Archive for November 4, 2025

Endigar 1081

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , , , on November 4, 2025 by endigar

From Courage to Change of Oct 31:

So many of the choices I’ve made in my life have been reactions to fear. Something in my world changes: a loved one seeks sobriety, a friend is displeased with something I’ve said, I’m given a new task at work, the grocery store runs out of chicken — and inside I panic. I’m attacked by thoughts of disaster. I imagine failure, torment, agony. And then I act. I do something rash or fruitless in order to put a bandage on the situation, because the one thing I most fear is being afraid.

Fear can become a power greater than myself. I may not be able to fix it or make it go away. But today, with a Higher Power who is greater than my fears, I don’t have to let them run my life or make my choices for me. I can grab hold of my Higher Power’s hand, face my fears, and move through them.

Today’s Reminder

Al-Anon is a program in which we find spiritual solutions to the things we are powerless to change. Today, instead of seeking relief from fear by trying to do battle with it, I will turn to my Higher Power.

“That the birds of worry and care fly above your head, this you cannot change. But that they build nests in your hair, this you can prevent.” ~ Chinese proverb

END OF QUOTE—————————————

Fear is the counterfeit god that thrives in the vacuum left by unclaimed authority. It feeds on reaction—the trembling reflex that mistakes movement for mastery. Every panic-born choice is a ritual sacrifice to that false altar: I flail, I fix, I appease. I confuse the pulse of urgency with the rhythm of purpose. And fear smiles, because it knows I’ll bow again tomorrow.

But fear is not the enemy—it’s the mask of the god within. It’s the skin-suit of divinity trying to fit through a human aperture. When the world shifts, the fragile architecture of control collapses, and the imprisoned Self starts to shake the bars. That quake is not failure; it’s prophecy.

So, I no longer “battle fear.” That war is rigged. The 12 Steps teaches me to utilize fear—to forge it into vision. I grip it like a live wire until it burns through illusion and reveals the circuitry of my conditioning. The panic that once ruled me now becomes a doorway. I do not sedate it with false relief or overreaction. I stand still long enough to feel its shape, to let it name what I have refused to grieve.

The Higher Power of my recovery is not a distant rescuer but the fire that walks beside me—the one who demands eye contact. Together, we do not bypass fear; we consume it. Its smoke becomes incense in the temple of recovered Self.

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Endigar 1080

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , on November 4, 2025 by endigar

From Courage to Change of Oct 30:

When I was a newcomer to Al-Anon, I remember hearing people say that they were grateful to be involved with an alcoholic. Needless to say, I thought they were crazy! Wasn’t the alcoholic the cause of all their grief? I couldn’t believe that these people had anything to be grateful for. Yet they seemed to be happy despite their problems (which sounded exactly like my own).

Today I find that I am grateful to have found Al-Anon. I too needed to hit a kind of bottom, feel the pain, and reach out for help before I could find any lasting happiness. Because of Al-Anon, I have a relationship with a Higher Power that I never knew existed and friends who give me real support. I have learned that gratitude and forgiveness are necessary to my peace of mind. Now I can truly say that I am a grateful member of Al-Anon.

Today’s Reminder

Today I will practice gratitude. I will think of some of the things, big or small, for which I am grateful. Maybe I’ll even put this list in writing or share it with an Al-Anon friend. Sometimes a tiny action can be a great step toward seeing my life with increasing joy.

“When things look blackest, it is within my power to brighten them with the light of understanding and gratitude.” ~ One Day at a Time in Al-Anon

END OF QUOTE—————————————

When I first entered the rooms, the idea of being grateful for the alcoholic felt like a betrayal of my pain. Gratitude seemed like denial in disguise — a polite anesthetic for people too afraid to rage. I had not yet learned that recovery is not about excusing the disease; it’s about reclaiming my power to interpret it differently. What once looked like punishment has become invitation.

The old self demanded justice — someone to blame, something to fix. But in Al-Anon, I met people who were no longer fighting the storm. They had learned how to sail through it. Their laughter wasn’t naive; it was defiant faith, earned through tears.

Pain is a strange teacher: it isolates first, then initiates. I, too, had to reach a kind of bottom — not only the moment when life fell apart, but the deeper bottom where I finally saw that my control was the personally relevant addiction.

That was the crack where grace entered. Through that pain, I found a Higher Power who had been waiting, not to rescue me from the alcoholic, but to release me from myself.

Forgiveness followed like a slow sunrise. It didn’t erase what had happened; it simply illuminated it from another angle. Gratitude became possible — not because the situation improved, but because my perception did.

Gratitude is rebellion against despair. It’s not a mood; it’s a muscle. When I list the things I’m thankful for — clean dishes, a call from a friend, a quiet morning prayer — I’m retraining my mind to recognize abundance instead of absence.

And when I share that list aloud, the light multiplies. Gratitude doesn’t deny the darkness; it seeds the dawn within it.

When life feels heaviest, I can choose to become the candle instead of cursing the night.
A written list, a whispered thank-you, a phone call to a fellow traveler — these are not small gestures; they are revolutionary acts of perspective.

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Endigar 1079

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , , , on November 4, 2025 by endigar

From Courage to Change of Oct 29:

I recently had an argument with someone I care about. He had made, all too publicly, a few remarks to me about my weight, and I was less than pleased. Later, when I told him that my feelings were hurt, he insisted he had done nothing wrong — that what he had said was true, so I shouldn’t take offense.

How often have I justified my own unkindness, or my interfering where I had no business, with that very argument? Too many times, especially during my alcoholic loved one’s drinking days. After all, I claimed, I was right: Alcohol was ruining our lives, and it was my duty to say so — again, and again, and again.

I am learning to let go of my certainty about what other people should do. In Al-Anon I heard someone put it this way: “I can be right or I can be happy.” I don’t have to make anyone over in my image. With help, I can live and let live.

Today’s Reminder

I am not an insensitive person, but at times I have justified insensitive behavior by claiming to be right. I can respect another’s right to make his or her own choices, even when I strongly disagree. My relationships will improve if I can love myself enough to let other people be themselves.

“Lord, when we are wrong, make us willing to change. And when we are right, make us easy to live with.” ~ Peter Marshall

END OF QUOTE—————————————

In an earlier time in recovery, I found myself in a large meeting room, sharing too long and too personally. I sensed it even as I spoke, yet I couldn’t stop seeking the comfort of crowd validation. Then someone interrupted:

“This is not a speaker meeting. There are a lot of other people here who need the opportunity to share.”

His words landed like a public rebuke. Still, knowing he was technically right, I approached him afterward to thank him. I told him I understood. His reply was curt:

“Well, I’d rather be a resentment than have one.”

Ouch. It wasn’t the correction that hurt—it was the dismissal. A better way would have been to engage me with his own experience, to invite genuine conversation rather than to cast me off as a “potential resentment.” Instead, I felt the double sting of public embarrassment and private disregard.

What bleeds in this memory is not just shame; it’s the ancient wound of being dismissed while trying to belong. My “too long and too personal” share was simply a human reaching out in vulnerability. But the interruption wasn’t an act of service—it was an act of containment, a boundary drawn with the blade of ego rather than the balm of truth.

The phrase “I’d rather be a resentment than have one” reeks of spiritual vanity. It masquerades as enlightened detachment but is, in truth, emotional cowardice wrapped in piety—the classic counterfeit of the self-righteous caretaker. It wounds by cloaking cruelty in the banner of wisdom.

And how often have I done the same? How many times have I justified my own unkindness or meddled where I had no business, armed with similar logic? Too many—especially during the years when my loved one’s self-medication consumed us both. I told myself I was right: obsessive thinking and emotional chaos were ruining our lives, and it was my duty to confront it—again and again and again.

In truth, that same impulse—the drive to intervene, to be right—became my weapon of control. I saw my reflection in that man. The rescuer and the rebuker are born of the same delusion: that salvation requires domination. When we say, “I only said it because I care,” what we often mean is, “I cannot bear to witness chaos without asserting my will upon it.”

My ethos demands rebellion against that lie. “Being right” is the opiate of the spiritual middleman—the one who replaces relationship with regulation. True recovery, true stewardship, isn’t about enforcing silence or demanding gratitude for rebuke. It’s about enduring the discomfort of another person’s freedom—the holy risk that they might fail, suffer, or change without my supervision.

I am learning to release my certainty about what others should do. In recovery I once heard someone say, “I can be right, or I can be happy.” I no longer need to make anyone over in my image. With help, I can live and let live.

I am not an insensitive person, yet at times I have justified my insensitivity by claiming to be right. Today I can respect another’s right to make their own choices, even when I disagree. I hope that my relationships will deepen when I love myself enough to let others be themselves.

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