Endigar 986
From Courage to Change of Aug 10:
At an Al-Anon meeting we discussed the way our housekeeping habits reflected the effects of alcoholism. One person shared that his life felt completely unmanageable unless his house was perfectly neat. Tidiness gave him an illusion of control.
Others, including me, spoke of floors so strewn with clothes, books, and papers that we could not cross the room without stepping on, or tripping over, something. I had always considered this just a bad habit until I heard someone share that this clutter was her way of keeping people at a distance – isolating.
Then I remembered that in the house where I grew up, clutter had served just this function: I was always afraid to invite friends over because everything was too messy. It was uncomfortable to realize that I was doing the same thing in adulthood that had kept me isolated as a child.
Today’s Reminder
By taking a fresh look at what I thought of as just a bad habit, I can free my life of some clutter today. I can consider hidden motives for that habit without condemning myself or my family. Clutter doesn’t have to be physical; I may also find areas of my mental, spiritual, or emotional life that are in disarray. I can heal without making moral judgements about myself or others.
“. . . the Al-Anon program can give me a new view of my world by helping me to see myself more clearly . . .” ~ One Day at a Time in Al-Anon
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I used to think clutter was just a sign of laziness, a failure of discipline, a weakness I hadn’t yet whipped into submission. But recovery has taught me to look again—gently, curiously. The way I kept my space, or failed to, wasn’t a matter of housekeeping. It was a kind of self-portrait. Not the kind you hang on a wall, but the kind you live inside of without even knowing you’re painting it.
Some of us chased perfect order—tidying as if the world depended on it. And in a way, it did. Because if the house was clean, maybe the chaos wouldn’t get in. Maybe the shame would stay behind closed drawers and scrubbed countertops.
Others of us let the mess grow like weeds after the rain. Not because we didn’t care, but because something in us feared being seen. The piles of clothes, the stacks of books, the avalanche of unopened mail—each piece a little “No Trespassing” sign. Keep out. I’m not ready. I don’t feel safe.
Clutter isn’t always physical. Sometimes it’s the noise in my head, the resentment I haven’t released, the outdated beliefs I keep folded in the back of my spiritual closet. Just like the piles on the floor, these inner tangles keep me stuck, keep me disconnected.
But step by step, I can clear space. Not just for company, but for connection. For light. For my Higher Power to sit with me in the openness I once feared.
And so today, I might pick up the socks. Or I might sit still in the middle of the mess and ask: What am I afraid of? What am I protecting? And am I ready to lay it down—not perfectly, but peacefully?
I can heal, not by judging the past, but by listening to it. And in that sacred pause, I clear not just the floor—but the path forward.
Daily Reprieve 
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