Exploring How Spirituality and Faith Played a Part in Ron’s Journey Toward Healing and Purpose
Introduction: Chaos, Crisis, and the Search for Something More
Addiction is chaos. It pulls you into the undertow, rips apart your relationships, shatters your sense of self, and leaves you gasping for air in moments you once thought were harmless. For many—including myself—there comes a point in the spiral when survival demands something deeper than detox. Something beyond willpower. Something sacred.
That something, for me, was faith.
Not always the neat, pew-sitting, hymnal kind of faith—but a raw, desperate cry to whatever was still listening. This post is about how spirituality became a compass when I had no map, and how finding spiritual grounding helped rebuild a sense of meaning, identity, and hope in the wake of destruction.
1. Hitting Bottom, Looking Up
People talk about “rock bottom” like it’s a single moment, but for me, it was a slow descent. I lost jobs, lied to people I loved, stared at ceilings at 4 a.m. wondering if this was all there was. At some point, the high didn’t numb me—it haunted me.
In those hollow moments, I started talking to God again—not out of habit, but out of sheer need. I didn’t know what I believed, but I needed something bigger than me. Something to hold onto when I couldn’t hold onto myself.
Faith didn’t swoop in with lightning bolts. But it flickered. It whispered: Keep going.
2. Faith vs. Religion: What’s the Difference in Recovery?
It’s important to separate religion and spirituality in this conversation.
- Religion is a system—rituals, doctrines, structure.
- Spirituality is relationship—intimacy, intuition, connection.
Some find healing in the structure of organized religion. Others (like me) needed to wrestle with it. My path was less about following rules and more about unlearning shame, listening to my soul, and believing I was still worth saving—even after everything.
Recovery taught me that faith isn’t about having answers. It’s about showing up.
3. How Spirituality Became a Daily Practice
Once I got sober, I realized recovery wasn’t just physical—it was emotional, mental, and spiritual. I needed new rhythms. Here’s what helped:
A. Prayer as Surrender
I started with simple prayers. Not eloquent, not rehearsed. Just raw honesty:
“Help me get through this hour.”
“I don’t want to use, but I don’t know how not to.”
Prayer became a lifeline. A way to pause the chaos.
B. Meditation and Stillness
Sitting in silence taught me how to sit with myself. That was new. That was hard. But in the quiet, I started to hear something deeper—a voice that wasn’t shame, wasn’t fear. Maybe that was God. Maybe it was my healed self, finally speaking up.
C. Acts of Service
Serving others got me out of my own head. Helping someone else—even in small ways—became a spiritual act. It reminded me I still had value.
4. The 12 Steps and the “Higher Power” Conversation
I resisted the 12 steps for a long time because I thought “God talk” meant religion. But the beauty of the program is its openness.
A “Higher Power” can be anything:
- The universe
- The collective strength of the group
- The idea of love
- Nature
- Music
- Or, yes, God as you understand God
The point isn’t who or what you believe in. It’s that you believe recovery isn’t something you have to do alone.
5. Faith as Identity Rebuilder
Addiction destroyed my sense of self. But faith gave me a new blueprint—not of perfection, but of possibility.
It helped me:
- Forgive myself without forgetting the lessons
- Believe I could love and be loved again
- See purpose in the pain
- Trust that I wasn’t too far gone to be redeemed
I stopped defining myself by my lowest moments and started asking: What can I build with what I’ve survived?
6. When Faith Feels Hard or Far Away
If you’re reading this and thinking, I want to believe—but I can’t, I get it.
Faith isn’t always loud. It doesn’t always feel good. Sometimes it feels like nothing.
But here’s the thing: You don’t have to feel faith to practice it. You just have to show up. Keep seeking. Keep whispering. Keep asking.
Even doubting is a form of reaching. And reaching is holy.
Closing Thoughts: A Faith That Grows With You
Faith didn’t “fix” me. It walked beside me as I did the work of fixing what I could and forgiving what I couldn’t. It grew as I grew. It changed shape as I changed.
It wasn’t lightning—it was a candle.
And when the world went dark, that flicker was enough.