Drop The Rock - A book that was mentioned in one of my meetings.
Drop the Rock is a powerful book in the recovery world, originally written for people dealing with alcoholism, but its wisdom applies just as deeply to sex addiction. The main idea is simple but challenging: many of us in recovery hold on to old fears, resentments, and character defects like they’re life rafts, even though they’re really anchors dragging us down. The title comes from the image of a person swimming to safety while clutching a giant rock — if they just let it go, they’d stay afloat. But letting go feels scary because these old patterns feel familiar and, in a twisted way, comforting.
For me, as someone battling sex addiction, the message hits painfully close to home. Acting out sexually was never just about sex — it was about control, escape, comfort, and the rush of not feeling my feelings for a while. Even as I started recovery, I found myself clutching old behaviors: flirting for validation, obsessing over fantasies, or using secrecy to keep parts of myself hidden. In the rooms of recovery, I heard all about surrender, but actually doing it felt impossible. That’s where Drop the Rock gave me a roadmap.
The book focuses on Steps Six and Seven of the Twelve Steps — becoming entirely ready to have these defects removed, and then humbly asking a higher power to remove them. It sounds simple, but it’s where many of us get stuck. I used to think Step Seven was just about praying and hoping my flaws would magically disappear. But the book taught me that willingness is the real work. I have to be ready to live without my old crutches — to actually feel loneliness instead of filling it with porn, hookups, or compulsive fantasy. I have to risk showing my true self to people I trust, instead of manipulating them with charm and secrets.
One part that really struck me is how Drop the Rock talks about fear as the root of so much self-sabotage. In sex addiction, fear shows up in all kinds of ways: fear of being unlovable, fear of intimacy, fear of rejection. The old behaviors promised quick relief. Dropping those behaviors feels like standing naked in a snowstorm — exposed and defenseless. But Drop the Rock reminds me that freedom lives on the other side of that fear. If I’m willing to trust the process, I can become lighter, more honest, and more available for real connection.
Another lesson I carry from this book is that willingness isn’t about perfection. I don’t have to drop the whole rock all at once. Sometimes I let go of a small piece — like telling the truth in my check-ins, resisting a fantasy, or choosing to sit with discomfort instead of acting out. Each small drop lifts me higher.
Drop the Rock also challenges me to see how clinging to my defects hurts my relationships. My secrecy and manipulation didn’t just poison me — they poisoned the people who cared about me. Letting go isn’t just about my own serenity, it’s about showing up clean and honest for the people who love me. When I drop the rock, I make room for trust to grow, for intimacy to be real, and for my shame to shrink in the light of truth.
Today, I still slip. There are moments I pick the rock back up without even knowing it. But the difference is, now I see it for what it is: dead weight. I remind myself that the water of recovery can hold me if I just stop dragging myself under. When I feel tempted to hide or act out, I think about that image — me in the deep water, the rock in my hands — and I ask for the courage to let it fall.
Drop the Rock doesn’t promise instant freedom, but it promises hope if I do the work. It reminds me that recovery isn’t about white-knuckling my way through cravings forever. It’s about letting go of the old lies and fear that told me I needed sex to feel alive. I don’t. I just need honesty, humility, and the willingness to swim free.
Pick up a copy and keep coming back!
