From Courage to Change of Aug 17:
Some of us believe that most defects of character are merely traits that we no longer need. Many of us develop clever methods of surviving in an alcoholic situation, such as denial or secrecy. But once we have the support of the Al-Anon program, we may find that our old methods do more harm than good. What once allowed us to function in a nearly impossible situation is now an obstacle to further growth. An asset has become a deficit.
Others define defects of character as assets that have lost proportion. For example, a genuine desire to help a love one can be exaggerated into a desperate need to fix another person.
From this perspective, we aren’t facing the daunting task of rooting our every shred of the defect; we are only turning it over to our Higher Power so that it can be brought into balance or dropped because it is no longer serving our needs.
Today’s Reminder
Instead of condemning myself when I become aware of a defect of character, I can acknowledge my growth. I’ve recognized that a characteristic that once allowed me to survive is no longer necessary, or that an asset that has lost its proportion makes my life unmanageable. Instead of proving sickness, this shows a willingness to face reality and a readiness to choose health.
“Sometimes we must accept ourselves, defects and all, before those defects are removed.” ~ . . . In All Our Affairs
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I have learned that not every flaw is a failing—sometimes it’s just a survival skill that stayed too long at the party. Denial, secrecy, control, hypervigilance… these weren’t signs of weakness back then. They were the armor I forged in the fire of chaos. They helped me survive in environments where tenderness wasn’t safe, where truth could cost too much, where silence felt like the only power I had left.
But now, in this sacred space of recovery, those once-precious tools begin to rust. I don’t live in that battlefield anymore. And when I cling to those old patterns, they no longer protect me—they choke me. What once kept me afloat now keeps me from swimming.
The program gently shows me that defects of character aren’t proof I’m broken. They’re signals that I’ve outgrown something. They are assets that have swelled out of balance, like vines overtaking a garden. A desire to help becomes compulsive fixing. Loyalty becomes martyrdom. Strength becomes stubborn isolation. And instead of tearing these parts of me out by the root, I can turn them over. I can invite my Higher Power to prune and purify, not because I am unworthy, but because I am ready.
This isn’t self-condemnation. This is spiritual maturity.
When I notice a defect rising up again, I no longer need to spiral into shame. I can say, “Ah. I remember why I learned this. I honor its origin. And now, I let it go.” That is grace in action.
To accept myself with all my human contradictions—to sit in the tension between who I was and who I’m becoming—is the essence of healing. It is where mercy meets progress. And I am grateful today not just for the parts of me that shine, but for the shadows that taught me where the light belongs.
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Daily Reprieve 
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