Tao Te Ching – Chapter Two
Written by Lao-tzu – From a translation by S. Mitchell
When people see some things as beautiful,
other things become ugly.
When people see some things as good,
other things become bad.
Being and non-being create each other.
Difficult and easy support each other.
Long and short define each other.
High and low depend on each other.
Before and after follow each other.
Therefore the Master
acts without doing anything
and teaches without saying anything.
Things arise and she lets them come;
things disappear and she lets them go.
She has but doesn't possess,
acts but doesn't expect.
When her work is done, she forgets it.
That is why it lasts forever.
How I Read This Chapter
When we cling to the idea of what life should look like,
we reject the truth of how it is.
When we call one moment “good” and another “bad,”
we create shame where there could be growth.
Sobriety and relapse illuminate each other.
Struggle and ease walk hand in hand.
Joy is known because pain has been felt.
Pride grows from humility.
Each step depends on the one before.
The person in recovery does not force change
but allows change to unfold.
They share wisdom not by preaching,
but by living honestly.
Cravings come—and they pass.
Emotions rise—and they settle.
I hold my sobriety gently, not tightly.
I do the work without demanding reward.
And when the day's work is done,
I let go, trusting the process.
This is why I believe my recovery endures.
What This Means To Me
In my addiction, I was trapped in a relentless need to control everything. I had a rigid idea of what life was supposed to look like—how people should treat me, how situations should unfold, how I should feel every day. When things didn’t meet those impossible expectations, I drank. Alcohol became both my protest and my escape. If life wouldn’t play by my rules, I’d punish it—and myself—by retreating into the bottle. I was constantly resisting reality, trying to force life to bend to my will. But the harder I tried, the more I suffered. My drinking wasn’t just about the alcohol; it was about my refusal to accept the world as it was.
This verse from the Tao Te Ching speaks to that transformation I’ve had to undergo in recovery. It reminds me that the moment I label something as “wrong” or “bad,” I create conflict within myself. The desire to control, to resist what is, was what kept me sick. Recovery has taught me to let go of those rigid definitions, to stop dividing life into what I liked and what I couldn’t bear. Just as light only exists in contrast to darkness, my peace has come from learning to sit with discomfort rather than run from it. Everything in life is connected—ease and struggle, joy and pain, sobriety and the memory of relapse. One helps define and support the other.
The greatest moment of freedom I’ve ever known came when I gave up. Not in defeat—but in surrender. I stopped trying to force life on my terms and began to live on life’s terms. This wasn’t passive or weak; it was the most courageous act I could have taken. In surrender, I found strength. I realised I didn’t have to fight anymore. I didn’t have to fix everything or everyone. I could let go. I could allow things to rise and fall, to come and go, without clinging or pushing them away. That surrender has become the foundation of my peace.
What I’ve come to understand is that real change doesn’t come from controlling outcomes; it comes from changing my relationship with life itself. I no longer chase perfection or expect constant happiness. I show up, I do the work, and I let go of the result. Just like the Master in the verse, I can act without expectation. I can hold my recovery without possessing it, knowing it’s a daily gift—not a trophy I’ve earned forever. When I practice humility and let go of control, something far greater than my will begins to guide me.
Today, I try to live in quiet acceptance. I share when it’s needed, but I don’t force advice. I let others be who they are. I let myself feel what I feel. And when I’ve done what I can for the day, I release it. I no longer need to rewrite the script of my life. I trust in something bigger than me—call it God, call it the Tao, call it grace. Whatever it is, it carries me in the space where I no longer need to control. And that, more than anything, is why I am free today.
