Endigar 1008
From Courage to Change of Aug 25:
When students first learn to play the piano, they are usually taught to use only one hand and include very few keys. Then they move on to using two hands, eventually learning to play all the keys, the high ones as well as the low. In fact, part of the pleasure of playing lies in hearing the rumble of the lowest bass notes and the light chiming of the high treble.
Today in Al-Anon I am learning to play a new instrument — myself. I am a person with the capability to experience a wide range of emotions, from love to joy to wonder. I am profoundly grateful for laughter and light spirits — and also for anger and fear, because all of these feelings are part of what makes me whole. I believe that my Higher Power wants me to be fully alive and fully aware of all my feelings: The crashing crescendo of great anger, the soft chant of serenity, the heights of wonder, and the new insights that stretch my heart and mind just as my fingers stretch to reach all the keys in a challenging chord. I am learning to play richer sounds than I ever thought possible.
Today’s Reminder
Today I will appreciate the full range of feelings available to me. They make my experience of life full indeed.
“I have sometimes been wildly, despairingly, acutely miserable… but through it all I still know quite certainly that just to be alive is a grand thing.” ~ Agatha Christie
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Before recovery, I divided emotions like sheep and goats—some were holy, others unclean. I crowned happiness, joy, and syrupy love as the angels of mental health. But anger? Sadness? They were exiled, branded with shame, and locked in the dungeon with the spiritually deficient.
To feel too much was madness.
To feel too little was sainthood.
And I aimed for sainthood—numb and smiling.
I thought if I could just tiptoe through the tulips of unshakable good vibes, if I could radiate peace like a lobotomized monk in Birkenstocks, then surely I would become the recovery success story of someone’s keynote speech. A trophy soul.
But in my quest to be enlightened, I was performing serenity while silencing truth.
And when I did feel anger—or sorrow, or discomfort—I judged it as a relapse in character.
I also believed that depth and seriousness wore only black. I scoffed at joy. I tucked away laughter like it was childish, uncouth, or inappropriate at the altar of spiritual progress. Joy was silly. Grief was noble. I knew which side I wanted to be on.
But recovery—patient, gentle, uncompromising—handed me a new score to play.
There are no negative emotions.
There are no positive ones either.
There are only messengers. Sacred couriers of inner truth.
Anger isn’t an enemy—it’s a signal that something vital is being crossed.
Sadness isn’t shameful—it’s a threshold into deeper reflection.
Happiness isn’t shallow—it’s a moment of connection I’m allowed to feel without guilt.
Recovery taught me to stop playing warden over my feelings and start becoming a steward. These emotions aren’t here to take over—they’re here to guide.
Yes, if I hand them the keys, they’ll drive me off a cliff.
But if I treat them as guests—offer them tea, listen without judgment, and learn their language—they reveal the hidden terrain of my soul.
In recovery, I’m no longer trying to feel only the “good” stuff. I’m trying to feel everything honestly—so I don’t have to be ruled by anything in secret.
Today, I let my emotions be servants, not tyrants.
And in doing so, I discover the quiet revolution of becoming fully human.
Daily Reprieve 
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