Don't Call Me a Tweaker

Hey there, Dr. Dallas Bragg here, recovery coach for gay men who want to break free from the addictive patterns of crystal meth and live their best and highest life. Today we are talking about the power of language and how your words can inhibit or inform your recovery journey and actually your entire life. On this channel, you're going to find lots of resources to help you break free from Tina or crystal meth and attain your best and highest existence. Also, don't forget to look for my podcast. It's called The Aftermath here on my channel as well. A new episode is launched every Thursday. I do drop a long-form video just like this every Saturday. So please turn on the notification bell and subscribe to this channel so you don't miss any of them. By the way, if you are interested in my one-on-one coaching program or my group coaching program called Recovery Alchemy, the link to apply is in the show notes. Through weekly one-on-one sessions, weekly group sessions, and daily accountability, your life could look much differently in 6 months from now. All right. So let me ask you a question. Let's get right to it. Would you refer to an African American as the N-word? How about calling 2 gay men walking down the street a couple of F-words? How about calling a homeless person acting erratically on the street a psycho? I seriously doubt it if you're watching this channel. Recently, I was having a conversation with a man who is a former meth user about the possibility of being a guest on my podcast. As we spoke about Life After Meth, he made this comment, yeah, you're just a tweaker helping other tweakers. I stopped the conversation dead. I am not a tweaker and don't call me a tweaker. Yes, I know he had the best of intentions. If you're out there and you're in CMA and you call each other tweakers, yes, I know he is attempting to reclaim a stigmatized word. Yes, I know this seems to be common. in these recovery groups. But no, I will not accept being called a tweaker. Conversation over again. The words we use to describe ourselves become the architecture of our identity. And we wonder why there's so many people going back and picking up. When we accept labels tied to our darkest moments, We unknowingly construct prisons of perception that can outlast the behaviors themselves. Recovery is not just about changing what we do. It's about revolutionizing how we see ourselves. So let me give you 4 reasons why I do not identify as a tweaker. Number 1, the power of self-definition. The language of addiction doesn't just describe our experience. It colonizes our identity. Each time we accept or use substance-related labels like crackhead, we're reinforcing neural pathways that cement this temporary chapter as our permanent state of being. And we wonder why people are addicted to the meetings. Our brains operate on a principle similar to confirmation bias. Whatever identity we claim, becomes the filter through which we process our experiences. If I define myself through the lens of my darkest moments, my subconscious mind works overtime to find supporting evidence, even when I'm actively trying to create a different reality. We're fighting against ourselves. When we repeatedly pair our core identity, which is I am, with limitation-based language, we're literally wiring our brains to resist transformation. The neural pathways associated with our substance use already have enough strength without our language reinforcing them on a daily basis. Think about the difference between these 2 statements: I'm a tweaker who's been clean for 3 years, or I'm on a journey of reclaiming my authentic self after a chapter with crystal meth. The first statement anchors identity in the past and defines the present as merely an interruption of what's portrayed as the real me. The second acknowledges the experience while placing it in a larger narrative of becoming. Try speaking both of those out loud. Rewind and speak them both out loud and see how they feel in your body. Notice how your body responds differently. To each one. That physical response isn't coincidental. It's your entire being recognizing truth versus limitation. Let me ask you a question. If you were to create a completely new identity statement that honors your journey without defining you by it, what would it be? What power might you reclaim by consciously choosing a new definition? All right, number 2, creating distance between experience and identity. The fusion of identity with experience creates a psychological prison more confining than any physical dependency. When we collapse the space between what happened and who we are, we surrender our power to author our own story. The fusion happens subtly, Through language, through seemingly innocent phrases that mainstream recovery culture has normalized. The ritual introduction of, hi, I'm Dallas and I'm a meth addict, does something profound psychologically. It teaches us that our relationship with the substance is the most important identifier we possess. But you existed before this chapter of your life, and you will exist long after it. You are not what happened to you. You are not what you did during your darkest moments. You are the consciousness that experienced it all, the awareness that chose differently, and the being reading and listening these words now. The psychological concept of defusion— that's creating space between ourselves and our thoughts— applies so powerfully to our recovery journal. Journey. By linguistically separating yourself from the experience— I experienced addiction, I experienced meth use— rather than I am an addict, you create the mental distance needed to examine the experience without being defined by it. It moves you from being the character trapped in the story to becoming the author, Consciously creating each new page. It transforms recovery from lifelong management of a chronic condition to a chapter of profound transformation in your evolving story. I've watched people light up when they first experience this distinction, when they allow themselves and let themselves go from this identity. It's a visible shift. Shoulders relax, eyes brighten when somebody realizes they've been viewing their temporary behaviors as a meth user as their permanent identity. That moment of recognition is often the first true breath of freedom. So let me ask you this question. If you were to observe your journey as a compassionate witness, rather than a harsh judge, what would you recognize as underlying needs, the unhealed wounds, or the unmet desires that your substance use was attempting to address? So then, how are you meeting those same needs differently now? That's it. That's the answer. All right. Number 3, stepping into your future language. So our neurology doesn't clearly distinguish between vividly imagined experiences and lived ones. That's why guided meditation works so well. This concept both fuels our trauma responses and it heals them. When we consistently speak as if we're already embodying our future self, our brain begins creating new neural pathways that support This new emerging identity that doesn't have to be the most important thing of it as meth user. This isn't about denial though, or magical thinking. It's about intentionally directing our neuroplasticity toward healing rather than reinforcing the limitation we had. Our brains will change regardless. We're simply choosing the direction of that change. So rather than identifying with labels, that root us in the past, we can consciously adopt language that pulls us toward our becoming. Instead of the static recovering, experiment with dynamic language like I'm evolving, I'm discovering, or I'm becoming. These words carry momentum rather than the weight of what was. I'm still recovering. I've worked with people who've completely transformed their recovery journey by adopting a simple practice: speaking for 1 hour each day as if they already were 5 years into their healing journey. That's powerful. The shift in their energy, their decisions, their relationships was immediate, immediate and profound. And they weren't pretending the past didn't happen. They were simply refusing to let it colonize their present and their future. Listen, the self is not static. Every experience, including substance use and recovery, is part of an unfolding process of becoming who you truly are. It's one stage in your story. By speaking from your future self, you're not rejecting reality, but you're embracing a more complete version of it. Then brain follows suit. So when your language consistently orients toward who you're becoming rather than who you were, your attention naturally flows. You start moving forward. Where attention goes, energy flows, right? So here's the question: what daily ritual could you create to regularly remind yourself of the difference between your experiences and your identity? And how might this ritual incorporate new language patterns? Think about every word you speak. How does it reflect who you're becoming rather than who you've been? Number 4, how identity labels cap our full potential. Here's the thing about carrying the tweaker identity with you. Even years into your discovery, your evolving that we want to call recovery, it creates an invisible ceiling in every area of your life. I've seen it over and over, people who've maintained abstinence for years, but still unconsciously operate within the constraints of their old identity. They're sober but stuck, right? They're clean, but they're contained. When we internalize labels connected to our substance use, we unknowingly place ourselves in a permanent spiritual quarantine. We accept the subtle message that we must remain vigilant against our true nature rather than growing into it. My addiction is doing push-ups in the parking lot bullshit. This creates a fundamental split in our psyche. One part forever on guard, the other part forever suspect. This split in consciousness leaks energy like a sieve. Energy that could fuel creative endeavors, career advancements, spiritual growth. It keeps you buffering. It's like gas and brake. Intimate connections. It gets diverted to maintaining this internal surveillance system. I always— I have this chronic condition. I have to be watching out. He's doing pushups in the parking lot. I'm an addict. The belief that we're fundamentally broken doesn't stay contained to our recovery work either. It infects all parts of our lives. It whispers that we don't deserve that promotion, that we don't deserve that healthy relationship, that moment of peace, that creative breakthrough. We're broken. We're defective. It suggests that any success we achieve is happening despite who we really are. When we identify as tweakers in recovery rather than whole humans with a complex history, we unconsciously accept limitations in career advancement. People like me should be grateful for any job. Intimate relationships: Who would want me if they knew my past? Financial well-being: I don't deserve abundance after what I've done. Creative expression: My story isn't valuable. Unless it centers around addiction, spiritual connection, I'm too damaged for genuine transformation. I've watched people 5 years abstinent from meth still live in apartments they hate, work jobs beneath their capabilities, and accept relationships that don't honor their worth, all because they've never updated the fundamental story about who they are and what they deserve. When you release the identity that keeps you tethered to your lowest moments, you free up massive creative and spiritual energy reserves. You stop living within the narrow parameters of recovery, and you start expanding into the boundless territory of discovery. The most profound transformation happens when you realize you aren't just recovering what was lost during your substance use. You're discovering aspects of yourself that have been waiting patiently under all that shit all along. So ask yourself, what would you attempt tomorrow if you completely trusted that your essential nature is whole, worthy, and capable rather than fundamentally flawed? The story of your life is still being written. You are both the author and the main character. So choose your words with the care this sacred responsibility deserves. Your past is not your potential. The chapter on substance use doesn't get to be the title of your book. You are becoming what you were always meant to be, not despite what you've done, but because of it. Damn, that's good word. I love you all very much, and I will see you next week.