Endigar 970 ~ The Hundredth Blow
From Courage to Change of Jul 28:
A stonecutter may strike a rock ninety-nine times with no apparent effect, not even a crack on the surface. Yet with the hundredth blow, the rock splits in two. It was not the final blow that did the trick, but all that had gone before.
The same is true of Al-Anon recovery. Perhaps I am working on accepting that alcoholism is a disease, or learning to detach, or struggling with self-pity. I may pursue a goal for months without obvious results and become convinced that I am wasting my time. But if I continue going to meetings, sharing about my struggle, taking it one day at a time, and being patient with myself, I may awaken to find that I have changed, seemingly overnight. Suddenly I have the acceptance, detachment, or serenity I’ve been seeking. The results may have revealed themselves abruptly, but I know that l those months of faith and hard work made the changes possible.
Today’s Reminder
We are often reminded to keep coming back. Today I will remember that this not only applies to meetings, but to learning the new attitudes and behavior that are the long term benefits of Al-Anon recovery. I may not see the results today, but I can trust that I am making progress.
“Try to be patient with yourself and your family. It took a long time for the disease of alcoholism to affect each and every one and it may take a long time for everyone to recover.” ~ Youth and the Alcoholic Parent
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There are days I feel like nothing is changing—like I’m chipping away at stone with bare hands. I say the affirmations, I read the literature, I show up to the meetings, and still… the old instincts return. The rage. The worry. The silence that suffocates instead of soothes.
But then I remember the stonecutter.
Ninety-nine blows with no crack to show for it. Not even a sliver. But on the hundredth—split clean down the middle. It wasn’t magic. It wasn’t luck. It was the accumulation of every attempt before.
That is how my recovery feels. That is what it is.
When trauma rules me, I become stone—frozen, resistant, hard. But recovery hands me the hammer. Every surrender is a strike. Every boundary I set, every time I detach with love, every time I forgive myself for relapsing into old thought patterns—that’s another strike. Quiet. Invisible. Building something I can’t yet see.
Sometimes it feels like nothing’s working. I get tired. I forget why I started. I think maybe I’m just one of those people who doesn’t “get better.” But I’m learning now—“suddenly” is never really sudden. It’s just the first moment I notice how far I’ve come.
This path isn’t linear. It’s circular. It’s layered. It’s sacred. Each day I choose to return—to a meeting, to a principle, to patience—is a day I say yes to healing, even when it doesn’t feel like it. And that’s enough.
So I’ll keep showing up.
I’ll keep striking the stone.
Because one day, without warning, the thing I thought could never shift—will.
And I’ll know: it wasn’t just the final blow. It was all of them.
Daily Reprieve 
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