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Endigar 991

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

From Courage to Change of Aug 12:

A particular incident reminds me of the sense of surrender that I feel when I truly take the Third Step and turn my will and my life over to God’s care. Some years ago my sister discovered that she had a brain tumor. Her initial diagnosis was dire – also, fortunately, inaccurate. When I heard about my sister’s choices for treatment, I felt that she should pursue certain avenues that she had ruled out. I grew increasingly impatient with her choices until I read a commentary by a person I respect, suggesting that the avenues I had been championing could do more harm than good.

That’s when I realized the limits of my own understanding. I saw that my sense of urgency stemmed not from certainty but from fear. I discovered that my only honest course of action was to turn my fear and my love over to the care of my Higher Power. I could no longer pretend to know what was best.

Today’s Reminder

I am not a rocket scientist, a philosopher, or a wizard. Even if I were all three, I would still find myself looking off the edge of my understanding into a vast unknown. As I recognize my own limitations, I am more grateful than ever for a Higher Power who is free from such restrictions.

” . . . time will change and even reverse many of your present opinions. Refrain, therefore, awhile from setting yourself up as a judge of the highest matters.” ~ Plato

END OF QUOTE—————————————

There comes a moment—sometimes gentle, sometimes shattering—when I am reminded that I do not see the whole picture. I might dress my fear in the robes of urgency, convincing myself that I must act, must decide, must fix. But beneath that frantic energy is often a frightened child, scrambling for control in a universe too vast to tame.

I once believed that if I just knew more, if I read enough, meditated enough, mapped enough of the darkness, I could avoid suffering. But the truth is, I will never outgrow my need for surrender. My most honest prayer is not a request for answers, but a yielding of both my fear and my love into the care of a Higher Power who knows—and is not bound by—my limitations.

There is a sacred hush in realizing: I do not have to be the judge of the highest matters. I can lay down my gavel. My opinions will change. What feels urgent today may become irrelevant tomorrow. But the quiet, consistent grace of my Higher Power remains—unchanged by time, untouched by ego, undiminished by my doubt.

And so, I pause. I breathe. I release. Not because I have the answers, but because I no longer need them to keep going.

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Endigar 985

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

From Courage to Change of Aug 09:

Before coming to Al-Anon, I never felt I could be myself around other people. I was too busy trying to be what I thought others wanted me to be, afraid people wouldn’t accept me the way I am.

But with my first Al-Anon meeting I felt at ease. Members talked about common characteristics that I recognized in myself. “They’re talking about themselves, but they’re describing me!” I thought. “I’m not crazy after all!” Meetings helped me to realize that there were many people in this world like me – people who had been affected by another’s alcoholism. I didn’t have to lie to people in these meetings, and eventually I learned that I didn’t have to lie to anyone anywhere. I came to see that I can live my life for inner peace and not for outward appearances.

Today’s Reminder

Living with joys and problems affirms my membership in the human race. What sets me apart is the path on which I have been placed to walk. No one can walk it for me, nor can I change my path to suit anyone else.

“The shell that had enclosed my life, that had prevented me from living and loving, has cracked, and the power of the Al-Anon program is filling the void that for years kept me at a distance from life.” ~ As We Understood …

END OF QUOTE—————————————

NOTE: Title: As We Understood… This book is a collection of writings from Al-Anon members sharing their personal and diverse understandings of spirituality and a Higher Power.

Published by: Al-Anon Family Groups
First Published: 1985
Length: ~250 pages
Purpose: Spiritual exploration and personal understanding of a Higher Power.

Rather than presenting a fixed doctrine or theology, the book emphasizes:

  • Personal experiences with spirituality
  • Cultural and religious diversity in understanding a Higher Power
  • Evolution of spiritual awareness through the Twelve Steps
  • Meditations, reflections, and essays from individual members

Before I found recovery, I was a shapeshifter—not the mythical kind, but the wounded kind. I wore masks so well that I began to forget there was a face beneath them. I measured my value in terms of acceptance from others, crafting versions of myself like armor. But it was never about love—it was about fear. Fear that the raw, unpolished truth of who I was would repel the world. So I adjusted, adapted, and appeased.

And then, one day, I walked into a 12 Step room. I didn’t know what I was expecting—maybe judgment, maybe silence—but instead I heard people speak my soul aloud. They were describing themselves, but every word mirrored something hidden inside me. Shame melted a little. I laughed when they laughed. I cried before I even knew why. “I’m not crazy after all.” That realization didn’t come like a lightning bolt—it came like a warm light, quiet and steady, touching places long frozen over.

These rooms gave me more than just recognition. They gave me permission. Permission to stop lying. To stop managing perceptions. To stop living as an echo of someone else’s approval. I started to learn that truth isn’t a weapon—it’s a salve. And honesty, the kind I feared would exile me, became the bridge to connection. That bridge didn’t lead to performance—it led to peace.

The journey inward is one no one can walk for me. My pain may not be unique, but my path is. And when I accepted that—when I stopped editing myself for the sake of belonging—I discovered that I had always belonged. I just hadn’t yet arrived.

There’s something sacred about breaking open. Like a shell cracked by divine timing, the fracture isn’t a failure—it’s a threshold. I didn’t just let go of control. I let go of loneliness. That empty space I carried for so long wasn’t a flaw—it was a womb, waiting to be filled by something real. The Al-Anon program didn’t just hand me tools. It breathed into that emptiness, and what grew there was life. Messy, beautiful, human life.

Now I understand that I don’t walk this road to be seen—I walk it to see. Myself. Others. My Higher Power. And I walk it honestly. That means sometimes with a limp. Sometimes off course. But always, always toward the truth. And that’s the gift I protect most fiercely: I no longer abandon myself just to be loved. I love myself enough not to abandon who I am becoming.

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Endigar 981

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , on June 19, 2025 by endigar

From Courage to Change of Aug 06:

I dreamt that I was trapped in a burning room. This smoke filled the air, and the only exit door was blocked by fire. As I gasped for breath, a hand appeared behind the flames, beckoning me to come. I knew that freedom, light, and air were on the other side of that door, and that certain death awaited me if I remained. Still, I hesitated. how could I walk through the fire?

Sometimes I feel the same way about the challenges I face in my waking life. Even when my position is hopeless and my Higher Power beckons, urging me to take a risk, I still hesitate, hoping for a miracle. I forgot that the miracle is already here. Today, thanks to Al-Anon, I have a Higher Power who is always here. Today, thanks to Al-Anon, I have a Higher Power who is always there for me, helping me to cope with my fears and find new, effective solutions to my problems. Thus, I am taken beyond the problems that once held me hostage. I am free to act or not to act, to take a chance, to hold off on a decision, to make choices that feel right.

Today’s Reminder

It takes courage to step beyond what is comfortable, predictable, and known. Courage is a gift from my Higher Power that I find in the rooms of Al-Anon and in the hearts of its members.

“Courage faces fear and thereby masters it.” ~ Martin Luther King, Jr.

END OF QUOTE—————————————

There are days when the fear feels cellular—like it was encoded in me before I ever had words for it. I can feel it tighten in my gut, that old companion of anxiety, whispering the same terrible stories: You’re not safe. You’re not capable. You’re not enough.
These aren’t rational fears. They’re relics—ghosts from the house I grew up in, where silence was loud, and love came with conditions. The damage wasn’t just environmental—it was spiritual. A haunting, inherited unease, as if I had been born already braced for impact.

In recovery, we often speak of fear as False Evidence Appearing Real, but when your nervous system was forged in chaos, the illusion feels like reality. Like being caught in a dream where the walls are on fire, and the exits are hidden behind emotional debris. Even when the flames are illusion, the burn is real.

But there is something remarkable that happens in the 12 Step program. I begin to awaken. Slowly. The nightmare begins to fade. Not because the fear disappears, but because I start to see it for what it is: a shadow from the past, not a command in the present.

When I hesitate, when I freeze before the next step, I try to remember—I am no longer alone. There is a Presence now. A Higher Power who does not demand I be fearless but invites me to be faithful. A Power that doesn’t just reside in some cosmic realm but shows up in quiet meetings, in the trembling voice of a newcomer, in the nod of someone who has walked through their own fire and lived.

The miracle isn’t that the fear is gone. The miracle is that I don’t have to obey it.

Now I am allowed to pause without shame. To act without certainty. To risk a better outcome than the one fear predicted.
This courage is not manufactured—it’s gifted. And like all spiritual gifts, it flows best when shared. So, I keep showing up, lending my presence to the room, hoping someone else might see in me what I see in them: not a broken survivor of a fire, but a living ember of healing light.

And that’s how we pass through the flames—together.

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Endigar 979

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , , , on June 17, 2025 by endigar

From Courage to Change of Aug 04:

I can certainly learn from criticism, and I want to remain open to hearing what others have to say, but neither my popularity nor my ability to please those I live and work with are legitimate measures of my worth as an individual. Al-Anon helps me to recognize that I have value simply because I breathe the breath of humanity. As I gain self-esteem, I find it easier to evaluate my behavior more realistically.

The support I get in Al-Anon helps me find the courage to learn about myself. As I come to feel at home with myself and my values, my likes and dislikes, my dreams and choices, I am increasingly able to risk other people’s disapproval. I am equally able to hone others when they choose to be themselves whether or not I like what I see.

Today’s Reminder

With the help of a loving Sponsor and the support of my fellow Al-Anon members, I am learning to find my place in this world – a place where I can live with dignity and self-respect.

“I exist as I am, that is enough, if no other in the world be aware I sit content, and if each and all be aware I sit content” ~ Walt Whitman

END OF QUOTE—————————————

In the rooms of 12 Step recovery, I’m slowly unlearning a lifetime of performance—this old belief that I am only as good as what others think of me. Approval was once my oxygen. I would hold my breath, shapeshift, and contort my spirit into whatever I thought might earn a nod, a smile, or—God forbid—avoid rejection.

But recovery has given me a new breath to draw from: the breath of humanity, the truth that I have worth simply because I exist. Not because I am liked. Not because I am helpful. Not because I never upset anyone. Just because I am.

That realization didn’t land all at once. It came in small whispers—through shares that mirrored my hidden pain, through the steady voice of my Sponsor reminding me that dignity isn’t something I earn; it’s something I reclaim.

With the safety net of this fellowship, I’ve begun to risk being seen—not the curated self, but the actual self. And oddly enough, the more I become acquainted with who I really am, the less I need unanimous applause to feel okay. I can stand when others sit. I can disagree and still belong. I can love someone and let them disapprove of me.

The beauty of this journey is that it opens my hands—not just to receive love, but to offer it freely. I no longer have to hoard connection or manipulate acceptance. I can honor someone else’s path, even if it’s different from mine. I can let them be real, too.

And in moments of solitude, when there is no audience and no validation, I can whisper to the silence:

“I exist as I am, that is enough.”

And I sit content.

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Endigar 973

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , , , on June 11, 2025 by endigar

From Courage to Change of Jul 31:

A source of friction between my alcoholic loved one and myself has always been housekeeping. I usually feel so overwhelmed by all the things that need doing that I am not able to get organized. So when he drinks, he rages about whatever needs dusting, scrubbing, or picking up.

Recently we were cleaning up the kitchen after a big breakfast. Without thinking, I moved the containers on one refrigerator shelf and wiped u a spill. No big deal, but one part of the refrigerator was now clean. I thought, “Maybe that’s all there is to cleaning house. If I’d do one small task at a time, I’d get something accomplished.” Then the light went on inside my head. That’s what “One Day at a Time” is all about! When I take one day, one moment, one task at a time and really concentrate on it, a lot more gets done.

Today’s Reminder

“Remembering that we can only live one day at a time removes the burdens of the past, keeps our attention on the present, and keeps us from fearing the future.” ~ This Is Al-Anon

END OF QUOTE—————————————

Housekeeping has never just been about mess. It has always been laced with something heavier—shame, powerlessness, old arguments, and the volatile dance of trying to maintain control in a house where chaos walks in on two legs and smells like alcohol.

When that alcoholic or addictive spirit takes on human form, the house becomes a war zone of dust and blame. I see the crumbs on the counter, but I also see the accusation behind blurry eyes. And I feel the overwhelm rise like a tide—everything out of place, everything needing me, and me… too tired to know where to begin.

But recovery has taught me to look for grace in the smallest places.

One spill. One shelf. One act I didn’t plan but allowed. And in that moment, I wasn’t fixing the house or calming the storm. I was simply responding to what was in front of me—not the ghosts of yesterday’s rage or the mountain of tomorrow’s tasks. Just one human moment of tending.

Maybe this is all recovery is: one shelf at a time. One breath at a time. One sacred pause between panic and presence.

Because that’s the real mess I’m trying to clean: not just the counters, but the inner world cluttered with fear and guilt. When I try to clean it all at once, I break. But when I let myself live “One Day at a Time,” I come back to myself. Not perfect. Not done. But present.

That slogan isn’t just about staying sober—it’s about staying available to life. It frees me from the tyranny of “never enough” and places me into the holiness of just this. This task. This breath. This moment.

And strangely, when I stop trying to clean up the whole world, I actually start to see progress. The kitchen shines. My heart softens. My spirit steadies.

I don’t need to fear the future or relive the past. I just need to wipe the shelf in front of me—and bless it as enough.

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Endigar 972

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , , , on June 10, 2025 by endigar

From Courage to Change of Jul 30:

I’ve often heard that happiness is an inside job, and, much of the time, I can be as happy as I diced to be. Yet I have often found happiness fleeting. I know it’s unrealistic to expect to be happy all the time, but I think I might achieve this goal much more often if I made a firmer commitment to my decision to be happy. Instead, I choose happiness and then abandon my choice at the first sign of trouble. How deep can my commitment be if I all eve slight obstacles to rob me of my sense of well-being?

Commitment takes work; it is a discipline. When I make a decision, I must ask myself what I really want and if I am willing to work for it. Old habits are hard to break. If i have a long-standing habit of responding to problems by feeling like a helpless victim, it may not be easy to stand by my decision to be happy. A change of attitude sometimes helps: Perhaps I can look at problems as opportunities to commit more deeply to my choices. In other words, every obstacle can prompt me to assert that I really mean it – I do want to be happy.

Today’s Reminder

When I make a choice and then stick with it, I teach myself that my choices do have meaning and I am worthy of trust. I have an opportunity to make a commitment to one of my choices today.

“Our very life depends on everything’s recurring till we answer from within.” ~ Robert Frost

END OF QUOTE—————————————

Sometimes I think recovery asks me not just to get sober, but to get real—to start telling the truth about what I really want, and how easily I abandon it when life pokes at old wounds.

This realization hits me in the gut, because I have chosen happiness before. I’ve whispered it in prayers, journaled it into affirmations, even tried to fake it till I made it. But under stress, I still default to that familiar old posture: the slumped shoulders of the victim, the inner narrative that says, “See? Nothing good lasts.”

But I don’t want to live like that anymore. That’s why I show up to meetings. That’s why I inventory. That’s why I pray.

Because happiness, for me, isn’t about getting what I want—it’s about learning to want what I’ve got. To bless it. To be in right relationship with my life, even when it’s inconvenient or painful or just plain boring.

And yeah—it takes commitment. Real, grown-ass, spiritual discipline. Not because I’m trying to be perfect, but because I’m trying to be free.

And every time I choose to recommit—to this path, to my recovery, to the decision to live awake—I remind myself:
I am not powerless over my own response.
I am not the victim of every passing emotion.
I am not who I used to be.

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Endigar 968

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

From Courage to Change of Jul 26:

I am learning to identify illusions that make my life unmanageable. For example, I wanted to stop controlling people and situations, but the harder I tried, the more I felt as if I were knocking my head against a wall. Then someone mentioned that I couldn’t give up something I didn’t have. Perhaps I could try giving up the illusion of control. Once I saw that my attempts to exercise power were based on illusions, it was easier to let go and let God.

Another illusion is that I have a big hole inside and I must fill it with something from outside myself. Compulsively shopping, obsessing about relationships, trying to fix everyone else’s problems – these are some of the ways I’ve tried to fill this hole. Yet the problem is spiritual emptiness and must be filled from within. It wasn’t until I saw through the illusion that I was deficient and needed to look outside myself for wholeness, that I began to heal.


Today’s Reminder

Today, if I hear myself thinking that I am not good enough or that I need something outside myself to make me whole, I’ll know that I am listening to illusions. Today I can call an Al-Anon friend and come back to reality.

“. . . human beings, by changing the inner attitudes of their minds, can change the outer aspects of their lives.” ~ William James

END OF QUOTE—————————————

My work in recovery is not just a story of struggle—but a series of quiet turning points, points where I take a breath between battles. I take time to recognize the significance of genuine expression. I realized that any of us, myself especially, when subjected to prolonged periods of internal abuse, like the alcoholic written about in The Doctor’s Opinion, soon find that they “cannot after a time differentiate the true from the false.”

There’s a sacred power in beginning to name illusions. In early recovery, the lines between illusion and reality often blur, and the pain feels real enough to confuse the two. That’s why this moment—this realization—is profound: I couldn’t give up control because I never truly had it. That kind of truth doesn’t just land in the mind—it softens the fists we’ve kept clenched for years.

And then there’s the hole—the aching, familiar void we all try to outrun or out-buy or out-fix. I know that urge, to chase wholeness in others, in things, in saving or seducing or pleasing. But this realization reminds me that spiritual emptiness is not a flaw—it’s a calling. A whisper that we are ready to return to ourselves. Not to fill the hole with something else, but to meet the space within with light, attention, and care.

When I hear the old voices whisper: You’re not enough. You need more. Fix it fast.—I will pause. I will know this is illusion speaking. And I will return to what is real: connection. Friendship. God. And the quiet truth that I am already whole, even as I heal.

This is not the end of the work. But it is the end of the lie.

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Endigar 967 ~ From the Disease to the Blade of Grass

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , on June 2, 2025 by endigar

My disease made me a fortress. My recovery made me a field.

The Life of My Disease vs. The Life of Recovery

1. From Isolated Hyper-Awareness to Collective Awareness

In the disease:
I was hyper-aware of everything—especially myself. How I looked, how I was perceived, what I was owed, who wronged me. I lived in my own head like a sniper in a tower. Always scanning. Always separate. I didn’t want connection—I wanted control.
In recovery:
I am just one of many. I can come down from the tower. I find healing in being part of something larger. When I share honestly and listen openly, I become we, not just I. I learn that my pain is not unique—and neither is my hope.

“You are no longer alone.” And thank God for that.

2. From Parasitically Opportunistic to Humble and Replaceable

In the disease:
I used people. I watched for weaknesses. I took what I could and twisted what I had to. Everything and everyone was a means to an end. Even when I showed up, it was often to get something—attention, pity, money, forgiveness I hadn’t earned.
In recovery:
I learn to give without needing return. I’m not here to feed off the group—I’m here to nourish it. Like a blade of grass, I don’t demand applause. I serve because I’m grateful. If I disappear tomorrow, the grass keeps growing. That’s not sad—that’s spiritual.

“Self-seeking will slip away.” And it does, if I stay willing.

3. From Dominance of Personality to Principles Before Personalities

In the disease:
I was the center of the universe. Loud or quiet, charming or angry—it was all about me. My story. My pain. My rules. Even when I hated myself, I needed to be the star.
In recovery:
I learn to step back. Principles lead, not personalities. I don’t need to be right to be okay. I don’t need to be liked to belong. The message is stronger than the messenger. I follow spiritual laws now—not my moods, not my ego.

“We are not a glum lot,” but we are not a cult of personality either.

4. From Rigid Embrace of the System to Teachable Simplicity

In the disease:
I clung to systems that justified my brokenness—mental labels, excuses, patterns, even self-pity. I would rather be right in dysfunction than wrong and changing. I was rigid. I called it identity, but it was really fear.
In recovery:
I become teachable. Like grass bending in the wind, I can change without breaking. I listen. I try new ways. I stop pretending I know what’s best. I start asking what’s true.
It’s not weakness—it’s wisdom.

“Some of us tried to hold on to our old ideas, and the result was nil.” I don’t want nil anymore. I want growth.

It seems then, that recovery isn’t about becoming the strongest, smartest, or most spiritual.
It’s about becoming a blade of grass—rooted, connected, growing together.
And it starts by surrendering the lonely, hardened, parasitic life of the disease.

Am I able to choose simplicity over spectacle? Connection over control?
Can I become the field of We?

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Endigar 966

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , , , on June 2, 2025 by endigar

From Courage to Change of Jul 25:

After years of letting people take advantage of me, I had built up quite a store of anger, resentment, and guilt by the time I found Al-Anon. So many times I wanted to bite off my tongue after saying, “Yes,” when I really wanted to say, “No.” Why did I continue to deny my own feelings just to gain someone’s approval?

As I worked the Al-Anon program, the answer became apparent: What I lacked was courage. In the Serenity Prayer I lean that courage is granted by my higher Power, so that is where I turned first. Then it was up to me to do my part. Was I willing to try to learn to say, “No,” when I meant no? Was I willing to accept that not everyone would be thrilled with this change? Was I willing to face the real me behind the people-pleasing image? Fed up with volunteering to be treated like a doormat, I squared my shoulders and answered, “Yes.”

Today’s Reminder

It is not always appropriate to reveal my every thought, especially when dealing with an active alcoholic. But do I make a conscious choice about what I say? And when it is appropriate, do I say what I mean and mean what I say? If not, why not? All I have to offer anyone is my own experience of the truth.

“There is a prince that is too great to pay for peace . . . One cannot pay the price of self-respect.” ~ Woodrow Wilson

END OF QUOTE—————————————

I know what it’s like to say “yes” when everything in me is screaming “no,” and then carry the weight of that quiet betrayal inside myself. The approval I was chasing always came at too high a price: my peace, my boundaries, my dignity.

Recovery taught me that this pattern wasn’t just about weakness—it was about survival. Somewhere along the line, I had internalized the idea that my value came from being agreeable, accommodating, small. But underneath that surface compliance, I was stockpiling rage and shame. I was afraid to be honest, because honesty might have made me look unlovable, or even worse—disposable.

When I started practicing the program, the word courage hit differently. It wasn’t a grand, dramatic thing. It was quiet. Steady. A spiritual muscle I had to learn to flex. Turning to a Higher Power helped me realize I didn’t have to conjure that courage on my own. It was something I could receive—if I was willing.

Learning to say “no” with love—not defiance, not bitterness, just clarity—has been one of the most sacred disciplines of my recovery. And letting go of the fantasy that I could please everyone freed me to meet the real version of myself. Not the one polished up for applause, but the one who breathes deeply, speaks truth, and trusts that that’s enough.

Today, I ask myself—not out of judgment, but out of care—Why am I saying this? Who is it serving? Am I betraying myself to stay in someone else’s good graces? And I remember: the truth I’ve lived through, the healing I’ve done, the boundary I draw—that’s all I have to give. That is my offering. And it’s enough.

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Endigar 964 ~ Comic Relief

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , , , on May 30, 2025 by endigar

From Courage to Change of Jul 23:

A miraculous change has come about because of my commitment to the Al-Anon program: I have discovered that I have sense of humor. When I came to these rooms, I never cracked a smile and resented anyone who did. I couldn’t understand all the laughter during meetings; I didn’t hear anything funny! Life was tragic and serious.

Recently, I was sharing about a series of events that I had found extremely difficult. It had been one of those weeks in which everything seemed to go wrong. The odd part was that now that it was over, I found my traumatic tale incredibly funny, and so did most of the others at the meeting.

More than any other change I have observed in myself, I find this the most glorious. It tells me that I see myself and my life in a more realistic way. I am no longer a victim, full of self-pity and bent on control of every aspect of my life. Today I can take myself and my circumstances more lightly. I can even allow joy and laughter to be a part of a difficult experience.

Today’s Reminder

If I take a step back and look at this day as if I were watching a movie, I am sure to find at least a moment where I can enjoy some comic relief.

“You grow up the day you have the first real laugh – at yourself.” ~ Ethel Barrymore

END OF QUOTE—————————————

When I first came into the rooms, I had a private equation — a sort of socio-mathematic formula etched into my worldview:
Laughter = frivolous stupidity.
Darkness + tragedy = courageous intelligence.

I had built an identity around this formula. It made sense of the pain I carried and justified the heavy way I moved through life. In that worldview, those who laughed too easily were shallow, blind to the depth and cruelty of the world. People who found joy in the mundane? Fools. I believed most people preferred stupid lives lived simply — and so my mask adjusted accordingly. Outwardly social, inwardly superior, I wore cynicism like armor. Humor had no place in my seriousness.

When I entered recovery, I brought that formula with me like a rotten offering — clutching it as if it were truth. I sat in meetings and watched people laugh, and I resented them. Didn’t they understand the depth of what was happening here? Didn’t they know the cost of pain?

But over time, through the gentle persistence of the program, the formula began to dissolve. I listened. I spoke. I stayed. And in those rooms, something astonishing happened: I laughed. Not just once — but freely. Uncontrollably. I laughed at myself. I laughed with others. I laughed at stories that, a year earlier, I would have hoarded as evidence of life’s unfairness. And I wasn’t ashamed.

It felt like a crack in the foundation — in the best way. Because through that laughter, I realized I was no longer a victim of my pain, nor the hero of my suffering. I had started to heal.

When I can laugh at my week, at the chaos, at my own old reactions, it means I’ve stepped out of the role I thought I had to play. I’m not trapped in the narrative. I have perspective now. What used to be a dramatic monologue is now part of a much broader story — and yes, there’s comic relief.

This change in me — this reclaiming of humor — feels like one of the most sacred milestones of my recovery. It’s not frivolous. It’s not stupid. It’s freedom. It means I see life more clearly. That I take myself more lightly. That I can let go of the need to control everything. And that joy is no longer the enemy of depth — it’s the evidence that I’ve survived it.

So today, when life feels heavy, I try to step back and see the day like a film. Not to escape it, but to witness it. And if I look closely, there’s almost always a scene I can laugh at. That’s not a betrayal of the pain — it’s a celebration of the fact that I’m still here, and I’m no longer ruled by it.

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