As I write my final Freedom from Addiction column, I feel somewhat thwarted by writers’ block. I want my 33rd and final submission to Nexus to be good, and I want it to be impactful. What can I say about addiction that will inspire or help others, or open people up to a different reality?
But then I remember that that’s not how it works. It’s not within my capacity to open someone up to anything, or convince anyone of anything, or to be approved of by others. I have no control over how anyone interprets me or judges me, and, quite frankly, it’s none of my business.
This column has always just been part of my own recovery from addiction, a way to practice being open and honest, and a way to get experience as a writer.
This has perhaps been one of the more difficult aspects of addiction recovery for me to grasp, that I cannot take anyone with me—not my family, not my past partners, not my friends, not anyone. In my active addiction, primarily to sex and love, I cling to others, and I want to control others. In sobriety I am in a state of surrender, and I allow others to be who and what and where they are.
When we cling and grasp—which is a mental activity—we invariably lose our own footing. The same is true when we resist what the moment is offering or asking of us.
We are all, by degrees, trying to control our reality by clinging to parts of it and resisting other parts. Eventually, we will all realize the futility of such efforts. In the end, we have no choice but to surrender. Life and death go together, after all.
If we want out of the trap of clinging and resisting, we must die before we die. We let old, maladaptive parts of ourselves go, and it is painful, and scary. But then we get to be reborn. We get to exist in a different and better way.
In my recovery, I feel I have died and been reborn again and again. Each moment is an opportunity to let go of the struggle—of the attempt to control what is, in fact, beyond my control—and to permit reality to be as it is. This is the rebirth. This is waking up. Real power comes from this process, although it may seem counterintuitive.
I am not recovered fully and I may never be. Full recovery from addiction might be something like enlightenment; I’m not sure. I’m often still in the thick of it. Some days, like today, I all but collapse in despair and exhaustion from the demands of living and the painstaking effort of trying to heal.
But then, after a good cry and a hug from someone I love, I remember that all I have to do is surrender, be what I am, and keep showing up in each moment and doing my best. In my sincerest efforts and my willingness to surrender to what life is asking of me—eat, work, rest, speak up, slow down, play my guitar and sing, write, study, ask, listen, feel, reach out—I am slowly but surely learning the art of living.
I want to acknowledge the Nexus editors, staff, and contributing student writers. I am humbled and proud to have been part of this organization. It’s been a gift to be able to contribute regularly for almost two years, and it has no doubt helped me remain sober. So, thank you.
On a final note, if you are struggling with addiction of any kind, there is a 12-step fellowship for it, including the original Alcoholics Anonymous, as well as Sex and Love Addicts Anonymous and many others. With a quick Google search you can easily find a contact or meeting full of supportive, lovely people.