Shame-filled silence and the crushing pain of regret
- deansimpson7
- Sep 23
- 6 min read
Updated: Sep 23
When Melbourne resident Sarah* started gambling in her late teens, it felt like harmless fun. In her Lebanese culture, card games and casual bets were everyday norms, with money changing hands freely. But little did she know that the ensuing years would see her lose over $100,000 and her husband incarcerated – all because of what she now calls a “disease”. Salvos Online journalist LERISSE SMITH spoke with Sarah about turning her life around from shame to strength in a journey marked by loss, courage and healing.
Sarah knows exactly what it feels like to be seduced by the lure of flashy gambling machines.
She recalls the flashing lights, the hypnotic sounds, the surge of hope – and being in a vault-like atmosphere.
But she also remembers the crushing pain of regret and the shame-filled silence on the drive home.
“It’s a disease,” she says simply.
“Just like an alcoholic can’t resist alcohol. It’s something with the brain. People use it to escape. You are just zoned in on this machine. Logically, you know you’re going to lose. But it gives you something … a feeling I can’t explain. It’s escapism. And for that hour, or those five hours, you’re just numb. It’s the after-effect too – the drive home. ‘Oh, why didn’t you just leave it? Why did you go back to the bank account?”
From her early 20s through to her 40s, Sarah described herself as a “big gambler” and lost a substantial amount of money.
What started as a cultural pastime became an emotional crutch, a way to escape life’s grief and complexity, especially after enduring multiple family deaths in her formative years.
Her addiction eventually spiralled into a destructive force that cost her more than $100,000. She was also left to raise three children alone while her husband was incarcerated for a significant amount of time – partly due to gambling-related issues.
So, where did the allure of gambling first take hold?
Living in the northern suburbs of Melbourne, Sarah was born in Australia to Lebanese parents who migrated in the 1970s. The eldest of four children, her early years were filled with love and tradition – but also profound loss. She suddenly lost her much-loved and adored father at just 17.
“That was very, very difficult,” Sarah recounts. “He was my everything.”
In the wake of that grief, Sarah sought distraction and found it in the pokies. She begged her parents to take her, and she found herself drawn to it. In retrospect, she believes it may have been her way of coping with her father’s death. She remembers the early 1990s when a new casino enticed her – and by then, gambling had already taken root.
Culturally, gambling was normalised.
Every Christmas, they would gather at someone’s house and play cards. Money was always involved. It was part of the culture. In the Middle East, people like to gamble; to wager a bet.
Sarah met her husband, John*, in 1990, and they married soon after. His parents were also heavy gamblers. The couple had three children. But marriage brought new challenges.
“John’s family didn’t really accept me,” she recalls. “We eloped without telling them … That put pressure on the relationship. I think gambling became my way of escaping life’s problems.”
Adding fuel to the fire, they lived right next door to a pokies venue.
“It’s just the machines. It’s just a light. That’s all it is,” Sarah remarked.
“And we used to say, like, if we were ever tired at the casino, they must put something in the air because you don’t feel tired. I don’t know what it is, but once you walk into those places, you are fully awake. You just gravitate toward it. It just sucks you in.
“I racked up nearly $30,000 that I owed. I didn’t have money for rent. I’d borrow from relatives or get my husband to borrow to take out a loan to pay the bills. The most I ever lost in one go was probably $2000. But I’d lose whatever I had in the bank account back then.”
Sarah was open with John about her gambling. She never lied. Whatever she lost, she told him. But there was something she didn’t know. John was gambling, too. And hiding it. He had a separate account she knew nothing about.
And then their world fell apart.
John’s gambling and living beyond his means, and other circumstances, led to him being arrested. He was sentenced to prison. Being a sole parent during that time was extremely tough.
But it was also a turning point. John’s incarceration forced Sarah to confront her addiction. Since then, she’s only been to the pokies five or six times.
But she’s the first to tell you: the pull is still real.
“The last month has been really tough,” she reflected.
“We didn’t know if John was going to get his parole or not. So, that was the first time in a long time that I wanted to go and gamble as a form of escapism. But I did not go. I’ve probably thought about it once, but I haven’t acted on it, because now I know, through the counsellor, it’s not going to make me feel better.”
Turning point A major shift began when John connected her to the Salvos Gambling Support Service based in Melbourne. She notes that while in jail, John had access to therapy, but out in the community, people are often left to struggle alone.
Through John, Sarah found the Gambling Support Services and began regular sessions with her counsellor, Ifraah Hassan.
It changed everything.“Meeting up every week with Ifraah has been such a positive impact on my life,” she said.
“It’s really just someone there to listen to. It helps me to unload whatever’s going on in my week and have someone who won’t judge you but just listens.”
“And gets you to think about the gambling, to dissect it, to know what’s going on internally. It just helps. Talking to her gives me that comfort. If I want to unleash, I can unleash, and it’s a safe place to do so, and there’s no judgment.”
In those sessions, Sarah finally unearthed something she hadn’t dealt with her belief that her father’s death was somehow her fault. She carried guilt for not seeing the health signs, for not preventing it.
But in working with Ifraah, she realised his death wasn’t her fault and that her gambling had been a way to bury that pain.
She also learned strategies from the support service that made all the difference.
“They are not trying to tell you what to do, to do this or do that … they let you come to that result,” Sarah explained.
“You are never really cured because life always throws things at you. You just have to recognise it and put those strategies in place. Okay, yes, I’m feeling overwhelmed. I’m feeling this.”
Gambling is now something Sarah manages well because she knows how much it can destroy.
“I still go occasionally,” Sarah said.
“I’m going to the casino in September for a family staycation. I play Powerball if there’s a $50 million jackpot. Sometimes I’ll play blackjack socially. But I have to be conscious and not go over what I am going to spend. I don’t gamble when I’m upset. It’s now just social outings a few times a year.”
And John? He’s home.
Despite everything, their 25-year marriage has survived.
A key element is that they are now older and wiser. They also have both got therapy to deal with whatever comes up in life in a healthier way. To deal with issues as they arise. John is also a better communicator.
Sarah also believes gambling is not just a personal issue – it’s cultural and systemic. She knows people who come from war-torn countries who use gambling to escape.
One particular major concern is the next generation.
“My son watches the AFL and all these Sportsbet commercials come on,” Sarah said. “It’s been ingrained in our children. We say we care about it – but it’s a money-making business for everyone else.”
Her message to the governments and policymakers?
“Stop putting your commercials during our footy games … I turn on the TV, and it’s infiltrating young minds. Put restrictions on stuff like that.”
And to those silently struggling with gambling, she has one clear message.
“No one can help you but yourself in the end. It has come from you,” she reflected. “It is something you’ve got to make a conscious effort. You might falter … but if you’ve got the right supports and you recognise it’s a problem, that’s the first step.”
As for the future, her husband has returned from incarceration a different person – thanks to many sessions of counselling with the Salvos.
“He’s had a lot of counselling. We’ve grown. We see a family therapist. It helps with communication,” she emphasised.
“We have survived such a long time whilst my husband was incarcerated - not many people can say that. But you know, we’ve survived it. I would say to people struggling with gambling – talk to someone. Even just once. That conversation could be your turning point. It was mine.”
*Not their real names. Their identity is protected due to confidentiality reasons.
