Endigar 934
From Courage to Change of Jun 25:
After years of letting people take advantage of me, I had built up quite a store of anger, resentment, and guilt by the time I found Al-Anon. So many times I wanted to bite off my tongue after saying, “Yes,” when I really wanted to say, “No.” Why did I continue to deny my own feelings just to gain someone’s approval?
As I worked the Al-Anon program, the answer became apparent: What I lacked was courage. In the Serenity Prayer I learned that courage is granted by my Higher Power, so that is where I turned first. Then it was up to me to do my part. Was I willing to try to learn to say, “No,” when I meant no? Was I willing to accept that not everyone would be thrilled with this change? Was I willing to face the real me behind the people-pleasing image? Fed up with volunteering to be treated like a doormat, I squared my shoulders and answered, “Yes.”
Today’s Reminder
It is not always appropriate to reveal my every thought, especially when dealing with an active alcoholic. But do I make a conscious choice about what I say? And when it is appropriate, do I say what I mean and mean what I say? If not, why not? All I have to offer anyone is my own experience of the truth.
“There is a price that is too great to pay for peace . . . One cannot pay the price of self-respect.”
~ Woodrow Wilson
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Self-abandonment is something that many experience when living in codependence. There is a great emotional cost of saying “yes” when the soul longs to say “no.” The biting of the tongue becomes a metaphor not just for silence, but for self-erasure. There was a time when I mistook silence for peace and compliance for love. I said “yes” so many times my tongue began to feel like an artifact—not a tool of truth, but a relic of performance. Behind every forced agreement, a little part of me curled inward, retreating from a world that never asked how I truly felt.
By the time I found Al-Anon, I was brimming with what I thought was anger toward others, but it was really the grief of self-abandonment. Resentment was the smoke; guilt was the ash. I had made a habit of swallowing my truth, hoping it would earn me a place in someone else’s peace. It never did.
Working the program taught me something both terrifying and liberating: I wasn’t lacking love—I was lacking courage. Not the kind of courage that roars, but the kind that whispers, “No,” when my soul knows that “yes” would be betrayal. The Serenity Prayer didn’t just soothe me—it instructed me. Courage is granted, yes—but only to those who ask for it, who receive it, and who dare to wield it.
The turning point wasn’t dramatic. It was a simple moment, sacred in its clarity. I realized I could stop volunteering for mistreatment. I could stop mistaking martyrdom for virtue. I stood up—not against someone else, but for myself. That was the moment I began to recover—not just from the effects of someone else’s drinking, but from the long habit of abandoning my own spirit.
Daily Reprieve 
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