Why We Should all Conduct an ‘Inventory of the Mind’: Lessons in Recovery and Overcoming Addiction
Photo Courtesy: Mike Sim
Self-awareness and introspection are generally acknowledged as important constituents of a sound mind and temperament. But an understanding of our cognitive processes and biases is both overlooked and undervalued. Few people have been placed in an environment where they can, and must, question the way their brain is hardwired to think. For those who have, it becomes clear relatively quickly that this knowledge can be translated into personal resourcefulness.
I considered myself well-acquainted with Cognitive Behavioural Therapy (CBT) before I requested an interview with my friend Mike. Dr Sophie Bates, a therapist specialising in CBT, described the method as having ‘the strongest evidence base behind it’ for treating diverse mental and emotional difficulties. Fundamentally, since our thoughts, feelings and behaviours operate in a feedback loop, changing our thoughts can also change our behaviours.
I did not, however, anticipate that a conversation about Mike’s experience as a recovering alcoholic would reveal its applicability to all facets of life. Having worked together for over 3 years, Mike had shared many wild anecdotes about life as an alcoholic with me. Though I approached our interview interested in learning more about his upbringing and outlook on life, I was not expecting to resonate so strongly with his approach to recovery and self-regulation.
Our conversation began by defining sobriety. Mike considered himself 5 years and 3 months sober at the time of our interview, but he did not align that with 5 years and 3 months abstinence from alcohol. Sobriety entails the excising of alcoholic behaviour, or ‘dry drunk’ thinking; this process continues even years after one’s last sip of beer.
Conveying the sheer strength of mind and discipline necessary to achieve this, Mike insists that complacency is the first sign of relapse: ‘I go to bed every night sober. But I wake up like an alcoholic. I start again.’ Everyday, Mike must remind himself of the possibility that he could drink again but also the possibility that he won’t. From living with a complete lack of cognition, or mental defense against his alcoholic impulses, he now lives with cognitive vigilance. This does not only entail rigorous mental training or fortitude. Throughout our conversation, it became clear that his old world had to completely collapse for him to construct a new one. His ego had to be shattered.
He attributes much of his recovery to consistently attending Alcoholics Anonymous (AA). Those who try to get sober on their own, he says, could be ‘white knuckling it’ without any support network or desire to understand who they are and what drives their addiction. Those who truly want to get better must also go against their desires, or what their alcoholic cognition tells them. Mike recounts his AA sponsor ordering him to pray in a public park. After resisting, he was told, ‘Your best ideas on your best days got you drunk. So listen to what other people tell you to do. Get on your knees.’ This exercise was not about religion. It was about complete submission to a will that wasn’t his own. As Dr Bates explained to me, a change in behaviour can elicit a change in thought process. For Mike, this action initiated a complete rupture of the ego.
By this point in the interview, I was beginning to appreciate how the alcoholic mind was concerned with so much more than alcohol. Mike’s experience, at its core, demonstrates how fear, insecurity, and anxiety completely impel actions. Yet he only discovered this himself through AA’s 12-step program. These steps aim to take individuals outside their own mind, access their thinking, feelings and understanding of themselves. Mike described the moral inventory that is taken in step 4; you list your resentments and fears, identifying how they affect you and why they produce particular sentiments. This is a lengthy and thorough process that leaves you with ‘a blueprint of your failings, weaknesses and triggers.’ For Mike, fear and ego underpinned his thought process, and therefore his actions.
This exercise does not explain away one’s alcoholism; any explaining away would constitute a justification - and therefore potential motivation - to drink again. Mike is learning to understand his cognitive processes, and why his brain was, is, and always will be, predisposed to alcoholism: ‘I have a terminal illness. And I have a treatment program.’ He knows that he is susceptible to states of ‘such emotional discomfort that the only option is to drink.’ And so, every single day he trains his alcoholic mind into sobriety.
Mike is strikingly honest and sincere. I’ve always considered him one of the good ones. Though I may have only known him sober, the Mike I have observed is invested in making himself well every day. He has to prioritise his mental wellbeing, because the consequences could be so disastrous: ‘I truly believe that if I were to drink again, I would die.’ Whilst many people are fortunate enough to have not experienced addiction, there is something admirable in Mike’s approach to life. Because he lost everything to alcohol, he had to learn how to gain everything back. At the age of 34, he started life again. And now he is more receptive to his triggers, more determined to confront his flaws, and has a greater capacity to do good than most people I know.
Of course, Mike’s recovery will always remain a work in progress. But he is in a better place now than he was even before alcoholism because he has acknowledged what made him drink in the first place. Describing why he initially turned to alcohol, he said: ‘it was as if you got the tectonic plates of your soul and they just gave way. Everything that I had been holding in just gave up. It was like a hole in my soul and I just needed to fill it.’
Ignoring your cognitive processes can lead you to - and hold you in - a dark place. ‘There was never a conscious reason behind my drinking. I was just compelled to… It was like I was hypnotised.’ Often our coping mechanisms entail no thinking whatsoever. They can revolve around a desire to repeat the same destructive actions that provide a sense of security. A state of predictable pain is preferable to confronting the unknown. This is not unique to addiction. It is human instinct to remain secure in what we know rather than consciously challenge our flaws, fears and unhealthy compulsions. Dr Bates described the ‘vicious cycles’ underpinning patterns of behaviour, and our tendency to reproduce the same thoughts and feelings that fuel them. Many of us will never be considerably threatened by our unhealthy compulsions. But, in some perverse way, wouldn’t it be better if we treated them as seriously as Mike treats his? Because his alcoholic impulses have the potential to kill him, he commands them through his use of the AA programme and mental vigilance. And though I don’t personally struggle with addiction, his determination to identify and retrain flaws in his cognitive processes resonated with me.
After our conversation, I couldn’t help but reflect on my own relationship with CBT and mental regulation. It shouldn’t take a complete loss of the self to learn how to command it. But I fear that for many, this is the case. Why must we be prescribed a course in cognitive awareness to engage the inner workings of our brain? Did it take being completely ravished by his own compulsions for Mike to take action against them? The CBT model is based on psychological theories applicable to all members of society, and can therefore serve all of us. Few people understand the cognitive processes and predispositions driving their behaviour. Few have carried out an inventory of their mind. But Mike ‘would recommend anyone in the world do it.’ And so would I.