Golf, Recovery, and the Courage to Return

There was a time when I played good golf. My handicap came down, my confidence grew, and the game b

ecame part of my life rhythm. Golf gave me structure, challenge, and a place where I could slow down and be present.

Then, for a season, the game left me.

Before my community service year, golf gradually fell away. Life became busy, priorities shifted, and without making a conscious decision, something that had been good for my mental health disappeared. I didn’t choose to stop playing, I simply stopped showing up.

It was during my community service year in the Eastern Cape that I picked up the clubs again. Not chasing scores or performance, but reconnecting with the game itself. I renewed my bag, returned to the basics, and remembered why golf had once mattered so much to me, not just as a sport, but as a discipline that builds presence and character.

Last year, 2025, I only played a few holes. In honesty, that’s not acceptable for my mental health. Not because golf is an obligation, but because neglecting something I genuinely like, something that grounds me, challenges me, and restores me has consequences. Mental wellbeing and recovery require intentional space for movement, reflection, and enjoyment. Golf provides all three.

This year, that changes.

Today I signed up with PlayMore Golf. Not as a dramatic statement, but as a quiet commitment to myself, to consistency, and to wellbeing. The goal isn’t to chase a previous handicap or compete with who I once was. The goal is to play. To practise. To be present.

As with recovery, I’m starting where it matters most.

The short game.

From 100 metres to the hole is where patience is tested and ego is exposed. You cannot overpower the short game. It requires feel, restraint, intention, and acceptance, qualities that sit at the heart of recovery and emotional regulation. It’s also the part of the game where frustration surfaces quickly.

Golf has a unique way of revealing where you are at emotionally. On the course, anger and frustration don’t stay hidden for long. A poor shot can trigger impatience, self-criticism, or the urge to react impulsively. In that moment, the game becomes a mirror of recovery.

Progress in recovery is often seen not in the absence of difficulty, but in how one responds to it. Golf makes this visible. Whether it’s slamming a club into the ground, throwing it, or quietly stepping back and taking a breath, the response tells a story.

Not throwing the golf club becomes a small but meaningful victory.

It represents pause. Awareness. Choice. The anger may still be there, but it no longer controls the behaviour. Just as in recovery, the goal is not to eliminate frustration, but to learn how to experience it without acting it out or causing harm.

Golf also teaches a vital lesson: you cannot live in the last shot.

Replaying it, resenting it, or punishing yourself for it does nothing for what lies ahead. The only thing that matters is the ball in front of you, today, not yesterday, not tomorrow. Recovery works the same way. Healing happens in the present moment. Growth requires letting go of the past and resisting the urge to control the future.

Training again means meeting myself where I am now, not where I used to be. It means releasing comparison, lowering unrealistic expectations, and allowing progress to come slowly. It means choosing enjoyment over perfection and presence over performance.

Golf, like recovery, does not reward force.

It rewards honesty, consistency, humility, and the willingness to start again, sometimes many times in the same round.

This year isn’t about a scorecard or a handicap. It’s about returning. Recommitting. Creating space for something that supports mental health, emotional regulation, and recovery.

One shot at a time!