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Endigar 1010

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , , , on July 20, 2025 by endigar

From Courage to Change of Aug 27:

At my first Al-Anon meeting, I was disappointed when I was given the Twelve Steps instead of a “do’s and don’t’s” list for changing the alcoholic. Nevertheless, I was desperate enough to give the Steps a try, anyway.

At my second Al-Anon meeting I thought I had those first three Steps down pretty well — I knew I was powerless, I believed in God, and I was willing to dump my problems onto anyone who would take them. As I continued to attend meetings I began to see that I wasn’t really admitting my powerlessness or I wouldn’t keep trying to control everyone and everything around me. OK, so I skipped the part about letting go and letting God.

Today I am so glad to have a patient God, so that when I finally say, “Not my will but Your will,” God steps in and sorts things out in ways I never would have imagined. The first three Steps aren’t as easy as I once thought, but in Al-Anon I’ve learned to aim for progress, not perfection.

Today’s Reminder

When I was dealing with alcoholism without the help of Al-Anon, I developed coping skills. These are no longer enough. Al-Anon is teaching me a new and better set of skills. I will try to be patient with myself. I’m doing fine.

“As long as you live, keep learning how to live.” ~ Seneca

END OF QUOTE—————————————

NOTE: Seneca—full name Lucius Annaeus Seneca (c. 4 BCE – 65 CE)—was a Roman Stoic philosopher, statesman, playwright, and advisor to Emperor Nero. He is one of the most influential voices in Stoic philosophy, especially known for his writings on ethics, resilience, and the inner life. Forced to commit suicide after being accused of conspiracy—he met it with calm, in true Stoic fashion.

I watch people who believe debate with people who don’t—arguing back and forth about the existence of God. To me, it’s an irrelevant conversation. Until either side can explain infinity—or infinitely explain—it’s all just noise.

I am mortal. My thoughts are shaped by the context of a limited life. And yet, in my own quiet pursuit of a Higher Power, something real is happening. I’ve accumulated experiences—subtle, sacred, undeniable. Hints. Moments. Patterns. They don’t prove anything to anyone else, but they build my faith. And that accumulation—that unfolding—is what I call the Knowing.

It’s not about winning a debate. It’s about being met. I’ve come to trust in Something—expansive, infinite—that not only exists but gives a damn about me. And about you. Individually. Personally.

I believe because the God-concept works. I interact with it intuitively, through slowly maturing practices of prayer and meditation. These are not rituals of performance, but invitations into presence.

Religious dogma, I’ve learned, is the architecture for communal stewardship. It helps tribes stay oriented.
Scientific skepticism, at its best, is not cynicism—it’s the pursuit of what actually works. Not a rejection of meaning, but a reverence for evidence.

But the individual—especially the one ravaged by addiction—is often caught in the crossfire between science and religion. And those of us bruised and burned by that battlefield suffer deeply when we mistake that war for our own.

I no longer fight.
I surrender.

The Infinite One has my attention.
And more than that—He has my heart.

May you be prospered on your path.
And may that path be uniquely yours.

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Endigar 1009

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , , on July 18, 2025 by endigar

From Courage to Change of Aug 26:

Looking back, I have often reproached myself, “How could you not have known what was happening?” Alcoholism left messy tracks all over my life, yet I didn’t see them. How could that be?

Denial is one of the chief symptoms of this family disease of alcoholism. Some of us deny that the drinker has a problem; others are all too willing to blame him or her for all our problems, denying our own participation. Why? Because we alone can’t defeat this disease, so we invent ways to survive the constant crises, broken promises, lost hopes, and embarrassments. One way to cope is to deny the unpleasant or terrifying reality.

In Al-Anon we learn more productive ways in which to cope with alcoholism, ways that don’t cost so much in loss of self. With the support of other members, and with tools and principles that offer direction, we become able to face what is really going on. We go beyond mere survival and begin to live again.

Today’s Reminder

At all times, I have done the best I was able to do. If my only way to cope with a difficult situation was to deny it, I can look back with compassion to that person who saw no better option at the time. I can forgive myself and count my blessings for having come so far since then.

“Regret is an appalling waste of energy; you can’t build on it; it’s only good for wallowing in.” ~ Katherine Mansfield

END OF QUOTE—————————————

Katherine Mansfield (1888–1923) was a pioneering modernist writer from New Zealand, best known for her short stories that delicately explore human psychology, fleeting moments, and the subtle complexities of everyday life. Her real name was Kathleen Mansfield Beauchamp.

Key Facts:

  • Birth: October 14, 1888, in Wellington, New Zealand
  • Death: January 9, 1923, in Fontainebleau, France (from tuberculosis at age 34)
  • Genre: Short fiction, modernist literature
  • Notable Themes: Loneliness, class divisions, childhood, epiphany, fragility of relationships, mortality

Major Works:

  1. “The Garden Party” – A story that juxtaposes upper-class privilege with the reality of death, as seen through the eyes of a young girl.
  2. “The Daughters of the Late Colonel” – A psychological portrait of two sisters paralyzed by the memory of their domineering father.
  3. “Miss Brill” – A poignant tale of a lonely woman who creates fantasies to escape her isolation.
  4. “Prelude” – A semi-autobiographical story about a family’s move to the countryside, reflecting Mansfield’s own New Zealand upbringing.

Legacy:

Although she died young, Mansfield left a profound impact on 20th-century literature. Her brief life was marked by illness, emotional intensity, and a relentless pursuit of literary expression. Her personal letters and journals also reveal a deeply introspective, intellectually restless soul.

END OF NOTE—————————————

There are moments—quiet, piercing moments—when I look back and whisper to myself, “How could you not have known?” The tracks were everywhere. The chaos wasn’t subtle. The pain wasn’t discreet. And yet… I didn’t see. Or I couldn’t. Or I wouldn’t.

The truth is, I survived by not seeing.

Denial, I’ve come to understand, wasn’t my moral failure. It was my emotional shelter when the storm wouldn’t stop. It was how I stitched myself together when the narrative of my life couldn’t afford another tear. I didn’t consciously lie to myself—I did what I had to do to keep breathing in a world that made no sense.

In the family disease of alcoholism, denial isn’t a weakness. It’s a symptom. And often, it’s a sign of love distorted by trauma. Some of us deny the drinker has a problem. Others vilify the drinker so thoroughly we can’t see our own behaviors at all. Both are strategies of survival. Both are echoes of powerlessness.

But recovery has taught me another truth:
I am allowed to look back with mercy.

That former version of me—the one who overlooked the chaos, who blamed herself for everything or nothing, who flinched from truth as if it might bite—she was doing her best. That survival mode was sacred in its own way. It kept me alive long enough to arrive here, where something new could begin.

With Al-Anon’s tools, I no longer have to deny. I don’t have to contort reality into something palatable. I have the fellowship, the slogans, the Steps—and the grace—to face life as it actually is. I can let truth be truth without fearing it will break me.

And that’s where the shift happens:
I go from coping to living.
From hiding to healing.
From regret to redemption.

Because regret is a sinkhole. It swallows energy, hope, self-worth. And I’ve learned that I cannot build a single floorboard of new life on the foundation of “I should have known.”

Now I choose to build on compassion.
I build on courage.
I build on the quiet, daily decision to forgive the one who didn’t know—and to bless the one who’s learning now.

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Endigar 1008

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , , on July 17, 2025 by endigar

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

END OF QUOTE—————————————

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.

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Endigar 1007

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , , , on July 16, 2025 by endigar

From Courage to Change of Aug 24:

I’m usually such a gentle, easy-going person that you’d never believe what happens when I get angry. I fly into a rage, my blood pressure seems to double, and I unleash a torrent of profanity. After years in Al-Anon, my anger is still a problem, but my behavior has greatly improved.

Some time ago my dog got its feet tangled in an extension cord and broke a beautiful vase. My temper flared, and angry words cut like sharp swords. What helped me to change this behavior was the look of hurt and bewilderment on my pet’s face at the sudden, violent change in me. If a little animal could respond this way, what were my outbursts doing to the people in my life who understood every nasty word?

Today’s Reminder

I am human and I get angry, but I don’t have to act out my anger in destructive ways. I do not have the right to take it out on others. Whether my usual response is to scream, sulk in cold silence, or lash out with cruel words, today I can look at what I do when I get mad. Maybe next time I will try something new.

“We can pave the way for calm, reasonable communication only if we first find healthy outlets for our own negative feelings.” ~ The Dilemma of the Alcoholic Marriage

END OF QUOTE—————————————

There was a time when I truly believed I had a gift—a superpower, even. I could walk through the minefield of family dysfunction with a kind of eerie calm. When the shouting began, when the air grew sharp with rage or shame, I didn’t cry, didn’t scream, didn’t break.

I neutralized.

It felt like survival magic. I shut down emotion like flipping a breaker switch. And later, in the echo chamber of adulthood, I carried that same skill like a weapon hidden in my coat. Smiling when I was shattered. Nodding through the heat. Telling myself I was strong because I didn’t flinch.

But silence is not strength. It is delay.

The emotion never disappeared. It gathered. Like steam in a sealed kettle. And when it finally released—when someone pushed a little too hard or life asked too much—I erupted. And it was messy. It was disproportionate. It was terrifying. Not just for them—for me.

I thought I was protecting others from my chaos.
But really, I was disowning the most vital parts of myself.

What I’ve come to understand in recovery is this:
Emotions don’t vanish when ignored. They metastasize.

I was trying to outsmart pain instead of processing it.
Trying to stay safe instead of growing up.

And the real heartbreak? The villain I designed this defense to battle—whether it was a parent, a partner, a past trauma—they were no longer present. But the pattern remained. The withdrawal. The inner coldness. The explosive relapses of rage. I had become the very energy I once vowed to purge.

That’s the moment I knew I wasn’t protecting myself anymore—I was imprisoning myself.

Today, I choose another way.

I let my emotions speak—without dictating my behavior.
I let my anger rise—without turning it into destruction.
I acknowledge my sadness—without needing to drown in it.
I name what I feel so that I don’t have to punish others for not guessing.

This is the work of recovery. Not to silence emotion, but to integrate it.
To feel without fear. To express without harm.
To let anger serve connection, not sever it.

Step Ten helps me watch my patterns in real time. Not to shame myself, but to redirect the current before it floods the house. I am not here to pretend I am above anger. I am here to learn how to be honest within it—and to make it safe for others to be honest with me.

So maybe next time, I’ll try something new.
Maybe I’ll speak. Breathe. Take a walk. Write a prayer. Cry.

Not because I’ve lost my superpower.
But because I’ve finally chosen something better:

A soul unarmored. A voice returned. A connection restored.

“Gooooosfraaaabaa…” ~ Dr. Buddy Rydell in Anger Management (2003)

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Endigar 1006

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , , , on July 15, 2025 by endigar

From Courage to Change of Aug 23:

I developed a tremendous fear of making mistakes. It seemed crucial to cover every possible outcome, because mistakes often led to an avalanche of accusations and abuse from the alcoholic — and eventually from myself. My self-esteem diminished because the slightest error felt huge and I couldn’t let it go. So I began to cover up and rationalize my mistakes, all the while desperately trying to maintain an appearance of perfect self-control.

In Al-Anon I learned to take down that rigid wall of seeming perfection, to honestly admit mistakes, and to open myself for growth. Step Ten, in which I continue taking my inventory and promptly admit when I am wrong, has been liberating because it challenges me daily to be honest. Sometimes it makes me squirm, but I know that when I tell the truth, I am free of the lies that held me back. As Mark Twain put it, “If you tell the truth, you don’t have to remember anything.”

Today’s Reminder

I will probably make a mistake of some sort every day of my life. If I view this as a personal failing or pretend that no mistakes have occurred, I make my life unmanageable. When I stop struggling to be perfect and admit when I am wrong, I can let go of guilt and shame. That is cause for rejoicing.

“Help them to take failure, not as a measure of their worth, but as a chance for a new start.” ~ Book of Common Prayer

END OF QUOTE—————————————

Recovery has taught me that efficiency doesn’t mean running faster or juggling more. It means living truer—with rearranged priorities that reflect healing rather than trauma.

In my old life, “efficiency” meant keeping every ball in the air, covering every possible failure point, staying two steps ahead of accusation, punishment, or shame. Perfection wasn’t a desire—it was a defense strategy. Every mistake carried the risk of emotional collapse, either from the another’s rage or from the venom I turned inward against myself. There was no margin for error, so there was no margin for me.

But in recovery, efficiency has a new face.

Now, it looks like connection, not control.
It looks like honesty, not illusion.
It looks like risking the mess of growth instead of hiding behind the mask of performance.

I’ve come to understand that my value doesn’t rise and fall on flawless execution. I can take on new disciplines, try new things, and stretch toward excellence—not to prove myself, but to explore who I am becoming. And when I stumble, I don’t have to disappear into shame. I can stay present. I can course-correct. I can breathe through it.

That’s the grace of Step Ten.
It’s not punitive. It’s daily liberation.

Step Ten teaches me how to keep the mirror clean without smashing it. It invites me into honest, loving self-examination—not the spiral of morbid reflection that tells me I’m broken beyond repair, but the gentle voice that says:

“You’re growing. You missed something. Let’s try again.”

My self-esteem grows not because I’m finally perfect, but because I’m no longer afraid to be seen.

Each time I admit a mistake promptly—without drama, without hiding—I tear down another brick from the wall that once kept me isolated. And in its place, I build something better: a life anchored in truth, flexibility, and connection to a Higher Power who never required my perfection—only my willingness.

So today, I let efficiency be redefined.
Not by speed.
Not by image.
But by how gently I can live in alignment with who I really am.

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Endigar 1005

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , on July 14, 2025 by endigar

From Courage to Change of Aug 22:

My Al-Anon recovery involves becoming aware of what motivates my choices. I was appalled to discover that fear ruled my life! I seemed to be afraid of everything! I was afraid to say, “No,” to show hurt or anger, to be confused. With clenched teeth and a painted-on smile, I’d say, “Oh no, everything’s okay,” while thinking, “There’ll come a day when I’ll get even.” Even that scared me because I was afraid of my own anger!

Many of my Al-Anon friends used the slogans to deal with their fears, but when fear engulfed me, all I could think of was “Came to believe…” I couldn’t finish the rest of the Second Step, but that one phrase was enough. So when the telephone rang and I was startled and beginning to imagine the worst, I would take a deep breath and say to myself, “Came to believe…” Then it became possible to pick up the phone. And I always hung up feeling so much lighter because we had handled it!

Today’s Reminder

Before taking any action, I need only remind myself that I am in the care of a Higher Power. Whether the words I use say, “Help!” or “Let Go and Let God,” or “Came to believe,” I know that my Higher Power and I can deal with whatever we are facing.

“We turn our will and our life over to the care of God as we understand Him. A Higher Power is like a friend who really cares about us and wants to share our problems.” ~ Alateen—a day at a time

END OF QUOTE—————————————

What truly motivates my choices today?
Am I acting from love, clarity, or connection—or is fear still quietly pulling the strings behind the curtain?

Where does fear most often show up in my life?
Is it in saying “no”? In expressing anger or hurt? In admitting that I don’t have all the answers?

What does my version of the “painted-on smile” look like?
Do I hide behind politeness, performance, or caretaking to avoid conflict or disappointment?

Have I ever been afraid of my own anger?
What would it look like to treat that anger not as something dangerous, but as something needing care and clarity?

Which slogan or phrase helps me breathe when I’m overwhelmed?
When fear surges, could I pause and simply whisper, “Came to believe…” and trust that it’s enough?

What happens in my body when I imagine turning something over to my Higher Power?
Do I clench tighter, or can I sense even the smallest loosening?

When has a simple act—like answering a phone call—become a moment of spiritual courage?
Have I noticed the relief that comes not from control, but from surrender?

How do I experience my Higher Power—as distant theology or as a present friend?
What would it feel like to believe that God is not ashamed of my fear, but gently walking with me through it?

What would change if I stopped trying to be fearless and instead focused on being honest?
Can I accept that “Came to believe…” is not just a beginning—but a way of living?

Today, what fear could I meet with a breath, a whisper, and willingness—rather than a plan?
Could I let go of needing the full sentence and trust that grace understands my half-spoken prayer?

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Endigar 1004

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , on July 13, 2025 by endigar

From Courage to Change of Aug 21:

Some Al-Anon suggestions, such as getting a Sponsor, were easy for me because I’m good at following specific instructions. But I didn’t know what to do with the slogan, “Live and Let Live.” Al-Anon helped me to let live by teaching me about detachment and helping me to see that many of my problems stemmed from minding everyone’s business but my own. But how do you turn your eyes on yourself and “live” for the first time in your life?

When I put this question to my Sponsor, she asked me one in turn — what had I done earlier that day? Although I’d had a very busy day, I could barely remember what I had been doing. My Sponsor suggested that I begin learning how to live by becoming more aware of my life as I was already living it. Then I would be better able to make choices about how I would like to live.

Searching for the real me, living according to my needs, and loving myself as a new-found friend have been the most rewarding benefits of the Al-Anon program. Strangely, they’re the last ones I would have imagined receiving when I began.

Today’s Reminder

Today I can choose to take responsibility for my own life. If I stay out of others’ affairs and become more aware of my own, I have a good chance of finding some serenity.

“Each man’s life represents a road toward himself.”
~ Hermann Hesse

END OF QUOTE—————————————

“Keep it simple.”
At first, I recoiled.

It sounded like a bumper sticker for the intellectually lazy—a slogan meant to quiet nuance and glorify ignorance. And I’ve always been someone whose mind loops, circles, and spirals. Complexity is my native tongue. I spent years inside mental architecture so elaborate it became a prison. So when I heard that I could be “too smart for this program,” it struck a nerve—because I was. And I was miserable.

But the longer I sat in rooms of recovery, the more I realized that simplicity wasn’t stupidity. It was clarity. And clarity, when you’ve been drowning in overthinking, is a kind of salvation.

I began to think of it like battlefield simplicity. In the military, I learned that sometimes you don’t need a theory—you need a plan. When the chaos storm hits, you don’t hold a seminar. You drop low, return fire, and get out alive. Recovery is no different. There are times when I must follow simple suggestions—not because I lack intelligence, but because the battlefield of my mind is on fire, and philosophizing during a trauma spiral is just a prettier way to bleed out.

So I stopped sneering at slogans and started listening to them like I once listened to field orders—calmly, steadily, with the humility of someone who wants to survive.

That’s when Keep It Simple became something else entirely.

It became a discipline of presence.

Instead of solving the mysteries of the universe before breakfast, I asked:
→ What did I actually do today?
→ Did the urgent devour the important?
→ Did I even notice my breath, my coffee, my soul checking in?

It reminded me of situational awareness. In uniform, that meant knowing your terrain, your mission, your blind spots. In recovery, it means the same—but the terrain is my emotional landscape, the mission is my serenity, and the blind spot is always ego or fear.

And then I heard Live and Let Live, and realized it was just another phrasing of what I’d learned in the service:
“Stay in your lane.”
Not out of apathy, but out of focus. Not because I don’t care, but because I finally care enough to respect the boundaries that keep us all spiritually alive.

Simplicity, then, isn’t about shutting down my intelligence—it’s about reclaiming it from chaos. It’s about choosing grounded clarity over clever disconnection. It’s about not outsmarting myself into a relapse of isolation and shame.

Today, I don’t need to be the smartest person in the room. I need to be the one who’s present, surrendered, and listening.

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Endigar 1003

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , , , on July 10, 2025 by endigar

From Courage to Change of Aug 20:

A billboard in my town reads, “Some come to the fountain of knowledge to drink. Some come to gargle.” My pre-Al-Anon self would have chuckled at this message, but I would have felt some anxiety about whether I was a drinker or a gargler. Life was either black or white, and in order to feel comfortable, I had to know which extreme applied. But whichever label I pinned on myself would leave me feeling wrong, so I would scramble to fix myself.

Now, thanks to Al-Anon, I accept more easily the thought that sometimes I drink, sometimes I gargle, and sometimes I stub my toe on the fountain as I stumble by. I don’t have to do better or differently. The best that I can do is good enough. I can relax and enjoy the joke.

Today’s Reminder

Al-Anon encourages me to examine my thoughts and actions, but this is meant as an act of self-love, not as a weapon to use against myself. When I begin to accept myself exactly as I am , life will feel a lot more gentle.

“Sometimes we try so hard that we fail to see that the light we are seeking is within us.” ~ As We Understood . . .

END OF QUOTE—————————————

Before recovery, I lived in a mind forged by fear—its favorite tools were labels, extremes, and invisible measuring sticks. It has often been that I can’t hold ambiguity without anxiety. I needed certainty—not because it gave me peace, but because I thought certainty would give me safety.

But the 12 Step program offered me something far better than certainty—it offered compassionate permission.

Permission to laugh at myself.
Permission to be human.
Permission to admit I’ve both sipped wisdom and choked on it, depending on the day.
Permission to trip over my own healing and still call it progress.

This program doesn’t ask me to strive for some shimmering perfection. It asks me to show up. It asks me to observe without judgment. It asks me to speak to myself as gently as I would to a child learning to walk.

The more I practice this self-acceptance, the more I realize that rigidity was never my refuge—it was my prison. I kept trying to “fix” myself because I believed I was broken beyond repair. But today I see: I’m not a project, I’m a person. I’m not a performance, I’m a soul.

“Rule 62: Don’t take yourself too damn seriously.” ~ 12 Steps & 12 Traditions, 2021 edition, page 164.

https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B0FGQG1Z2D/

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Endigar 1002

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , , , on July 9, 2025 by endigar

From Courage to Change of Aug 19:

Learning about alcoholism has helped me to find serenity after years of struggling. I see now that alcoholics have a disease: They are ill, not bad. By attending Al-Anon meetings on a regular basis, reading Al-Anon Conference Approved Literature (CAL), and sitting in on open AA meetings, I have gained some insight into what is and is not reasonable to expect when dealing with an alcoholic.

I’ve learned that I have the ability to adjust my expectations so that I no longer set myself up for constant disappointment. For instance, I have stopped expecting a drinking alcoholic to keep every promise. This makes my life more manageable.

The knowledge I gain in Al-Anon has dispersed many of my fears and made room for a newfound compassion. I see that I am not the only one with good ideas, valid criticisms, and noble motives.

Today’s Reminder

Learning about the disease of alcoholism can help me become more realistic about a loved one’s illness – and thus to make better choices for myself.

“I have learned techniques for dealing with the alcoholic, so that I can develop a relationship with the person behind the disease.” ~ Al-Anon Faces Alcoholism

END OF QUOTE—————————————

I carry what some call the “double winner” distinction in Al-Anon—though I’ve often felt it more as a double wound. I qualify both as an alcoholic in recovery and as someone shaped, bent, and bruised by the alcoholism and chemical dependency of those I love. I sit in both circles. I know the shame of causing harm, and I know the ache of being harmed by someone who promised they wouldn’t do it again.

But this dual perspective gives me something rare: insight into the disease from both the inside and the outside.

In Al-Anon, I’ve brought with me a metaphor that helps me stay sane: I imagine alcoholism as a hostage-taking creature—one that hijacks the person I love and turns them against both of us. This creature wears the face of my loved one but operates from a place of distortion and destruction. It doesn’t love them. It only uses them. And it works overtime to extract ransom payments from my soul—payments in the form of self-abandonment, false hope, or emotional enmeshment.

By personifying the disease, I create psychological distance—a survival tactic. I know it’s not literally a separate being, but treating it that way allows me to separate my loved one’s soul from the obsession that holds them hostage. It reminds me that I’m not negotiating with the person I love—I’m negotiating with the addiction that speaks through them.

And I refuse to pay that ransom with my life anymore.

I do not romanticize the disease. I have no tolerance for it. I do not enable it. And I’ve learned not to make offerings to it with my sanity. Most importantly, I’ve realized that surrendering to my own despair is just another tactic the disease uses to win. I resist that by staying connected—to my Higher Power, to my program, to my true Self.

One of the most liberating skills I’ve acquired in recovery is the adjustment of expectations. That doesn’t mean I’ve stopped caring—it means I’ve stopped setting myself up for heartbreak. I no longer expect a drinking alcoholic or active addict to keep promises. That’s not cynicism. It’s clarity. And that clarity makes my life immeasurably more manageable.

When I educate myself about the disease, I don’t do it to excuse anyone’s behavior—I do it to make better choices for myself. I no longer hand over the steering wheel of my emotions to someone else’s chaos. I chart my course with realism, compassion, and a commitment to self-preservation without self-centeredness.

I came to Al-Anon to learn how to live. And now I walk with both wisdom and wounds, holding the tension between them like a sacred paradox. My healing is not just for me. It ripples. It steadies. It restores.

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Endigar 1001

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , on July 7, 2025 by endigar

From Courage to Change of Aug 18:

Tradition Six tells us, “Our Family Groups ought never endorse, finance, or lend our name to any outside enterprise, lest problems of money, property and prestige divert us from our primary spiritual aim.”

I’ve had occasion to refer to this Tradition many times while doing service work at our local Al-Anon information office. I often receive requests for Al-Anon’s endorsement from various research projects, charities, and treatment programs. These requests always pique my interest, and many appear to have merit.

As an individual, I am free to participate in any cause I support. As an Al-Anon member, I am free to send information about our fellowship to outside organizations. But I cannot consider affiliating y group with these outside enterprises, no matter how worthy they may be. Doing so could divert us from the primary spiritual aim of our program, which is to help families and friends of alcoholics recover from the effects of alcoholism.

Today’s Reminder

I come to Al-Anon to receive the spiritual benefit of the meetings, principles, and fellowship. I wish to do my part to see that we are not diverted from our primary aim.

“We must always remember why we are here, and never use the group to promote our pet projects, or our personal interests in outside causes.” ~ Twelve Steps & Twelve Traditions for Alateen

END OF QUOTE—————————————

There is a healing stillness to our rooms—one I’ve come to cherish as fiercely as my own sobriety. In a world overflowing with noise, persuasion, and agendas, the 12 Step fellowship offers something radically rare: a spiritual refuge where no one is selling, convincing, or recruiting. It is a sanctuary, not a stage.

Tradition Six reminds me that this quiet integrity must be protected. It exists not because outside causes are wrong, but because our mission is singular. We are here to help families and friends of alcoholics recover. That’s not narrow—it’s precise. It’s the spiritual precision that gives our fellowship its staying power. The minute we try to leverage our collective name for outside recognition or moral endorsement; we dilute the medicine.

This Tradition also teaches me something deeper about ego. My causes, my passion projects, my hopes for reform—they may all be worthy. But I don’t get to smuggle them into the room wrapped in group’s authority. To do so would be to hijack the very humility this program has gifted me. This boundary is a protective embrace.

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