Lately I’ve been reflecting on something I’ve noticed in myself and in others within Alcoholics Anonymous. Even in the darkest days of addiction, when life was unmanageable and chaotic, there was still that persistent craving to be at the centre of everything. It wasn’t enough just to drink; it was about wanting the spotlight, the control, the power to shape people, places, and situations according to my will. And when that control slipped away, as it inevitably did, everything felt like it was collapsing. In my case, when I couldn’t dictate the flow of the world around me, I spiralled even further into destructive behaviours.
Now, in recovery, I can see that this hunger for control and attention hasn’t completely disappeared. In the rooms of AA, I sometimes catch glimpses of it in others, and if I’m honest, I still see it in myself too. It might not look the same as it did when I was – drinking, but it shows up in more subtle ways – wanting recognition for progress, feeling resentful when overlooked, or getting caught up in the idea that my story or my struggles deserve more weight than someone else’s. These moments serve as reminders that recovery is not just about abstaining from alcohol, but about continuing to work on the deeper defects of character that fuelled the addiction in the first place.
When I recognise this tendency in myself, it usually signals that I’m at a low point spiritually or emotionally. The urge to control, to make everything about me, doesn’t come from a place of strength – it comes from fear, insecurity, and disconnection. It’s when I’m not spiritually centred, when I’ve forgotten to surrender, that I feel the heaviest weight of recovery pressing down on me. Those are the days when I forget that I can’t bend the universe to my will, and in that forgetfulness, I lose sight of the serenity that recovery offers.
But I’ve also noticed that my best days in recovery come when I manage to let go of that need for control and attention. When I can look around and see that others are on their own journeys, equally valuable and equally important, I feel lighter. In those moments, I remember that humility is not about thinking less of myself, but about thinking of myself less. Shifting the focus outward – toward service, toward listening, toward gratitude – helps me find a peace that chasing control never could.
Ultimately, the truth that keeps me grounded is remembering just how small I really am. I am a tiny speck on a planet that is itself a tiny speck in an endless galaxy. My control over life is virtually nonexistent, and the only real power I have lies in what I choose to do today, in this moment. I can decide how I will treat others – my fellow specks – and how I will show up in the world. When I live from that place, life feels less overwhelming and recovery feels more possible. It’s in surrendering to my smallness that I find the freedom to simply be.
The Freedom From Smallness
Even in darkness,
I wanted to shine.
Even in chaos,
I wanted the world to bend toward me.
Control was my chaser,
attention my shadow.
When both slipped away,
I fell deeper,
mistaking collapse for truth.
Now I sit among others,
who know this thirst.
It does not vanish with the bottle.
It whispers more quietly,
in the longing for recognition,
in the sting of being unseen.
The craving is not strength.
It is fear wearing a mask.
It is disconnection pretending to lead.
When I forget surrender,
the weight of living presses down.
When I release control,
the air grows lighter.
I see:
every life is a journey,
every voice a thread.
My story is no larger,
than the stories around me.
Humility is not shrinking,
but turning outward.
Listening, serving,
giving thanks,
these open the path to peace.
I am a speck,
on a speck,
in endless sky.
No command of mine,
can move the stars.
The only power is this moment.
To treat others with care.
To walk gently.
To live simply as a speck
among specks.
In smallness,
I find freedom.
In surrender,
I simply am.
