What Surrendering and Being Powerless Doesn’t Mean

When I first heard I had to “surrender” and admit I was “powerless” in order to not drink another drop of alcohol and to start eating in a healthy manner, I thought the people telling me this were nuts.

There was no way in hell I would (or could) utter such insane words.  I wasn’t going to surrender and bow down at the feet of anyone or to anything.  I most certainly wasn’t going to admit I lacked power over how I lived my life.   I mean come on already, hadn’t I done enough by admitting to how much I drank and how little I ate?  What more did they want?

This line of  defiant thinking is exactly what kept me lifting a glass of wine to my lips and keeping a fork from them.  I had yet to realize the wine and the food were not the addiction.  The addiction was control.  I was completely and irrationally in need of being in control of all things at all times.  The mere idea I would have to surrender my control and admit I was powerless over my ability to curtail the amount of wine I drank or increase the amount of food I ate, sent my head spinning.

My recollection of the days, weeks, even months before recovery are a tad blurry due to too much alcohol and too little food in my system.  So while I can’t say for certain, I’m guessing I had a rather defensive look on my face when I was told I had to surrender and admit I was powerless over alcohol and my ability to feed myself properly.  What I do remember quite vividly was someone telling me, “You won’t understand this now, but trust me, you will.”

But since I had agreed to be willing and open to what was suggested to me, I dug a little deeper into this idea of surrendering and being powerless.  What I found out first was, what they weren’t.

Surrendering didn’t mean I was saying I was giving up.  It didn’t mean I was waving the proverbial white flag with a message of, “You win.”  To say I surrendered was really my way of saying, “I have no idea what to do anymore.  I tried to fix myself and I just can’t.  I’m tired of trying.  If anyone can guide me to a life less dependent on wine and the number on a scale, I’m ready to listen.”

When I surrendered I wasn’t bowing down, I was standing up with arms raised tearfully and willingly asking for help.

In as much as surrendering doesn’t mean giving up, admitting I was powerless didn’t mean I was weak.  The acknowledgment I lacked power simply meant I understood that I no longer had any control of my addictive behaviors.  I lost that control long ago.  Being drunk and thin went from wanting to be that way to needing to be that way.  My ability to manage my how much I drank and how little I ate was long gone.  I was unable to stop no matter how hard I tried, what I told myself, what promises I silently made or what I falsely promised others.  I could not stop.  I had become powerless.

Once I figured out what they weren’t, I stopped resisting the idea of surrendering and admitting I was powerless and started taking action to change.

Yet it’s important to know this change isn’t a one-time occurrence.   Since those early days there have been several times I have had to accept how powerless I am over some things and surrender any false belief I can control others.

The mere fact I know when to do this is indeed another example of how powerful a transitioned life can be.

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What do you think about having to surrender or being powerless over something?  I’d love for you to add your comment here in the “Reply” section. 

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