Twenty
years ago, my talented Vietnamese student cut out most of the letters for this poem
I wrote and he fashioned it into the shape of a tree:
The Christmas tree is a sight to
see,
All decorated up ornamentally.
The bulbs all colored, the lights
all bright,
I love to watch it late at night.
The gathering of gifts and family
I see
As a child of five in my memory.
And now the gifts have come back
to me,
Hanging here on this Christmas
tree.
There
aren’t enough branches on the tree for all the gifts in my life. How about you?
I haven’t forgotten about the daughter I miss. But I’m happier when I count my
blessings. Happy Holidays to all my dear friends!
When I go
to bed at night I ask myself, “Did I do the best I could today?” Sometimes my
answer is “yes” and sometimes it’s “no.”
I read
somewhere that a life without regret is a life without reflection. So if I’m
able to think about my actions—sometimes with regret and sometimes with
pride—then I feel that my awareness in itself can be a source of strength. It
points the way for me to change when it’s necessary. And it boosts my
self-confidence when I can recognize—and give myself credit for— a day well lived.
The miracles of recovery just keep flooding into my life, like a welcome storm after a long dry spell. The world around me, and the people in it, remain the same in many ways. The world still turns. But I’m not the same. My perceptions are different, and I see people and events through a different lens.
I used to
feel intimidated and defensive around my husband’s family. But we recently had
a wonderful visit together. I enjoyed their company thoroughly. It is with
great relief that I realize the problem was never with them; it was with me.
And to be able to own that now, and move on comfortably, is but one of the
gifts of my growth in recovery.
I’ve heard
it said that ours is a disease of relationships, and I agree. How substance use
disorder of all forms tears through relationships—mother and child, husband and
wife, father and son—and gets in the way of healthy communication. The twelve
steps of recovery, when practiced diligently, offer so much hope for change.
And that change is reflected in how we relate to those around us. Not every day
and not completely. But it’s progress I’m making, not perfection I’m seeking.
The willingness to grow along spiritual lines is enough for me. And it brings
me closer to the peace and serenity I strive for.
White
knuckling it through life is exhausting. Different methods to relax work for
different people. Yoga, prayer, knitting, running, reading, listening to
music—the list is endless. The best thing for me to relax is the Serenity
Prayer. It has become my mantra:
“God,
grant me the serenity
To accept
the things I cannot change,
The
courage to change the things I can,
And the
wisdom to know the difference.”
I embrace
this prayer in big and little ways every day. Its wisdom keeps me right-sized
and humble, while at the same time encouraging me to make changes in my life
that are within my reach.
We are all
challenged, of course, by the last line. That’s why I keep going back to
recovery meetings!
From Courage to Change, Al-Anon Family Group, Conference Approved Literature, p. 216:
“Look back
without staring.”
It’s
important to understand where we’ve come from, what was done to us and what we
did to others. There might be many lessons for us in the past. But the time to
apply them is now.
If I can
learn from my mistakes and try not to repeat them, then they have value. Making
amends is a good thing; but they’re words. Of far greater value, to me, is the
practice of living amends. We can’t do anything to change the past, but we can
try to do things differently now.
Of
particular importance is my ability to let go of resentments when they crop up.
Sometimes I find myself holding onto my anger, even clinging to it. But such behavior
is a big threat to my serenity. An oft-heard saying in the rooms of recovery: “Having
resentments is like drinking poison and waiting for the other person to die.” Holding
onto resentments hurts me the most.
Bearing
grudges toward people or over events from the past is a heavy undertaking. It’s
that knapsack full of stones (boulders for some) that is burdensome to carry.
When I set it down and free myself of its weight, there’s a lightness in my
steps, and my days flow more easily.
This is another
example of how I’m striving to live well. For all of us familiar with the living death of drug
addiction, the value of life comes into sharper focus. How I live mine, today,
will bring me the peace and serenity I work hard for.
From Hope for Today, Al-Anon Family Group, Conference Approved
Literature,August 14:
“Holding
on to anger, resentment, and a “poor me” attitude is not an option for me
today…Remembering that alcoholism is a disease helps me see the person
struggling beneath the burden of illness.”
It’s so simple
to give in to anger. Losing a loved one to addiction is pure hell. I’ve cried
out against everyone: God, all those who stigmatize and judge addiction, all
those who shun my daughter as though it’s contagious, and myself, too, for my
misguided attempts to help her by enabling her behavior.
Many years
in the rooms of recovery have opened my eyes and my heart to the “new
realities” of addictive disease. When I was growing up, I thought drug addicts
wore tattoos and rode motorcycles. And of course they had to grow up in poverty.
When my
daughter became an addict, I was sure she would snap out of it. But I was
wrong. This disease doesn’t discriminate. It can happen to anybody.
The
American Medical Association has helped by declaring addiction a brain disease.
Now that I know my daughter has an illness, there is no room for blame or judgment.
There is no room in my heart or mind for anger. I can only feel great
compassion for her. And I will always love her.
“The Al-Anon program has helped me see that pleasing others over myself is no longer in my best interest.” ~The Forum, 8/19, Al-Anon Family Group, Conference Approved Literature
I’ve
always been a people pleaser. I wanted others to be happy, and I often
sacrificed something of my own to achieve that. Not always something obvious
like an object: my dessert, my jewelry, or my car. Usually it was much more
subtle so I wouldn’t take notice: my time, my opinions, even my values.
There was
a time when I was like a chameleon, but like the lizard I was usually afraid of
offending people. That’s why I made the “sacrifice.” But it was my integrity
that, over time, I lost.
In
recovery, I’ve learned to understand that people pleasing isn’t always a
healthy behavior. Often we lose ourselves in the process. My step work has
helped me get to know myself more honestly and like myself anyway. If I value
who I am, it’s easier to stick to my guns and not fear the consequences if
someone disagrees with me. The cost of losing myself to please others is
greater than the benefit of being who I am.
“‘The Chinese say that water is the most
powerful element, because it is perfectly nonresistant. It can wear away a rock
and sweep all before it.’ ~Florence Scovel Shinn
Nonresistance, ironically, may be a posture we
struggle with. Nonresistance means surrendering the ego absolutely. For many of
us, the ego, particularly disguised as false pride, spurred us on to struggle
after struggle. ‘Can’t they see I’m right?’ we moaned, and our resistance only
created more of itself. Conversely, flowing with life, ‘bubbling’ with the
ripples, giving up our ego, releases from us an energy that heals the
situation—that smoothes the negative vibrations in our path. Peace comes to us.
We will find serenity each time we willingly humble ourselves.
‘Resistance is more familiar. Nonresistance means growth and peace. I’ll try for serenity today.’”
It is very hard to accept life on life’s terms. When I faced a heartbreaking situation in my daughter, I fought tooth and nail to free her of the addiction that had taken hold of her. And I was stubborn; I persisted. For several years, I resisted.
But I learned that my power in her struggle was limited. And I needed to surrender my ego and my will to the power of my God. And have faith—a deeply held faith that everything in my life is unfolding as it was meant to.
“When working the steps we are
never in doubt about the manner for proceeding in any situation. The steps
provide the parameters that secure our growth. They help us to see where we’ve
been and push us toward the goals which crowd our dreams.”
Many times in recovery meetings people refer to us all as
shipwrecked human beings. I like that metaphor because it reminds me that we
are all together on that ship, all part of the same human race, triumphing
sometimes, often struggling, but together. We are never alone.
But there is much division around the topic of addiction. Much
of the problem arises from semantics: is addiction an illness that strikes,
like cancer, without permission? Or is it a moral failing? That simple question
lends itself to hours of discussion; whole books have been written about it;
bloggers have exhausted themselves going back and forth in the argument. I used
to enthusiastically participate, certain that I was making valid points here
and there.
It’s the “here and there” that finally derailed me as I was
hyperventilating on this fast-moving train of rhetoric. In the final analysis,
does it really matter what it is? Getting caught up in all the arguments just
kept me from putting my focus where it belonged. I needed to get back to
self-care. And stepping back. And taking a breath.
How we navigate our lives together on that ship is as varied as
the shells in the ocean. Twelve-Step work has a lot in common with many other
forms of spiritual recovery, some of them organized religions. I might well
have learned many of the principles elsewhere. I happened to learn them in
Al-Anon. But this recovery program doesn’t have a lock on the ideas of
acceptance of things we can’t change, or on surrender to something bigger and
smarter than we are. Those ideas are found in many places. I go out of my way
to avoid the “R” word, but don’t we all seek peace and serenity in our troubled
world?
The tools we use strive toward the same goal. When I try to keep
my eye on the ball, I don’t get embroiled in discussion that leads nowhere. We
need not be divided. We all pray for the same miracles, the health and wellness
of ourselves and our loved ones. When I remember that, I feel as though we are
all part of the same solution.
An
old timer with 40 years of sobriety had a dream. In it, his first sponsor, who
passed years before, appeared. The old-timer, seizing the opportunity, asked
him one question: ‘Is there AA in Heaven?’
‘Well
Jim,’ his first sponsor replied, ‘there’s good news and bad news. The good news
is yes, AA meetings are held in heaven. The bad news is, you’re chairing this
Saturday.’” ~Marty Z., Palm Bay, Florida
