Daily Reprieve

From Courage to Change of Sep 04:

As we let go of obsession, worry, and focusing on everyone but ourselves, many of us were bewildered by the increasing calmness of our minds. We knew how to live in a state of crisis, but it often took a bit of adjustment to become comfortable with stillness. The price of serenity was the quieting of the constant mental chatter that had taken up so much time; suddenly we had lots of time on our hands and we wondered how to fill it.

Having become more and more serene as a result of working the Al-Anon program, I was surprised to find myself still grabbing for old fears as if I wanted to remain in crisis. I realized that I didn’t know how to feel safe unless I was mentally busy. When I worried, I felt involved — and therefore somewhat in control.

As an exercise, my Sponsor suggested that I try to maintain my inner stillness even when I felt scared or doubtful. As I did so, I reassured myself again and again that I was safely in the care of a Power greater than myself. Today I know that sanity and serenity are the gifts I have received for my efforts and my faith. With practice, I am learning to trust the peace.

Today’s Reminder

Today I will relish my serenity. I know that it is safe to enjoy it.

“Be still and know that I am with you.” – English prayer

END OF QUOTE—————————————

Serenity. Coma. Lethargy. Marijuana Intoxication. Paralysis. Impotence. To me, these were near identical synonyms. The neutrality of vigilance. The rejection of relevance.

“God grant me the Serenity to. . .” Accept.

In the world I came from, serenity felt suspicious.
Stillness was not safety—it was the silence before the next scream, the quiet that meant someone was brooding, using, or gone.
So when I began to heal, when the noise dimmed and the ache lessened, I didn’t feel peace.
I felt… lost.

What do I do when I don’t need to fix anyone?
What do I do when the fire alarm in my nervous system stops blaring?

For so long, obsession and worry were my way of being involved—my illusion of control.
They gave me purpose. They filled the hours.
They made me feel like I mattered.
To let them go felt like floating in open space without a tether.

But serenity, I’ve learned, is not empty.
It is not apathy. It is not ignorance. It is not withdrawal.
It is safety without vigilance, presence without panic.
It is the return of my life to me.

The first few moments of that calm were unbearable.
I wanted to reach for an old fear, the way a child grabs a familiar blanket, even if it’s filthy and torn.
Crisis was home.
But healing asked me to make a new home in the quiet.
Not to stop the fear.
But to let it move through me, while staying grounded in a Power greater than my history.

And I learned:
I can be scared and still be sane.
I can be uncertain and still be at peace.

Peace isn’t something I earn.
It’s something I practice receiving.

Today, I’m learning that serenity is not the absence of life.
It’s the presence of me—undistracted, undivided, beloved.

So I light a candle not because I’m scared, but because I am allowed to enjoy the moment.
I breathe deep not because I’m bracing, but because I’m here.
And when the stillness comes again, I won’t flinch.
I’ll embrace.

Because serenity is no longer a stranger.
It’s my inheritance.

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.

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.

https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B0FGQG1Z2D/

Available on Amazon

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.