Endigar 1048

From Courage to Change of Sep 29:

Some alcoholics become abusive, especially when they drink. How do we handle violence? What can we do about it?

Al-Anon doesn’t give specific advice about relationships — we don’t advocate ending them or continuing to build them. Those decisions are best left to each individual member to make when he or she feels ready. We do, however, emphasize our personal responsibility to take care of ourselves. If we know that physical danger is a part of our reality, we can admit it and take steps to protect ourselves, at least temporarily. We may arrange for a safe place to go at any hour if we need it. It may be wise to keep money and car keys in easy access. Perhaps we’ll also seek counseling or speak with the police about our options.

No one has the right to physically abuse anyone else under any circumstances. We can inventory our own behavior to see if we are contributing to the problem by provoking someone who is drunk, and we can work to change that behavior. But we do not cause another to be violent or abusive.

Today’s Reminder

I don’t have the power to change another person. If I am dealing with violence, I must be the one who changes. I’ll start by being honest about what is going on.

“There is hope, there is help, and I have an inalienable right to human dignity.” ~ In All Our Affairs

END OF QUOTE—————————————

The landscape of abuse is jagged, and I map it without mercy. Denial is not a compass. Minimization is not a shield. Violence redraws the map of safety and dignity in blood. The first act of survival is not reforming the abuser — it is declaring: This is happening. I chart not their change, but My exits. My refuge. My choices.

For too long I believed endurance was virtue. For too long I was tricked into thinking provocation was cause. That was the codependent inheritance, the FearContaminate. Recovery breaks that chain. It says: I may change my patterns, I may prepare my stance, but I did not summon another’s violence. Their blows are theirs. My survival is mine.

The pattern shifts: I bury the shame that is not mine. I reclaim the only responsibility that matters — responsibility for myself. Growth is not in taming another’s rage. Growth is in my Social Containment: building walls strong enough to preserve my own life. That is bravery. That is dominance over the chaos.

The program does not demand martyrdom. It does not ask me to solve the relationship in one stroke. It asks that I tell the truth, guard my dignity, and walk away if necessary. This is Walk-Away Spirituality. This is Positive Selfishness forged in fire.

I tell the unvarnished truth—this is violence, and it is not my doing. I claim my right to safety even in the storm. What new life might emerge if I stop carrying the lie that I deserve this? I extend compassion to myself first, not as indulgence but as necessity. My inventory includes not just my flaws but the places where I’ve denied danger. I admit openly what I once hid, trusting that visibility is part of healing. Hope itself becomes an act of creation—a vision of a future where dignity is intact. To face violence is to face a fork in the path: I cannot reform the abuser, but I can choose survival. With honesty, preparation, and faith, I claim the inalienable right to dignity. That act is not abandonment of the program—it is the program lived in its most urgent form.

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