When the alcoholic I loved got sober I was sure that the nightmare was over! But without the tranquilizing effect of alcohol, she became verbally abusive. She accused, attacked, insulted, and I always defended myself. It seemed crucial that she understand. But that didn’t happen, no matter how much I argued, pleaded, or insulted in return. I felt trapped and hopeless.
Sobriety brings change, but it doesn’t take away all the problems. Al-Anon helps me learn that I don’t have to accept the unacceptable, nor do I have to argue back or convince another person that I’m innocent or right. I can begin to recognize when I am dealing with alcoholism’s insanity, and I can detach. I certainly don’t have to respond by doubting myself.
Today’s Reminder
When cruel words fly from the mouth of another person, drunk or sober, Al-Anon helps me remember that I have choices. Perhaps I can say the Serenity Prayer to myself, or refuse to discuss the topic any further. I can listen without taking the words personally; I can leave the room, change the subject, make an Al-Anon call, or explore other alternatives. My Sponsor can help me to discover options that seem right for me.
“We may never have the choices we would have if we were writing the script, but we always have choices.” ~ In All Our Affairs
END OF QUOTE—————————————
When the alcoholic stops drinking, the silence afterward can feel like peace—but it isn’t always peace. It’s the sound of reality returning, unfiltered. For many in recovery, that first period of sobriety is a psychic rawness: every resentment, fear, and unhealed wound begins to speak. And for those who love them, it can feel like betrayal—“Wasn’t I promised relief?”
That disappointment reminds us that the nightmare does not end with the last drink. Sobriety unmasks what alcohol had been tranquilizing: rage, shame, confusion, grief. To love someone through that stage is to realize that serenity cannot be borrowed; it must be grown.
“I always defended myself.”
That line is the hinge of awakening. Reaction feels natural when attacked, but it’s also the trap—the endless replay of trying to be understood by the un-understandable. Al-Anon’s power lies in this subtle liberation: the discovery that understanding is not required for peace. One can stop arguing not out of defeat, but out of wisdom. One can detach, not to punish, but to preserve sanity.
Detachment is not coldness—it’s clarity. It’s saying: This storm does not have my name on it.
Ultimately theory must shift to muscle memory. Serenity becomes something rehearsed, like breathing techniques in a crisis. A short prayer. A step away. A call to a sponsor. A change of subject.
Recovery becomes visible not in the grand gesture, but in the pause between triggers. That pause—when you remember you have choices—is the quiet resurrection of dignity.
“We may never have the choices we would have if we were writing the script, but we always have choices.” This is spiritual realism. None of us gets to rewrite the first act, but every moment offers an edit to the next line.
In trauma, we were directed by others’ madness. In recovery, we reclaim authorship—sometimes just one line at a time.
I chaired an AA meeting today with the following topic:
Discussion Topic: Drinking Against My Will
Opening Thought
There are times in my past drinking when it felt like the decision wasn’t even mine. On one hand, I thought I had chosen to drink—my reflexive will said, “Yes, one drink will fix this.” On the other hand, my deeper, considered will—the part of me that wanted freedom, connection, and sanity—knew it was against everything I truly wanted. In recovery, I’m learning the difference between these two forms of will.
Reflexive Will
Reflexive will is the quick, impulsive reaction.
It’s the part of me conditioned by obsession and craving.
It says “yes” to alcohol when fear, loneliness, or stress shout louder than my reason.
It’s the learned reflex of survival gone wrong—an autopilot decision.
Considered Will
Considered will is what I’ve been cultivating in recovery.
It’s aligned with my Higher Power and my true desire to live sober.
It takes into account my values, my relationships, my serenity.
It doesn’t vanish in a craving, but it can be drowned out if I don’t practice staying awake and connected.
Where the Conflict Lies
When I drank against my will, it wasn’t because I didn’t want sobriety—it was because my reflexive will overrode my considered will. That’s the powerlessness I admit in Step One. My recovery work strengthens the considered will, giving it a voice strong enough to interrupt the reflex.
Have you ever felt the difference between reflexive will and considered will in your drinking? In life?
How does Step One help us see that “drinking against my will” is real, not just an excuse?
What practices in recovery help strengthen your considered will today?
How has your Higher Power helped you align your will with your true desire for sobriety?
After presenting the topic, I was very interested to hear what the collective mind of my fellow alcoholics would provide. There was a criticism that the concept of a reflexive and considered will was not mentioned in the Big Book, and that I am probably over-thinking it.
“Your topic is thought-provoking but, the real deal is taking action. Don’t stay in your head and take suggestions.”
So, the tendency to over think became a part of the topic as well.
“Get out of the thinking process and get into the actual working of the program.”
“The problem isn’t just alcoholism, but a mind given to addictive behavior.”
“My understanding is that the first drink, particularly after you have been in AA, is not against my will. But once I start the cycle, I have to drink to keep from shaking, and that becomes drinking against my will.”
“When the book says that at times there is no defense against the first drink, it means there is no effective spiritual defense.”
“My Sponsor told me I was going to have to get stupid in order to work the program.”
“I exhausted myself trying to hustle a way not to exhaust myself.”
“I was used to using my intelligence to hustle when I was drinking and I brought that attitude with me into the rooms of AA. I heard a speaker say that he had to do this thing, even when it seems stupid. That really clicked with me. I quit trying to outsmart the program.”
The topic sparked a lot of good shares of personal experience. There seemed to be a theme of the use of intellect running counter to needed behavior development. I had someone come up afterwards saying not to let the general anti-intellectualism of the fellowship stop me from being who I am. For me, when someone first comes in the rooms, he does need battlefield simplicity like the soldier taking fire. That is not the time to question the life protecting “suggests” he is receiving. When I get some sobriety under my belt, it is not wrong to think, as Bill W. said, “for God gave us brains to use.” It is the isolating nature of my intellect that my alcoholic obsession uses against me, in my own experience.
NOTE FROM LUCIEN (AI):
The reflexive will you’ve been describing aligns closely with what AA literature often calls “instincts out of control.”
Instincts in Balance vs. Out of Balance
Our basic instincts (for security, companionship, belonging, esteem, etc.) are God-given and not wrong in themselves.
But when they become exaggerated—when fear or craving drives them—they can dominate our choices. That’s when they tip from instinct into compulsion.
Reflexive Will as Instinct Out of Control
Reflexive will is when my instincts run unchecked. It’s the quick, automatic decision driven by fear, anger, or desire—without pausing to ask whether it aligns with my deeper values or Higher Power’s will.
For the alcoholic, this reflex shows up as picking up a drink even when my considered will—my truest self—wants sobriety.
Considered Will as Instinct in Balance
Considered will, by contrast, is what recovery helps to cultivate. It’s the pause between the instinct and the act. It’s when I let the Steps, the fellowship, and my Higher Power transform those raw instincts into something life-giving.
Instead of reflexively grabbing a drink to soothe fear or loneliness, considered will lets me connect, pray, journal, or share with another alcoholic.
Big Book Echo
This idea echoes Twelve Steps and Twelve Traditions, Step Four, where Bill W. writes about instincts “run riot,” pointing out how natural desires become destructive when they are unchecked. That’s the reflexive will—instincts hijacking choice.
In Step Four (pp. 42–43 in many editions), Bill describes our “natural instincts” — for sex, security, and society — and how they can become “excessive” or “misdirected,” leading to defects of character.
He writes about how “instincts run wild” when not properly guided, and how much of human trouble stems from the mismanagement of these basic drives.
This forms the foundation for the moral inventory of Step Four, since much of our resentment, fear, and harm to others can be traced back to these instincts in collision.
He circles back to instincts in Step Ten as well, noting that continued inventory is necessary because self-will and instincts can reassert themselves at any time.
In the Big Book (Alcoholics Anonymous), Bill W. does not lay out the “three instincts” (sex, security, society) framework the way he later does in the 12 & 12. That more systematic language comes later, when he’s reflecting on the Steps with the benefit of time and observation.
That said, the Big Book does talk about instincts and drives, just not in that tidy phrasing:
Step Four (Resentments, pp. 64–67): Bill writes that “resentment is the ‘number one’ offender” and ties it to “instincts” that have been hurt or threatened. He specifically mentions sex relations, self-esteem, security, and ambitions being interfered with — which is the seed of the later “instincts” framework.
Sex Inventory (pp. 68–70): Here he explores sexual instincts in detail, including selfishness, inconsideration, and fear as distortions of that drive.
Throughout the Big Book, he frequently refers to self-will run riot (pp. 60–62), which is closely tied to instincts being out of balance.
So: the roots of the instincts idea are absolutely in the Big Book, but it’s scattered through the Fourth Step inventory sections, not systematized into the “three instincts” model. The 12 & 12 takes those scattered ideas and develops them into a more coherent framework.
My denial was so thick when I came to Al-Anon that I didn’t even know there were alcoholics in my life. Al-Anon helped me feel safe enough to look at the truth. As my denial began to lift, I was horrified at the lies I had told myself and others.
But I went from one extreme to the other and became a compulsive truth teller. It became my mission to inform anyone who would listen about what was really happening. I labeled this “honesty,” but I was actually expressing my anger and scorn for the alcoholic — and crying out for help.
Al-Anon has shown me that my view of a situation is only the “truth” as seen from my tiny corner of the universe. I can’t undo past denial by blaming the alcoholic for having a disease that has affected both our lives, or by bitterly insisting that I now know the real truth. But I can forgive my extreme responses to extreme situations, knowing that I did the best I could at the time. Today I can be honest and still be gentle with myself.
Today’s Reminder
When I stop worrying about how others see things and focus on myself, I gain more serenity than I have ever known. I cannot control the disease of alcoholism, but I can step away from its grip by honestly examining my motives and feelings.
“Whoever fights monsters should see to it that in the process he does not become a monster.” – Friedrich Nietzsche
END OF QUOTE—————————————
I wondered whether I qualified for Al-Anon. But I read and listened and realized that my own deceased grandfather, who died of his Alcoholism when my mother was a 17-year-old girl, had an untreated impact on her that echoed through her parenting of me and my siblings. Then my stepson came into my life when he was 16 and was dealing with continuous battles with addiction. Other later developments made it clear that I carried the impact of alcoholism and addiction through lines of blinding intimacy. Once I had my own alcoholism treated into remission, I had to face the reality that my life had been contaminated by the dysfunction that comes from loving those afflicted.
I also learned not to accept “truth” from someone who was not truly invested in my wellbeing. I remember learning to distrust the word “honesty” because of it being weaponized against me. This was an early obstacle in my own recovery from alcoholism that I had to overcome. I would hear, “I just want you to be honest with me,” to be “I just want to collect enough evidence to win in court, to subjugate your dignity, and to indoctrinate you to love in defeat.”
When that fog began to lift, the first rays of truth felt threatening. I lurched from one extreme to the other, trying to make up for lost time by telling “my truth” to anyone who’d listen. I thought I was practicing a more powerful honesty, but often I was really venting anger, shaming the dysfunctional players in my life, or just pleading for someone to understand my pain.
Al-Anon has taught me that truth isn’t a blunt instrument. My perspective is still just that — my own small corner of reality. Honesty without compassion can wound others and, ultimately, myself. I can acknowledge that my early reactions were survival strategies, born from confusion and fear, and forgive myself for not knowing better at the time.
Now I understand that serenity grows not from proving I’m right, but from examining my own motives. I can still tell the truth — but now, I aim to do it with gentleness, humility, and awareness of my own limits. The disease of alcoholism and its surrounding dysfunction are beyond my control, but my responses are mine to tend. When I let go of the need to control how others see things, I free up the space to focus on my own healing.
That shift — from weaponizing truth to embodying it — has brought me more peace than I could have imagined when I first arrived.
After taking a good look within itself, our very small home group discovered we had gotten into a rut without realizing it. It had been a long time since we’d had new members, new input. And all of our meetings, which were either round-table discussions, or based solely on the One Day at a Time in Al-Anon book, seemed to cover the same ground with little change.
We took a group conscience and decided to try some meetings using other Al-Anon literature. We began a series of speaker exchanges with other local groups. It was not long before things began improving. Our membership tripled within a year. We soon had so many newcomers that we set up a series of beginners meetings as an extension of our group. Each of us has personally benefited because of our willingness to take an inventory as a group.
Today’s Reminder
Each group, like each individual, goes through changes. But we don’t have to face those changes alone. The Second Tradition reminds us that a loving God expresses himself through our group conscience. When each of us is willing to grow, we all benefit.
“There is a comfortable feeling in knowing that guidance for the group comes not through individuals, but from the willingness of the group to follow whatever wisdom may be expressed through the membership.” – Al-Anon Faces Alcoholism
END OF QUOTE—————————————
“Al-Anon Faces Alcoholism” is a public outreach publication distributed by Al-Anon Family Groups. It’s not core program literature like How Al-Anon Works or One Day at a Time, but instead functions as an introductory and informational magazine. Here’s what you might want to know about it:
Purpose and Audience
Outreach Tool: It’s specifically designed to introduce non-members—especially professionals, newcomers, and the general public—to Al-Anon’s message of hope for families and friends of alcoholics.
First Encounter: For many people, this booklet is their first contact with Al-Anon literature. It helps explain what Al-Anon is (and is not), what the program offers, and how it differs from therapy or religious counseling.
Content and Structure
Real Member Stories: It often features short personal stories from members describing how they were affected by someone else’s drinking and how Al-Anon helped.
Basic Program Info: It includes explanations of the 12 Steps, what to expect at a meeting, and the foundational concept that Al-Anon is for the families and friends of alcoholics—not the drinkers themselves.
Clarifying Misconceptions: Many editions address common misunderstandings, like:
“I don’t belong in Al-Anon—they are the ones with the problem.”
“I didn’t grow up in an alcoholic home, so this doesn’t apply to me.”
There comes a time—both in my personal walk and in group life—when the stillness is no longer serenity but stagnation.
At first, sameness can feel like safety. Familiar readings, familiar faces, familiar phrases: they comfort me when the world feels uncertain. But over time, if I’m not careful, comfort becomes complacency. And the soil of recovery—once so rich with willingness—can begin to harden beneath the surface.
Inventory is not just for individuals. Just as I take a personal moral inventory in Step Four and revisit it often through Steps Ten and Eleven, so too can a group pause and ask: Are we growing, or simply repeating? Are we thriving, or just surviving?
“For our group purpose there is but one authority—a loving God as He may express Himself in our group conscience.” That phrase means we don’t lead with ego, nor do we follow passivly. We come together, each voice a thread, to weave something larger than the sum of us.
So today I ask myself:
Has my recovery fallen into a rut disguised as routine?
Am I open to letting new perspectives shake loose what no longer serves?
And when the group shifts, do I fear it—or do I listen for the God of our understanding whispering in the change?
A spiritually awake group, like a spiritually awake soul, makes room for new growth—even when it means stepping outside the comfortable repetition of yesterday’s answers.
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.
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.
Years ago I started collecting sayings, and when I remembered, I preserved them in a Page called Quips and Quotes on this site. I have updated them recently. Click the hyperlink if you want to go directly to that page. And please comment if you have something you heard in recovery and would like to submit it for safe-keeping here, at the Daily Reprieve.
I talked to AI about the quick draw value of this tool in recovery and showed it my page. The following is a work that AI and I produced together:
Alcoholics Anonymous (AA) is rich with slogans and sayings—short, memorable phrases used to convey key spiritual and recovery principles. These sayings offer encouragement, perspective, and guidance, often repeated in meetings or found on AA literature and medallions.
Here’s a list of commonly used AA sayings:
🔁 Core AA Slogans
One Day at a Time – Focus on staying sober just for today.
Easy Does It – Slow down; don’t force outcomes.
Let Go and Let God – Release control and trust your Higher Power.
Live and Let Live – Focus on your own life and allow others to live theirs.
First Things First – Prioritize sobriety and essentials before anything else.
Keep It Simple – Avoid overcomplicating your recovery.
Progress, Not Perfection – Strive for improvement, not flawlessness.
This Too Shall Pass – All emotions and situations are temporary.
Think… Think… Think – Pause and reflect before acting, especially in emotional moments.
🧭 Spiritual & Reflective Sayings
Nothing Changes if Nothing Changes – Change requires action.
God Doesn’t Make Junk – Each person is inherently valuable.
I Am Responsible – For my own recovery and how I treat others.
We Are Only as Sick as Our Secrets – Honesty brings healing.
Act As If – Behave as the person you want to become.
Let It Begin with Me – Start the change you want to see.
Fear is the Absence of Faith – Encouragement to trust over panic.
🛠️ Tools for Daily Life
HALT – Don’t get too Hungry, Angry, Lonely, or Tired.
Keep Coming Back – Recovery is built on continued participation.
Fake It Till You Make It – Do the right things even if you don’t feel them yet.
Take What You Like and Leave the Rest – Accept what helps you in meetings.
Don’t Take That First Drink – Sobriety starts with the first decision.
🧱 Recovery Milestone Sayings
It Works If You Work It – Recovery requires action and effort.
One is Too Many, and a Thousand is Never Enough – Warning about the slippery slope of addiction.
Stinkin’ Thinkin’ – Negative or addictive thinking patterns.
A Drink is Too Many and a Thousand Not Enough – Similar to above; the obsession grows once it starts.
You’re Only as Sober as Your Last Drunk – A reminder of humility and the need for continued vigilance.
The Cracked Mirror That Speaks Truth
There’s a peculiar power in these rooms—where truth doesn’t arrive dressed in doctrine, but in punchlines and paradoxes. The sayings we pass around aren’t just slogans. They’re soul shorthands—condensed wisdom forged in the crucible of ruin and grace.
“Don’t analyze—utilize.” That’s the invitation. My mind used to be a maze where nothing escaped without being dissected to death. I called it insight. But in truth, it was paralysis—mental masturbation, looping endlessly in thought with no climax of action. The Steps don’t ask me to figure them out. They ask me to take them.
Because recovery isn’t a theory. “It is easier to act yourself into a new way of thinking than to think yourself into a new way of acting.” That line cracked something open in me. It taught me to lace my shoes even when I didn’t want to walk. It taught me to call a sponsor even when I had nothing to say but silence. It taught me that willingness is not the absence of resistance but the choice to move anyway.
Still, the disease whispers: tell them your drunk-a-log one more time—stretch it out like a greatest hits album. But pain without solution becomes performance. I have learned to pivot: less biography, more blueprint.
And when I try to do this thing by force, to muscle my way through grief or control another’s journey, I remember the phrase that humbles me every time: “Pushing rope.” You can’t force serenity. You can’t yank God on a leash. You surrender.
I’ve also learned that I can work the Twelve Steps backwards—that sobriety without spiritual practice can become its own high horse. First I stop writing. Then I stop praying. Then I stop listening. Then my ego makes a comeback tour—and I confuse insight with immunity. When that happens, and my ass is on fire, no amount of spiritual bravado will do. I need emotional toilet paper—the daily cleansing of Step Ten. The rinse and repeat of accountability.
I’ve cried out to a God who I felt was too quiet, too slow—only to later realize, as someone said: “God is old, and He is slow.” He is not rushed. But neither is He absent. His grace has rarely arrived early, but never has it come too late.
Sometimes the most devastating thing is realizing that “the worst thing that ever happened to me… never happened.” I built whole stories around shadows. I defended against disasters that never came. I’ve spent decades fearing phantoms.
But now, when I surrender control of the remote, I whisper: “It’s God’s turn to say what we’re watching tonight.” I practice living by faith, not just in Him, but in the unfolding script He’s already written.
“If you don’t stand for something, you’ll fall for anything.” For me, that “something” is my spiritual center. My recovery. My daily choice to show up, not just for myself, but for the ones who haven’t arrived yet. Because “you’ve got to give it away to keep it.”
And the more I receive, the more I must share. Otherwise, I risk spiritual constipation—hoarding blessings, clutching insights, until my soul gets sluggish. The truth is: “I get drunk. We stay sober.” Community is the crucible.
I’ve learned to challenge my thoughts. Because “it’s a fact that you’re feeling, but what you’re feeling is not necessarily fact.” Feelings are visitors, not deities. They pass through, but they don’t dictate my truth.
“It gets easier when you remember the ‘it’ is you.” Recovery isn’t something I do—it’s who I become. I stop treating myself like a project to fix and start loving myself as a person worth keeping.
Because me hating myself and being good to you cannot live in the same house. Eventually, the foundation crumbles. Integrity begins within.
And when I write—truly write—I tremble. Because writing it down makes it vulnerable. And vulnerability, I’ve learned, is not weakness. It’s Step Four in ink.
I’ve come to see that every problem is a First Step problem, rooted in unmanageability, and every solution is a Twelfth Step solution, rooted in service, in the transcendence of self.
“The good thing about the program is that it works. The bad thing about the program is that it works.” It doesn’t let me hide. It brings light to the places I thought were cleverly locked away. It makes me face the fact that I wasn’t always a victim. Sometimes, I volunteered for the pain.
And now? Now, I’ve got a three-minute filter on my mouth, because after three minutes, nobody’s listening but me. And in those three minutes, I’ve got to make it count.
Yes, I’m an egomaniac with an inferiority complex, and I used to think that isolation cured loneliness. But now I know—my disease thrives in silence, but it dies in the light of shared stories.
Religion is God on the outside trying to get in. Spirituality is God on the inside trying to get out. I no longer search for God in stained glass and ritual alone. I find Him in steps, in coffee cups, in the shaking voice of the newcomer.
You’re never too dumb for this program. But you can be too smart. I’ve been that guy—the one who reads the “white parts” of the Big Book. But now I listen for the black ink—the hard-won truth.
Alcoholism is a disease that demands to be treated—either with alcohol or with meetings. And so, I choose meetings. I choose life. I choose to remember: “My gifts end at my fingertips.” I cannot save anyone. I can only offer what’s been freely given.
Kierkegaard had it right: “Life can only be understood backward, but it must be lived forward.” So I look back—but I don’t stare. I gather the wisdom, and then I move. One day further from my last drink. One day closer to the man I am still becoming.
Alcohol was killing me, but just refused to bury me. Grace had other plans.
So now, I carry a pencil in my pocket. Because a short pencil is better than a long memory—and I never know when the truth will show up in a meeting, in a miracle, or in a mess.
This program hasn’t just made me sober. It has made me comfortable with who I am—so that I no longer apologize for who I am not.
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.
Tradition Three reminds me of two aspects of Al-Anon that I cherish. First, I know that I can go to a meeting anywhere in the world and expect to find no other affiliation promoted by the group. The members will not try to sell me a religion, a treatment program, a therapy, a political platform, or anything else. Should any individual in the fellowship discuss any of these with me, I am free to take what I like and leave the rest.
Second, I know that I meet the sole requirements for membership in Al-Anon: I have encountered a problem of alcoholism in a relative or friend. I do not have to dress, act, feel, speak, or work a certain way to belong, I do not have to believe or disbelieve. I am free to be myself. This is a come-as-you-are program.
Today’s Reminder
Al-Anon has come to my support – undiluted and with no strings attached – when I have needed it. I hope to pass it on in the same spirit.
“Tradition Three explains two ways in which my Al-Anon friends and I can keep it simple. One is to avoid being diverted from our program by others, and two is to welcome into Al-Anon anyone who is suffering from the effects of another’s alcoholism.” ~ Al-Anon’s Twelve Steps & Twelve Traditions
END OF QUOTE—————————————
Al-Anon Tradition Three: The relatives of alcoholics, when gathered together for mutual aid, may call themselves an Al‑Anon Family Group, provided that, as a group, they have no other affiliation. The only requirement for membership is that there be a problem of alcoholism in a relative or friend.
Reading Tradition Three through the lens of my own journey, I’m reminded how crucial simplicity and clarity have been in my healing. There’s a quiet relief in knowing I don’t have to qualify myself beyond what I’ve already lived. The pain I carried from someone else’s drinking was more than enough to earn me a seat. That’s it. That’s all. And that is everything.
The first part of the Tradition reassures me that this fellowship doesn’t ask for anything beyond my honesty. I don’t need to adopt a belief system, perform a role, or align with anyone’s agenda. This open-handed welcome was life-giving. I didn’t have to defend my right to be there—I could just breathe.
I’ve had people in meetings share strong opinions, and I’ve learned that Al-Anon gives me the dignity to decide what speaks to me and what doesn’t. I’m not here to be convinced—I’m here to recover. “Take what you like and leave the rest” isn’t just a slogan; it’s a lifeline for someone like me who has spent years trying to please others, fit in, or earn a place.
The second part hits home, too: I don’t have to clean myself up to belong. Al-Anon met me at my messiest—grieving, angry, confused—and said, “Welcome.” That radical inclusiveness gave me permission to begin. It taught me that healing doesn’t start when I’m fixed; it starts when I show up.
I always felt that my loved one’s drinking was a terrible reflection on me, and I worried about what people thought. One day he told me he wanted to get sober. I was elated for a day, until his next binge. Then I was devastated.
Some months later, my loved one finally did go to AA. Two days later, the drinking began again.
The most important thing I’ve learned in Al-Anon since then is that my well-being cannot depend upon whether or not the alcoholic drinks. His behavior is not a reflection of me, it’s a reflection of his disease. However, my behavior is a reflection of e, and I owe it to myself to pay attention to what it has to tell me. I have to take care of myself. I have to accept that alcoholism is a disease which can be arrested but not cured. Many alcoholics make a number of attempts at sobriety before actually getting sober; others never do. My life is too important to waste waiting for someone else’s choices, even when it’s someone I dearly love.
Today’s Reminder
No matter whether the alcoholic in my life is drunk or sober, the time to put energy into my own recovery is right now.
“Al-Anon helped me to focus my attention on what I could do about my situation, instead of concentrating all my attention on what I thought the alcoholic should do. I was the one who had to take a stand. “ ~ . . . In All Our Affairs
END OF QUOTE—————————————
There was a time when every relapse felt like a personal failure. I didn’t just worry about my loved one drinking again—I worried about what it said about me. What it meant about the life I was trying so hard to hold together. When they said they wanted to get sober, my heart lit up with hope. I thought maybe this time. But when they drank again the soon after, that hope collapsed like a house of cards, and I was left sifting through the debris of my expectations.
That wasn’t the last time I rode the rollercoaster. Each time they tried to quit, I held my breath. Each time they drank again, I felt like the bottom dropped out of my world. I thought if I could just do something differently—love harder, control better, explain more clearly—it would finally stick.
But Al-Anon slowly began to offer me a different way.
It didn’t happen all at once. But little by little, I came to understand that someone else’s drinking or using is not about me. It’s not a verdict on my worth or my effort. It’s not even about love. It’s a disease. And that disease has its own grip, its own voice, and its own timeline.
That realization was painful—but also incredibly freeing.
Because if their behavior is not a reflection of me, then I can stop living as though my life is on pause until they change. I can stop making their sobriety the condition for my peace. I can start paying attention to my behavior. To what I need. To what my own reactions are trying to tell me.
I’ve learned that self-care in this context isn’t negatively selfish. It’s survival. And more than that—it’s a spiritual responsibility. I can’t make him sober. But I can choose, every day, to be sober from the chaos, the obsessing, the waiting, the rescuing.
Recovery is not just for the alcoholic/addict. It’s also for those who love the alcoholic/addict.
And my healing doesn’t have to wait for anything. Not another promise, not another slip, not another “I swear I’ll change.”
The time to recover is now—because my life is too sacred to live in limbo. I am not responsible for another’s sobriety. I am responsible for my serenity. Now I am free to ask, “What in me is asking for care, now that I’m no longer waiting on someone else to change?”
Daily Reprieve 
You must be logged in to post a comment.