because of support like this. A woman who once saw herself as an addict now says, โIโm healing.โ A man who believed he was too far gone realizes, โI was hurting, but Iโm learning new ways to deal with it.โ
If we want to reduce overdoses and help people recover, we need to shift the conversation.
Iโve 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.
