Visions Journal

Look for the similarities, not the differences

Matthew Hodgins, CCAC and Josh Dyer

Reprinted from the The Ongoing Journey of Recovery: Recovery across the lifespan issue of Visions Journal, 2025, 20 (3), pp. 32-34

Matthew

One day, I showed up for my orientation at a Dialectical Behaviour Therapy program my doctor had referred me to. I met with a therapist and soon learned the program was not what I’d imagined. I was hoping to work with a clinician individually and was caught off guard when I was told I’d be in a group. Part of me felt what I was going through was so unique, no one else would understand.

This attitude grew even stronger when I walked into the group and heard the stories, many of which were, in fact, not like mine. I said to myself, my problem isn’t that bad; I’m not like these people. I still have a job; I don’t have criminal charges; do I really need to be here? I dropped out and didn’t return for mental health services for years.

Fifteen years later, I now work as an addictions counsellor, and I see this attitude, known as terminal uniqueness, in many new participants. The term comes from alcoholics anonymous literature, but it’s also rooted in psychology, where it’s known as personal exceptionalism¹—the belief that a person’s situation is somehow completely different from what others have experienced, either because it’s worse or less severe. Either way, they have an inability to relate. 

Whenever I present on this topic, participants always experience a “lightbulb moment.” Something switches on in our minds. Although few participants have been aware of the term terminal uniqueness, we have all experienced it at some point. Feeling like no one will understand what you’re going through creates a sense of separation and isolation from others—the breeding ground for addiction. 

Most addiction professionals believe recovery groups are absolutely essential to addiction recovery, and in fact, prolonged individual support can contribute to feelings of shame and stigma.² Stepping out of our comfort zone is an essential process in getting sober. In a recovery community, we model social behaviour. The sense of universality reminds us we are not alone. 

Overcoming shame

I truly feel terminal uniqueness is rooted in feelings of shame and denial. Fortunately, compliance to recovery breaks through this barrier. Many people walk into an addictions group or meeting for the first time because someone else has urged them to get help; they are simply complying. Eventually they accept the program’s relevance intellectually. They form bonds and notice other people benefiting from holistic lifestyle changes. They begin to think maybe it is useful to them after all! 

As denial is slowly broken down, they accept the impact of their addiction emotionally. The stories in the group may be different, but the feelings are all shared. That is the universal language of recovery!
There are many universal components to addiction recovery, regardless of substance of choice, age, gender or background. These include the loss of control, changes in the brain, isolation, relapse and shame, but also the desire to change, live better and be honest with ourselves.

Terminal uniqueness is completely normal and quite common, especially early in recovery. It’s important to stay committed even if you feel you don’t belong. Ask yourself: what’s the worst that can happen? Sometimes we have to fake it until we make it. This belief system can come back around during times of high stress, so it’s important to recognize you may have to remind yourself, “I am no different from anyone else.” 

One of my participants, Josh, really resonated with terminal uniqueness. Josh enrolled in my men’s group after attending in-house treatment last November. Although he is now celebrating the longest period of sobriety of his life, he sees how terminal uniqueness was a major barrier to treatment. 

Josh

Grappling with uniqueness

I am a person living with bipolar disorder. My journey to accept this diagnosis wasn’t easy. It was paved with substance use challenges, two hospitalizations, repeated experiences with hypomania resulting in disinhibited behaviour and the need to let go of false narratives I picked up along the way.

I would create my own self-fulfilling prophecies, such as, “I am more susceptible than others to self-medicating because my bipolar cycles are completely out of my control.” Or: “Lifestyle change won't prevent these symptoms from coming back, so I may as well soothe myself with substances.” Also: “No one here knows what it's like to have a parent tell them their queer identity is the wrong decision for their life.” Anything to prevent the “addict" label.

I now feel that looking for differences is like using a microscope to focus on a snowflake’s uniqueness. Left unchecked, this behaviour prevents opportunities to connect or see what’s shared—like emotions, hurdles, aspirations and other universal human components that create relational experiences. The act of doing this in a group discussion hindered my ability to be present.

Getting connected

Peer support has truly helped me overcome many of these symptoms. It helped keep me in check. By showing up to group three days a week and attending other sobriety groups, I've tuned my listening and reflecting practices to be more present with others, relate to their experiences and see each individual as an equally valuable member of society. This has changed my mindset, and I’m building relationships on a stronger foundation.

By allowing these stories to imprint on my heart, I've been able to affirm that sobriety is my number one priority, because living with terminal uniqueness was a skewed reality. My ability to maintain my health and wellness goals requires mental clarity, and for me, that's sobriety. It has re-opened doors of hope and closed the blinds on the terminal uniqueness that once took up space.

My advice to others? Take the time to focus on recovery. By that, I mean structured time in a recovery program that offers counselling, CBT, nutrition advice and more. Employers can help too, by easing off on pressure to get back to work too fast.

I suppose we really do have a lot in common with snowflakes after all. We're made of water and stardust. When life gets too hot to handle we have a tendency to melt down. But when given opportunities to cool off, we regain our composure. We all just branch out in our own terminally unique, yet very similar ways.