RULE 62
True surrender isn’t just asking for help—it’s offering ourselves to God’s plan. In the Program, I’ve been building the muscle of asking God for help. “Help me be sober! Help me turn away from lust! Help me surrender! Help me! Help me! Help me!” As I strengthen this muscle—which sometimes requires an act of complete reliance—I’m also shifting my perspective to a gentler way.
Courage isn’t fighting lust—it’s surrendering it to God. My name is Steve, and I’m a recovering sexaholic. By God’s grace, sponsorship, and the Program, I’ve been sober since August 20, 2013. I haven’t had sex with myself or with anyone other than my spouse for over 11 years. I’ve also experienced some progressive victory over lust.
He kept relapsing until he changed what he was looking for. I’m a low-bottom drunk. I was in active addiction for almost forty years. I was finally dragged into the Program fourteen years ago. Now, I’ve been sober for two years and three months. You do the math.
We were in our meeting, led by a local fellow. During a moment of silence, we heard a crack. We didn’t know where the sound came from. Another crack followed, and then another. Slowly, one fellow sank to the floor. One of the legs of his plastic chair had completely broken, and he was now on the floor. We were all surprised, and then we burst out in laughter. I told him, “Relax, fellow—that doesn’t count as a relapse.”
Surrendering to God led me to the miracle of true sobriety. Hello, my name is Amr R. from Egypt. At age 10, I started touching myself but stopped because my mother told me I would go to hell for doing that. I discovered pornography at age 18 and soon became an addict, unable to stop masturbating for even one week. I came to SA at age 19, only a year ago. My first meeting was on Zoom. I joined SA because I was masturbating compulsively while watching pornography. When I first came to SA, I was able to stop acting out for 14 days because of the people here—they encouraged, affirmed, and loved me!
Lust was always a part of me, long before I knew its name. It had claimed me as one of its own in the darkness that would become my sexaholism—a universe-sized prison of my own making. My disease was quietly progressive. Some might argue that I haven’t hit my real rock bottom since my life has never been completely upended by my many relapses.
