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Endigar 1013

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , , , on July 23, 2025 by endigar

From Courage to Change of Aug 30:

Normally my Sponsor would recommend a gratitude list when I felt low, but one day, when I complained about a family situation, he suggested that I list all the things I was unhappy about. Several days later my depression had passed, and when I told my Sponsor about the terrific day I was having, he suggested a gratitude list. He thought it might help me to refer to it the next time I felt blue. That made sense to me, so I complied.

When I went to put this new list in the drawer where I keep my papers, I noticed the earlier list and read it once more. To my surprise, my list of grievances was almost identical to my gratitude list — the same people, same house, same life. Nothing about my circumstances had changed except the way I felt about them. For the first time I truly understood how much my attitude dictates the way I experience the world.

Today’s Reminder

Today I recognize how powerful my mind can be. I can’t always feel good, and I have no interest in whitewashing my difficulties by pasting a smile on my face. But I can recognize that I am constantly making choices about how I perceive my world. With the help of Al- Anon and my friends in the fellowship, I can make those choices more consciously and more actively than ever before.

“Change your thoughts and you change your world.” – Norman Vincent Peale

END OF QUOTE—————————————

Norman Vincent Peale (1898–1993) was a Christian minister, author, and influential figure in American religious life, best known for popularizing the concept of “positive thinking” through his landmark 1952 book, The Power of Positive Thinking. A Methodist-turned-Reformed pastor, Peale served for more than half a century at Marble Collegiate Church in New York City.

There was a time in my life when the storm inside me felt louder than any peace I could muster. I’d sit with my Sponsor and bring him the scraps of my spirit—my grief, my discontent, my twisted thoughts—and he’d thoughtfully hand me back a tool. Sometimes it was a gratitude list, sometimes a question, and once—he told me that in my observations, my journaling, look for the patterns in my pain and resentment.

I have indeed found that my gratitude lists and my painful patterns dance in the same neighborhoods. It is true that sometimes, it is a matter of perspective.

This is where the real work of the program lives for me: not just in inventorying my defects, but in inventorying my perceptions. My attitude isn’t just the lens through which I see the world—it’s often the author of my experience. The same facts can tell wildly different stories depending on whether I’m rooted in fear or in faith.

I no longer see gratitude as a forced smile or a way to gaslight myself into feeling better. I see it as a recalibration of my spiritual compass. It reminds me that the story isn’t over, and I get to choose the tone of the next chapter. I still allow space for grief, anger, confusion—but I don’t build my home there. I let those feelings pass through like weather. And when I forget, my lists are there. Both of them. To remind me how much power I truly hold—not over people or outcomes, but over my own way of seeing.

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Endigar 1012

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , on July 22, 2025 by endigar

From Courage to Change of Aug 29:

Since childhood I have been nagged by those moments when I said or did something that brought pain to another person. These are ugly memories that I never believed would go away. With Step Eight, however, I discover a means to release myself from unrelenting guilt.

This Step says to make a list of all people I have harmed and to become willing to make amends to them all. Finally, I can put down in words all the memories and all the pain. When I see them written in front of me, they seem almost manageable, and I feel hopeful about freeing myself from their weight as I become willing to make amends. I need not take any further action at this point. All I am concerned with now is the harm I have caused others, the guilt I have brought on myself, and the desire to do what I can to clear it all away.

Today’s Reminder

Guilt is a burden that keeps me from giving myself fully and freely to the present. I can begin to rid my mind of guilt by quietly admitting where and when I have done wrong to people, including myself.

“Al-Anon has shown me another way of living, and I like it. Life can either be a burden and a chore or a challenge and a joy. One day at a time I can meet the challenges of life head-on instead of head-down.” ~ As We Understood

END OF QUOTE—————————————

What As We Understood Is:

Full Title: As We Understood: More Talks on Al-Anon Principles

  • Published by: Al-Anon Family Group Headquarters, Inc.
  • First published: 1985
  • Format: A collection of essays and reflections written by Al-Anon members

This book explores spirituality from a wide range of personal experiences—without prescribing a single religious belief or dogma.

There are memories that trail us like smoke—thin, acrid, persistent. For me, it began in childhood: the sharp moments when my words cut, or my silence wounded, or I simply didn’t know better—but the damage still landed. Those memories carved themselves into my mind as shame-stained markers. I thought they were permanent. I thought they defined me.

And then came Step Eight.

It didn’t ask me to fix it all overnight.
It didn’t demand atonement before I was ready.
It simply asked me to look honestly and become willing.

To write the names.
To acknowledge the harm.
To open the door—however slightly—to the possibility of amends.

There is something powerful about naming. Something holy about writing it down. It takes the swirling shame out of abstraction and lays it flat on the page where it can be seen—not as a life sentence, but as a spiritual inventory. A map of where I’ve been untrue to myself and to others. A beginning.

I don’t have to make the amends yet. Step Eight reminds me: willingness is the work for now.
This is a step of preparation, of spiritual stretching.
It’s less about action and more about alignment.

And in that space, I find relief. I find dignity. I find hope.

Because guilt—unspoken, unexamined—has a way of locking us out of the present moment. It dims the light of connection. It whispers that we’re imposters in our own recovery. But when I begin to name the harm, the fog lifts. I can feel my heart begin to loosen its grip on the past. I can turn, gently, toward the living now.

Sometimes the first person I need to put on that list is me.

Because I have harmed myself too—with harsh words, impossible standards, addictive spirals, and the refusal to believe I was worth saving. I must be willing to make amends inward as well—to forgive the scared version of me who only knew how to survive.

The Steps have shown me that life isn’t just endurance. It’s discovery.
That the past isn’t just a burden. It’s compost for a freer soul.
And that isolated self-castigation isn’t living—it’s hiding.

Today, I lift my head.
Not because I’m proud of everything I’ve done—but because I’m becoming someone I’m no longer ashamed to be.

One name at a time.
One truth at a time.
One willingness at a time.

And that, I’ve learned, is more than enough to begin.

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Endigar 1011

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , , on July 21, 2025 by endigar

From Courage to Change of Aug 28:

I had never dared to trust another person the way I trusted my first Al-Anon Sponsor. With faltering self-confidence I had asked her to sponsor me: I was a mess, would she have me? I was sure she would turn me down because I thought I was not worth saving. Her positive response really took me by surprise.

Gently, she guided me through the Steps. I was so desperate to feel better that I was willing to try whatever Al-Anon tool or idea she suggested. I lived, breathed, and ate Al-Anon.

One lonely day I phoned her, crying out in despair that I’d never get the hang of feeling better. What she said at that critical time was, “I don’t know anyone who is as willing to work the program as you are.” My spirits soared! She had said to me what I couldn’t say to myself, but I knew that it was true — I was very willing. In that moment of acknowledgment I knew I’d be okay, because I had what it took. In time, her example helped me learn to give that kind of acknowledg- ment to myself.

I had taken a chance. I had trusted. And as a result, I learned that I was worth saving!

Today’s Reminder

Learning to value myself can begin by having the courage to find, and use, a Sponsor.

“Nothing we do, however virtuous, can be accomplished alone; therefore, we are saved by love.” ~ Reinhold Niebuhr

END OF QUOTE—————————————

NOTE: Reinhold Niebuhr (1892–1971) was a prominent American theologian, ethicist, and public intellectual best known for his work in Christian realism—a philosophy that acknowledged the persistent reality of human sin and the limits of human perfectibility, especially in politics and social life. Niebuhr is widely credited with writing the Serenity Prayer, famously used in 12-Step programs like Alcoholics Anonymous:

“God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,
Courage to change the things I can,
And wisdom to know the difference.”

I’m currently working with my fourth sponsor in a journey that has unfolded over 18 years. Each one marked a significant layer of trust—not just in another person, but in the recovery process itself.

My first sponsor, David H., met the panicked, wild-eyed version of me—the confused soul who stumbled into the rooms with more fear than faith.
The second, Tim C., offered a place where I could be broken-hearted without shame. He helped me learn how to laugh at myself, to take things seriously but not personally. Both of these men walked with me through Cocaine Anonymous.

I’d never used cocaine, but I qualified for CA because their First Step reads, “We were powerless over cocaine and all other mind-altering substances.” Their meetings were open, raw, and felt freer—less bound by religious overtones than AA. It was the right space for me in those early years.

After years riding the relapse rodeo, I began to release some of my resentments toward organized religion. That shift made room for me to return to Alcoholics Anonymous, where I found my first AA sponsor, Happy Jack.

I still remember him saying, “Get off that cross—we need the wood.”
It was sharp. It was funny. It stuck.

Then he stopped returning my calls. I assumed I’d worn him out, that I was too much. It wasn’t until years later that I learned the truth: he had died. It had never been about me.

I tried going it alone for a while. That old lone-wolf pattern. But eventually, I reached again. My next sponsor, Charles N., is an artist. There’s something in that shared creative current, the way we both know the shadows and the dark wells—it’s made walking this road together deeply healing. Thank you, Charles.

Since then, I’ve settled more fully into recovery. I walked through Al-Anon with yet another sponsor, Paul, and completed the Steps. Then I joined Adult Children of Alcoholics (ACA) and am now being sponsored by Scott K. in that fellowship.

I’ve become thoroughly inundated with recovery.
And now—I sponsor others.

My point in sharing this history is simple:
The path isn’t always clear or easy. Connection doesn’t always come quickly.

But if the desire to live freely burns even slightly, it’s enough.
Enough to keep coming back.
Enough to fall seven times and get up eight.
Enough to turn away from morbid reflection—and recreate life.

Because in the end, sponsorship isn’t just about guidance.
It’s about being seen, walked with, and reminded:
You are never too far gone to begin again.

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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 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 1000 ~ Layered Recovery

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , , on July 6, 2025 by endigar

Recovery has never been a straight line for me. It has unfolded like sedimentary earth—each layer telling its own story, each stratum revealing a different kind of pain and a different kind of grace.

It began in the way many recoveries begin: with the urgent need to stop. Alcohol had become my false fire, a form of “chemical empowerment” that granted me the illusion of strength while hollowing me from the inside out. AA offered a path not only to sobriety, but to sanity. Still, I could not yet see the whole picture. I had to peel back the intoxication to even begin identifying what hurt.

I came to see that the drinking wasn’t the root. It was the fruit—bitter and bruised—from a deeper, older vine. Beneath the addiction was a family system built on fear, control, and silence. The co-dependency I inherited had trained me to read the emotional temperature of a room better than my own internal compass. So I found myself in Al-Anon, tracing the emotional contour lines that shaped my earliest attachments. There I learned to name the patterns—not to curse them, but to understand them.

But even as I worked the Steps and made amends, there was one person left behind in the wreckage. Me.

That is when ACA called to me—not as a replacement, but as a deeper well. A program not just for behavior, but for the original wound. For the child within me who had long ago assumed that love must be earned, safety must be managed, and identity must be negotiated in the shadows.

I was surprised to discover that ACA’s inventory was more intricate—eleven sections. Not because my sins were greater, but because the terrain was more nuanced. This was the geography of the heart’s defenses, built not to harm others, but to protect a terrified child trying to survive. Each section was less about condemnation and more about compassion—about understanding the scaffolding I built when no adult came to save me.

Now I find myself at a kind of threshold. There is no parade here. No grand proclamation. Just a quiet question rising from within: “What does it mean to make amends to myself?”

I don’t know exactly where “there” is. But I know what it feels like to walk the path toward it. It feels like turning toward myself rather than away. Like claiming the sacredness of my own becoming. Like treating the process not as a project to finish, but a relationship to honor.

This is not a finish line. It’s a ever-expanding spiral. And I am still rising.

I say this to say to you, dear reader, don’t give up. You too may have layers to travers. Keep moving. From time to time, stop and breath, and appreciate the journey.

“Abandon yourself to God as you understand God. Admit your faults to Him and to your fellows. Clear away the wreckage of your past. Give freely of what you find and join us. We shall be with you in the Fellowship of the Spirit, and you will surely meet some of us as you trudge the Road of Happy Destiny.
May God bless you and keep you—until then.” ~ Alcoholics Anonymous (page 164)

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Endigar 999 ~ The Shadows that Taught Me

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

From Courage to Change of Aug 17:

Some of us believe that most defects of character are merely traits that we no longer need. Many of us develop clever methods of surviving in an alcoholic situation, such as denial or secrecy. But once we have the support of the Al-Anon program, we may find that our old methods do more harm than good. What once allowed us to function in a nearly impossible situation is now an obstacle to further growth. An asset has become a deficit.

Others define defects of character as assets that have lost proportion. For example, a genuine desire to help a love one can be exaggerated into a desperate need to fix another person.

From this perspective, we aren’t facing the daunting task of rooting our every shred of the defect; we are only turning it over to our Higher Power so that it can be brought into balance or dropped because it is no longer serving our needs.

Today’s Reminder

Instead of condemning myself when I become aware of a defect of character, I can acknowledge my growth. I’ve recognized that a characteristic that once allowed me to survive is no longer necessary, or that an asset that has lost its proportion makes my life unmanageable. Instead of proving sickness, this shows a willingness to face reality and a readiness to choose health.

“Sometimes we must accept ourselves, defects and all, before those defects are removed.” ~ . . . In All Our Affairs

END OF QUOTE—————————————

I have learned that not every flaw is a failing—sometimes it’s just a survival skill that stayed too long at the party. Denial, secrecy, control, hypervigilance… these weren’t signs of weakness back then. They were the armor I forged in the fire of chaos. They helped me survive in environments where tenderness wasn’t safe, where truth could cost too much, where silence felt like the only power I had left.

But now, in this sacred space of recovery, those once-precious tools begin to rust. I don’t live in that battlefield anymore. And when I cling to those old patterns, they no longer protect me—they choke me. What once kept me afloat now keeps me from swimming.

The program gently shows me that defects of character aren’t proof I’m broken. They’re signals that I’ve outgrown something. They are assets that have swelled out of balance, like vines overtaking a garden. A desire to help becomes compulsive fixing. Loyalty becomes martyrdom. Strength becomes stubborn isolation. And instead of tearing these parts of me out by the root, I can turn them over. I can invite my Higher Power to prune and purify, not because I am unworthy, but because I am ready.

This isn’t self-condemnation. This is spiritual maturity.

When I notice a defect rising up again, I no longer need to spiral into shame. I can say, “Ah. I remember why I learned this. I honor its origin. And now, I let it go.” That is grace in action.

To accept myself with all my human contradictions—to sit in the tension between who I was and who I’m becoming—is the essence of healing. It is where mercy meets progress. And I am grateful today not just for the parts of me that shine, but for the shadows that taught me where the light belongs.

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Endigar 996

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

From Courage to Change of Aug 15:

After living in the chaos of an alcoholic relationship, it can be hard to know the difference between a minor inconvenience and a major crisis. Al-Anon’s slogan, “How Important Is It?” helps many of us to regain some sense of proportion.

When plans fall through, when unexpected bills arrive, when I am disappointed in someone’s response, I can ask myself, “How important is it?” Most of the time I find that what I might have viewed as a disaster is really insignificant. If I try to keep my attention on this day instead of worrying about possible future consequences, I can take my disappointment or irritation at face value and refuse to dramatize it.

Because of this simple slogan, many days that I would once have seen as tragic are now filled with serenity and confidence.

Today’s Reminder

Today, if I encounter an upsetting situation, I will ask myself, “How important is it?” before I react. I may find that it is not important enough to sacrifice my serenity.

“It is almost as important to know what is not serious as to know what is.” ~ John Kenneth Galbraith

END OF QUOTE—————————————

There was a time when the smallest disturbance could spiral me into chaos. A curt reply, a delay in payment, the shifting sands of someone else’s opinion—these things once held the power to unmake my entire day. I mistook urgency for truth, reaction for responsibility.

But this question—“How important is it?”—has become a doorway. It doesn’t dismiss the feeling. It honors it with pause. It interrupts the seduction of drama and lets me breathe.

In recovery, I’ve learned that not every flicker of discomfort is a fire to put out. Some are just shadows passing over the landscape of my day. I don’t have to chase them, name them, or solve them. I can let them pass. Serenity, after all, is not the absence of trouble—it is the refusal to make trouble my home.

I’ve discovered that many of my so-called crises were born from my imagination’s worst-case theater. My mind, left unchecked, writes disaster scripts faster than any screenwriter. But today I have tools. I have choice. I have the right to protect my peace.

So when plans unravel, when someone disappoints me, when life shows up in unexpected clothes, I now ask: How important is it, really?
And often, the answer echoes gently: Not enough to lose myself over.

Today I choose presence over prediction. I release the need to control what has not yet come. I give myself back to the safety of this moment.

Let that be enough.

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Endigar 995

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , , , on July 1, 2025 by endigar

From Courage to Change of Aug 14:

Since coming to Al-Anon, I have become aware of certain choices that I never knew I had. If I am uncomfortable about doing something, I have learned that I don’t necessarily have to do it. I can look into my heart and try to discover my true feelings before making that decision. What freedom!

Does this mean that I should never do anything unless I feel comfortable doing it? Of course not. If I waited for inspiration, my taxes might never be paid, my work might not get done, and my teeth might not bet brushed. Sometimes I have to feel the feelings of then act anyway.

I believe that is why our just for today suggests doing two things each day that I don’t want to do, just for practice. To create a balanced life, I must exercise some self-discipline. That way I can pay attention to my feeling without being tyrannized by them.

Today’s Reminder

Today I will do something that is good for me even if it feels uncomfortable.

“Self-discipline is self-caring” ~ M. Scott Peck.

END OF QUOTE—————————————

One of the most revolutionary gifts of this program has been the quiet unveiling of choice. Not the loud, performative kind the world shouts about, but the sacred kind—the one that whispers, “You don’t have to betray yourself today.” Before recovery, I didn’t even realize how many of my actions were driven by fear, people-pleasing, or shame-drenched obligation. I didn’t know that discomfort wasn’t a command. I didn’t know that I could pause.

This idea—that I can look into my heart before I move—is a kind of spiritual sovereignty I never knew I had. It doesn’t always mean I’ll choose what’s comfortable. Quite the opposite. Sometimes the act of freedom is brushing my teeth even when the depression drapes like a wet coat across my shoulders. Sometimes it’s writing a hard amends letter, or showing up to the meeting when everything in me wants to stay hidden in bed. But what’s different now is this: I can discern. I can tell the difference between the discomfort that signals harm and the discomfort that signals growth.

Feelings are sacred data—but they’re not dictators. I can feel resistance and still move forward. I can be scared and still say yes. That’s the nuance recovery gives me: I am no longer ruled by a binary of comfort or collapse. Instead, I’m developing the muscle to act from principle, not panic.

I get to honor my feelings without handing them the steering wheel. I can check in with my inner world, acknowledge what’s there, and still make adult, loving decisions that move my life forward. I don’t need to wait to feel holy or whole to take action. I just need to be honest.

This is what spiritual maturity looks like in my life: not perfection, but participation. A lived willingness to show up for both the sacred and the mundane. To listen deeply and brush my damn teeth.

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Endigar 992

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

From Courage to Change of Aug 13:

I put my Sponsor on a pedestal. I looked to her for all the answers and saw her as my mother, friend, mentor – a goddess. She appeared to be more than I could ever be; she was perfect.

One day she made a mistake and fell from the pedestal on which I had placed her. How could she be so human? How dare she display such imperfection? At first I felt frightened and abandoned. But my Sponsor’s slide from grace led me to see that I was responsible for my own Al-Anon program.

I found that the “answers” she had given me were simply her own experience, strength, and hope, along with her understanding of the Twelve Steps of recovery. I learned that the tools of the program are available to me too. And I learned that , although she was my Sponsor, we were both changing, stumbling, growing members of Al-Anon. Most importantly, I learned that setting a human being up to be perfect creates inevitable failure.

Today’s Reminder

Have I put someone on a pedestal? Am I encouraging anyone to have an exaggerated view of me? Al-Anon helps me see that while we offer mutual support, we must learn to rely on ourselves. Today I will remember that my answers lie within me.

Sponsorship is a friendship made up of two members learning from one another, . . . two people learning a new way to live – one day at a time.

END OF QUOTE—————————————

There was a time when I needed Her to be perfect.

I carved Her image from the ache of my unmet needs—my longing for a parent who would never abandon, a friend who would never misunderstand, a mentor who always knew what to say. She was everything I had ever lacked. I placed Her on a pedestal I had constructed from desperation and awe. She shone there, impossibly radiant. A goddess not of myth, but of survival.

And then She slipped.

She didn’t answer a prayer. She didn’t show up in the way I expected. She made a mistake—at least, that’s how I saw it. The pedestal cracked. And with it, something in me did too. I felt a familiar terror—abandonment’s sharp wind blowing through my soul. How could She fail me? How could the only perfect thing I had ever trusted reveal Her own humanness—or worse, my projections?

But in the echo of that fall, I heard a deeper invitation: to grow up.

My recovery began anew that day. Not in the grand illusion of divinity projected onto another, but in the ordinary grace of shared humanity. I turned to my Sponsor, not for commandments from on high, but for shared stories, real struggles, and the compass of the Steps. He did not rescue me. He walked beside me.

That walk continues. I am no longer chasing perfection—in God, in others, or in myself. I am learning that the sacred lives in imperfection. In missteps. In misunderstandings that become doorways to deeper truth.

The pedestal had to fall because it was never built to hold truth—only illusion. I don’t want to put anyone there anymore, and I don’t want to sit on one myself. I want to stand, bare and unpolished, in the messy middle with others who are doing the same.

Sponsorship isn’t sainthood. It’s shared light in a dark wood. Two wounded souls exchanging lanterns as they move forward, one trembling day at a time.

Today, I will resist the urge to exalt or diminish. I will honor the divine within by staying grounded in truth. And I will remember that no one else has the answers I must discover for myself.

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