I never fell into a rabbit hole, but I fell hard into the Internet. There, I found a strange world where forbidden things were freely available—even celebrated. At first, I enjoyed this secret place where there was no right or wrong. What I did there, stayed there. So I stayed there longer and longer each day. Soon, my daytime life lacked the electrifying intrigue of my secret underworld. Before long, my seemingly harmless online meetings turned into face-to-face infidelities. I cheated frequently, despite more than 15 years of faithful marriage.

My wife initially tolerated my online misbehavior, expecting me to outgrow my “Internet phase.” Five years later, I had not outgrown my phase, but she had outgrown marriage to an addict. I soon found myself raising our two kids largely myself. My new “wife” was the Internet.

My life online involved crossing all sorts of lines. Anything that revolted me eventually had to be tried. Still, I was fiercely proud of one thing: my online life never affected my kids. Or so I told myself.

Although my online insanity was never directed at my kids, they surely felt its effects. I remember one Saturday morning when I quickly logged onto the Internet “just to see who is on.” When my kids woke up, they begged me to cook them breakfast. “Just butter yourselves some toast,” I yelled, stalling to prolong an online chat. “We’re still hungry!” they yelled shortly. “Cook yourself some eggs!” I shouted back, feeling irritated. “But it’s lunchtime, now!” I glanced up and realized that four hours had somehow elapsed. “Heat up some pizza, and I’ll be right there,” I pleaded, “I’m really busy right now!”

Soon they were whining, “You said you’d take us to the pool, but now the pool’s closed.” I snapped backed angrily, “Quit whining! The pool doesn’t close until 6:00!” But then a glance at the clock on the wall told me what I didn’t want to admit. I had lost another entire day to my addiction, and I had deprived my kids of yet another day of normal life.

“I’ll make it up to you kids,” I would vow, “You’ll see. I’ll get caught up with my work soon and things will change.” I prayed they would believe my non-stop claims of “important work” on the computer. But their meager clothes drawers and empty pockets told them my work wasn’t earning any cash. “I’ll make it up to you,” became a familiar and empty promise.

Until I got into recovery, I couldn’t see the unreality that was staring me in the face. My online life was no life at all. If I met a new person online, I would quickly become bored and abandon her in favor of the next unreal friend. My “real life” became my nights at the computer, and my days became pale ghosts of my past. My home, my marriage, my business, all slipped away right before my eyes. I would gripe bitterly to my online friends about how insane the offline world was—especially my crazy ex-wife. Anyone who didn’t agree with me was replaced immediately with another “friend.”

One day, my daughter caught sight of some online chat I had forgotten to erase. It was brief; it was terrible. I doubt she wanted to believe those words had come from the father she trusted. But they had. She left my life due to a vigilant mother. My sickness hadn’t touched my daughter literally, but it destroyed her belief that she had a good father. Some people don’t hit rock bottom until after jail, an asylum, or a divorce court. For me, it came when my secret underworld collided with the fragile reality of someone I loved with all my heart.

I thought my life of addiction would probably end in suicide. Still in shock, I called the SA phone number and was surprised when a highly respected person in my community returned my call. I went to my first meeting desperately wanting out of that insane “rabbit hole” of addiction. As I heard members read “The Problem,” and “The Solution,” I found some relief in their words. I looked around the room, and saw how totally ordinary the others appeared. This eased my inner fear that I was a monster among monsters. I found instead that I was a suffering addict among others who had laid their sufferings down.

My sponsor started me on my way to recovery with the Serenity Prayer. He was a religious man, but he said, “Neither my religious or intellectual ideas will get you sober. Only working the Steps, going to meetings, and participating in sponsorship will.” I had known many religious people, but had never heard such utter humility. It made me sit up and listen. It made me think maybe I too could be a good man again. I thought of my daughter. The Steps seemed worth a try.

Despite reaching my rock bottom and experiencing other negative spiritual consequences, I worked the Steps very slowly—almost reluctantly. My journey through the Steps was like the saying in the White Book: “Instead of running joyously to heaven, we seem to back away from our hell, one step at a time” (SA 69). On good days, I worked the Steps gladly. On other days I really had to force myself. But I was lucky because my rock bottom proved that I had no other option but to stop my addiction.

My sponsor never wavered: he said the way forward was through the Steps. I stopped fighting and surrendered myself completely to following my sponsor’s suggestions. I stopped overcomplicating the Steps and simply worked them. And sure enough, they have always worked, one day at a time. I stopped surrendering to my addiction and instead surrendered to my Higher Power. I no longer ran toward my own death but started trudging toward a new way of life. In other words, I started working the program every day of my life.

Now, roughly 10 years later, I work on the Internet nearly every day as part of my profession. Thanks to my Higher Power, the Internet is not the automatic trigger it used to be. After I found sobriety, I realized the Web was never my real problem. My problem was a physical craving and a mental insanity within myself. The Internet was only a trigger. My real enemy was my addiction, not the Internet.

Just today, I talked on the phone with my daughter for an hour—she was telling me all about her new apartment and two job offers. She attended my recent wedding and I came to her college graduation. I don’t know if she’ll ask me to escort her down the aisle at her wedding someday, but I think she might.

After some Ninth Step amends, that low point I went through has been replaced by one High-Powered day after another.