“The
universe is run exactly on the lines of a cafeteria. Unless you
claim—mentally—what you want, you may sit and wait forever.” ~Emmet Fox
Fear has
always kept me from asking for what I want. But the older I get, the less I
care about rejection. Living fully means facing that on a regular basis. And I
always learn something. Maybe I learn that my request was ill-timed or
inappropriate. Other times I might learn that I asked for just the right thing,
but it was denied. I can spend hours ruminating on why it was denied, driving
myself batty. Or I can accept that things worked out differently, and let it
go. My energy is better spent on other things I have control over now.
That’s
important. Because wasting my energy on things I can’t do anything about saps
my strength—strength I need to stay in recovery.
Gene and I are over seventy. I guess that makes us officially “old.” But we’re not. Except for the arthritis that’s hurts most days, we’re still very active and engaged in our community. But we were tested a few days ago when we went hiking around Mt. Baker.
On our last day, we went on a hike without reading about it first. Heliotrope Ridge took a while to get to by car. But the views of Mt. Baker made it worth it. We were so uplifted by the calm beauty all around us that we were inspired to stay there and go hiking. But we should have read the book first.
It was grueling from the beginning. A hiker on the way back gave me hope: “This is the worst part!”
I thought she meant just this stretch, but I soon found out she meant the whole two miles in. Mostly up.
Gene and I walk almost every day. Nice relaxing flat walks on our beach or along the peaceful road on Camano Island. But we can’t do much elevation, certainly not 1200 feet. I have COPD and his lungs are even more shot than mine.
It took us a long time, but we made it. I was pretty miserable huffing and puffing all the way up, and so was he. Even coming down I was in a bad mood, this time complaining about my knees and my broken toe.
Well, I learned the difference between happiness and joy. I was not happy by the surface discomforts of going on a strenuous hike. But I came away feeling joyful: joyful that I pushed ahead without turning back; joyful that I accomplished something difficult; and most of all, joyful that I could dig deeper into my core and convert a challenge into a valuable lesson.
What did I learn? That I’m stronger than I thought I was. And I still have lots of living and growing to do.
“True recovery takes place when I step out on faith and
carry out…new behavior. Then I know a small portion of me has grown. When I
take action based on introspection and meditation, I push my recovery
boundaries further. I know if I keep on this path I will always keep
growing…Outward action must follow inner work to truly take root in my life.”
Insight into ourselves is valuable, but unless we do the
footwork to change what may be necessary, our insight isn’t enough. Just for
today I will try to grow toward the light.
“Surrounded by other recovering people, we are learning how to heal our broken hearts and create healthy, productive, joyful lives…(our program) has led many of us to serenity, fellowship, and relief from loneliness and pain.”
Because of the stigma and shame surrounding all forms of addiction, many of us have kept our loved one’s problem (or our own) shrouded in secrecy. I did most of my life, and only in recent years have I dared to share my family disease with the rest of the world. I realized that until I faced the dreaded subject and learned more about it, it would continue to rule me and my family.
“It” is addiction and all of its effects and consequences. They are far reaching, especially for the family of an addict. And they can become terribly complicated as we become enmeshed in the lives of those we love. Being in the rooms of recovery has helped me untangle the mess.
That’s why a number of programs have been so valuable to many of us who suffer. We break out of our isolation and share our stories with others like us. We gain valuable perspective by listening to others. Our self-esteem soars as we see others listening to us and validating our experiences. We are offered compassion and understanding inside the rooms when it may be hard to find either of those things on the outside.
And we begin our journey toward getting our lives back when once they seemed to be lost.
“When I’m taking that long walk down that dark hallway, I might as well keep going. It’s just as hard if I turn around, and then where have I gotten?”
There’s no going around it; you have to walk through the pain to get to the other side.
Addiction is a family illness and it affects all family members, not just the addict. There’s sadness, guilt, an inflated sense of responsibility, not to mention shame and secrecy.
I’ve spent years learning how to cope with the reality of my daughter’s drug addiction. But I’m glad I stuck around long enough to get to the other side. I didn’t want to such a cruel disease to destroy another victim. We can all fight the stigma that tears so many families apart.
Step Five: Admitted to God, ourselves, and another human being the exact nature of our wrongs.
This is an honest program, and I recognize that I’ve been lying to myself and others my whole life. Shame, stigma, embarrassment were just a few of my rationales. But the lies kept my addictions going. I didn’t have to face them if I didn’t acknowledge them.
Telling someone else was the game changer for me. Other people became the mirrors I needed for valuable feedback. And telling other people made it all real. I could no longer hide in the shadows with my defects.
Bringing them out in the open with witnesses gives us a chance to deal with our defects more honestly and effectively. Freeing myself of some of my defects is critical to my growth and recovery in the program. My defects were roadblocks for me and contributed to my drinking.
I’m glad I’ve come out of isolation and faced myself. Day by day, I’m healing and getting better.
“We may see clearly how and why we get in our own way. But unless we have faith in a power greater than ourselves, we won’t step aside. We won’t let go. We’ll do the same things and “understand” ourselves in the same ways. We may even use our “insight” to keep ourselves stuck—to protect ourselves from the risk of change.
Now, having had a spiritual awakening, having come to believe that a higher power can restore us, we possess a gift more powerful than the keenest insight—faith in our ability to grow and change. We are children of God. All the creative power of the universe streams through us, if we don’t block it.”
The unseeable. The unknowable. Faith.
Before recovery, if I didn’t see it, it wasn’t there. Now, like Indiana Jones, I’ve learned to take that leap of faith that frightened me most of my life. And I’ve been rewarded.
God has become the pilot of my ship. I can sit back and enjoy the ride. I don’t have to be in charge anymore.
My sister lost her husband a few months ago and she’s just starting to come out of the fog. I called her for her birthday last week but she couldn’t talk. She was sobbing. So she decided to spend her birthday visiting a friend of our mother’s, a 96-year-old woman who is bedridden with round the clock care. And my sister experienced how things could be so much worse for her.
It’s all a matter of perspective, how we see things, how our attitudes govern the way we live our lives.
Gratitude in hard times takes the wisdom of knowing that my life could be worse in an infinite amount of ways.
“’It’s odd that you can get so anesthetized by your own pain or your own problem that you don’t quite fully share the hell of someone close to you.’ ~Lady Bird Johnson
Preoccupation with self can be the bane of our existence. It prevents all but the narrowest perspective on any problem. It cuts off any guidance…that may be offered through a friend…When we open our minds to fresh input from others, insights emerge. We need the messages others are trying to give us.”
An end to my isolation. Opening my mind and heart to what others offer me.
For many years, I closed myself off from these offerings. I was busy with my life, self-sufficient…but unhappy. I was pretty bewildered about that—yet resigned to it.
Then—for the worst possible reason—I joined a recovery program that provided tools to help me climb out of my self-imposed misery. There are many new attitudes that I have adopted over time. But the most critical, I think, has been taking the risk to open myself to others and learn about myself using others’ perspectives to add balance to my own.
I’m not afraid of mirrors anymore.
I’ve had to let go of years of denial and preconceived notions about myself. I’ve had to learn how to be honest. And in doing that, I have discovered my own humanity. I am not unique but part of a fellowship of equals who share a common bond.
No longer alone or lonely, I’m learning how to accept life on life’s terms…and be happy.
“In Step Three, we “made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of God as we understood him.” This is a big decision for those of us who have a tough time making even small decisions. Until I found Alanon, I tended to let others decide how I should live, where I should go, and what I should do. The paradox is that, though I took little responsibility for my own life, I saw myself as an expert on everyone else’s life and felt accountable for all that happened.
The order in which the first three Steps are written helps me overcome these attitude problems. First, I accept my inability to control the disease of alcoholism and admit that my life is unmanageable (when I try to exert control, my words). Next, I come to believe that a Power greater than myself can help. After taking these two Steps, it becomes possible, desirable, and even logical, to make the enormous decision to trust my life to a Higher Power’s care.”
Many feel that the First Step is the hardest: to admit that we are powerless to help our loved one through addiction. We love, and intuitively, we want to rescue him from the disaster than might be coming. But—and this is a process that takes longer for some than others—once we accept the reality of our powerlessness, and ask for help to let go of our loved one in his addiction, there is a freedom that defies description.
