I’m a grateful believer in Jesus Christ, and I struggle with perfectionism, emotional dysfunction, and an overwhelming desire to control everything—all of which have manifested in an eating disorder.
My name is Martin.
Principle One: Realize I’m Not God
The First Principle of Celebrate Recovery says:
“Realize I’m not God. I admit that I am powerless to control my tendency to do the wrong thing and that my life is unmanageable.”
“Happy are those who know they are spiritually poor.” — Matthew 5:3 (GNT)
This principle corresponds to Step One of the Twelve Steps. It emphasizes humility, the acknowledgment of our limitations, and the recognition that we need God's help.
It is the beginning of surrender—giving up the illusion that we can control everything through our own willpower.
And I have a confession to make.
I'm glad I'm not God.
I Was Terrible at Being God
I was terrible at being God.
I couldn't handle the responsibility of controlling everything and fixing everyone. I always knew I was right, of course. I enjoyed the feeling of superiority and the privilege of making the rules for everyone else.
But I was terrible at giving people free will!
The problem with believing I was God—at least the god of my own little universe—was that my life inevitably became unmanageable.
Principle One is perhaps my favorite of Celebrate Recovery's eight principles because it relieves me of the crushing pressure of perfectionism.
God can produce perfection. I cannot.
Whenever I tried to control my life, I inevitably fell short of my own expectations. The resulting disappointment created feelings of isolation, poor self-esteem, and a deep sense of bereavement. Something essential seemed to be missing from my life.
I felt incomplete.
Ironically, when I tried to control other people, I discovered that many of them apparently thought they were God too!
Imagine that!
Perhaps this identity crisis points toward the root of many of our problems. We want to be in control. We want life to conform to our expectations. We want people to behave according to our rules.
And when they don't, we suffer.
I've heard it said that there are only two kinds of people in the world: those in recovery and those in denial.
Once I began to recognize my own denial, I understood that without finding a better way to live, I was headed toward self-destruction.
The Exhausting Pursuit of Self-Control
Over the years, I tried almost everything to gain control of my eating habits.
Diets. Self-help books. Diet clubs. Packaged meal services. Carefully structured eating plans.
Some worked remarkably well—for a while.
I'd lose weight, feel better about myself, and congratulate myself on finally conquering my eating disorder.
Then I'd relax my vigilance, convinced that I had beaten the problem.
And before long, I would find myself right back where I started.
Why?
Because although I had temporarily changed what I was eating, I hadn't addressed what was eating me.
The emotional turmoil that drove my overeating was still there. The perfectionism, frustration, resentment, boredom, and need to control hadn't disappeared.
My eating habits were symptoms of something deeper.
I was trying to satisfy spiritual and emotional hunger with physical food.
And no amount of food could fill that emptiness.
When Self-Will Finally Failed
Many years ago, at the recommendation of a good friend, I attended a Twelve-Step meeting for overeaters.
It helped for a while, but I wasn't ready to admit defeat. I still believed that with enough determination, discipline, and willpower, I could fix myself.
So I returned to my familiar cycle of diets, resolutions, temporary success, and eventual disappointment.
Years passed.
Eventually, I found myself morbidly obese, suffering from diabetes, sleep apnea, and dangerously high blood pressure.
My body was paying the price for my stubborn insistence on managing everything myself.
Then came a frightening episode in which I fainted and narrowly avoided a diabetic coma.
I was becoming desperate.
What made this especially troubling was that I was already a Christian. I believed in God. I believed in Jesus Christ. I believed that God could save me.
But there was a contradiction in my faith.
I trusted God with my eternal destiny, but I insisted on controlling my earthly life.
I was willing to surrender my eternity to God, but apparently not my appetite, my emotions, my expectations, or my relationships.
I wanted Jesus to be my Savior, but I was reluctant to let Him be Lord over every part of my life.
Something had to change.
Learning What, Why, and Who
I returned to Twelve-Step recovery.
The first program I joined helped me understand what I should be eating and how to develop healthier eating habits. That was valuable, and I remain grateful for what I learned.
But its emphasis on abstinence didn't fully address the emotional struggles underlying my overeating.
Eventually, I discovered another recovery fellowship that emphasized balance rather than rigid abstinence.
That approach helped me begin asking a different question.
Not simply, "What should I eat?"
But, "Why am I eating when I'm not hungry?"
I began to recognize that much of my overeating was an attempt to escape uncomfortable emotions.
When I was frustrated, I ate.
When I was bored, I ate.
When I felt disappointed, resentful, anxious, or powerless, I reached for food.
I wasn't necessarily hungry for food.
I was hungry for relief.
This realization was enormously helpful. I worked diligently on the Twelve Steps and began to understand myself more clearly.
But something still troubled me.
The programs encouraged me to rely on a Higher Power, often described as God as we understood Him.
I appreciated the wisdom and compassion behind that approach. It had opened the door of recovery to countless people.
But as I examined my own faith, I realized something important.
Why was I trying to construct a Higher Power of my own understanding when I already believed in the Highest Power?
Why was I settling for a God of my choosing when I believed that God had revealed Himself in Jesus Christ?
Jesus had already demonstrated the life I wanted to live—a life of humility, love, surrender, obedience, and complete trust in the Father.
I didn't need to invent a God who would accommodate my preferences.
I needed to surrender to the God who was already there.
Letting God Be God
And that realization brought me to Celebrate Recovery.
Here was a Christ-centered recovery program that didn't simply offer relief from destructive behaviors. It offered a path toward healing and transformation through a living relationship with Jesus Christ.
Celebrate Recovery wasn't asking me to find a God who suited my understanding.
It was inviting me to surrender to the God revealed in Jesus Christ.
And that required something far more challenging than changing my eating habits.
It required relinquishing control.
Not just control over food.
Not just control over people and circumstances.
But even control over my understanding of God.
For much of my life, I had tried to make God fit comfortably within the boundaries of my own expectations.
I wanted God to endorse my opinions, bless my decisions, and arrange the world according to my preferences.
In other words, I wanted God to cooperate with my plans.
But Principle One turns that entire arrangement upside down.
I am not God.
I don't have to fix everyone.
I don't have to control every outcome.
I don't have to be right about everything.
I don't have to be perfect.
And perhaps most liberating of all, I don't have to carry the impossible burden of managing the universe.
That job is already taken.
My responsibility is to surrender, trust, and take the next right step.
One day at a time.
Finding My Family
I'll never forget my first Celebrate Recovery meeting.
It felt like coming home.
There were people from all sorts of backgrounds, carrying all sorts of wounds. Some struggled with alcohol or drugs. Others with compulsive behaviors, broken relationships, emotional turmoil, or the painful consequences of past decisions.
Different symptoms.
Different stories.
But a common brokenness.
And, more importantly, a common hope.
I listened as people shared their experiences of God's grace and transforming power. Their stories weren't polished theological arguments or intellectual exercises.
They were testimonies of lives being changed.
And I recognized myself in them.
Not because our struggles were identical, but because our need was the same.
We had all discovered, in one way or another, that we couldn't save ourselves.
We needed help.
We needed grace.
We needed God.
For the first time in a long while, I felt that I had found a recovery community where I didn't have to separate my emotional healing from my spiritual life.
They belonged together.
I was home.
The Freedom of Not Being God
Looking back, I can see that my greatest problem was never simply overeating.
It was my relentless insistence on being in control.
Food was one of the ways I tried to comfort myself when life refused to cooperate with my expectations.
Perfectionism was my attempt to guarantee that I would never fail.
Controlling others was my attempt to make the world feel safe and predictable.
And beneath it all was the exhausting illusion that I could manage life better than God.
Principle One offers a radically different way of living.
I can admit my limitations.
I can acknowledge my powerlessness over my tendency to do the wrong thing.
I can stop pretending that I have everything under control.
And I can entrust my life to the One who actually does.
This doesn't mean I abandon responsibility for my choices. It means I no longer have to pretend that my own willpower is sufficient to transform me.
Recovery isn't about becoming a better god.
It's about finally allowing God to be God.
And what a relief that is!
I'm still learning. I still struggle with perfectionism, emotional reactions, and the temptation to take control.
But now I have a different direction.
Instead of asking, "How can I make everything turn out the way I want?"
I'm learning to ask, "Lord, what would You have me do next?"
That is the freedom of surrender.
That is the promise of Principle One.
And that is why I can say, with gratitude and a little laughter:
I'm glad I'm not God.
I was terrible at the job anyway.
Thank you, Celebrate Recovery, for helping me discover a new way of living.
But most of all—
THANK YOU, GOD!
One day at a time. One step at a time. The next right thing.
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