I have a confession to make.

Lately, I have lapsed into a very strong sense of complacency in my sobriety.  Having just passed 21 months sober, and having stopped going to meetings, I felt secure in my habits.  Nothing sends a wake-up call like a good, old-fashioned crisis.

Because the story is not mine to tell, I won’t divulge details here, but I’ve spent some time in doctor’s offices and hospitals lately with more to come.  The feeling I have now is reminiscent of the desperation and helplessness that I felt when I initially got sober, but things now are out of my hands and out of my control, with no clear path ahead.

It’s a common theme in the rooms: control.  I heard countless fellow alcoholics talk about their need, their craving for it.  It’s joked about frequently between members in the matter-of-fact “you know us” kind of way.  I often wondered if this was something unique to me, to us in the community of addiction, or if this desperate clinging to control is something that runs through all of us.

Addiction is a funny thing, a chemical need that settles down into the deep, dark parts of your brain.  It feeds on what you give it – maybe food, or alcohol, or exercise.  Control can be an addiction, to some.  The clamoring need to have a say in the things happening around you, even when this need becomes detrimental to your well-being or the well-being of those around you.  We all know someone like this.  We may even be this person ourselves sometimes.  So what do we do about it?

I’ve written previously about my self-prescribed “mind hack” for when I first got sober – running each thought I had through the filter of “Is this helpful?”  It was something so simple and so beneficial, but I never thought I would have the need for it once I got through those early days of sobriety.  Today, I found myself picking it up and turning it over in my head again; a tool I hadn’t remembered I had.

“Is it helpful?” was my go-to catch-all for negative, unnecessary thoughts.  I’ve found myself burdened with so many of these worries, anxieties, and frustrations that it’s been difficult to function normally, and I’ve found myself stepping out of my comfortable little bubble of control.  I’ve also found myself taking out these negative emotions on those closest to me.  I want to be sure that the decisions I’m making and the thoughts I’m having are beneficial not just for me, but for my friends and family, as well.

Emotions can be a powerful detriment to self-restraint.  In sobriety, they have an acronym HALT which stands for Hungry, Angry, Lonely, Tired.  If you’re craving a drink and tick any of the aforementioned boxes, you’re less likely to be in control and more likely to have a lapse in judgement. The point being that when you’re in over your head with overwhelming feelings, you’re less likely to make sound decisions.  You’re meant to HALT and take care of yourself before moving forward.  It’s these small, simple implements that can turn a dire situation into a learning experience, and lend some influence to an impossible situation.

Today, during a time when I needed it most, I was happy to revisit some of the tools I used in early sobriety to help deal with this existential loss of control, this desperate need for a definitive path, the lingering anxiety that comes with a situation that I can’t begin to know the outcome of.  I sometimes forget that when I lack the means to control the things around me, I have ways to control how I react to them.

My hope used to be that I would be a pillar of self-control: a shining example of what it would be like to never be rattled, emotional or in need of help.  Early in sobriety, I wanted this for myself and thought that not drinking would help me attain this unshakable persona.  For the first time in 21 months, I’m facing a very difficult situation with no buffer and no safety blanket.  I’ve had to ask for help from many people in the last few days, and have had to swallow my pride and accept that I am not immune to life’s trials, and that I am not in control.  Perhaps I never will be.

It’s been a slow realization, but I’m understanding now again, for the first time since I got sober, that it’s not the most unshakable among us that are the most revered, but the most human.  Being infallible doesn’t make you a better friend, a better brother, a better boss.  Being relatable – being true and honest in both your strengths and your weaknesses – this is what makes us connect, what makes us powerful.  Asking for and accepting help, being honest with ourselves and others, gives us more control than we could ever have on our own.

Lean when you need it.  Someone’s there for you.