Endigar 957
From Courage to Change of Jul 17:
Two of those closest to me were newly-recovering alcoholics. During the drinking years, I had become so enmeshed with them and their self-destructive behavior that I lost sight of the idea that I could be happy even if they were depressed; I could live a serene life even if they went back to drinking. The turning point in my Al-Anon recovery came when someone said to me, “You’ll have to learn to make it whether the alcoholics do nor not.”
From that day on I tried to keep in mind that I had my own life and my own destiny. Once I began to separate my welfare from that of the alcoholics, I found it easier to detach from the decisions they made about how and where, and when and with whom to conduct their lives. Because my fate – my very life – was no longer tied directly to theirs, I was able to accept them for who they were and to listen to their ideas and concerns without trying to exercise control. Thanks to Al-Anon, I can concentrate my energy where I do have some control – over my own life.
Today’s Reminder
My time is too precious to waste living in the future or worrying about something over which I have no power. I am building a wonderful life for myself today.
As I continue to practice putting the focus on myself, it is a relief to see I can let go of others’ problems instead of trying to solve them.
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I know what it means to be entangled—not just involved, but enmeshed—in the chaos of someone else’s self-destruction. It starts with love, with care, with a desperate hope that if I can just hold on tighter, steer harder, I can keep the whole ship from sinking. But the truth I’ve learned in recovery is that clinging to a sinking ship doesn’t save either of us—it just pulls me under too.
“You’ll have to learn to make it whether the alcoholics do or not”—hits like a clean breath of air after being submerged for too long. That’s the invitation and the boundary all in one. My recovery is not conditional. My peace doesn’t hinge on anyone else’s progress. And that’s a terrifying, liberating thing to grasp. It means I get to stop playing God. I get to step out of the illusion of control and into the truth of my own path.
I’ve found that detachment isn’t abandonment. It’s an act of fierce love—both for them and for me. It means I can still care, deeply, but I no longer have to carry. I can still listen, still witness, still hold space—but I don’t have to fix. That’s a radical shift. One that frees up all this precious energy I used to pour into managing others, and lets me redirect it toward rebuilding my own life.
And the miracle is this: in letting go of their outcomes, I’ve finally begun to uncover my own. I’m not just surviving someone else’s story anymore—I’m writing my own. And every day I practice this, I see a little more clearly: serenity is not something I have to wait for. It’s something I choose, moment by moment, as I let go, turn inward, and do the next right thing.
This is what recovery gives me: the permission and the power to live my own beautiful, imperfect, sacred life.
Daily Reprieve 
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