Addiction, Recovery & the Brain: Rewiring the Brain: part 2 What Neuroplasticity Taught Me About Healing

Nangoma Simatele
Oct 13
4 min read

Leaving the Bubble

Leaving rehab felt like being released from a psychological terrarium. Inside, everything was structured: lights out at ten, therapy at nine, and tea breaks monitored by staff who could smell contraband sugar from three rooms away. Outside, the air was wider but terrifying.

I didn’t trust myself. Decisions like what to eat or when to sleep suddenly felt like calculus. I remember thinking, how do people just… exist?

Emotionally, I was tissue paper. But mentally, something tiny had shifted. I was noticing thoughts again: little flashes of reason and curiosity peeking through the static. It was like the volume knob in my brain had been turned from “chaos jazz” to “experimental indie". Still messy, but listenable.

“Wait… My Brain Works?”

The first “aha” moment was academic. My grades started improving. Essays made sense again. I wasn’t just rereading the same sentence twelve times like a haunted Roomba. Then came the social rewiring: people started trusting me again.

My parents talked to me. My parents left me alone with my sisters and with money. I remember thinking, either they’ve lost their minds, or I’m finally regaining mine.

It was such a surreal feeling realising that the people I’d hurt were now rebuilding trust because they saw something I couldn’t yet feel: evidence of rewiring. Neuroplasticity doesn’t announce itself; it sneaks up in small wins. It’s the quiet miracle behind “I didn’t mess that up today.”

From Vodka-Water to Real Hydration

Once upon a time, I used to mix vodka, coffee, and water and call it hydration. (Don’t do this. It’s not hydration; it’s witchcraft.) Now, my mornings were a weird blend of discipline and tenderness.

I’d wake early, stand on my balcony, breathe in the cold air, talk to my parents, read something spiritual, and avoid my phone like it was a poison. That routine became my new nervous-system training ground.

The science behind it? Consistency builds new myelin. Myelin is the brain’s insulation, every time you repeat a healthy habit, you reinforce the neural wiring that says, 'This is safe; this is us now.' Basically, my neurones were wrapping themselves in emotional bubble wrap.

Grief, Boredom & Brain Flatlines

No one warns you how boring recovery can be. You think healing will feel like peace, but first it feels like nothing.

I grieved a lot. I cried because the world felt too big, too quiet, too… sober. I had no idea what to do with free time. Parties were landmines. Loneliness felt radioactive. But somewhere in that dull ache, my brain was learning not to need chaos as proof of life.

Neuroscientists call this homeostatic recalibration. I called it “crying at 3 p.m. for no reason.” My dopamine system, which used to drink through every night, was now a toddler learning nap schedules.

That’s what neuroplasticity looks like sometimes: not fireworks, but yawns and slow mornings. Healing feels boring before it feels peaceful.

Laughter, Art & Surviving Myself

When everything else failed, I drew. I coloured in meaningless shapes. I stared at the stars. I laughed. a lot. Rehab humour is a whole genre: jokes about relapse snacks, caffeine overdoses, and emotional breakthroughs that sound like TED Talks written by raccoons.

Laughter became a neurological workout. Every time I laughed, my brain released tiny hits of serotonin and endorphins, reinforcing the idea that joy is still possible. Creativity and humour literally teach the limbic system that not all stimulation is dangerous.

Even when I was scared, I laughed and that laughter rewired me faster than any worksheet ever could.

Scents, Songs & Spiritual Wiring

Frankincense reminded me of home. Lavender reminded me of calm. My parents used both when cleaning or trying to calm me, so those scents felt like safety. When I smelt them in recovery, my nervous system unclenched.

That’s because scent travels straight to the limbic system, the brain’s emotional headquarters, skipping the usual rational filters. One whiff of frankincense can do what ten deep breaths sometimes can’t.

Music did the same thing. Gospel, jazz, lo-fi beats, afrobeats…each note was like a neural handshake, telling my brain, “We’re still here.”

Neuroscience Corner: What’s Actually Happening Up There

Think of early recovery like this:

Brain Region	Job	Early Recovery Status	Translation
Prefrontal Cortex	Planning, decision-making	Rebooting slowly	“We’re not drinking coffee-vodka anymore, calm down.”
Amygdala	Fear & emotion	Still dramatic	“We might die if we attend that family lunch.”
Hippocampus	Memory & learning	Regrowing new neurons	“Okay, new safe memories incoming. Don’t freak out”
Anterior Cingulate Cortex	Error detection & compassion	Reconnecting	“Haibo opps, but it’s okay, try again.”

Addiction disconnects these circuits; recovery slowly reconnects them through repetition, rest, and compassion.

The Big Shift

My real mindset change came when I looked around and saw other people who’d actually recovered. Not just sober but healed. Their eyes had life again. Their stories were messy but real. And that’s when my brain whispered, If they can do it, you can too.

Hope is contagious and neurologically, it’s mirror neurones doing their job. Seeing recovery in someone else activates the same circuits that make recovery feel possible in you.

That’s when I knew: my brain wasn’t broken; it was training for a bounce back (My sister calls me bounce back B).

Journal Prompt

Write about one habit whether tiny, silly, or sacred, that helps you feel like a “new version” of yourself. That’s neuroplasticity in disguise. Celebrate it.