Stumbling Towards Wisdom
Ever felt like you’re trapped behind an invisible wall, watching life happen on the other side? That’s the reality for many of us who’ve grappled with addiction. It’s a sneaky beast, building barriers brick by brick, pint by pint, until we find ourselves completely cut off from the world we once knew.
The Invisible Wall
You know that feeling when you’re at a party, but you might as well be on another planet? That’s the invisible wall of addiction in action. It’s like being stuck in a glass box, watching everyone else laugh and chat while you’re left wondering how you ended up so alone.
Seneca, one of the big dogs in Stoic philosophy, once said, “We suffer more often in imagination than in reality.” But when you’re deep in the bottle, that line gets blurry. You start imagining everyone’s against you when, really, you’re the one pushing them away.
I remember this one time: My mate Dave was having a birthday party. Nothing fancy, just a BBQ in his garden. Did I go? Nah. I chose to stay home with my trusty bottle instead. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to see Dave. It was more like… I couldn’t face being the ‘drunk friend’ again. So I built my wall higher and added another layer of isolation.
The Stoics bang on about self-control as a virtue. Marcus Aurelius said, “You have power over your mind — not outside events. Realize this, and you will find strength.” But when you’re in the grip of addiction, that power feels like it’s slipped through your fingers like sand.
Addiction isn’t just about the big stuff like drugs or booze. It can be anything that’s “running our lives” — from that morning coffee we can’t start the day without, to the phantom buzz of our phones we can’t ignore. The key is recognizing when we’ve “lost the freedom to abstain” and taking steps to reclaim it.
The Uninvited Guest
You know what’s worse than not being invited to the party? Being the reason there isn’t a party. Yeah, that was me. The uninvited guest. The dude people stopped asking round because they never knew which version of me would show up.
There was this work do once. Big deal, Christmas party. I got proper drunk, made a right tit of myself. Danced on tables, tried to snog the boss’s wife, the works. Next day, couldn’t remember a thing. But everyone else could. The looks, the whispers, the awkward silences — they spoke volumes.
Epictetus said: “It’s not what happens to you, but how you react to it that matters.” Well, my reaction was to drink more. Genius, right? I reacted by doing the very thing that was causing all the grief in the first place.
The invites dried up after that. Not just work dos, but friends’ gatherings too. It’s like I became social kryptonite. Inside I told myself I didn’t care. That I was better off alone with my bottle. But deep down, it stung. It stung like hell.
It’s easy to blame others or circumstances for our predicament. But as Epictetus reminds us, we must “stop blaming God, and not blame any person”. The path to recovery starts with taking responsibility for our actions and focusing on what we can control — our choices in the present moment.
The Ripple Effect
The thing about drinking: it’s not just you who suffers. It’s like chucking a stone in a pond — the ripples spread out, touching everything around you. Those ripples? They can turn into tsunamis.
I had this colleague, Sarah. Bright spark, always up for a laugh. We used to grab lunch together, swap stories about our weekend antics. But as my drinking ramped up, those lunches became less frequent. The stories dried up. Not because Sarah changed, but because I did.
One day, I overheard her talking to another colleague. “I miss the old Ash,” she said. “It’s like he’s not even there anymore.” That hit me like a ton of bricks. I wasn’t just losing friends; I was losing myself.
The Stoic philosopher Musonius Rufus once said, “We should do good to our friends not to enjoy the feeling of doing good.” But in my booze-addled state, I wasn’t doing good to anyone — least of all myself.
The ripples kept spreading, in my case, they stretched across oceans. I’d left the country, putting physical distance between me and my family. But that distance wasn’t just geographical. It was emotional too.
Phone calls became less frequent, more stilted. I’d dodge questions about how I was really doing, painting a rosy picture that was far from reality.
The Stoics teach us that “we can hold converse with our friends when they are absent, and indeed as often as we wish and for as long as we wish.” But addiction twists this idea. Instead of meaningful connection, I was using distance as another way to isolate myself, to avoid confronting the reality of my situation.
This self-imposed exile wasn’t just about avoiding family. It was about avoiding myself. As Seneca points out, “When witnesses and onlookers are removed, faults which ripen in publicity and display sink into the background.” Without the mirror of familiar faces and places, it became easier to ignore how far I’d strayed from the person I used to be.
This is where the Stoic concept of “reasoned choice” comes into play. They believed in the power of making conscious decisions, urging us to “control your desire and shift your avoidance to what lies within your reasoned choice”. But when you’re deep in addiction, that reasoned choice feels like a distant memory.
The Stoics also emphasised the importance of self-awareness and preparation. They listed “Preparation — for what lies ahead or whatever may happen” as one of the key functions of the mind. In recovery, this translates to recognising our triggers and preparing strategies to deal with them.
The Stumble and Rise
Just when I thought I had it all figured out, life threw me a curveball. 30-something days into my recovery, I relapsed. It wasn’t a dramatic, rock-bottom moment. It was a quiet evening, a stressful day at work, and suddenly I found myself with a drink in hand.
The Stoics remind us that “we have the power to hold no opinion about a thing and to not let it upset our state of mind”. But in that moment, I let my opinion about my stressful day shape my actions. I forgot that “events are objective. It’s only our opinion that says something is good or bad”.
The next morning, I felt like I’d betrayed myself. The shame was overwhelming. I searched for a inspirational quote or something… Here’s Marcus Aurelius’s words: “Think on the character of the people one wishes to please, the possessions one means to gain, and the tactics one employs to such ends. How quickly time erases such things, and how many will yet be wiped away”.
I realised that this stumble didn’t erase all the progress I’d made. Epictetus chimed in, “We can return and embrace [the principles] at any moment. What happened yesterday — what happened five minutes ago — is the past. We can reignite and restart whenever we like”.
Recovery isn’t a straight line. It’s a series of choices, made one day at a time. Sometimes we stumble, but what matters is that we get back up. The Stoics teach us that “our well-being lies in our actions”. So I chose to see this relapse not as a failure, but as a lesson.
And now Seneca, “Leisure without study is death — a tomb for the living person”. I’m using this experience to study myself, to understand my triggers better. It became another step in my journey, not the end of it.
Remember, “difficulties show a person’s character”. This relapse showed me that I still had work to do, but also that I had the strength to keep going. It’s not about never falling; it’s about always getting back up.
The Road Ahead
Recovery isn’t a destination; it’s a journey. As we’ve seen, it’s not always a straight path. There are twists, turns, and sometimes, stumbles.
“Our actions may be impeded, but there can be no impeding our intentions or dispositions”. — Marcus Aurelius
The Stoics teach us that true freedom comes from within. It’s not about controlling external events, but about mastering our reactions to them.
“We must completely control our desire and shift our avoidance to what lies within our reasoned choice”. — Epictetus
Every day, we have the power to choose. We can choose to face our challenges head-on, rather than numbing ourselves with substances or behaviours that harm us. We can choose to reconnect with the people we’ve pushed away, to rebuild the bridges our addiction has burned.
Remember, “difficulties show a person’s character”. Each challenge we face in recovery is an opportunity to grow stronger, to prove to ourselves that we’re capable of change.
It’s not always easy. There will be days when the old habits call out to us, when the invisible wall seems insurmountable. But as Seneca reminds us, “Work nourishes noble minds”. The work of recovery, though challenging, is ultimately rewarding.
So, let’s approach each day as a new opportunity. Marcus Aurelius suggests, let’s ask ourselves each morning: “What am I lacking in attaining freedom from passion? What for tranquility?”. Let’s use philosophy not as a taskmaster, but as “patients seek out relief in a treatment of sore eyes, or a dressing for a burn, or from an ointment”.
Recovery is a process of continual growth and self-discovery. It’s about learning to live life on life’s terms, without the crutch of addiction. It’s about finding freedom not in a bottle or a behaviour, but in our own reasoned choices.
As we move forward, let’s remember that every step counts. Every sober day is a victory. Every time we choose connection over isolation, growth over stagnation, we’re building a stronger foundation for our future.
The road ahead may not always be easy, but it’s a road worth travelling. After all, as the Stoics believed, our well-being lies in our actions. So let’s keep moving forward, one day at a time, one choice at a time, towards the freedom and peace we seek.
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