Endigar 988
From Courage to Change of Aug 11:
When I feel I just can’t face the world and want nothing more than to bury my head under the covers and hide, I know I need an Al-Anon meeting! I may have to push myself out the door, but I always feel better – and saner – when I break the isolation and reach out for help, I usually feel relief the minute I walk into an Al-Anon room, even if it’s a meeting I’ve never attended before. I find a healing, comforting Power in these rooms, a Power greater than myself. And because my Higher Power speaks through other people, I often hear exactly what I need.
We all go through periods of sadness, lethargy, and grief – that’s part of life. But depression can become a habit that perpetuates itself, unless I intercede by acting on my own behalf. Al-Anon cannot solve every problem, and if depression lingers, I may want to consider seeking professional help. But more often than not, what I need to do is bring my body to an Al-Anon meeting. I know that no matter how I feel, when I take an action to get some help, I make myself available to the Higher Power in these rooms.
Today’s Reminder
When in doubt, I will go to an Al-Anon meeting and invite my Higher Power to do for me what I cannot do for myself.
“There are times when I have to hurt through a situation and when this happens, the choice is not whether to hurt or not to hurt, but what to do while I am hurting.” ~ . . . In All Our Affairs
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There are mornings when the very idea of existence feels unbearable. I wake up heavy—not always with sorrow, sometimes with nothing at all, just a kind of gray emptiness that clings to my bones. The thought of facing the day feels like too much. My bed becomes not just a place of rest, but a cave, a hiding place, an invisible tomb. That is when I know—this is not where I’m meant to stay.
When I feel the pull to disappear, it is often a whisper from the part of me that remembers what it’s like to be alone too long. I used to think I needed to feel better before I could go to a meeting. Now I know better: I go because I don’t feel better.
Dragging my body to a recovery room—sometimes that is the miracle. I don’t have to be wise. I don’t have to be inspired. I just have to show up. The healing begins with presence. My heart may still feel numb, my thoughts may still swirl with shame or resistance, but something always shifts the moment I walk through the door. Even when the faces are unfamiliar, the spiritual gravity is the same: I am not alone.
I would like to say that I have stopped expecting thunder and lightning when I seek divine guidance. More often, my Higher Power sounds like a shaky voice across a circle. A soft laugh during a break. That is the voice that meets me in my pain—not to erase it, but to sit with me while I hurt. And somehow, that shared pain becomes bearable.
I suppose there is a difference between feeling grief and becoming it. Depression can become a rhythm, a posture. Left unchecked, it convinces me that it’s just who I am. But I’ve learned that while I can’t always choose whether I hurt, I can choose what to do while I’m hurting. I can choose to reach for light even if I’m not sure I’ll feel its warmth right away.
I’ve heard it said that faith is a verb. In my darkest moments, faith looks like keys in my hand and shoes on my feet. It looks like driving to a meeting even while the voice in my head insists I won’t be welcome, or I won’t be helped, or I’m too broken this time. Especially then, I go. Because those voices are not God. They are the residue of old survival patterns trying to masquerade as truth.
I’ve learned to walk anyway.
Today, I don’t have to wait to feel good to do good for myself.
I can hurt and still walk.
I can doubt and still show up.
I can fall into silence and still be heard.
Daily Reprieve 
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