What if the thoughts you’ve trusted all your life are the very things keeping you stuck?
Coming to grips with the idea that your thinking—and the emotions attached to it—might be flawed is a tough pill to swallow. Yet that awakening often begins the journey toward sobriety, or perhaps more accurately, toward peace.
In my own life, I’ve come to recognize how much of my pain begins with my thoughts. I have an insatiable appetite for things going my way. Everyone else should follow the plan. Apparently, that includes God.
In early recovery, we hear the term contrary action. When your instincts tell you to isolate, reach out. When you want to avoid responsibility, take a commitment. When you’re consumed with yourself, help somebody else. You begin doing the things your old thinking keeps talking you out of.
For me, that meant accepting direction from a sponsor. Taking direction from an ex-con with a year clean from heroin wasn’t easy on my ego. But what the hell—he seemed better off than I was. He had something I needed, and my way had brought me here.
So I put down the “why” and picked up the action.
He gave direction, and I needed it.
“Get in the car. We’re going to do a panel.”
“Call me every morning. Without fail.”
“Take a commitment at a meeting.”
“Be of service to somebody every day.”
I had an opinion about all of it. Fortunately, I was finally willing to act without making everyone listen to it.
That’s a hard arrangement for the ego. Mine wanted to be treated like an authority while behaving like a toddler determined to run into traffic. I wanted freedom, but I resented the guidance that might help me live with it.
Contrary action became a practice of surrender. Each time I followed through despite my resistance, I placed a little more faith in something beyond my own mind. I began telling that demanding, frightened part of me, “You don’t get to run every decision anymore.”
I didn’t have to declare myself incapable of making decisions. I had to admit that the thinking that kept hurting me needed to change—and that I needed help changing it.
This is living life on life’s terms, or as I like to think of it, following God’s journey home. I could take the next step without knowing the whole route.
Over time, something began to shift. Calling someone became easier. Helping someone brought relief. Keeping a commitment gave me a sense of purpose. The actions I once resisted began to feel like the way I wanted to live.
I believe that’s part of healing: our willingness grows, and our actions begin to align more closely with God’s will.
I still want my way. But today, I can pause long enough to remember where my way has taken me—and choose a different step.
Sometimes the way home begins with doing the very thing our pride tells us we shouldn’t have to do.
“Trust in the LORD with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways submit to him, and he will make your paths straight.”
— Proverbs 3:5–6 (NIV)
