The Locust and the Bee: My story of Addiction and Recovery

This past week, I was in Scottsdale taking a much-needed break. As I sat by the pool, a honeybee started buzzing around, and I couldn’t help but watch it. Something about the way it moved—focused, purposeful, always working toward something bigger than itself—got me thinking.

You see, I used to be a locust.

The Locust: A Life of Taking

Locusts don’t create; they consume. They take and take until there’s nothing left. They leave behind nothing but destruction, making it impossible for anything new to grow. That was me in addiction.

Alcoholism, like a locust swarm, requires the perfect conditions to manifest. Maybe it’s trauma, abuse, or the environment you grow up in. Whatever the case, a once "normal" grasshopper goes through a transformation—one that turns it into something unrecognizable. The locust becomes driven by one thing: consuming. Destroying. Surviving at the expense of everything else.

That was me.

I didn’t set out to hurt people. I didn’t wake up thinking, Who can I take from today? But my addiction made it impossible for me to think about anything other than my own selfish needs. I took from my family, my friends, my employers—anyone who had something I thought I needed. And when I moved on, you’d know I had been there by the wreckage I left behind.

The worst part? I thought I was only hurting myself.

I didn’t realize that every time I lied, manipulated, or prioritized my addiction over my relationships, I was stripping away trust. I was leaving scars. I was creating an emotional wasteland where something beautiful could have grown.

I justified it in every way possible. I’m only drinking because of stress. I’ll get it together next month. If you were in my shoes, you’d drink too. But in reality, I was just making excuses for being a locust.

The Bee: Learning to Give Back

But something changed when I got sober.

Through treatment, support groups, therapy, and real connection with other people in recovery, I slowly started to transform. I started becoming less… locusty. The more I worked on myself, the more I began to see the world differently. I was no longer just taking—I was learning how to give back.

I had become the bee.

Honeybees are the opposite of locusts. They don’t survive by destruction; they survive by creation. They work for something bigger than themselves, constantly focused on their purpose while always aware that they are part of something greater.

That’s what recovery has given me.

I now work in treatment to help those who face the same struggles I once faced. I started BlakeHuntRecovery.com because I know firsthand what it’s like to be a locust—lost, destructive, hopeless. But I also know what it’s like to become part of the hive. To be surrounded by others who have walked the same path and are willing to lift you up.

And one thing I know for sure: I could not have done this alone.

The Hive That Saved My Life

A bee cannot survive in isolation. Without the hive, it dies. Without the structure, the community, the shared purpose, it has nothing.

The same is true in recovery.

I used to think I could get sober on my own. I’d tell myself, I’ll cut back. I’ll do better next time. I don’t need anyone’s help. But addiction thrives in isolation. It whispers lies, convincing you that no one understands, that you’re different, that you don’t need anyone.

But I did.

I needed the people who sat with me in meetings and shared their stories, showing me I wasn’t alone. I needed the mentors who helped me see my own patterns and taught me how to break free from them. I needed the support system that held me accountable, called me out when I slipped, and reminded me that I had a place in this world beyond just surviving.

The hive saved my life.

And if you’re struggling, if you feel like you’ve been a locust for too long, just know this: you don’t have to do this alone. There’s a hive waiting for you, too.

How to Start the Transformation

If you feel like you're living like a locust—taking, consuming, destroying—there’s a way out. It won’t happen overnight, and it won’t happen alone, but it is possible. Here’s how you can start the transformation:

1. Admit You’re Stuck in the Locust Mentality

The first step is honesty. Are you taking more than you’re giving? Are you burning through relationships, opportunities, or trust? Are you constantly chasing the next thing, never feeling satisfied? A locust doesn’t stop to think about its destruction—it just consumes. Breaking free starts with recognizing the pattern.

2. Find Your Hive

You cannot do this alone. Whether it’s a recovery meeting, a therapist, a mentor, or a supportive group of friends, you need people who can lift you up. Look for those who are living in a way you admire—people who have something you want, whether that’s peace, stability, or a sense of purpose. Surround yourself with them.

3. Shift Your Focus from Taking to Giving

Bees don’t work for themselves—they work for the hive. In early recovery, I was still selfish. I wanted to take from my support system without giving back. But everything changed when I started focusing on service. Helping others, showing up, and contributing gave me a sense of purpose that addiction never could.

4. Accept That Growth Takes Time

A locust doesn’t become a bee overnight. It took years of addiction to get to where you are, and it will take time to build something new. Be patient with yourself. Celebrate small wins. Keep moving forward.

5. Let Go of Control and Trust the Process

The more I stopped trying to control everything and just played my part in the hive, the better my life became. Recovery isn’t about mastering every detail—it’s about surrendering to a process that works. The more you lean into it, the more you’ll find that you don’t have to fight for survival anymore.

Which Will You Choose?

Every day, we have a choice.

The locust and the bee both exist within us. Even in recovery, I have moments where I feel the pull of my old ways—the impatience, the self-centeredness, the craving to take instead of give. But now, I have a choice. Do I want to consume or create? Do I want to isolate or connect? Do I want to chase chaos or build something meaningful?

Every day, I choose to be the bee.

It’s not always easy. There are days when the locust in me stirs, when I feel the restless urge to destroy rather than build. But I remind myself that the locust’s life is lonely, fleeting, and empty. The bee’s life, though? It has purpose. It leaves behind something sweet. It matters.

And most importantly—it belongs.

Recovery is about making that choice—over and over again.

So, which will you choose?