Letting Go of Control: How Spirituality and Faith Changed My Recovery
By: Tasha Truchel
For a long time, spirituality felt like an abstract concept — something other people talked about but I couldn’t quite grasp. I thought it had to look a certain way: candles, yoga, chanting, burning sage while humming in a meadow. Side note: it doesn’t look like that.
Today, spirituality shows up for me in small, grounded ways that remind me I’m connected to something bigger than myself. It’s not always prayer and meditation — sometimes it’s just my morning coffee before I dare interact with another human. Other times it’s the simple act of pausing when I want to control everything, remembering I’m not in charge — and that’s a good thing.
Early Experiences & Turning Points
One of the first moments I realized spirituality truly mattered in my recovery was when I finally learned to trust something greater than myself. I used to think control was the only way to survive — if I managed every detail, maybe life wouldn’t hurt so much. But eventually, I had to face the truth: people are going to do what they want, and I can’t control them. Life has a mind of its own. The only peace I’ve ever found is when I stop fighting that and let things unfold.
I’ve always been drawn to patterns and timing — dates, numbers, random little “coincidences” that don’t feel random at all. My sobriety date is April 15, 2019 — the same date my great aunt passed away seven years earlier. No alcoholic plans the day they take their last drink, but that alignment felt like she was with me. My six-month sober date landed on my grandpop’s birthday, October 19. He passed away when I was two, but somehow, it all felt connected. Like I was being guided.
And then there was the relationship that nearly broke me — about three years into sobriety. I was in something toxic, emotionally abusive, and entirely destabilizing. I almost relapsed. My nervous system was wrecked, and I was so dysregulated I could barely function. Once I took off the rose-colored glasses, I saw how badly I’d been gaslit and manipulated. I promised myself I’d never let someone dim my light again.
After it ended, I started to believe that the universe had more for me, that someone better would come — that kept me going. But before I could receive that, I had to learn to be alone, to confront my codependency, to rebuild my worth from the inside out. That surrender changed everything.
Eventually, I met my now-boyfriend, who loves me in a way I’ve never experienced — safe, steady, honest. It made me realize that what felt like rejection back then was actually redirection. Divine redirection.
Daily Practices & Real-Life Spirituality
These days, spirituality looks a lot more like daily maintenance than dramatic rituals. It’s morning journaling. A short walk. A quiet prayer. A deep breath before reacting. Sometimes it’s just not flipping off the guy who cut me off in traffic.
And sure, other days it’s just drinking my coffee in silence before I try being a decent human. Yes, that counts.
I’ll be real — I don’t journal every day, or meditate at sunrise, or pray with perfect consistency. I tend to lean more into spiritual practices when life is messy and slack off when things feel calm. That’s something I’m still working on.
But lately, something has shifted.
Leaning into Faith — and Jesus
After years of being spiritually curious but uncommitted, I’ve started leaning fully into my faith in Jesus. I grew up in Catholic school, but for a long time, I held God at a distance. I questioned, resisted, overthought it all. But somewhere along the way, I stopped needing proof and just believed.
Not in a vague, "the universe has my back" way — but in a clear, grounding trust in Christ.
Now, I know this: I don’t have to carry the weight of the world on my shoulders. Jesus does that. Not me.
And I feel lighter — freer — because of it.
Faith doesn’t make life perfect. It doesn’t take away the hard days. But it gives them purpose. It gives me something to lean on when I want to spiral. It reminds me I’m never alone, even in the most isolated places. That kind of spiritual peace? You can’t fake that. You just feel it.
Challenges & Imperfect Progress
I’ll be honest: I still struggle when life doesn’t go my way. I want timelines to move faster. I want the big goals now. I want answers with clarity and no delay. But life doesn’t work like that. And neither does God.
When impatience creeps in, I remind myself: I’ve survived every hard day so far.
So I stop. Breathe. Pray. Trust.
And when that doesn’t work, sometimes I cope with a little dark humor. Because honestly? Sometimes life is just a lot, and laughter helps me carry what faith is still working on.
The Impact on My Sobriety & My Life
Spirituality isn’t just a helpful tool in my recovery — it’s woven into every part of it. It grounds me when my thoughts spiral. It teaches me boundaries, even when they’re uncomfortable. It reminds me I’m allowed to protect my peace, and that doesn’t make me selfish — it makes me stable.
It helps me trust myself again. It helps me pause. It helps me show up.
Most of all, it gives me perspective.
So many things I thought were the end of the world turned out to be redirections.
So many “no’s” were just not yet.
So many breakdowns were actually setups for something better.
Final Thoughts: For the One Still Figuring It Out
If I could go back and tell my newly sober self anything about spirituality, it would be this:
It gets better.
You won’t always feel disconnected, lost, or uncertain.
And if you’re still figuring out what spirituality looks like for you, don’t overthink it. Start small. Maybe it’s a sunrise. A quiet walk. A simple prayer. A moment of stillness. You don’t need to become anyone else’s version of “spiritual.” You just need to find what brings you back to yourself — and to something greater.
For me, that something greater is God. Jesus. Grace. Redemption. Peace.
And it all started with surrender.
