My work in my recovery program has helped me to minimize my defects, to grow and change into a better person, easier to like and to live with. The people in my life have been familiar with one person, and now they are confronted with someone different, someone better: perhaps nicer, kinder, more anything that we couldn’t muster before. This can be disorienting. And it may be difficult to trust the change they see.
Please—trust it. Give us a chance to change into better people. We will all benefit from this, won’t we?
A simple mantra, but very true. We’ve all heard about “self-talk,” both positive and negative. Negative self-talk is common for those of us who struggle with self-esteem. “Oh I’ll never win that contest, so I’m not gonna bother trying.” It’s not just laziness that forms such an attitude. It’s also the absolute certainty that I’m not gonna win. And to avoid the disappointment of losing, I feel it’s better to not even try. How many times have I been there? Too many to count.
Positive self-talk, on the other hand, says: “What have I got to lose? Nothing! And maybe, just maybe, I’ll be good enough to win.” I guess a healthier perspective would be something like: “Look, winning or losing a contest isn’t everything. If I win, that means my work was better than the other contestants’ entries. And if I lose it means that other entries were better than mine. But it doesn’t mean that mine was bad, It’s important to really believe that. There was just stiff competition.”
In my recovery program, making comparisons is discouraged. We are operating on a level playing field. We learn to accept ourselves as we are, warts and all. Unlike the contest above, we recognize that we are all equals. And when we tell ourselves that, we cease feeling inferior to anyone else. We all have defects and strengths. We work on our defects in the program, to minimize them, and to build on our strengths.
As we learn to do that, to make these self-affirmations, we are building up our self-confidence, and positive self-talk comes to us more frequently. These thoughts become part of our makeup. They solidify and become things we can rely on. So since thoughts can become real things in our lives, we learn to choose the good ones.
“No, not my daughter. She’s had such a privileged life, was given so many advantages, this couldn’t be happening to her.”
This is what I told myself for a long time. I simply couldn’t believe that my daughter would throw her life away like this. “This sort of thing happens to other people’s children.” Well, I got rid of that arrogance very quickly. Her behavior was undeniably that of a full-blown substance abuser, deep in the disease. This was the child I had raised, not other people’s children.
She stole everything that wasn’t nailed down in the house. When she said we must have been robbed, I believed her and called the police. I swallowed her lies hook, line and sinker. When she stole my identity, twice, the credit card company called me and encouraged me to call the authorities. I blew them off and said I would take care of it. I did nothing, afraid of the consequences she would face. I lacked the courage to do the right thing.
Those consequences might have taught her a lesson. But by helping her to avoid them, she was emboldened to do more. This is what my denial had wrought; my daughter was a runaway train, having abandoned the moral code I taught all my kids when they were little, caught in the grip of a cruel disease that had claimed her for 23 years. Maybe if I had faced the truth early on, things would have been different. Or maybe not. I needed to accept the fact that my part in her disease was insignificant.
I don’t beat myself up with guilt anymore. I, too, have been in recovery for 23 years. And I have learned something important in the rooms: I did the best I could with what I knew at the time. I have since learned a lot and I know more, about denial, enabling, and preventing my child from facing the consequences of her actions.
Yes, this is one of my many mantras: “I did the best I could with what I knew at the time.”
No more guilt. Just love and compassion for the both of us. Amen to that.
Many of us do it, at first anyway. Sometimes it’s easier to take the path of least resistance. We are so terribly stretched out to begin with. We see our children caught in the vise of substance use disorder, and it’s natural to want to make things easier for them.
I paid off my daughter’s huge debts. Big mistake. And was she grateful? No! “How could you be so stupid, Mom? Now they’ll see that as an admission of guilt!” Oh yes, she knew all the ins and outs of this game she was playing with the law. And I naively thought I was “helping” her. By interfering like that, I was just encouraging her to rely on me bailing her out all the time. When she stole my identity and the credit card agency begged me to call the police, I did nothing, denying her the accountability she deserved. The lesson she might have learned. The chance to look at herself and turn her life around.
Far from being a help to my daughter, I was very much in the way, a big hindrance to her getting better from the disease that was claiming her. I needed to adopt a “hands-off” approach and let life unfold for her logically. The chances are that eventually her unlawful behavior would catch up with her. And she would have to face some consequences. And learn something.
The stakes might be higher this time. She wasn’t caught cheating on a quiz in school and had to get an F as punishment. This time she might be breaking the law and, if caught, might face a harsher penalty. Every parent’s fear, and possibly the only way my daughter would see the need for her behavior to change.
So I stopped allowing my daughter to use me like an ATM machine, among other things. This is when she cut me out of her life. And whether or not she’s still indulging in the same behavior, at least I’m not encouraging it to continue by making everything easier for her and being over-protective. She has very likely found new sources of money.
The price I’ve paid? I haven’t seen her in 13 years. My Higher Power is protecting me from the guilt—and longing to seduce her back into my life, no matter the cost.
And her Higher Power is there for her as well, ready to help her whenever she asks for it.
I sleep well at night now, knowing that our fates are in God’s capable hands.
My inventory has shown me who I am, yet I ask for Your help
in admitting my wrongs to another person and to You.
Assure me, and be with me, in this Step,
for without this step I cannot progress in my recovery.
With Your help, I can do this and I will do it.”
I’ve stopped the blame game. Admitting my defects to God and another human being has been critical in my recovery. Denial is like a dark cave: we hide there, from ourselves and others, and without any light it’s not easy to see the truth.
I’ve struggled with substance use disorder my whole life, but until I told someone about it, brought it into the light, it wasn’t real to me, and I could continue on the merry-go-round of denial.
But when I told someone else, I couldn’t pretend anymore. Sharing with someone else makes me accountable. Admitting our defects to others shines a light on who we really are. Then, and only then, do we have the opportunity, through God’s help and the support of others, to work on our defects and our recovery.
P.S. It’s also kinda necessary to know who we are, and admit who we are, before we can love who we are and accept who we are!
Boundaries do not have to be angry walls that shut other people out. They are a form of assertion and self-affirmation. In the spirit of friendship.
They tell people: “This is what I need in my life, and I need you to acknowledge and respect it. When you do, things will work well in our relationship. But if you don’t, if you cross lines and disrespect my boundaries, our relationship might break down and stop working. I will probably exit the relationship out of self-respect.”
Boundaries are not there for others. They are there for our self-regard—to benefit us.
“An increased tendency to let things happen rather than make them happen.
Frequent attacks of smiling.
Feelings of being connected with others and nature.
Frequent overwhelming episodes of appreciation.
A tendency to think and act spontaneously rather than from fears based on past experience.
An unmistakable ability to enjoy each moment.
A loss of ability to worry.
A loss of interest in conflict.
A loss of interest in interpreting the actions of others.
A loss of interest in judging others.
A loss of interest in judging self.
Gaining the ability to love without expecting anything in return.”
A tall order, that’s for sure. But, as with all of our attempts to change ourselves and improve our well-being, baby steps work best. This is no time for the monster of perfectionism. No one, absolutely no one, is perfect. #9 is extremely hard for me, so I keep trying to let go of what motivates others. And #6? Enjoy my chemotherapy? To enjoy it, I’ll focus on how it is saving my life, rather than focusing on the discomforts that come with it. This is how I deal with all the negatives in my life: like losing my daughter to substance abuse; I have two other kids and grandkids. I focus on them. Gratitude offers me grace. Life is still a wonderful adventure when I try to keep spiritually healthy. God Bless!
“…When we share ourselves fully with one another, share our monsters with one another, they no longer dominate us. They seek the dark recesses of our minds, and when we shine the light on them, they recoil. The program offers us an eternal light.”
This quote is a great way to end the month of May, our Fifth Step month, when we share with God and another human being the exact nature of our wrongs. For me, taking the fifth step has been liberating. No more lies and pretending, which is an exhausting habit. Now I’m free to be me in all my humanity and imperfection. It’s so much easier to live in complete honesty. It has opened the door to much healthier relationships, tears, sometimes change, but always a new brand of integrity that is delightful to experience. Life is good. I’m so grateful for my ongoing recovery.
“…In Step Four I realized I was stuck in the past. My daily thoughts were usually about plans for the next day, week, or even month. I always anticipated tomorrow to the point where it became my today. I’d get so caught up in what I was going to do that I often wasn’t aware of what I was doing now.
After realizing this character defect and asking my Higher Power to remove it, each day I have is usually better than the one before. I give thanks for the little joys in each day. I still make plans, but I don’t let my thoughts erase the present. Anticipation is sweet, but not at the cost of today.
When I look back on this in the context of alcoholism, I understand why I behaved as I did. With all the awful happenings at home, there were many todays I didn’t want to experience. As a child, I had limited options, so the best way to escape was to flee into the possibility of a better tomorrow. I have different choices now. I know enjoying my day and doing the right thing for myself and my Higher Power is the best plan for an even better tomorrow.
Thought For The Day: Just for today I choose to enjoy all this day has to offer. If I don’t like the offering, I’ll ask my Higher Power to help me adjust my attitude.”
This reading ends with something that I have found to be true: attitude is everything. My daughter, whose disease brought me into the rooms, is still lost to the disease that claimed her 23 years ago. And for too many years I ignored the tools of the program and saw my life as a tragedy. But after much work and recovery of my own, I’ve learned to adjust my perspective.
Yes, my daughter is lost to me, but there are other people in my life who need me. I have another daughter who’s getting married, and I rejoice in that. I have a son and grandchildren who live nearby and it makes me happy when I see them and how well they are.
My life is varied, with friends and other family members, a sister with whom I’ve reconciled and I rejoice in that. I can distance my heart and mind just far enough from my grief over Annie to take pleasure in my blessings. I don’t obsess over my loss nor define myself by it. It’s part of the fabric of my life, good and bad, happy and sad, just like everyone else.
What my recovery program has enabled me to do is keep Annie in my heart, but focus on all that remains.
