When the Shore Disappears: Recovery and the Undertow
Inspired by an analogy used at a recent qualification meeting. Grateful that I was present when this was discussed.
When the Shore Disappears: Recovery and the Undertow
On the surface, everything looks fine.
I have a routine. A plan. A food list. Some clarity. Even serenity, at times.
But addiction is like an undertow—that hidden current beneath calm waters that pulls me out to sea before I even realize what’s happening. One minute I’m standing confidently in ankle-deep waves, and the next, I’m flailing—gasping, panicking, wondering how I’ve gotten so far from shore.
That’s what food addiction feels like.
That’s what relapse feels like.
That’s what self-will feels like.
The danger isn’t always loud. It doesn’t always come in the form of a binge. Sometimes, it’s just a gentle tug:
A justified extra bite.
A moment of secrecy.
A subtle compromise in honesty or weighing.
A skipped call, a postponed prayer.
And then—
I’m under.
I’m gone.
And the worst part? I’m still smiling. Still functioning. Still pretending I’ve got it handled—because the undertow doesn’t look like chaos. It looks like control… until it doesn’t.
The Power of Surrender
In recovery, I have to learn how to recognize that pull—sometimes daily. I have to admit that I can’t outswim it on my own. If I try to fight it head-on, I sink. I need help. I need direction. I need a Power greater than me to reach into the water and pull me back—not just once, but again and again.
That Power might show up as:
A phone call I didn’t want to make.
A meeting where someone says exactly what I didn’t know I needed to hear.
A quiet moment where I remember I don’t have to drown today.
The solution isn’t willpower. It’s willingness.
It’s strategy over strength.
It’s surrender over struggle.
Swimming Parallel: A Recovery Skill I’m Still Learning
In the ocean, when I’m caught in an undertow, I can’t swim straight back to shore. I’ll wear myself out and sink. I have to move parallel to the beach—sideways—until I’m out of the current.
But everything in me wants to sprint back to safety.
In recovery, that means I try to grab control, fix it fast, return to perfection. I want to force myself back to my plan. I want to swim straight back to the beach.
But that’s how I drown.
I have to move sideways:
I have to tell the truth before I try to clean up the mess.
I have to connect with someone who understands before I disappear into shame.
I have to pause before I react.
And when I finally get a breath and look around—
I see I’m nowhere near where I started.
My towel, my comfort zone, my routines—gone from sight.
But I’m alive.
And I can start walking the shoreline back toward recovery.
That’s not a neat return. It’s not instant redemption.
But it’s motion in the direction of freedom.
Three Questions to Bring Me Back to Shore
Am I ignoring the pull beneath the surface?
Am I pretending calm means safe?
Am I willing to surrender instead of struggle?
I’m not out of danger.
I’m still in the water. Still in the pull. Still tempted to swim the wrong way.
But I don’t have to die out here.
Not today.
If I can pause—
If I can turn—
If I can swim parallel instead of panicking—
Then maybe, just maybe, I get another chance to feel sand beneath my feet.
Love ya’ll
DeeBo