Daily Reprieve

From Courage to Change of Aug 31:

I have often tried to change other people to suit my own desires. I knew what I needed, and if those needs weren’t met, the problem was with the other person. I was looking for someone who would always be there for me but would not impose on me very much. Looking back, it’s almost as if I were looking for a pet rather than a human being. Naturally, this outlook put a strain on my relationships. In Al-Anon I have learned there is a difference between what I expect and what I need. No one person can be all things to me.

Once again I’m faced with examining my own attitudes. What do I expect, and is that expectation realistic? Do I respect other people’s individuality — or only the parts that suit my fancy? Do I appreciate what I do receive?

Today’s Reminder

Trying to change other people is futile, foolish, and certainly not loving. Today, instead of assuming that they are the problem, I can look at myself to see what needs changing within.

“The beginning of love is to let those we love be perfectly themselves and not to twist them to fit our own image.” – Thomas Merton

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Thomas Merton (1915–1968) was a Trappist monk, writer, mystic, and social critic who became one of the most influential spiritual voices of the 20th century. Born in France and raised in Europe and the United States, Merton led a bohemian life as a young man before converting to Catholicism. In 1941, he entered the Abbey of Gethsemani, a Trappist monastery in Kentucky, where he lived for most of his life.

His spiritual autobiography The Seven Storey Mountain (1948) became an unexpected bestseller and is still considered a modern spiritual classic. It details his early life, conversion, and monastic calling.

He went on to write over 70 books covering Christian mysticism, contemplation, interfaith dialogue, and social justice.

A Trappist monk is someone who has surrendered to silence, who seeks daily spiritual clarity not through dogma but through disciplined reflection and holy routine. Their life is a metaphor for Step Eleven: “Sought through prayer and meditation to improve our conscious contact with God…”

There was a time when I mistook control for connection. I would extend my heart like a leash—expecting those around me to conform, comply, and complete the parts of me I didn’t want to face alone. If they disappointed me, I blamed them. If they didn’t anticipate my emotional hunger or accommodate my fragility, My reflex might be to see it as betrayal. I didn’t realize that my coping instincts was to turn people into projects, lovers into lifeboats, and friends into mirrors who I expected to reflect back only what I liked.

The 12 Step recovery program taught me to pause long enough to ask: Am I loving this person—or managing them? Am I present to their reality—or editing their soul to make myself more comfortable?

In my desperation for safety, I had unknowingly tried to create emotional pets—warm, quiet, predictable companions who would never challenge me, never need me too much, never step outside the lines of what I could handle. But people aren’t pets. They’re sacred, stormy, living mysteries. And love isn’t domestication.

Through Step work, I’ve begun to see how my expectations—often rooted in fear, fantasy, or unmet childhood needs—distort my view of others. What I wanted from someone wasn’t always what I needed. And what I needed wasn’t always theirs to give. No one person can carry the full weight of my healing. That’s Higher Power territory.

So now, when I feel the itch to fix someone, I know to turn inward. The irritation may be revealing a part of me that still aches, still fears, still craves control disguised as care.

Recovery has not made me immune to longing—but it’s made me more honest about it. I can want closeness without suffocation. I can desire intimacy without rewriting someone’s script. I can love without needing to be worshipped.

Today, I remember:
The beginning of love is not to shape but to see.
To meet another soul not with conditions, but with presence.
To give the grace I crave.
To surrender the illusion of control.
To let people be.

And in that letting go—I become freer too.