step 4

Practical Gifts

While doing my Step 4 inventory, one of my weaknesses that God, my sponsor, and my therapist helped me uncover was self-righteousness.

For me this often takes the following forms:

“I know better than you.”

“I’m the authority on how you should be acting.”

“XYZ makes you not a good person.”

“I’m going to treat you poorly because you don’t deserve better.”

Seeing these destructive and hurtful lines of thinking in my behavior was a painful realization. These are not at all the ideals I aspire to live. Accepting this truth and others about my past behavior is what made Step 4 so difficult and painful. It’s also what makes my Step 4 inventory invaluable to me.

I remember the first time I did Step 4. It was an emotional brain dump of all the mistakes I’ve made, all the pain I’ve inflicted on other people, and all the painful things other people have done to me. It was an immense relief because I no longer had to carry it all inside my head. After I finished my inventory I burned it as a symbol of letting go. I wanted be rid of it and move on.

The problem was I didn’t learn from it. I didn’t identify my weaknesses, sick thinking patterns, and false core beliefs that underlaid all my wrong choices. I learned nothing or very little about myself, and so I wasn’t equipped to do Steps 5, 6, and 7.

Without knowing my weaknesses and the “exact nature of my wrongs,” I couldn’t change. I was the same person, and as my sponsor and the addiction recovery material teach, the same person will always return to the addiction.

Little wonder then why I relapsed nine months later.

(I want to be clear that I believe my sponsor at the time did the best he knew how. He helped me immensely and gave me incredible amounts of his time and energy. I don’t blame him for my not understanding the Steps. I don’t think I was ready at the time.)

This time around, my new sponsor taught me how to identify “the exact nature of my wrongs” from my inventory. I wouldn’t trade my inventory for anything. It’s precious to me! Not because I worked so hard on it but because God used it and still uses it to show me what drives me back to my addiction even though I don’t want to lust.

I slipped the other day. After talking with God, my sponsor, and my therapist, and after reading and pondering Ether 12:27, I read the following from the Sexaholics Anonymous “white book”:

There was nothing left for me to try; there was nowhere else to go and still be in charge, managing my will and life. I see now that in all my religious striving and psychotherapy I was waiting for the miracle to happen first, that I should somehow be zapped or “fixed,” unable ever to fall or be tempted again. I thought that if a person just had the right religious belief, he was automatically “a new creature; old things are passed away; behold, all things are become new.” That all thought of lust would be removed, much as a tumor would be excised by a surgeon. The “religious solution” was one of the subtlest strategies in my arsenal of denial.

I didn’t realize that the essence of being human is to have free choice. God doesn’t want to remove from me the possibility of falling; he wants me to have the freedom to choose not to fall. I’d been praying self-righteously all along, “Please God, take it away!” not realizing my inner heart was piteously whining, “… so I won’t have to give it up.” There was belief in God without surrender. That belief availed nothing! I had never died to lust.

Sexaholics Anonymous, page 20


I think what I’m learning is that God will eventually replace my weaknesses with His divine nature. But not in an instant; not yet. I need to learn how to choose the right when I am inclined not to. I need to learn to surrender my right to be lustful, impatient, resentful, self-seeking, or self-righteous.

I believe my weaknesses are gifts from God. Without them I would have no need to depend on Him. I would have no opportunity to choose and learn.

I feel grateful for this new understanding He’s given me, and grateful to the people He’s placed in my life who are showing me the way to recovery.

Patiently running my race

I’m going to start my Step 4 inventory tomorrow (again). I’m feeling mixed levels of excitement and fear. I’m doing my best to trust the Lord in this. I believe He wants me to do it, so I’ve decided that I won’t let my fears stop me from moving forward. Easier said than done, obviously, but I feel good about it.

The 12-step recovery guidebook counsels me to be patient with myself as I work this step. Patient? I want to get this done as quickly as possible! I’m told I also need to be thorough in order for this inventory to be helpful. So, patience… yeah. Until a few weeks ago I still wanted an immediate recovery.

Heavenly Father reminded me recently of one of my high school cross country races. I can’t recall every turn and hill in the course, but I still remember vividly the emotions and adrenaline of that day.

I remember the cold air searing my lungs with every breath. I remember my coach kindly yelling reminders to relax my shoulders. I remember running through muddy stream crossings and charging up slippery grass hills. I remember feeling confident as I passed other runners on the course. I remember feeling discouraged when other runners passed me (I felt discouraged more often than I felt confident :-)  ). I also remember thinking to myself, “I should’ve worn an extra layer of clothing.”

Perhaps more clearly than any other memory of that run, I remember two things. Here’s the first one: as a relatively inexperienced runner, I quickly learned that I wasn’t running against everyone else on that course; I was running against myself. My brain was the one telling me to slow down, not the boy running next to me. My body was the one screaming for rest, not the spectators on the sidelines. Running can be a constant battle within myself between what I want now and what I’ll actually want later.

I’m sure you’re picking up on the metaphor.

By the end of the race, everyone’s body was approaching exhaustion. Well, mine was at least. At what turned out to be the final bend in the course, we exited a clump of trees and entered a red- and yellow-flagged straightaway to the finish line. Once the trees and foliage no longer obstructed our view, we saw that the straightaway went nearly straight up a grass-covered hill. Did I mention it was wet? The course was still soaked from the previous night’s rainfall. I didn’t much like the race organizers at that moment.

An interesting thing happened. Some runners continued with their same pace at a slightly quicker cadence (similar to how one might shift to a lower gear while riding a bicycle up a hill). Other runners took off at a full sprint up the hill. Some attempted to follow them. Others began plodding up the hill.

Guess who ended up literally collapsing from utter muscle exhaustion. Nearly without exception, they were runners who sprinted up the hill. Who do you think made it to the finish line without falling over or crawling on their hands and knees (I’m not kidding)? Some of them were the plodders, a select few were the sprinters, and most were those who knew to shift their running gear, so to speak, and pace themselves up the hill. Which one was I? Well, I’m not telling. It has nothing to do with the metaphor. Haha.

I remember people sliding and falling and crawling up that muddy hill. Most of those sprinters who were initially so full of energy and spirit were literally falling over. It was an incredible sight. I think most of us who were running behind them were surprised to feel discouragement instead of motivation to win upon watching them fall.

By the end of that race I thought I was going to pass out. I nearly did. I did manage to learn my second lesson though: I need to learn to run slowly when I want to run fast. Now, as I look back on that race, I describe that lesson using slightly different words: I need to learn to run patiently.

In case you were wondering, I didn’t win (not even close), but my team members congratulated me anyway. I think my peers were proud of me because they could see not only pain but satisfaction on my face. I was pleased that I didn’t give up. I knew I had given it everything I had, and that was a great feeling.

This scripture has always been one of my favorites. I like to think that the Apostle Paul enjoyed running, too.

“Wherefore seeing we also are compassed about with so great a cloud of witnesses, let us lay aside every weight, and the sin which doth so easily beset us, and let us run with patience the race that is set before us, looking unto Jesus the author and finisher our faith; who for the joy that was set before him endured the cross, despising the shame, and is set down at the right hand of the throne of God” (The Holy Bible, New Testament, Hebrews 12:1-2).