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Endigar 970 ~ The Hundredth Blow

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , , on June 5, 2025 by endigar

From Courage to Change of Jul 28:

A stonecutter may strike a rock ninety-nine times with no apparent effect, not even a crack on the surface. Yet with the hundredth blow, the rock splits in two. It was not the final blow that did the trick, but all that had gone before.

The same is true of Al-Anon recovery. Perhaps I am working on accepting that alcoholism is a disease, or learning to detach, or struggling with self-pity. I may pursue a goal for months without obvious results and become convinced that I am wasting my time. But if I continue going to meetings, sharing about my struggle, taking it one day at a time, and being patient with myself, I may awaken to find that I have changed, seemingly overnight. Suddenly I have the acceptance, detachment, or serenity I’ve been seeking. The results may have revealed themselves abruptly, but I know that l those months of faith and hard work made the changes possible.

Today’s Reminder

We are often reminded to keep coming back. Today I will remember that this not only applies to meetings, but to learning the new attitudes and behavior that are the long term benefits of Al-Anon recovery. I may not see the results today, but I can trust that I am making progress.

“Try to be patient with yourself and your family. It took a long time for the disease of alcoholism to affect each and every one and it may take a long time for everyone to recover.” ~ Youth and the Alcoholic Parent

END OF QUOTE—————————————

There are days I feel like nothing is changing—like I’m chipping away at stone with bare hands. I say the affirmations, I read the literature, I show up to the meetings, and still… the old instincts return. The rage. The worry. The silence that suffocates instead of soothes.

But then I remember the stonecutter.

Ninety-nine blows with no crack to show for it. Not even a sliver. But on the hundredth—split clean down the middle. It wasn’t magic. It wasn’t luck. It was the accumulation of every attempt before.

That is how my recovery feels. That is what it is.

When trauma rules me, I become stone—frozen, resistant, hard. But recovery hands me the hammer. Every surrender is a strike. Every boundary I set, every time I detach with love, every time I forgive myself for relapsing into old thought patterns—that’s another strike. Quiet. Invisible. Building something I can’t yet see.

Sometimes it feels like nothing’s working. I get tired. I forget why I started. I think maybe I’m just one of those people who doesn’t “get better.” But I’m learning now—“suddenly” is never really sudden. It’s just the first moment I notice how far I’ve come.

This path isn’t linear. It’s circular. It’s layered. It’s sacred. Each day I choose to return—to a meeting, to a principle, to patience—is a day I say yes to healing, even when it doesn’t feel like it. And that’s enough.

So I’ll keep showing up.

I’ll keep striking the stone.

Because one day, without warning, the thing I thought could never shift—will.

And I’ll know: it wasn’t just the final blow. It was all of them.

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Endigar 969

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

From Courage to Change of Jul 27:

I take to heart the words in the Suggested Closing that say, ” . . . let there be no gossip or criticism of one another.” I try to leave my judgmental attitude at the door. Unfortunately, I pick it up again the instant I get into my car after the meeting.

Nobody drives well enough to suit me. The car ahead of me goes too slowly, and I am forced to get very close and push it along. The driver behind me does the same to me. Not to be intimidated, I swear at him and rive even slower. Don’t they know my rules of the road? In other words, through constant criticism and expectations of others, I isolate myself and act like a victim.

Whatever happened to practicing the Al-Anon principles in all my affairs? D I really think I can fully reap the benefits of the program by practicing unconditional love for a single hour two or three times a week? It may be a start, but only a start.

Today’s Reminder

I can’t keep thoughts from coming into my head, but I have a choice about whether or not to entertain those thoughts for the next hour. Am I making the choices I want to make, or is habit making my choices for me? A change of attitude means a change in my thinking. I will look at the principles I am practicing today.

“We must alter our lives in order to alter our hearts, for it is impossible to live one way and pray another.” ~ William Law

END OF QUOTE—————————————

Sometimes, ritualized words become mental wallpaper. “Let there be no gossip or criticism of one another.” Is it possible that these words or more than protective role playing to make the meetings a safe place, a v training ground of vulnerability? Could this actually be a spiritual invitation? A compass of sorts. Can the connective words in this circle of overcomers be transformed into daily living? I indeed have difficulty with those who hinder my momentum while I seek to become one with my vehicle’s internal combustion engine. The machine mind pushes me forward. The oracle that is sensitive to the spiritual quest is tucked away. Death becomes my god. The merciless clock becomes an angelic enforcer of “productive” isolation.

The truth is, these aren’t random acts of frustration—they’re patterns of isolation disguised as righteousness. They’re me choosing indignation over serenity. They’re me handing the steering wheel over to habit instead of principle. I say I want recovery. But how do I expect to receive the promises if I only practice the program when it’s easy—inside a meeting room, for a single protected hour? This work isn’t about performance; it’s about transformation. And transformation requires more than nodding along when the readings are comforting. It requires gut-level honesty when my defects show up at 45 mph with the blinker still on.

I can pause and intelligently ask: Am I willing to grow past the hour-long serenity? Can I bring the same grace I show a trembling newcomer into my interactions with strangers who don’t follow “my rules”? My mind will think what it thinks—but I have agency over what I dwell on, what I feed, and what I choose to let go.

I wish to release my apish grunts. I pause. I look at my thoughts. I ask if they’re rooted in love or in fear, in connection or in control. And if they’re not the thoughts I want to live by, I don’t have to follow them down the road.

Recovery is available in every lane—if I’m willing to yield to it.

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Endigar 968

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , , , on June 3, 2025 by endigar

From Courage to Change of Jul 26:

I am learning to identify illusions that make my life unmanageable. For example, I wanted to stop controlling people and situations, but the harder I tried, the more I felt as if I were knocking my head against a wall. Then someone mentioned that I couldn’t give up something I didn’t have. Perhaps I could try giving up the illusion of control. Once I saw that my attempts to exercise power were based on illusions, it was easier to let go and let God.

Another illusion is that I have a big hole inside and I must fill it with something from outside myself. Compulsively shopping, obsessing about relationships, trying to fix everyone else’s problems – these are some of the ways I’ve tried to fill this hole. Yet the problem is spiritual emptiness and must be filled from within. It wasn’t until I saw through the illusion that I was deficient and needed to look outside myself for wholeness, that I began to heal.


Today’s Reminder

Today, if I hear myself thinking that I am not good enough or that I need something outside myself to make me whole, I’ll know that I am listening to illusions. Today I can call an Al-Anon friend and come back to reality.

“. . . human beings, by changing the inner attitudes of their minds, can change the outer aspects of their lives.” ~ William James

END OF QUOTE—————————————

My work in recovery is not just a story of struggle—but a series of quiet turning points, points where I take a breath between battles. I take time to recognize the significance of genuine expression. I realized that any of us, myself especially, when subjected to prolonged periods of internal abuse, like the alcoholic written about in The Doctor’s Opinion, soon find that they “cannot after a time differentiate the true from the false.”

There’s a sacred power in beginning to name illusions. In early recovery, the lines between illusion and reality often blur, and the pain feels real enough to confuse the two. That’s why this moment—this realization—is profound: I couldn’t give up control because I never truly had it. That kind of truth doesn’t just land in the mind—it softens the fists we’ve kept clenched for years.

And then there’s the hole—the aching, familiar void we all try to outrun or out-buy or out-fix. I know that urge, to chase wholeness in others, in things, in saving or seducing or pleasing. But this realization reminds me that spiritual emptiness is not a flaw—it’s a calling. A whisper that we are ready to return to ourselves. Not to fill the hole with something else, but to meet the space within with light, attention, and care.

When I hear the old voices whisper: You’re not enough. You need more. Fix it fast.—I will pause. I will know this is illusion speaking. And I will return to what is real: connection. Friendship. God. And the quiet truth that I am already whole, even as I heal.

This is not the end of the work. But it is the end of the lie.

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Endigar 966

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , , , on June 2, 2025 by endigar

From Courage to Change of Jul 25:

After years of letting people take advantage of me, I had built up quite a store of anger, resentment, and guilt by the time I found Al-Anon. So many times I wanted to bite off my tongue after saying, “Yes,” when I really wanted to say, “No.” Why did I continue to deny my own feelings just to gain someone’s approval?

As I worked the Al-Anon program, the answer became apparent: What I lacked was courage. In the Serenity Prayer I lean that courage is granted by my higher Power, so that is where I turned first. Then it was up to me to do my part. Was I willing to try to learn to say, “No,” when I meant no? Was I willing to accept that not everyone would be thrilled with this change? Was I willing to face the real me behind the people-pleasing image? Fed up with volunteering to be treated like a doormat, I squared my shoulders and answered, “Yes.”

Today’s Reminder

It is not always appropriate to reveal my every thought, especially when dealing with an active alcoholic. But do I make a conscious choice about what I say? And when it is appropriate, do I say what I mean and mean what I say? If not, why not? All I have to offer anyone is my own experience of the truth.

“There is a prince that is too great to pay for peace . . . One cannot pay the price of self-respect.” ~ Woodrow Wilson

END OF QUOTE—————————————

I know what it’s like to say “yes” when everything in me is screaming “no,” and then carry the weight of that quiet betrayal inside myself. The approval I was chasing always came at too high a price: my peace, my boundaries, my dignity.

Recovery taught me that this pattern wasn’t just about weakness—it was about survival. Somewhere along the line, I had internalized the idea that my value came from being agreeable, accommodating, small. But underneath that surface compliance, I was stockpiling rage and shame. I was afraid to be honest, because honesty might have made me look unlovable, or even worse—disposable.

When I started practicing the program, the word courage hit differently. It wasn’t a grand, dramatic thing. It was quiet. Steady. A spiritual muscle I had to learn to flex. Turning to a Higher Power helped me realize I didn’t have to conjure that courage on my own. It was something I could receive—if I was willing.

Learning to say “no” with love—not defiance, not bitterness, just clarity—has been one of the most sacred disciplines of my recovery. And letting go of the fantasy that I could please everyone freed me to meet the real version of myself. Not the one polished up for applause, but the one who breathes deeply, speaks truth, and trusts that that’s enough.

Today, I ask myself—not out of judgment, but out of care—Why am I saying this? Who is it serving? Am I betraying myself to stay in someone else’s good graces? And I remember: the truth I’ve lived through, the healing I’ve done, the boundary I draw—that’s all I have to give. That is my offering. And it’s enough.

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Endigar 965 ~ A Simple Gesture

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , on May 31, 2025 by endigar

From Courage to Change of Jul 24:

Every day I pray for knowledge of God’s will and the power to carry it out (Step Eleven). Then I try to trust that my prayer has been heard and will be answered. In others words, I trust that at some point in my day I will do God’s will.

To me, doing God’s will doesn’t mean that I perform heroic acts on a daily basis; it means that, at any given time smelling a rose or emptying waste baskets or washing the car may be exactly what is needed.

I have a Higher Power that loves me as I am. When I learn to love myself as my Higher Power loves me, I believe I am doing God’s will.

Today’s Reminder

What loving action can I take today? Maybe I will make some time for nothing more practical than simple pleasure – a movie, a good book, or a breath of fresh air. Or perhaps I’ll deal with paper work that I’ve been avoiding. I could make a commitment to eat well and get the rest I need, or make amends for something that’s been on my mind. A simple gesture can be the beginning of a lifelong habit of self-love.

“God alone knows the secret plan of things he will do for the world using my hand.” ~ Toyohiko Kagawa

END OF QUOTE—————————————

In my experience, doing God’s will isn’t usually about grand gestures or public acts of virtue. It’s in the small, often invisible spaces—where no applause is expected and none is needed. That’s where my recovery lives, too. In the quiet choices. In the willingness to pause.

When I pray for knowledge of God’s will and the power to carry it out, I’m not asking for a cosmic assignment. I’m asking for alignment. I’m asking for presence. And most days, that presence reveals itself in simple ways: in the way I treat my body, in the way I speak to myself, in the grace I offer others when they cross my path.

It’s powerful to remember that changing kitty litter or mopping the floor can be enough. These are not distractions from a spiritual life—they are the spiritual life, when I let them be. I remember that line from the Karate Kid so many years ago; “Wax on, wax off.” It seems appropriate here.

Loving myself as my Higher Power loves me—that’s a lifelong re-learning. Some days it looks like resting. Some days it looks like keeping a small promise. Some days, it looks like forgiving myself for not being more productive.

Today, I can take a loving action. It doesn’t have to change the world. It just needs to come from a place that honors my dignity, my healing, my connection to something greater.

Maybe I’ll choose to rest. Maybe I’ll face something I’ve been avoiding. Either way, I’ll know: I am walking in the will of a loving God—not because I’m accomplishing something, but because I’m showing up with an open heart.

Isn’t that more than enough?

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Endigar 964 ~ Comic Relief

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , , , on May 30, 2025 by endigar

From Courage to Change of Jul 23:

A miraculous change has come about because of my commitment to the Al-Anon program: I have discovered that I have sense of humor. When I came to these rooms, I never cracked a smile and resented anyone who did. I couldn’t understand all the laughter during meetings; I didn’t hear anything funny! Life was tragic and serious.

Recently, I was sharing about a series of events that I had found extremely difficult. It had been one of those weeks in which everything seemed to go wrong. The odd part was that now that it was over, I found my traumatic tale incredibly funny, and so did most of the others at the meeting.

More than any other change I have observed in myself, I find this the most glorious. It tells me that I see myself and my life in a more realistic way. I am no longer a victim, full of self-pity and bent on control of every aspect of my life. Today I can take myself and my circumstances more lightly. I can even allow joy and laughter to be a part of a difficult experience.

Today’s Reminder

If I take a step back and look at this day as if I were watching a movie, I am sure to find at least a moment where I can enjoy some comic relief.

“You grow up the day you have the first real laugh – at yourself.” ~ Ethel Barrymore

END OF QUOTE—————————————

When I first came into the rooms, I had a private equation — a sort of socio-mathematic formula etched into my worldview:
Laughter = frivolous stupidity.
Darkness + tragedy = courageous intelligence.

I had built an identity around this formula. It made sense of the pain I carried and justified the heavy way I moved through life. In that worldview, those who laughed too easily were shallow, blind to the depth and cruelty of the world. People who found joy in the mundane? Fools. I believed most people preferred stupid lives lived simply — and so my mask adjusted accordingly. Outwardly social, inwardly superior, I wore cynicism like armor. Humor had no place in my seriousness.

When I entered recovery, I brought that formula with me like a rotten offering — clutching it as if it were truth. I sat in meetings and watched people laugh, and I resented them. Didn’t they understand the depth of what was happening here? Didn’t they know the cost of pain?

But over time, through the gentle persistence of the program, the formula began to dissolve. I listened. I spoke. I stayed. And in those rooms, something astonishing happened: I laughed. Not just once — but freely. Uncontrollably. I laughed at myself. I laughed with others. I laughed at stories that, a year earlier, I would have hoarded as evidence of life’s unfairness. And I wasn’t ashamed.

It felt like a crack in the foundation — in the best way. Because through that laughter, I realized I was no longer a victim of my pain, nor the hero of my suffering. I had started to heal.

When I can laugh at my week, at the chaos, at my own old reactions, it means I’ve stepped out of the role I thought I had to play. I’m not trapped in the narrative. I have perspective now. What used to be a dramatic monologue is now part of a much broader story — and yes, there’s comic relief.

This change in me — this reclaiming of humor — feels like one of the most sacred milestones of my recovery. It’s not frivolous. It’s not stupid. It’s freedom. It means I see life more clearly. That I take myself more lightly. That I can let go of the need to control everything. And that joy is no longer the enemy of depth — it’s the evidence that I’ve survived it.

So today, when life feels heavy, I try to step back and see the day like a film. Not to escape it, but to witness it. And if I look closely, there’s almost always a scene I can laugh at. That’s not a betrayal of the pain — it’s a celebration of the fact that I’m still here, and I’m no longer ruled by it.

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Endigar 963

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , , , on May 29, 2025 by endigar

From Courage to Change of Jul 22:

Al-Anon’s Suggested Closing says that “though you may not like all of us, you’ll love us in a very special way – the same way we already love you.” In other words, every Al-Anon meeting can be an opportunity to practice placing principles above personalities. Most of us are highly aware of the personalities of people around us. Instead of getting lost in petty likes and dislikes, it is important to remember why we come to meetings. We all need each other in order to recover.

I don’t have to like everybody, but I want to look deeper to find the sprit that we share in common. Perhaps I can find peace with each person by reminding myself of those things that draw us together – a common interest, a common belief, a common goal. I will then have a resource for strength rather than a target for negative thinking. I will have placed principles about personalities.

Today’s Reminder

I will keep an open mind toward each person I encounter today. If I am ready to learn, anyone can be my teacher.

“The open door to helpful answers is communication based on love. Such communication depends on awareness of and respect for each other’s well-being and willingness to accept in another what may not measure up to our own standards and expectations.” ~ The Dilemma of the Alcoholic Marriage

END OF QUOTE—————————————

How easy it is for my mind to fixate on personalities—on judgments, reactions, stories I tell myself about others. Especially in recovery, where emotions can run high and vulnerability is the norm, it’s tempting to let certain voices, faces, or tones distract me from why I show up. But the principles of the Twelve Steps offer me a different path—a reminder that I don’t have to like everyone, but I can still choose to love them in that deeper, spiritual sense. The same way I hope to be loved when I’m not at my best.

Love in these recovery rooms isn’t sentimental or selective. It’s a principle. It’s a practice. And it’s one I can lean on when my instincts pull me toward criticism or distance. When I shift from judging to seeking connection, everything changes. When I look for the spirit in others—not the surface—I find something in common: pain, hope, courage, a willingness to heal. And when I choose to see that, I’m not just giving someone else grace. I’m giving myself peace. I’m reminding myself that I’m not alone. That we all came here for healing, and we need each other to find it.

Even the ones I struggle with can become teachers, if I let them. That’s humbling. And liberating. I’ll try to keep the door open. I’ll try to place principles above personalities—not because it’s easy, but because it frees me. It roots me in love instead of fear. And that’s where I want to live.

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Endigar 962

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , , , on May 28, 2025 by endigar

From Courage to Change of Jul 21:

“The people I love won’t take care of themselves, so I have to do it. How will they survive unless I . . .?” This was my thinking when I came to Al-Anon, my excuse for interfering in everyone’s business. My needs seemed so unimportant compared to the constant crises all around me. Al-Anon told me that I had other options, one of which was to let go and let God.

When I think of letting go I remind myself that there is a natural order to life – a chain of events that a Higher Power has in mind. When I let go of a situation, I allow life to unfold according to that plan. I open my mind and let other ways of thinking or behaving enter in. When I let go of another person, I am affirming their right to live their own life, to make their own choices, and to grow as they experience the results of their actions. A Higher power exists for others, as well. My obsessive interference disrupts not only my connection with them but also my connection with my own spiritual self.

Today’s Reminder

I am my top priority. By keeping the focus on myself, I let go of other people’s problems and can better cope with my own. What can I do for myself today?

“I will remind myself . . . that I am powerless over anyone else, that I can live no life but my own. Changing myself for the better is the only way I can find peace and serenity” ~ The Dilemma of the Alcoholic Marriage

END OF QUOTE—————————————

This is the new reality I am being shown—one that I couldn’t earn by willpower, manipulation, or self-sacrifice. In my old patterns, I tried to outrun fear with control and earn love through depletion. I called it strength, but it was survival. It left me hollow, stuck in cycles that always circled back to powerlessness.

But when that scaffolding finally collapsed, I didn’t die. I opened. That moment of futility became an invitation. I started to see that my old instincts didn’t have to be the only voice in the room. I allowed in a whisper of something else. A new logic, a Higher Intelligence. Something quieter, but stronger.

Recovery isn’t about perfect behavior. It’s about finally recognizing what matters most: me. Not in a selfish or defensive way, but in the honest clarity that my life is worth protecting, nurturing, and living in alignment with truth. That I must lead with care for myself, or I have nothing real to offer anyone else.

As I release reactive living—bit by bit, sometimes painfully—I don’t become passive. I become available. I can respond from vision, not fear. From purpose, not panic. I come to trust that my life is not random, and neither is yours. A Higher Power is at work in every one of us, not just in me. And there is a rhythm, a natural order, to it all. I may not always see the pattern, but I no longer need to interrupt it. I can trust it, walk with it, even rest in it.

And so the work continues—not in striving, but in surrender. Not in proving, but in receiving. I let go, and I rise.

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Endigar 961 ~ The Water We Try to Hold

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , on May 27, 2025 by endigar

From Courage to Change of Jul 20:

In the past, joy was a rare visitor to many of us. Al-Anon recovery often leads us to find it more frequently. But instead of sitting back and enjoying these pleasant moments, we tend to cling desperately to happiness, trying to freeze time and hold change at bay, as if our joy will be snatched away forever the moment our guard is down. We can become too busy avoiding change to enjoy the gifts we fear to lose. By clutching at what we most want to keep, we lose it all the more rapidly.

Change is inevitable. We can depend on that. When we become willing to accept change, we make room for a loving God. By letting go of our efforts to influence the future, we become freer to experience the present, to feel all of our feelings while they are happening, and to more fully enjoy those precious moments of joy with which we are blessed.

Today’s Reminder

Today I will try to open myself to receive the abundance God holds out to me by experiencing what is and allowing God to diced what will be.

“The harder we try to catch hold of the moment, to seize a pleasant sensation . . . , the more elusive it becomes. . .. It is like trying to clutch water in one’s hands – the harder one grips, the faster it slips through one’s fingers.” ~ Alan Watts

END OF QUOTE—————————————

Litany Against Fear ~ Frank Herbert through his work, Dune

Joy has often felt like an intruder—unexpected, fragile, and fleeting. In those days, I didn’t know how to welcome it. But recovery has shown me that joy doesn’t have to be a stranger. It can live here, with me. It can visit often. But when it does, a part of me still panics. A part of me thinks: This won’t last. Something will go wrong. I have to hold on tight, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

And that’s when the grip begins. I tense. I try to freeze time. I try to control the uncontrollable—because underneath that beautiful feeling is an old fear: that if I relax, if I trust, joy will slip away like it always has.

But here’s the truth recovery teaches me gently, again and again: clutching doesn’t preserve joy—it strangles it. Like water in my palms, the more I try to keep it, the more quickly it escapes. I become so focused on protecting the gift, I forget to experience it.

Change is inevitable. Loss and gain, fear and joy, are part of the same breath. But when I soften my grip—when I allow change, allow joy, allow pain—I also make space for grace. I make room for a loving God to surprise me. Not with a perfectly controlled life, but with a deeper peace, even in the chaos.

I choose not to chase joy or hoard it. I will receive it as it comes and let it go as it must. I will trust that more is always on the way. I will be present, not because it guarantees happiness, but because it honors the truth: that this moment is sacred, and it’s enough.

Recovery isn’t about building a fortress around my joy—it’s about learning to swim in it, even as the tide shifts.

And so, I open my hands. I let both fear and joy pass over and through me.

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Endigar 959

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , , , on May 26, 2025 by endigar

From Courage to Change of Jul 19:

Al-Anon taught me the difference between walls and boundaries. Walls are solid and rigid; they keep others out, and they keep me trapped inside. Boundaries are flexible, changeable, removeable, so it’s up to me how open or closed I’ll be at any given time. They let me decide what behavior is acceptable, not only from others but from myself. Today I can say, “No,” with love instead of hostility, so it doesn’t put an end to my relationships.

I’ve learned about boundaries from Al-Anon’s own set of boundaries: the Twelve Traditions. Although their purpose is to protect Al-Anon, they actually encourage the growth of the fellowship. This is true of my personal boundaries as well. As I decide what is and isn’t acceptable for me, I learn to live protected without walls.

Today’s Reminder

Do my defenses keep me safe, or do they isolate me? Today I can love myself enough to look for healthier ways to protect myself, ways that don’t close everyone out.

“People are lonely because they build walls instead of bridges.” ~ Joseph Fort Newton

END OF QUOTE—————————————

Note: Joseph Fort Newton (1880–1950) was an American Protestant minister and a prominent Masonic author. Newton authored a number of Masonic books, including his best-known works, The Builders, published in 1914, and The Men’s House, published in 1923. Does anyone else sense the irony of a Mason speaking on the problems with “building walls” while finding fulfillment in the closed and often secretive society of Freemasonry? Hmm…

Perhaps there is some validity to Oscar Wilde’s words;  “Man is least himself when he talks in his own person. Give him a mask, and he will tell you the truth.”

How often have I desire to build a safe fortress and found I was locked into a self-made prison. There was a time when I thought strength meant building walls—thick ones. Emotional, relational, even spiritual walls. I thought they would keep me safe. But what they really did was isolate me, cut me off not just from others but from myself. I couldn’t breathe behind those bricks. Couldn’t feel. Couldn’t trust. And I mistook that numbness for safety.

Al-Anon helped me see another way. It didn’t tear the walls down for me—it showed me the door. The path to boundaries instead of barricades. I can see that boundaries are different. They’re alive. They breathe with me. They give me the dignity of choice: how open I want to be, how much to let in, how much to let go. Boundaries don’t shut down connection; they make it possible.

Learning to say “No” without rage or shame has changed my relationships—and not just with others. My relationship with myself has opened. I don’t have to punish others to protect myself, and I don’t have to punish myself to keep others close. That’s grace in action.

I agree that there is hard earned wisdom in the Twelve Traditions. They can model what healthy boundaries look like in community. They’re not there to limit love—they’re there to hold it. In the same way, when I honor my personal boundaries, I’m not making myself smaller. I’m making space for who I really am to grow. I’m not building a fortress. I’m building a home.

Today, I live protected—not walled in.

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