Daily Reprieve

From Courage to Change of Sep 04:

As we let go of obsession, worry, and focusing on everyone but ourselves, many of us were bewildered by the increasing calmness of our minds. We knew how to live in a state of crisis, but it often took a bit of adjustment to become comfortable with stillness. The price of serenity was the quieting of the constant mental chatter that had taken up so much time; suddenly we had lots of time on our hands and we wondered how to fill it.

Having become more and more serene as a result of working the Al-Anon program, I was surprised to find myself still grabbing for old fears as if I wanted to remain in crisis. I realized that I didn’t know how to feel safe unless I was mentally busy. When I worried, I felt involved — and therefore somewhat in control.

As an exercise, my Sponsor suggested that I try to maintain my inner stillness even when I felt scared or doubtful. As I did so, I reassured myself again and again that I was safely in the care of a Power greater than myself. Today I know that sanity and serenity are the gifts I have received for my efforts and my faith. With practice, I am learning to trust the peace.

Today’s Reminder

Today I will relish my serenity. I know that it is safe to enjoy it.

“Be still and know that I am with you.” – English prayer

END OF QUOTE—————————————

Serenity. Coma. Lethargy. Marijuana Intoxication. Paralysis. Impotence. To me, these were near identical synonyms. The neutrality of vigilance. The rejection of relevance.

“God grant me the Serenity to. . .” Accept.

In the world I came from, serenity felt suspicious.
Stillness was not safety—it was the silence before the next scream, the quiet that meant someone was brooding, using, or gone.
So when I began to heal, when the noise dimmed and the ache lessened, I didn’t feel peace.
I felt… lost.

What do I do when I don’t need to fix anyone?
What do I do when the fire alarm in my nervous system stops blaring?

For so long, obsession and worry were my way of being involved—my illusion of control.
They gave me purpose. They filled the hours.
They made me feel like I mattered.
To let them go felt like floating in open space without a tether.

But serenity, I’ve learned, is not empty.
It is not apathy. It is not ignorance. It is not withdrawal.
It is safety without vigilance, presence without panic.
It is the return of my life to me.

The first few moments of that calm were unbearable.
I wanted to reach for an old fear, the way a child grabs a familiar blanket, even if it’s filthy and torn.
Crisis was home.
But healing asked me to make a new home in the quiet.
Not to stop the fear.
But to let it move through me, while staying grounded in a Power greater than my history.

And I learned:
I can be scared and still be sane.
I can be uncertain and still be at peace.

Peace isn’t something I earn.
It’s something I practice receiving.

Today, I’m learning that serenity is not the absence of life.
It’s the presence of me—undistracted, undivided, beloved.

So I light a candle not because I’m scared, but because I am allowed to enjoy the moment.
I breathe deep not because I’m bracing, but because I’m here.
And when the stillness comes again, I won’t flinch.
I’ll embrace.

Because serenity is no longer a stranger.
It’s my inheritance.

This entry was posted on August 1, 2025 at 9:10 am and is filed under Uncategorized with tags Addiction, Alcoholism, Courage to Change, healing, Journal, Life, love, mental-health, Personal, Recovery, Spirituality, writing. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.