Let’s Talk About Labels (And Why They Suck)

Alright, community—let’s get real for a second. How many times have you caught yourself shrinking under some label society slapped on you? "Addict." "Anxious." "Hot mess express." (Okay, that last one might just be my internal nickname, but you get the point.) Stigma is everywhere, sticking to us like gum on a shoe. And honestly, it’s time we started scraping it off.

We’ve all heard the big voices in mental health and addiction spaces shouting, “Break the stigma!” But what does that even mean for regular people like us, slogging through the day-to-day? Here’s a not-so-secret secret: breaking stigma doesn’t have to look like a TED Talk or a viral Instagram post. Sometimes it’s as simple (and as hard) as refusing to let those sticky labels decide who you get to be.

So, how do we do it? First, let’s laugh at the absurdity—because if we can’t laugh at ourselves, we’re just giving stigma free rent in our heads. The world’s already heavy enough. Next, let’s call ourselves out (with love) whenever we catch our inner voice parroting those labels. “I’m just broken.” Nope. You’re a limited edition, not a factory reject.

And here’s the big one: let’s talk. Not just the big, dramatic confessions, but the tiny, everyday admissions. “Hey, I had a rough day and that’s okay.” “Yeah, I see a therapist. She’s great and so am I.” Every time we’re honest, we chip away at the wall.

Will we wake up tomorrow and find all the stigma gone? Not a chance. (If only it was that easy—like deleting spam emails.) But you’ll start to feel it: a little less weight, a little more freedom to be yourself, and maybe even the urge to help someone else do the same.

So here’s your accountability moment—because you knew it was coming from me. This week, notice one label you’ve been carrying around and set it down (even if just for an hour). Share your story, or just admit to yourself that you’re more than any one word. Bit by bit, that’s how we change things. And if you need a nudge, or someone to laugh at the messiness with you, you know where to find me.

You’re not your label, you’re not your diagnosis, and you’re definitely not alone. Let’s keep kicking stigma’s butt—one awkward, honest, laugh-out-loud moment at a time.-Belle-

 

Robots Don’t Judge: How AI Is Crashing the Recovery Party (and Why That Might Be a Good Thing)

Let’s get one thing out of the way: nobody in recovery ever asked for a robot sponsor. The idea sounds straight out of some Silicon Valley fever dream—“Hey, what if your daily check-in could text you back at 2 a.m.?”—but here we are. In 2025, artificial intelligence isn’t just for sci-fi or spam calls. It’s showing up in real addiction recovery work, sometimes uninvited, sometimes surprisingly helpful, and always a little weird.

I’ve seen it firsthand. I work for IGNTD, an online recovery platform started by Dr. Adi Jaffe—a guy who built this thing on the belief that recovery should fit you, not the other way around. No shame. No one-size-fits-all. Just radical flexibility and meeting people where they’re at, whether that’s rock bottom or just “kinda tired of feeling stuck.” Turns out, AI fits right into that vibe. It doesn’t judge, it doesn’t roll its eyes, and it definitely doesn’t care how many times you’ve tried before.

So, What Does AI Actually Do in Recovery?

Let’s cut through the buzzwords and get real. Here’s what we’re actually seeing on the ground:

• AI Notes for Counselors: When I meet with clients—one-on-one or in groups—the AI is there, quietly taking notes in the background. It spits out summaries, flags important moments, and even helps track progress over time. It’s not replacing me (thank God), but it’s saving me from drowning in paperwork and lets me focus on the conversation, not the keyboard.

• Daily Client Check-Ins: This is where things get interesting. Our clients can check in through the app, and the AI gives back instant feedback—sometimes encouragement, sometimes a gentle nudge, sometimes just a “hey, I hear you.” For folks who don’t always have a person to talk to (or don’t want to), it’s like having a nonjudgmental accountability buddy who’s always awake.

• Chatbot Support: Some clients have told me straight up: when nobody else is around, they chat with the bots. Not because they think it’s a person, but because sometimes you just need to say something out loud—even if it’s to a pile of code. It’s not therapy, but it’s something. And in recovery, sometimes “something” is what keeps you moving.

The Good

Let’s be real: AI isn’t magic, but it’s got some moves. The biggest win? Consistency and zero shame. No matter what you type in, the AI isn’t going to judge, sigh, or lecture you about “personal responsibility.” It just listens, responds, and tracks your progress.

For practitioners, it’s a legit time-saver. AI-generated notes mean less time writing up sessions and more time actually connecting. (And less time cursing at your laptop after a long day. You know the feeling.)

The Bad

AI doesn’t get nuance. It doesn’t know what it’s like to wake up in withdrawal, or how a craving can hit you like a freight train at 3 a.m. It can encourage and track, but it can’t feel with you. Sometimes its “support” is a little too chipper, a little too generic. Recovery is messy, and AI doesn’t do messy. That’s where real humans (and real connection) matter most.

The Ugly

Not everyone trusts it. Some clients feel weird about talking to a machine, and some counselors worry about privacy, glitches, or losing the human touch. There’s also the risk that platforms will start leaning too hard on AI, forgetting that healing always comes down to real relationships, not just algorithms.

The Beautiful

Here’s where it gets good: For the right person, at the right moment, AI can be a lifeline. It’s the world’s least judgmental accountability partner. It’s a way to keep moving, even when you’re not ready (or able) to pick up the phone. And when it’s paired with a real, live human—a counselor, a peer, a friend—it can make recovery more accessible, more flexible, and maybe just a little bit less lonely.

The In-Between

We’re all figuring this out in real time. At Ignited and in my offline gig as an outpatient counselor, I’m seeing people try, stumble, and sometimes thrive with these new tools. Some days the AI helps. Some days it’s just background noise. But the goal—helping real, breathing people get their lives back—never changes.

So, Should You Trust a Robot with Your Recovery?

Here’s my take: AI isn’t here to fix you. It’s not the answer. But it is a tool—a surprisingly useful one, if you use it right. It can help keep you honest, keep you connected, and keep the paperwork from burying your counselor alive. It fits right in with IGNTD's philosophy: recovery your way, no shame, no judgment, no one-size-fits-all. If that sounds good to you, give it a shot. If not, that’s cool too. The important thing is that you keep moving—mile or millimeter.

And hey, if the robots ever do take over, at least they’ll know how to write a killer progress note.

Progress is progress. Even if your accountability buddy is made of code.-Belle-

Fat, Flawed, and Unapologetic: Why I’m Done Explaining Myself

I’ve spent a good chunk of my life carrying around other people’s opinions. For a long time, they weren’t wrong—I was a mess, caught up in drugs, lying, doing things I’m not proud of. I was that person people warned you about. I own that. But what people don’t see—what they don’t want to see—is that I’m not the same person now.

Thing is, a lot of people just see your past. They remember the worst version of you and pin it to your chest like a name tag. And if you’re overweight like me, there’s a whole other layer of judgment that comes with it. People treat you different when you’re fat. Some won’t say it out loud, but they look at you and see “lazy,” “gross,” “irresponsible.” Even people who have their own struggles with weight can be the harshest critics—I know, because I used to be one of them.

What nobody wants to admit is that it’s never as simple as “just lose the weight.” That’s like telling someone with an addiction, “just stop.” For years, I wasn’t in a place where I could change. I didn’t even know how. Now, finally, I’m doing the work—taking care of my health, trying to live better. And yeah, I’m proud of that. But the shame doesn’t just disappear, and neither does the judgment. Some people will always see me as I was, not as I am.

And the hardest part is, some of those people are family. People who watched me grow up, who should know better. I had a conversation with my aunt recently that just went off the rails—she listed every mistake I’ve ever made, every way I’ve let her down. And I get it; she’s got her own demons, her own pain she hasn’t dealt with. But it still hurts.

Some days, hope feels like a bad joke. Like, “Hey, maybe tomorrow everyone will finally see the new you!” (Cue laugh track.) But here’s the punchline: sometimes you’ve just gotta be your own damn audience. I’ve learned to clap for myself on the days I get out of bed, on the days I eat something green, on the days I don’t spiral. Progress isn’t pretty. It’s not the before-and-after picture they show on TV. Most days it looks like dragging yourself through the mud and calling it self-care. And that’s okay.

Yeah, there’s pain. There’s regret. Sometimes it feels like the universe is just waiting to drop another piano on my head. But there’s also stubbornness, and a weird kind of hope that refuses to die no matter how many times life tries to kill it. If you’re reading this and you get it—if you’re still fighting, still here, still making jokes in the dark—then you’re already stronger than you think.

So here’s to us: the fuck-ups, the works-in-progress, the people with complicated pasts and messy hope. We might not get a standing ovation, but we’re still here. And for now, that’s enough.

I wish I had a neat ending for this post, some kind of wisdom that ties it all together. I don’t. I’m just doing my best to make the next right choice, even if that’s all I can do. Maybe I’ll spend the next forty years trying and some people will never see me differently. That’s their problem.

I’m sharing this because I know I’m not alone. If you’re out there struggling with your past, your weight, your reputation—whatever it is—just know you’re not the only one. I’m not perfect. I’m not trying to be. I just want to keep moving forward, even if that means leaving some people behind. And if they can’t handle it? Honestly, fuck ‘em.-Belle-

Navigating Intimacy in Early Recovery: Sex, Sobriety, and the Art of Not Burning Down Your Life (Again)

Let’s be honest—recovery is weird. First you have to learn how to live without your substance of choice, then suddenly everyone expects you to become a model citizen who drinks green smoothies and journals about gratitude. As if not drinking/using isn’t hard enough, you’re supposed to figure out what to do with all these feelings. Enter: sex. Or, if you’re like a lot of us, maybe it’s a question of whether you should enter sex, or just run in the opposite direction and lock the door.

If you’re in early recovery and thinking about sex, congrats: you’re alive, your body works, and you’re having normal human thoughts. But here’s the thing—sex in early recovery isn’t just about sex. It’s about everything you ran from, everything you stuffed down, and every awkward, half-baked feeling that’s been hiding under the pile of your former vices.

The Good:
Sex, when done right, can be wonderful! You might actually feel something for the first time in years (and not just because your nervous system’s rebooting). It can build intimacy, connection, and maybe even help with that whole “feeling human” thing. Plus, orgasms are still free, last I checked.

The Bad:
But wow, can it mess with you. Early recovery is like walking around with your nerve endings on the outside of your body. That first “I like you” can feel like a full-body sunburn. Jumping into bed too soon can crank up the drama, destabilize your moods, and—if you’re not careful—become a brand new addiction. Trust me, you don’t want to swap one monkey for another.

The In-Between:
Maybe you’re not sure what you want. Maybe everything feels confusing, or nothing feels good at all. Maybe you’re abstinent by choice—or by total lack of opportunity, which is also valid. The point is, there’s no gold star for either route. What matters is honesty with yourself. Are you looking for connection, or distraction? Are you trying to fill a void, or are you genuinely ready for the mess and magic of being close to another human?

The Professional (but Still Recovering) Take:
I’m a substance abuse counselor. I’m also a person in recovery. Here’s what I wish someone had told me:
It’s normal to want touch, closeness, sex—hell, even to crave chaos sometimes. But be careful. Early recovery is a time for building yourself up, not tearing yourself down for someone else’s validation, or for the sake of a dopamine hit. Sex can be healing, but it can also be another way to avoid the hard stuff. Therapy, support groups, and a willingness to ask yourself uncomfortable questions? Those are your best friends right now.

If You’re Choosing to Abstain from Sex in Early Recovery:

• Tell People (the Right Ones): Don’t just ghost your dating apps and hope for the best. Let your support system know you’re shelving sex for a bit—they’ll keep you honest, and maybe stop setting you up with their “fun” cousin.
• Channel That Energy: Find a hobby. Knit. Run. Build a model train. Anything that doesn’t involve waking up in someone else’s sheets. Yes, you might feel like a teenager again. That’s normal.
• Check Your Motives: If you’re abstaining just to punish yourself, that’s not recovery—that’s Catholic school. Do it because it’s right for you, not because you “should.”
• Get Used to Awkwardness: You’ll probably have to explain to someone why you’re not having sex. Practice your “no thanks, I’m working on myself” face in the mirror. It gets easier.
• Remember, It’s Not Forever (Unless You Want It to Be): You’re not taking a vow of celibacy. You’re just hitting pause. Nobody hands out medals for Most Abstinent in Recovery (and if they do, run).

If You’re Choosing to Have Sex in Early Recovery:

• Honesty is Foreplay: Tell your partner where you’re at—emotionally, mentally, recovery-wise. If you can’t talk about your triggers, you probably shouldn’t be naked together yet.
• Keep Your Expectations Low (But Not Your Standards): Sex might be weird. You might cry. You might feel nothing. You might want to run away immediately after. All normal. Don’t confuse “awkward” with “wrong.”
• Watch for Substitution: If sex starts feeling like your new drug—chasing that high, obsessing, losing sleep—that’s a red flag, not a green light.
• Remember Boundaries: Yours, theirs, everybody’s. Saying “no” mid-makeout isn’t a crime. Neither is saying “this is moving too fast.” Real intimacy means respecting limits, not pushing past them.
• Have Backup: Not in the bedroom (unless that’s your thing), but in your support network. Debrief with someone you trust. If it goes sideways, you’ll want someone who can listen without judgment or giggling.
• Be Ready for Feelings: Sex can bring up all kinds of stuff—grief, anger, joy, panic. That’s not a sign you’re doing it wrong; it’s a sign you’re alive.

So, should you have sex in early recovery?
I don’t know. Maybe. Maybe not. There’s no right answer. Just don’t fool yourself. Check your motives. Talk to someone you trust. And if you screw it up (which, let’s face it, you probably will at some point), that’s okay, too. Recovery isn’t about doing life perfectly. It’s about showing up, being honest, and learning as you go.

Whatever you choose, just keep choosing you—and make the next right choice for YOU!-Belle-

 

Self-Worth, Forgiveness, and the Art of Not Loathing Yourself (All the Time)

Let’s just say it: self-worth in early recovery is about as common as a unicorn with a gym membership. If you’re reading this, you’re probably somewhere between “I’m trash” and “Maybe I’m not total trash, but I’m definitely not recycling material yet.” Trust me, I’ve been there, and I park my car there sometimes just to remember how bad the neighborhood is.

Here’s the thing nobody tells you: the hardest forgiveness isn’t forgiving the people who wronged you. It’s forgiving yourself for all the stuff you did while you were out there, or in the thick of it, or just...human. And before you roll your eyes so hard you sprain an eyelid, hear me out.

Why We’re Our Own Worst Enemies

I don’t know who needs to hear this, but most of us are way meaner to ourselves than we’d ever be to a friend. We carry around this running commentary that would get us kicked off most social media platforms. “You’re a screwup. You’ll never change. Look at all the people you hurt.” Sound familiar? That’s the soundtrack of shame, baby, and it’s got a hell of a beat.

Early on, we look to other people to tell us we’re okay. Why? Because we don’t trust our own judgment. Years of bad decisions will do that to a person. But here’s the rub: nobody else can hand you self-worth. (If they could, I’d be selling it on Etsy for $19.99 a jar.) You have to earn it back from yourself, one shaky, awkward, sometimes embarrassing decision at a time.

Self-Forgiveness: The Big Scary

People get forgiveness twisted. They think it’s about letting other people off the hook. In reality, forgiveness is like a get-out-of-jail card you give yourself so you can stop being your own warden. You’re not saying what you did was okay. You’re saying, “I refuse to let my past hijack my future.”

Self-forgiveness is ugly work. It’s not a spa day. It’s more like cleaning out a fridge you forgot about during a two-month bender. There are things in there you’d rather not face. But once you start scrubbing away, things get less toxic. You realize you’re not the same person you were. You’re not doomed to repeat every mistake. You’re allowed to grow.

The Next Right Thing

If you came here for the secret to self-worth, it’s this: Make the next right decision. That’s it. Not the next perfect decision. Not the next universally approved-by-your-mother decision. Just the next right one for you, right now. Sometimes it’s drinking water instead of whiskey. Sometimes it’s apologizing. Sometimes it’s just getting out of bed.

You don’t have to know the whole path. You just have to trust that you can put one foot in front of the other. That trust comes with practice. You’ll blow it sometimes, because you’re human and not a robot programmed for flawless choices (if only). But every time you get back up and try again, you’re teaching your brain: “Hey, maybe I’m not hopeless. Maybe I can do this.”

Out-of-the-Box Ways to Build Self-Worth (That Don’t Involve Talking to Your Reflection)

1. Become a Beginner at Something Weird

Pick something you’ve never done and are probably going to suck at—pottery, fencing, bird-watching, skateboarding, whatever. The point isn’t to master it. It’s to remind yourself you can learn, adapt, and laugh at yourself without the world ending. Humility is underrated, but so is the confidence that comes from sticking with something you’re bad at—until you’re just slightly less bad.

For older folks: Try a virtual reality game or start a YouTube channel about your favorite hobby. You get to be the cool grandparent/aunt/uncle, and you’ll prove to yourself that you can keep up with the tech crowd.

For younger folks: Take a tech break and try something old-school—woodworking, gardening, or cooking a recipe from a different culture. Bonus points if you document the disaster and the triumph.

2. The Compliment Challenge (But Make It Subversive)

Instead of giving yourself compliments, hand them out to strangers—with zero expectation of anything in return. Compliment someone’s shoes, their playlist, the way they parallel park. Watch the ripple effect. You start to realize your words matter, and you’re not invisible. Plus, you get to see how kindness bounces back in weird ways.

For men who feel awkward about this: Start with something simple—“Nice shirt, man.” Or, if that’s too much, try writing anonymous sticky notes and leaving them on gym lockers or library books: “Hey, you’re crushing it.”

For women who feel overlooked: Compliment other women in public—on their style, their confidence, their sense of humor. It’s a subtle way to remind yourself of your own strengths, too.

3. Write Your Greatest Hits Liner Notes

Pretend your life is an album, and you’re writing the liner notes. Pick five moments you’re proud of—big or small—and write about them like you’re your own biggest fan. Bonus points if you add a “hidden track” that’s a moment nobody knows about but that meant a lot to you.

For everyone: If you’re feeling brave, share one or two with someone you trust. If not, keep it in your wallet or phone for rough days.

4. Do Something Badly… On Purpose

Perfectionism is a killer. So, pick one thing this week to do badly on purpose. Paint a ridiculous picture, sing karaoke off-key, dress like a fashion disaster. The goal is to break the cycle of needing to be good at everything. You’re allowed to exist as a glorious mess.

For the overachievers and people-pleasers: This is your medicine. Take as needed.

5. Volunteer for Something Completely Out of Your Comfort Zone

Don’t just feed the homeless (though that’s great)—volunteer for something that genuinely terrifies you, like reading to kids if you hate public speaking, or helping at an animal shelter if you’re nervous around dogs. You’ll surprise yourself, and your brain will file that under “Evidence I Can Do Hard Things.”

6. Make a “No List”

Instead of listing what you should do, write down five things you’re NOT going to do anymore because they make you feel like crap. (Example: “I will not scroll social media after 10 p.m.” or “I will not apologize for existing.”) Self-worth grows as you set boundaries—sometimes it’s more about what you refuse than what you add in.

7. Find Your “Weird Crew”

Whether you’re 17 or 70, seek out people who are just as weird as you are, online or in person. Join a Dungeons & Dragons group, a salsa dancing class, or a book club that only reads horror novels. We all need a tribe that mirrors our quirks—that’s where self-love often feels real for the first time.

Progress, Not Perfection (And Other Clichés That Are Actually True)

Here’s the dirty little secret of recovery: You don’t have to believe in yourself 100% to start. Hell, you can start at 1% and that’s enough. The belief grows as you do the work. The more you show up for yourself, the more you realize you’re worth showing up for.

So yeah, self-forgiveness is scary. Rebuilding self-worth feels impossible some days. But you’re not alone, and you’re not beyond repair. Keep making the next right choice. Eventually, you’ll look back and realize you’re not living in that old, shame-filled neighborhood anymore. You’ve moved up—maybe not to the penthouse, but at least you’ve got better lighting and your own bathroom.

And if nobody’s told you today: You’re doing better than you think, and you’re worth the work.

Stay weird. Stay real. Keep going.-Belle-

I'm an Addict and I'm Not Sorry

Let's get real for a second. If you're reading this, chances are you or someone you love has been through the wringer of addiction. And if that's the case, you know that the worst part isn't the withdrawals, the failed relationships, or those awful, gut-wrenching moments of clarity on the bathroom floor. It's the shame. Oh, the shame. It's like someone poured gasoline all over your soul and lit a match.

Well, I'm here to tell you something: fuck the shame. No, really. Fuck it right in the ear. You don't need that kind of toxic garbage holding you back anymore.

I'm not going to sugarcoat it. I'm an addict. I've done some bad shit. I've lied, I've stolen, I've woken up in strange places with even stranger people. But you know what? I'm still a person. I'm still a person who deserves to be happy, to love and be loved, to leave something better than I found it.

Look, you can't change your past. That ship has sailed, baby. But you can change your now. And your now is all about the next decision you make. Is it going to be a step towards the light, or a step back into the darkness? That's up to you.

And let's be real clear: just because you've made some crappy choices doesn't mean you're a crappy person. We've all been there. We've all done things we wish we could take back. But the people who can admit the fuck up, learn from it, and keep moving forward? Those are the people who are going to make it.

Recovery isn't about being perfect. It's about being a little less of a disaster today than you were yesterday. It's about taking your meds, going to your meetings, eating a vegetable every once in a while. Baby steps, folks. That's how you run a marathon.

And yeah, there's going to be setbacks. There's going to be days when it all feels like too much and getting high/drunk/whatever just seems easier. But easier isn't always better. Sometimes you have to go through the hard to get to the other side.

I don't know about you, but I'm sick and tired of feeling like I'm less than because of my past. I'm sick of feeling like I don't deserve good things. I deserve good things. I deserve love, and stability, and a fucking decent night's sleep. And so do you.

So, let's make a pact to ourselves. Let's leave the shame behind. Let's take our power back. Let's show the world that we're not just junkies, we're warriors. We're survivors. And we're not sorry for it.

Screw the shame. Let's get on with the living.-Belle-