Archive for relationships

Endigar 946

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

From Courage to Change of Jul 07:

I thought that in every conflict, in every confrontation, someone was invariably at fault. It was essential to assign blame and I would stew for hours weighing the evidence. I became a chronic scorekeeper. Because I approached every situation with this attitude, I was consumed by guilt and anger. Defensive and anxious, I made sure my own back was always covered.

Al-Anon helps me understand that disputes come up even when everyone is doing their best. Obsessively reviewing everyone’s behavior focuses my attention where it doesn’t belong and keeps me too busy to have any serenity. Instead, I can consider the part I have played. If I have made mistakes, I am free to make amends.

Today I know that conflict is not necessarily an indication that someone is wrong. Difficulties may just arise. Sometimes people simply disagree.

Today’s Reminder

Today I accept that each life has its share of conflict. It is not my job to document every such incident. Instead of wringing my hands and pointing my finger, I can consider the possibility that everything is happening exactly as it should. Sometimes, blame is just an excuse to keep busy so that I don’t have to feel the discomfort of my powerlessness.

“The mind grows by what it feeds on.” ~ Josiah G. Holland

END OF QUOTE—————————————

I feel the echo of my old patterns: the scanning, the obsessing, the endless mental courtroom where I played prosecutor, defense attorney, and judge. For a long time, I couldn’t imagine a conflict without a culprit. If something hurt, someone had to be guilty. And if I couldn’t make someone else carry it, I carried it myself. Guilt and blame became a rhythm, a heartbeat under everything.

But recovery has been asking me to let go of the scoreboard.

Al-Anon reminds me: not every tension needs a villain. Not every disagreement signals failure. Some pain is just life brushing up against itself. Some moments aren’t mine to solve or prevent—they’re mine to breathe through. That’s uncomfortable. Powerlessness is uncomfortable.

Maybe I’m learning to rest my mind. Is it possible that I can ask: What’s mine? What’s not? I can trust that reality unfolds whether I micromanage it or not. That doesn’t make me passive—it makes me sane. It makes me present.

Conflict can be a teacher, not a threat. Discomfort can be a passage, not a punishment.

And when I remember that, I’m free to walk in honesty, not hypervigilance. To show up with grace, not guilt. To be part of the world, not the referee of it.

Endigar 931

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

From Courage to Change of Jun 22:

My sharing at early Al-Anon meetings went something like this: “She makes me so mad,” and “I’m a nervous wreck because of him.” Thank God for a Sponsor who always brought the focus back to me and encouraged me to look at what my words really said. When I blamed others for how I felt, I was giving them power over my feelings, power that rightly belonged to me. Nobody can make me feel anything without my consent. I had a lot of attitude-changing to do.

Today, by being aware of the words I use, I am learning a more straight forward manner, but I also argue in a healthier way. There are better ways to express myself than to say, “You did such and such to me.” I can talk about myself and my feelings. I can explain the way I experienced something rather than telling the other person how he or she made me feel. I can talk about what I want. I am no longer a victim.

Today’s Reminder

What do my words communicate? Do they express what I am trying to say? Today I will listen more closely to what my words have to say.

“We learn in time that it is not subjects which are controversial, but the manner in which we communicate about them and the elements of personal blame we add to them in anger.” ~ The Dilemma of the Alcoholic Marriage

END OF QUOTE—————————————

I didn’t blame others for making me feel anything. That was never my vocabulary. If anything, my words were steeped in sorrow, not accusation. Despair wasn’t a mood—it was a kind of integrity. I didn’t dress my grief in the disguise of anger or blame; I let it speak for itself. And when I shared, it wasn’t about assigning fault—it was about expressing the aching helplessness of watching someone I cared about spiral, and the futility I felt trying to reach them.

My Sponsor didn’t shower me with affection or “love” as it’s often portrayed. What I received was a form of clarity, perhaps a kind of austere compassion. What helped was not warmth, but witnessing. Having someone who stayed steady while I didn’t flinch from the tragic dimension of my truth—that’s what kept me coming back.

Even now, I’m wary of joy that feels like theater. Of spiritual platitudes that skate over the dark water. I’ve trained myself to speak with a reverence for pain because that’s where my honesty has lived. When I feel most myself, it’s often in the shadows—not because I haven’t healed, but because I refuse to fake a light that hasn’t truly dawned.

So when I ask myself whether I’ve “improved” by learning to wear this cloak of restored joy and spiritual confidence—I feel the edges of that question cut deep. If healing means smiling more, I don’t know. But if healing means learning to carry tragedy without letting it erase me, then maybe, yes. If it means staying true to the solemnity that shaped me, while still finding the strength to show up—then I think that’s progress, even if it’s not pretty.

Because the truth is: sometimes the most sacred thing I can offer is not a polished testimony, but a quiet presence that refuses to lie.