Step Eleven of the Twelve Steps reads: “Sought through prayer and meditation to improve our conscious contact with God as we understood Him, praying only for knowledge of His will for us and the power to carry that out.”
When I first heard about meditation in the context of 12-step recovery, I wasn’t sure what to make of it. Meditation itself wasn’t new to me, but I had never seen it offered as a tool necessary for survival. Yet, in early recovery, I kept hearing the same thing: meditation was essential. The good news? I didn’t need to believe in it, understand it, find the perfect method, or be particularly good at it. That took the pressure off. I just had to start.
Looking back, I can see how I was gifted some powerful lessons in mindfulness in the most unlikely places. Not just as an internal practice, but also an external one. It was how I was engaging with the world, how I was learning to show up for others, and how I could choose to respond (or not respond) to the never-ending ticker tape of thoughts in my head. And let’s be honest: my mind, especially in early recovery, was not a peaceful place to be.
Listening: My First Experience of Mindfulness
Long before I learned to appreciate sitting meditation, I unknowingly encountered mindfulness in an unexpected place – recovery meetings. In my first year of 12-step meetings, I rarely spoke. I was terrified I’d say the wrong thing or sound incoherent. My thoughts felt like a tangled mess, and as a lifelong perfectionist, I believed I needed to master the language of that community before I could contribute. So, I just listened. At first, I did this out of self-consciousness, but then, I recognized a kind of relief that came from turning my attention outward.
For an hour at a time, I wasn’t trapped inside my own head, drowning in existential dread. I wasn’t obsessing over my failures or anxieties. Instead, I was absorbed in the words of others; their gestures, their pauses, their inflections. I took it all in, fully present in a way I had never been before. I later understood this as mindfulness in action. It wasn’t about controlling my thoughts. I was learning that I had a choice to shift my attention away from them.
It was my first real experience of a meditative state; one that didn’t require perfect posture.
Meditation as a Living Practice
With time, I began to recognize that I was already practicing mindfulness in other small but meaningful rituals. I experienced it in my service commitments – stacking chairs, making coffee, greeting newcomers at recovery meetings. The simple act of showing up for others, rather than disappearing into my own spirals of self-doubt, was itself a kind of meditation. I found it in my very imperfect morning routine; a quiet ritual of contemplation and aligning my thinking with recovery principles like honesty, open-mindedness, and curiosity through reading and journaling. Even if that routine involved coffee and cigarettes (the twin pillars of my early recovery, for better or worse), it was a start. And I practiced it every time I intentionally aligned my actions with the values I had identified as mine, even when (especially when) it was inconvenient, uncomfortable, or went against my old default settings.
These external practices, listening, showing up, acting “as if,” became the scaffolding that made meditation accessible to me. Without realizing it, I was training my mind to settle, ground, and focus. It wasn’t about silencing my thoughts. It was about learning to relate to them differently.
A Simple Meditation Approach
Many people tell me they “can’t meditate,” and I get it. They assume meditation is achieving a blank mind or a state of perfect peace. Sure, that would be nice. Unfortunately, even the most seasoned meditator will tell you that is very rarely their experience of practice. The reality is a whole lot messier.
More importantly, meditation doesn’t have to mean that you are setting aside 30+ minutes to sit in stillness (though that’s a great long-term goal). Like lifting weights or learning a new language, progress happens in small, consistent steps. And here’s the best part, you can start anywhere: while washing dishes, walking to a meeting, or even standing in line at the grocery store. The goal isn’t to escape daily life but to fully inhabit it.
Try this:
- Wherever you are, notice that you are here, in this moment. Acknowledge your body, your mind, and your heart exactly as they are.
- Feel the ground beneath you. Put your mind into your body, one part at time. Tense or wiggle that part, then stop, noticing the stillness that follows.
- Choose an anchor. It can be your breath, sensations, sounds, or even the task at hand, and gently rest your attention there.
- When your mind wanders (because it will), simply notice it. You’re aiming for non-judgment. Acknowledge the distraction in a way that feels kind and gently return to your anchor.
- You are already whole. There is no better moment than this one. Presence itself is the practice.
This is meditation. Not an escape from life, but a way of fully living in it. The mind will wander. That’s inevitable. The practice is in whether and how we return. How we meet our wandering mind is how we meet life itself. Can we bring more openness, grace, and curiosity to the habits of the mind?
Beyond Thought: Discovering Depth in Silence
Over time (years of practice and support from wise mentors), my meditation practice has evolved from effort to surrender. What once felt like something I had to do has become something I can do. A refuge, not a requirement. Meditation has transformed from wrestling my thoughts into submission to a curious and sometimes playful observation. I notice the patterns. The gaps. The fleeting moments where a deeper wisdom can emerge.
And I have been able to experience that stillness and silence aren’t just the absence of noise and movement; they are a presence in themselves. They are a gateway to something deeper. They are where I began to face my own wholeness.
Conclusion: Meditation, Like Sobriety, Is About Showing Up
Meditation, like sobriety, isn’t about perfection. It’s a long, messy road of discovery. One I’ve walked for over a decade, both for myself and alongside others. Don’t rob yourself of the journey by giving in to the craving for some potential ideal. It’s the small steps (and missteps) that build discipline, resilience, and grace. It doesn’t matter how many times you miss your daily practice or lose sight of the present moment. What matters is returning, again and again, with intention. There’s no right way, no prize to win. The practice is the point.
I bring this same grit and grace to the work I do with my clients; addicts clawing for peace, leaders fraying at the edges. A mom fresh off a binge learns to breathe through shame. An exec dodging burnout roots into now instead of next. Meditation isn’t the whole gig, just a thread to weave resilience into their lives, as it has in mine. So, I invite you to consider: What might shift if you allowed your meditation practice to be as fluid, as unpredictable, as messy as life itself?