I Stopped the Behavior. Why Was I Still Miserable?

For years, maybe decades before my arrest, I lived focused on my behavior. I wanted to stop. I prayed about stopping. And there were seasons when I did stop.

But even during those seasons of abstinence, the internal conflict remained. I still struggled to manage my emotions. I was discontent with life as a whole. Eventually, I returned to the behavior I had been working so hard to avoid.

My struggle involved pornography and unhealthy sexual behavior, but I know that experience reaches beyond my particular story. Someone can stop drinking, using drugs, gambling, or engaging in another harmful behavior and still find life painfully difficult to live.

I don’t know that I understood back then that I could learn to sit with my feelings and process them in healthy ways that would move me toward peace. That possibility wasn’t part of how I understood recovery.

There is sadness in that for me. I spent much of my life in ministry, caring for others while struggling to understand what was happening inside me. I could talk about faith and hope while living with an internal conflict I didn’t know how to address.

I wish I had understood sooner. I am grateful I am learning now.

Abstinence matters. Stopping a harmful behavior interrupts damage and creates breathing room. It gives us an opportunity to begin paying attention to what is happening underneath. That is a significant accomplishment, and I don’t want to minimize it.

But what do we do with that breathing room?

If the loneliness, shame, fear, or resentment remains unaddressed, we may spend our days fighting the desire for relief. We have removed a familiar way of coping without yet learning how to care for the pain we were trying to escape.

The old AA expression “dry drunk” points toward that experience. I am less interested in applying a label to someone than in recognizing something I have lived: the behavior can stop while many of the patterns surrounding it remain.

I often say, “Behind every behavior is a feeling. Behind every feeling is a need.” That thought invites me to slow down and become curious. What am I feeling? What am I expecting this behavior to do for me? What do I need, and how can I respond to that need in a healthy way?

Those questions have helped change how I live. I am learning to recognize feelings, speak honestly about them, and allow others to care for me. I can experience discomfort without immediately needing to make it disappear. I don’t do this perfectly, but I experience more peace than I once knew was possible.

That is part of what I mean by transformation.

I struggle with the phrase “once an addict, always an addict.” I understand that some people find it helpful as a reminder of their vulnerability. For me, it doesn’t adequately express the possibility of real change. My history matters, but I don’t believe it determines everything I can become.

I also don’t want recovery to become a life organized entirely around fear of relapse or dependence on a particular program. The practices that support my recovery have value because they help me live well. Honesty, connection, prayer, emotional awareness, and asking for help have become things I want in my life.

The guys at my in-person meeting expect to hear a familiar line from me each week:

“I’m Ron, and if I live to be 100, one of you young punks will be pushing me in here in a wheelchair. Not because I’m afraid that if I don’t show up I’ll relapse, but because this is a place where I have found safety, where I have found family. This is a place where I can be honest and vulnerable without fear of judgment and shame. That plays a primary role in the healthy person I am today.”

I mean that. I want to grow old among people who know me. Being able to receive that kind of friendship is itself part of the change in me.

I also recognize that if I walk away from honesty, connection, and attention to my emotional life, I leave myself vulnerable to drifting toward old coping mechanisms. Continuing those practices helps sustain the life I am learning to live.

My Christian faith shapes how I understand this process. I don’t expect struggle to disappear on this earth. I do believe transformation is happening now, and that one day, when I am united with my Savior, it will be complete.

Until then, there is more to learn, more healing to experience, and more grace to receive.

Abstinence gave me breathing room. I am learning to use that room to live.

If you would like support in your recovery, visit RW-Coaching.com to schedule a free introductory session.