Simple. Not Easy.
The real cost—and the deeper reward—of one day in recovery.
I heard someone say “simple, not easy” on a recovery call this week, and it stuck with me. It’s a phrase I’ve heard before, but for some reason, it landed differently this time. It reminded me that while our daily actions in recovery aren’t complicated, they still take commitment, honesty, and a whole lot of willingness. That’s where this post comes from—just putting that reminder into words.
I say it to myself every morning:
“All I have to do is put my feet on the ground and choose abstinence for the day.”
Sounds easy, right?
It is simple.
But it’s not easy.
And if you’re walking this road with me—this recovery road—you know exactly what I mean.
Mornings Are a Battleground
Before the sun’s even up, the war starts.
Not outside, but inside.
Maybe it’s subtle—a little whisper of compromise:
“You’ve been good. You deserve a treat.”
Maybe it’s louder—a storm of dread:
“You can’t do this again. You always fail.”
And maybe, worst of all, it’s numb silence—like the disease just doesn’t care whether we show up or not.
But I care.
You care.
God cares.
That’s why we put our feet on the floor, plant them in grace, and whisper a prayer like our life depends on it—because it does.
One Moment. One Meal. One Day.
Let’s break it down real plain:
I don’t have to be abstinent for a year.
I don’t even have to be abstinent for a week.
I just need to eat the next meal God has planned for me.
My food plan is my freedom.
My abstinence is my anchor.
And that anchor doesn’t hold in theory—it holds in practice. That means weighing, measuring, checking labels, doing outreach, staying honest, and keeping my butt in the chair at meetings.
Simple? Sure.
But it’s expensive.
The Real Cost of Abstinence
Abstinence costs me:
My justifications
My “harmless” cheats
My comfort-eating habits
My illusion of control
My little secrets
My pride
It costs me the option to live in denial.
It costs me the comfort of old chaos.
It costs me my right to binge, escape, or pretend.
But in return, I get:
Freedom from obsession
Clarity of mind
Stability of mood
A growing connection with God
Honesty in my relationships
Self-respect
That’s a deal I’ll take every time.
Even when it’s hard.
Especially when it’s hard.
Support Makes It Possible
I can’t do this alone.
And neither can you.
I’ve got brothers in recovery who show up, tell the truth, and remind me that progress is more important than perfection.
I’ve got a sponsor who doesn’t sugarcoat the truth (pun fully intended).
I’ve got a program that gives me structure when my mind wants to wander and wiggle.
And most importantly—I’ve got God.
I don’t always understand Him.
But I ask Him every morning to help me trust Him more than I trust myself.
And that’s a prayer He always answers.
Gratitude Is the Fuel
When I start the day with thanks, I don’t need food to feel okay.
When I remember the gift of recovery, I stop seeing abstinence as punishment and start seeing it as protection.
I used to think my problem was overeating.
Turns out, it was undertaking—trying to run my own life and ending up half-dead in the process.
Gratitude revives me.
It restores my perspective.
It reminds me that I don’t have to do this—I get to.
There’s Hope Here
This post isn’t about perfection.
It’s not a motivational speech.
It’s a memo from the middle of the fight.
I’m not writing this because I’ve mastered abstinence.
I’m writing this because today—I’m practicing it.
And that practice is changing me.
So if you’re struggling, starting over, or barely holding on…
Let me tell you something:
Don’t quit. Don’t go numb. Don’t go back.
Put your feet on the ground.
Say your prayer.
Eat your food.
Call your person.
And do the next right thing.
Simple? Yes.
Easy? No.
But with God’s grace and a little grit, it is possible.
And it’s beautiful.
Love ya!
Deebo