Archive for June 2, 2025

Endigar 967 ~ From the Disease to the Blade of Grass

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , on June 2, 2025 by endigar

My disease made me a fortress. My recovery made me a field.

The Life of My Disease vs. The Life of Recovery

1. From Isolated Hyper-Awareness to Collective Awareness

In the disease:
I was hyper-aware of everything—especially myself. How I looked, how I was perceived, what I was owed, who wronged me. I lived in my own head like a sniper in a tower. Always scanning. Always separate. I didn’t want connection—I wanted control.
In recovery:
I am just one of many. I can come down from the tower. I find healing in being part of something larger. When I share honestly and listen openly, I become we, not just I. I learn that my pain is not unique—and neither is my hope.

“You are no longer alone.” And thank God for that.

2. From Parasitically Opportunistic to Humble and Replaceable

In the disease:
I used people. I watched for weaknesses. I took what I could and twisted what I had to. Everything and everyone was a means to an end. Even when I showed up, it was often to get something—attention, pity, money, forgiveness I hadn’t earned.
In recovery:
I learn to give without needing return. I’m not here to feed off the group—I’m here to nourish it. Like a blade of grass, I don’t demand applause. I serve because I’m grateful. If I disappear tomorrow, the grass keeps growing. That’s not sad—that’s spiritual.

“Self-seeking will slip away.” And it does, if I stay willing.

3. From Dominance of Personality to Principles Before Personalities

In the disease:
I was the center of the universe. Loud or quiet, charming or angry—it was all about me. My story. My pain. My rules. Even when I hated myself, I needed to be the star.
In recovery:
I learn to step back. Principles lead, not personalities. I don’t need to be right to be okay. I don’t need to be liked to belong. The message is stronger than the messenger. I follow spiritual laws now—not my moods, not my ego.

“We are not a glum lot,” but we are not a cult of personality either.

4. From Rigid Embrace of the System to Teachable Simplicity

In the disease:
I clung to systems that justified my brokenness—mental labels, excuses, patterns, even self-pity. I would rather be right in dysfunction than wrong and changing. I was rigid. I called it identity, but it was really fear.
In recovery:
I become teachable. Like grass bending in the wind, I can change without breaking. I listen. I try new ways. I stop pretending I know what’s best. I start asking what’s true.
It’s not weakness—it’s wisdom.

“Some of us tried to hold on to our old ideas, and the result was nil.” I don’t want nil anymore. I want growth.

It seems then, that recovery isn’t about becoming the strongest, smartest, or most spiritual.
It’s about becoming a blade of grass—rooted, connected, growing together.
And it starts by surrendering the lonely, hardened, parasitic life of the disease.

Am I able to choose simplicity over spectacle? Connection over control?
Can I become the field of We?

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Endigar 966

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , , , on June 2, 2025 by endigar

From Courage to Change of Jul 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 lean 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 prince that is too great to pay for peace . . . One cannot pay the price of self-respect.” ~ Woodrow Wilson

END OF QUOTE—————————————

I know what it’s like to say “yes” when everything in me is screaming “no,” and then carry the weight of that quiet betrayal inside myself. The approval I was chasing always came at too high a price: my peace, my boundaries, my dignity.

Recovery taught me that this pattern wasn’t just about weakness—it was about survival. Somewhere along the line, I had internalized the idea that my value came from being agreeable, accommodating, small. But underneath that surface compliance, I was stockpiling rage and shame. I was afraid to be honest, because honesty might have made me look unlovable, or even worse—disposable.

When I started practicing the program, the word courage hit differently. It wasn’t a grand, dramatic thing. It was quiet. Steady. A spiritual muscle I had to learn to flex. Turning to a Higher Power helped me realize I didn’t have to conjure that courage on my own. It was something I could receive—if I was willing.

Learning to say “no” with love—not defiance, not bitterness, just clarity—has been one of the most sacred disciplines of my recovery. And letting go of the fantasy that I could please everyone freed me to meet the real version of myself. Not the one polished up for applause, but the one who breathes deeply, speaks truth, and trusts that that’s enough.

Today, I ask myself—not out of judgment, but out of care—Why am I saying this? Who is it serving? Am I betraying myself to stay in someone else’s good graces? And I remember: the truth I’ve lived through, the healing I’ve done, the boundary I draw—that’s all I have to give. That is my offering. And it’s enough.

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