Daily Reprieve

From Courage to Change of Sep 17:

Most human beings have an instinctive need to fit in. The urge to belong, to keep the peace, helps us to get along with others and be a part of society. This instinct has allowed many civilizations to survive, and is not harmful unless I lose my sense of balance.

People-pleasing becomes destructive when I ignore my own needs and continually sacrifice my well-being for the sake of others. Al- Anon helps me find a compromise that allows me to respond to my feelings, including my desire to belong, and still take care of myself.

The best way to maintain this balance is to build my self-esteem. When I treat myself with kindness and respect, I become better able to get along with others.

Today’s Reminder

I will appreciate that all of my instincts and feelings exist for a reason. Today, instead of trying to banish these feelings, I will strive to find a balance.

“If I am not for myself, who will be for me? And if I am only for myself, what am I? And if not now — when?” ~ Hillel

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NOTE: Hillel the Elder, Pirkei Avot (Ethics of the Fathers) 1:14 in the Mishnah.
Hebrew: “אם אין אני לי, מי לי? וכשאני לעצמי, מה אני? ואם לא עכשיו—אימתי?”

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I admit that I want to be loved, but not at the cost of abandoning myself. I know the instinct to belong—it pulses in me like a drumbeat. It kept my ancestors alive, kept me safe as a child, and still whispers in my adult choices: “Don’t stand out, don’t cause a ripple, stay useful so you’ll be kept.” Belonging is not wrong. It is part of the design. But in recovery, I’ve had to face the truth that when I bend too far, I begin to break. People-pleasing is not the same as love. It is survival dressed in fear.

When I gave away my needs in exchange for peace, the peace never lasted. I’d buy acceptance with silence, but the silence corroded me from the inside. Self-Recovery teaches me that my desire to fit in is not a defect—it is an instinct. And instincts need balance, not banishment. Balance comes when I allow myself to matter. When I name my needs. When I remember that I, too, am part of the “we” I keep sacrificing for. So, I practice saying no, even when my voice shakes. I keep checking: am I serving love, or am I serving fear?

There is something mystical in realizing that self-respect is not selfish—it is the oxygen mask I must put on before I can help another breathe. My Higher Power reminds me that harmony is not found in erasing myself, but in showing up whole. True connection cannot grow from pretense or resentment. It grows when I bring my authentic self into the circle. What if belonging could mean being accepted as I am, not as I pretend to be?

To keep my instincts in balance, I build self-esteem the way a mason lays stones: one daily act of kindness toward myself, one truth told without apology, one pause before saying “yes.” With each stone, the wall of resentment lowers, and the foundation of recovery strengthens. Balance is not found in exile of instinct, but in weaving instinct into wisdom. I remember that others also wrestle with these same instincts. When I let people know me—not just the agreeable me, but the whole me, I give a nod of social permission to do the same. That is the world I would like to live in; one that is safe to be me.

From Courage to Change of Sep 05:

When I began studying the Seventh Step, which says, “Humbly asked Him to remove our shortcomings,” my list of shortcomings included an extensive catalogue of feelings. I humbly asked God to remove my anger, fear, and guilt. I looked forward to the day when I would never experience any of these emotions again.

Of course, that day never arrived. Instead, I have learned that feelings aren’t shortcomings. The true nature of my problem was my stubborn refusal to acknowledge feelings, to accept them, and to let them go. I have very little power over what feelings arise, but what I choose to do about them is my responsibility.

Today I can accept my feelings, share about them with others, recognize that they are feelings, not facts, and then let them go. I’m no longer stuck in a state of seemingly endless rage or self-pity, for when I give myself permission to feel whatever I feel, the feelings pass. My emotions have not been removed; instead, I have been relieved of shortcomings that blocked my self-acceptance.

Today’s Reminder

When I take the Seventh Step, I pray that whatever interferes with my Higher Power’s will for me may be removed. I don’t have to have all the answers. I need only be willing.

“We didn’t necessarily get the results we wanted, but somehow we always seemed to get what we needed.” – In All Our Affairs

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I came into recovery with a broken guilt-o-meter. I felt guilty for things like expressing emotions. I felt no guilt for acts of manipulation in relationships. It was difficult in working the moral inventory to try and listen to my twisted conscious. I viewed the power of emotional suppression as a super power. I could do the hard things no one else could. Or so I thought. If I felt emotion, I was sure that something was wrong in me that needed to be fixed immediately so that I could regain the stoicism of a dead heart. I had to remain unshakable – immune to the turbulence of anger, fear, guilt. I thought spiritual growth would eventually mean not feeling so much, or at least not feeling the “bad” stuff. So, like a child with a broken toy, I brought my emotions to God in Step Seven and asked for them to be removed.

But what I’ve come to realize is that I wasn’t broken because I felt—I was broken because I believed I shouldn’t.

The longer I walk this path, the more I see that my emotions aren’t defects—they’re messages. Not always accurate ones, sure, but meaningful. Fear has protected me. Anger has drawn my boundaries. Guilt has whispered truths I wanted to ignore. It was never about removing these feelings, but about unblocking the channels through which grace could move through them.

Step Seven, for me, has become a kind of sacred surrender. Not a plea for numbness, but a prayer for clarity. I ask not to be emptied of emotion, but to be freed from the pride, control, and shame that keep those emotions stuck like stones in my spirit.

Now, when rage rises like fire in my chest, I don’t panic. I don’t condemn myself. I get curious. I breathe. I sometimes even invite it to tea. Because I know it won’t stay. No feeling does. They are travelers on the road of my recovery—not hitchhikers I must carry indefinitely.

I still want answers. I still want certainty. But Step Seven reminds me I don’t have to know—I just have to be willing. Willing to let go. Willing to be changed. Willing to keep feeling my way forward, one honest breath at a time.

And strangely, in surrendering what I thought I needed to get rid of, I found what I truly needed: compassion. For myself. For my process. For this sacred mess I call healing.