99. Finding Faith in the First Step

Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. once said, “You don’t have to see the whole staircase.  Just take the first step.”  In the context of recovery, these words have become more than a slogan—they’ve become a lifeline. They are a gentle whisper in the chaos, a reminder in the darkness that even if I can't see the end of this road, I can still begin moving forward. For someone like me—an addict in recovery—those words have saved my life more than once.

When I first heard this quote, I was sitting in a folding chair in a dimly lit room during my early days of treatment.  My body was still trembling from withdrawal, my mind clouded by guilt, shame, and a hollow sadness that I couldn’t begin to articulate.  I remember thinking, What staircase?  I don’t even know if I can stand up.  I couldn’t see a way out. I couldn’t see ten steps ahead.  Hell, I couldn’t see tomorrow, but something in those words cracked open a door in my heart—just wide enough to let a glimmer of hope in.

Addiction isn’t something I ever planned for.  It crept in slowly, disguised as relief.  What began as a coping mechanism—a little something to numb the pain, to feel "normal"—turned into a monster that devoured everything good in my life.  I lost friends, jobs, trust, my sense of worth, and most tragically, I lost myself.  There were times I didn’t recognize the man in the mirror.   There were times I didn’t want to be him anymore, and in those darkest moments, when the idea of climbing out felt impossible, King’s words echoed somewhere deep in my chest.

“You don’t have to see the whole staircase…”

Recovery is overwhelming.  It’s terrifying.  When you’re at rock bottom, the thought of rebuilding your life is so daunting that it feels damn near impossible.  How do you earn back trust that’s been broken time and time again?  How do you face the damage, the shame, the people you’ve hurt?  How do you become someone you can live with—someone you can be proud of?  The truth is that you don’t.  Not all at once, and you don’t have to know how.  You just have to take the first step.

For me, that first step was admitting I needed help.  It was dragging myself into detox, even though I was scared out of my mind.  It was showing up to group therapy when all I wanted to do was hide.  It was telling the truth, finally, about the depth of my addiction.  That first step didn’t look like much from the outside, but on the inside, it was everything.  It was the first time in a long time that I chose life.

There have been many “first steps” along the way.  The first time I made amends.  The first time I spoke in a meeting.  The first time I forgave myself—well, started to.  Recovery isn’t linear, and there have been relapses, setbacks, days I’ve stumbled or wanted to give up, but each time, I’ve reminded myself: You don’t need to see the top of the staircase.  You just need to find the courage to put one foot in front of the other.

There’s something incredibly humbling about starting over.  It strips you bare.  It forces you to look at yourself without the masks, without the substances, and without the lies.  It hurts.  It hurts like hell, but in that pain, there’s also honesty.  There’s also freedom.  Because when you stop pretending, you can finally begin healing.

The staircase, to me, is symbolic.  It's not just about sobriety—it’s about the life I want to live.  A life of integrity, of peace, and of service.  A life where I show up, where I feel things fully, where I’m no longer running from the past or hiding from the future.  That staircase might be long.  It might be steep.  I don’t know what’s waiting at the top, but I do know this: I’ve come too far to turn around now.

One of the hardest lessons I’ve learned in recovery is that you don’t get to fast-forward through the process.  You don’t get to leap to the top. You have to earn it, step by step, day by day.  Some days the steps are small—just getting out of bed, just calling someone from my support network, just showing up.  Other days, they’re monumental—like sharing my story publicly, like coaching youth soccer again, like reconnecting with people who thought they’d lost me forever.

And even now, I still don’t see the whole staircase.  I still don’t have all the answers, but I have something better: I have faith.  Not blind, naive faith, but hard-earned, battle-tested faith.  Faith that if I keep moving forward, if I keep choosing recovery, something beautiful is waiting for me up ahead.

Dr. King wasn’t talking specifically about addiction when he said those words, but in many ways, recovery is a form of justice—a justice we grant ourselves.  It’s the reclaiming of our dignity, our voice, our right to live a life of purpose, and it always starts with a single step.

So, if you’re where I was—broken, ashamed, afraid—know this: you don’t have to see the whole picture.  You don’t need to have it all figured out. Just be brave enough to take one step.  Into a meeting.  Into a detox center.  Into an apology.  Into yourself.  That’s where it starts.  That’s where everything starts.  Looking back now, I see how each small, uncertain step carried me further than I thought possible, and though I still have a long way to go, I no longer walk alone.  I walk with the strength of every step I’ve already taken.  I walk with a heart that’s slowly learning how to heal.  I walk with the words of Dr. King wrapped around me like armor, reminding me that vision isn’t always required.  Only courage is.

And that courage—mine, yours, ours—is enough.

And remember, if you’re struggling or know someone who is struggling, please don’t lose hope.  If that had happened to me, I wouldn’t be able to help spread awareness today.