Beyond the Bondage
A Journey from Self to Spirit
On page 63 in the Alcoholics Anonymous Big Book, there's a phrase that we have all read but don't always pause to unpack: "Relieve me of the bondage of self." It sits quietly in the Third Step Prayer, but it points to something profound. It speaks to a core realization that what's killing us isn't just alcohol. It's identification with a false sense of self. It's not the bottle that takes us out. It's the belief behind the bottle.
Once I got clean and sober, the truth hit me like a freight train: I had spent my entire life mistaking my thoughts for my identity. And those thoughts? They were brutal. They told me I was worthless, damaged, ashamed, and beyond saving. So I drank. I used. I chased anything that would drown out the noise in my head, anything that could help me escape the ache of existing in my own skin.
But when I finally put the bottle down, when the drugs were gone, the thoughts didn’t vanish; they screamed louder. That’s when I began to understand that sobriety was necessary, but it wasn’t the whole answer. It wasn’t the finish line. It was the starting point. What I needed was something more profound, a complete inner shift. A rewire. A different way of seeing myself, other people, and the world around me. It wasn’t just about quitting. It was about awakening. It was about coming alive.
Page 64 of the Big Book offers a hidden gem: “Being convinced that self, manifested in various ways, is what had defeated us, we considered its common manifestations.”
Notice the language. It doesn’t say “our common manifestations.” It says “it's.” These resentments, fears, and selfish actions we inventory, they’re not unique to me. They’re not mine. They’re expressions of the self, not the authentic Self with a capital S, but the self-driven ego-structure, the false persona that we wear without knowing it.
We often speak in terms of possession, my anger, my fear, my anxiety, as if these emotions are who we are. But what if they’re not ours at all? What if they’re just mental patterns, automatic loops we’ve been running for years? The truth is, many of us have been shaped by a subtle but powerful illness of the mind, one so pervasive it distorts our very sense of self. It doesn’t just influence how we feel, it rewires our personality, convinces us we're the sum of our reactions, and keeps us trapped in cycles we don’t even realize we’re repeating.
Why did I call the manifestations of self “mine”? That’s a question I had to sit with. And the more I paused, especially when agitated, the more I saw: this “I” that’s always trying to fix itself is the same “I” that caused the wreckage. It's the illusion that I am the thinker, that I am my thoughts, my reactions, my story.
But if I can see that, if I can observe the fear, the resentment, the obsession, then maybe I’m not them. Perhaps I’m the one seeing them?
In early sobriety, I’d take walks and feel like I was “in my head.” You know that feeling, like the thoughts are louder than the trees, the wind, the moment. But I came to understand: I'm not in my head. I'm watching my head. There’s a deeper awareness always present, even when the mind is racing.
The trick is, the mind throws out a thought like, “You’re overthinking.” And because we’re so used to believing everything it says, we fall for it. But that thought is no more true than any thought. It’s just noise in the system. Recovery taught me not to stop the thoughts, but to stop giving them authority.
I didn’t lose interest in my thoughts because I became spiritual or enlightened; I just got tired of suffering. Plain and simple. I reached a point where the noise in my head no longer fascinated me; it exhausted me. And slowly, something shifted, not through effort or willpower, but through quiet noticing. I began to see that I wasn’t the one making the change happen; I was witnessing it. That realization was huge: we don’t cause the change; we observe it. And in that gentle act of observation, something opens up. That’s the invitation: to pause and notice.
And from there, life started to feel different. Lighter. More available. As the Big Book says, “we are placed in a position of neutrality—safe and protected.” P.85. That’s not something I do. It’s something I am shown when I stop resisting what’s true.
Alcoholism isn’t just about the alcohol or the drugs. Those were symptoms. What I was addicted to was a mental narrative, a story of separation. I was addicted to being the one with the problem, the one who had to fix it, the one who had to figure it all out.
The self can’t get out of self. That’s the paradox. The thinker can’t think their way out of overthinking. But awareness can see it all. And that’s where recovery begins.
As Anaïs Nin wrote in Seduction of the Minotaur (1961), “We do not see things as they are; we see them as we are,” a line she traced back to the Talmud. That truth lodged itself in me. It stuck, not just as a clever insight, but as a doorway to a whole new way of seeing. You don’t need to fix the narrative spinning in your head. You need to notice that you’re not in it; you’re not it. You’re not the storm. You’re the sky, it’s all happening in.
Here’s the miracle of this way of life: the same mind that once convinced me I was hopeless is now the place where I witness hope arise. The same self that tried to run my life into the ground is now the very thing I no longer need to obey. There’s a daily reprieve, sure—but it comes with a daily surrender. A willingness to pause, turn, and listen for something deeper than the chatter.
If these reflections speak to you, whether you're in recovery, walking alongside someone who is, or simply seeking deeper self-awareness, I invite you to subscribe. This isn’t just a newsletter. It’s a space for real stories, shared strength, and hope passed from one soul to another.
Keep the Faith
