“I Lost £75,000 to Gambling – and Hid It from My Husband for Years”

Few moments in life have felt as triumphant as simply buying a round of drinks for my family at a cosy village pub the other week. The bill for all seven of us came to around £35. Settling it with my own card might seem insignificant to most, but for me, it was monumental.

Before, if I ever had a spare £35, I would have thrown it straight into an online roulette game—except I wouldn’t have stopped there. My worst single-session loss was a staggering £11,000.

Looking back now, it’s hard to fathom how I could squander that kind of money—more than three months’ worth of my teaching salary—in just a few hours. But for 12 years, I was consumed by a gambling addiction that cost me over £75,000—money my husband and I could have put towards buying a home.

Instead, we’re still renting, and even if we could afford a mortgage, my trashed credit rating would make securing one nearly impossible.

Like most addicts, I spent years hiding my problem behind a tangled web of lies. The inner turmoil was excruciating—until two years ago, when I finally sought professional help.

Gambling Addiction: Not Just a “Male Problem”

There’s a common perception that gambling addiction is a men’s issue. But during my recovery, I was shocked by the number of other women suffering just as I had—mothers, nurses, lawyers, architects.

Even at my lowest point, on the surface, I seemed like the picture of a respectable, middle-class professional. I teach English at a private secondary school, play golf and padel, and have been married for seven years to Will, who works in elite sports management.

Yet behind closed doors, I was gambling at every opportunity—on my phone during work breaks, in the bathroom at social events, even while waiting for doctor’s appointments.

A Big Win That Led to Even Bigger Losses

My biggest win came in 2016. I was 28, still living with my parents and working waitressing shifts at a hotel. I’d been gambling for six years when, one night, I took out a £1,000 loan and won £20,000 on the roulette wheel.

I remember quietly jumping up and down, crying with relief. At last, I could pay off my £3,000 in outstanding loans, with plenty left over for a holiday or a car.

And I did pay off the debt. But within a month, I had gambled away the rest. I remember sitting in my room, shaking and sobbing as the last few pounds disappeared.

No one knew about the highs and crushing lows I was experiencing. Even when Will and I moved into a rented home together in Hertfordshire and got married in 2017, I kept my addiction a secret. I told myself I’d stop, but instead, I started taking out payday loans—thousands of pounds at a time.

A Double Life Built on Lies

By then, I had retrained as a teacher, working in a private senior school. I never gambled at school—it felt too inappropriate, surrounded by students—but the moment I got home, I was straight onto the casino sites before Will arrived.

It wasn’t long before he started asking why I wasn’t contributing to rent and bills. Ashamed, I lied. I told him my bank account had been hacked. Then I’d call my parents, spinning the same story to borrow money.

Night after night, I’d sneak out of our bedroom while Will slept, sitting in the dark, spinning the roulette wheel until I could barely keep my eyes open.

By autumn 2021, my payday loans had exceeded £10,000. My credit rating was so bad that no legitimate lender would touch me. And still, nobody suspected a thing.

Because Will earned significantly more than me, he covered most of the bills. That meant he didn’t question my lack of money as much as he might have otherwise.

But I was drowning.

Desperate for Help – and Being Let Down

In desperation, I visited my GP and finally admitted I had a gambling problem. Instead of referring me to a support service, he simply prescribed me antidepressants. I flushed them down the toilet and kept gambling.

Then, a year later, I hit rock bottom. I blew my entire monthly salary—around £3,000—on the roulette wheel within three days of payday.

I felt physically ill, pacing the house one moment, then collapsing in bed the next, overwhelmed by panic and exhaustion. Suicidal thoughts crept in.

During the school term, I could distract myself with work. But during the holidays, alone at home while Will was at work, the depression and desperation were unbearable.

Reaching Out for Help

One afternoon, I finally called GamCare, a gambling addiction charity. A therapist named Jenny picked up. I could barely speak through the tears as I poured out 12 years of secrets and shame.

She helped me roleplay how I would tell my husband and parents the truth. This was the start of a seven-week recovery program.

I installed Gamban, a free software that blocks access to gambling sites, so even if I had the urge, I physically couldn’t act on it. I learned about “urge surfing”, a technique where you visualise the urge as a wave, riding it out rather than trying to fight it.

Most urges subside within 20 minutes. Instead of gambling, I went for walks, had a bath—anything to keep my mind occupied.

Telling My Husband the Truth

One night, I finally found the courage to confess everything to Will.

“I have something to tell you, but I can’t say it out loud,” I said, handing him a letter detailing my addiction, my debts, and the years of deception.

Terrified, I turned away as he read it. But when he finished, he wrapped his arms around me, tears streaming down his face.

“It’s OK,” he whispered. “We’ll get through this together.”

It wasn’t easy. He was devastated that I hadn’t confided in him. But on my therapist’s advice, he took control of my finances. My salary was paid directly into his account, and I had to ask him for money—even for essentials like deodorant. It was humiliating, but necessary.

A week later, I called my parents. Despite their shock, their first words were, “How can we help you, darling?”

Life After Addiction

A month into therapy, I began to feel hopeful. I realised my addiction had been fuelled by feelings of inadequacy. It had started when I was a 22-year-old graduate, watching my friends build exciting careers while I was stuck in a waitressing job. But it had escalated after I became a teacher, overwhelmed by the pressures of managing students, parents, and school leadership.

Instead of winding down with a glass of wine, I’d turned to gambling.

Now, two years on, I still haven’t told my two older brothers or my best friends—I fear their judgment. But thankfully, Will and I are stronger than ever.

Ten months ago, he handed back control of my finances. It was a massive milestone.

Now, my biggest win isn’t a jackpot. It’s being able to buy gifts for my loved ones—without relying on the spin of a roulette wheel.