Here and now, I’m stepping out of the shadows and telling you how poker saved my life — at a time when I had just pled guilty to a felony. Yes, you read that right. I’m a convicted felon.
Why am I sharing this little-known truth? Because if you’re reading this, you’re probably a poker advocate. You cherish the game — most of the time, anyway — and I want you to know just how powerful it can be.
Even though I’ve been away from the felt full-time in recent years to care for myself and my family, poker remains my lifeline. It gave me what I call the Ultimate Adult Do-Over. It rebuilt my self-esteem, raised my self-worth, and reshaped the way I show up in life.
If I ever put all the lessons poker has taught me into a book — raw, unfiltered, full of truth — it wouldn’t just teach or entertain. It would reveal how a so-called hobby became the crossroads where my life and transformation finally met — and where I healed.
Most of us have a love-hate relationship with this game. Why? Because just when you think you’ve figured it out, the cards smack you sideways. You make the “right” move — and still lose the hand. That’s beyond poker. That’s life.
How a felony, a fold, and a Florida bingo hall changed everything.
Everything I’ve studied and lived — sales, management, psychology, metaphysics — shows up at the table. But it wasn’t until life sidelined me that I realized how much I benefited from poker.
I discovered how to play poker in 1996, playing in the Seminole bingo halls in Florida. Back then, it had little to do with the money. It was about learning to fold early and often — and keeping your cool while doing it.
Can you even imagine a $0.25/$0.50 cash game where the pot freezes when it hits $10… after the house had taken its $2.50? If this is the first time you’re hearing that, I bet you’re thinking, “Say what?!”
But that’s where I used everything life had already taught me — negotiating deals, managing money, and soft people skills — and translated those assets to the table by reading the room, spotting patterns, and knowing when to get out of the way.
Two years later, I became a felon.
Looking back, I know this: without poker, I might not be here. The stress would’ve killed me. Or worse, I might have taken myself out. Life dealt me garbage cards — the kind you wouldn’t wish on anyone. And like many people who’ve hit their personal bottom, I wanted to vanish.
*AI-generated image, for illustrative purposes only
The problem is, invisibility is a tall order for a 6-foot-5 woman.
But here’s the truth: when life deals you a brutal hand, you still have choices:
- You can play full out and take calculated risks.
- You can white-knuckle it, holding onto a hand you know is losing.
- Or you can fold early and cut your losses.
The game taught me how to let go — and live.
I was ashamed for years about pleading guilty — until I realized I had made a smart choice — I had folded early rather than spend years in court draining our savings just to prove a point. That was the hand I was dealt, and I played it the best I could.
In poker, we fold when we’re pretty darn sure that the hand we’re in won’t win. I now realize that’s exactly what I did.
Since publishing MindShift On-Demand in 2017, I’ve spoken on countless podcasts about how poker saved my life — but until recently, I left out this chapter. Only a handful of people knew until I confessed it and became unmuffled earlier this year. Now, I say it out loud. Again. I am a convicted felon.
Why repeat it? Because truth-telling has power. Because shame fades when we stop hiding. Because someone out there needs to hear this — maybe it’s you.
Negative self-talk is like a bad beat at the poker table.
Rather than dwell on it, detach. Observe it.
Be the witness.
Forgive yourself, and prepare for the next hand life deals you.
— Donna Blevins, PhD (@BigGirlPoker) January 19, 2025
It doesn’t matter why you’ve lost — whether it was fear, self-doubt, addiction, or just plain exhaustion. What matters is what you learn from it — and how you use that lesson to take your next best action. If there’s anyone qualified to talk about profiting from loss and rebuilding from failure, it’s someone who’s lived through it, owned it, and still found a way to sit back down at the table.
I’m now in my seventies. I’ve become highly skilled at picking myself up, dusting off, and getting back in the game. That’s the magic of poker — and life. Poker helped me shift my focus.
It helped me remember who I am.
It gave me a path back to joy.
And no matter how messy the hand, I’m still all-in. Because this game doesn’t demand perfection. It demands presence. And presence — in the moment, in the mess — is what brought me back to life.
That’s how poker saved my life.
Not with luck.
With truth.
With choice.
With the guts to sit back down and play my game — not someone else’s.
