Many of us in sobriety use the word surrender when describing our journey into recovery. We speak of that moment when we finally laid down our weapons, admitted defeat, and accepted that our way of living was no longer working.
But surrender is often spoken of as though it were a one-and-done experience. As if that single moment of desperation somehow freed us from the very thing that brought us to our knees.
There is nothing one-and-done about the human mind, especially when it comes to the ego.
As for me, I have come to understand that surrender is not something I did. It is something I must continue to do. Every day. Every moment.
The same mind that once convinced me I could control my drinking still tries to convince me I can control everything else.
My circumstances, my relationships, my expectations, the behavior of others, and even outcomes that have yet to unfold.
The ego doesn't disappear because we get sober. It simply changes clothes. It finds new ways to convince us that we know best, that our opinions are facts, and that our will should somehow take precedence over God's.
Sometimes surrender means keeping my mouth shut when my ego desperately wants to be heard. Sometimes it means accepting circumstances I cannot change. Other times, it means recognizing that my discomfort has less to do with what is happening around me and more to do with my resistance to it.
I have discovered that surrender is not giving up on life. It is giving up the illusion that I am in charge of it.
There is extraordinary freedom in that realization.
I don't have to figure everything out, win every argument, correct every wrong, or manipulate every outcome. I don't even have to believe every thought that passes through my mind.
I simply have to recognize when I am attempting to take back control and become willing to let go.
The Big Book reminds us:
“What we really have is a daily reprieve contingent on the maintenance of our spiritual condition.”
— Alcoholics Anonymous, p. 85
Perhaps that is what surrender truly means. Not a single moment of defeat, but a lifetime of willingness. A daily decision to step aside, quiet the ego, and allow God to direct what I was never meant to control.
The surrender that saved my life was not the end of the journey. It was the beginning of learning how to get out of God's way.
Yesterday's surrender does not guarantee today's peace.
So today, I surrender again.
And if necessary, a thousand times more before the day is done.
Because peace is not found in finally getting life to go my way.
Peace is found when I no longer require it to.
“Be still, and know that I am God.”
— Psalm 46:10 (NIV)
