“I’m so grateful I found a way out of sadness, a way to take care of myself each day, and a relationship with the God of my understanding, who will never abandon me. The pain I’ve felt in the past is equal to the measure of joy I feel now.”
That’s quite a mouthful. Whoever wrote those words in “The Forum” is saying that somewhere between despair and happiness she or he did some work, and found some answers. For me, anyway, I entered into a state of grace. I quite deliberately let go of my precious wounds, which served no further purpose in my life. The lessons they taught me have been learned. I’ve put my sadness in a back drawer—and replaced it with positive thoughts that keep me motivated to reclaim my life, my remaining loved ones, and keep my heart ticking.
Grief is not a badge I wear anymore. Joyfulness is.
From Living Sober, AA World Services, Inc., p. 49:
“Many of us, when drinking, were deeply sure for years that our own drinking was harmless. We were not necessarily smart-alecky about it, but when we heard a clergyman, a psychiatrist, or an A.A. member talk about alcoholism, we were quick to observe that our drinking was different, that we did not need to do any of the things those people suggested. Or even if we could admit that we were having a bit of trouble with our drinking, we were sure we could lick it on our own. Thus we shut the door against new information and help. And behind that door, our drinking went on, of course.
Our troubles had to be pretty dire, and we had to begin to feel pretty hopeless before we could open up a little bit and let in some fresh light and help.”
Not all of us reach the same bottom, of course, before we decide not to drink. For many, it’s that first (or third) DUI. It could be lost employment for others. I’ve seen a couple of people with late-stage alcoholism awaiting liver transplants. Hopefully more and more alcoholics will decide to quit long before that happens.
My bottom cut me to the core and maybe that’s why I haven’t wanted to drink since. My son and his wife had an intervention with me. They called me out on my habit of drinking alone in their basement, something that I thought I was getting away with. Didn’t I think they’d notice all the empty vodka bottles? That and the fact that I was being secretive about it were red flags. Shame and secrecy all play into the denial that enables us to keep up bad habits.
I was stunned and deeply ashamed. And only because I’d had many years of work in another 12-Step group did I have enough recovery to stay in my chair and listen to their concerns. They were concerned about their children, my grandchildren, and the danger of drinking and driving. But most of all they were concerned about me, keeping me safe and alive long enough to enjoy watching them grow up.
I am so grateful to my son for stepping in. He saved my life. My own father was just a couple years older than I am when he died prematurely from alcoholism and smoking. History does not have to repeat itself.
When my children were young, I was not always emotionally present for them. To feel my son’s forgiveness now and to see his concern for my welfare is incredibly gratifying to me. I’ve been given a second chance and I want to take advantage of it. How many people get do-overs like that?
“There’s always going to be someone out there with far less than I have who is happy.”
It’s so important to keep things in perspective. Even though the compounding tragedies that bring us together in the rooms consume us, they needn’t. When I take a fully inventory of my life and recognize that my blessings far outnumber my losses, I know how much worse things could be.
And, for me, that makes all the difference.
Keeping things in perspective is a daily balancing act for me. Especially now, when everyone’s life is out of whack, it’s easy to get overly emotional and overreact to small things that we used to ignore. In a way, with all of our worlds reduced to the inside of our homes, we are living under a microscope. Families that used to send three kids off to school every day with husbands and wives sharing the car with public transportation are having to remain inside their home, constantly bumping into each other.
This is not something I’m experiencing, but millions of other families are, and results from this new normal will start pouring in. All anyone can do is try to make the best of a new situation. Hopefully many families will be stronger on the other side of this. My recovery demands that I remain grateful for my blessings because “there’s always going to be someone out there with far less than I have who is happy.” I’ll take a page from his/her book.
From Each Day A New Beginning, by Karen
Casey, April 12:
“’Make
yourself a blessing to someone. Your kind smile or a pat on the back just might
pull someone back from the edge.’ ~Carmelia Elliott
We are healed
in our healing of others. God speaks to us through our words to others. Our own
well-being is enhanced each time we put someone else’s well-being first…We are
all on a trip, following different road maps, but to the same destination. I
will be ready to lend a helping hand to a troubled traveler today. It will
breathe new life into my own trip.”
Easter, 2020, seems to be ushering in a brave new world to us all. I remember hearing the term “globalization” about twenty years ago, and I wasn’t sure what it meant because I wasn’t experiencing it personally. Now, in the throes of a worldwide pandemic that I’m gratified I saw in my lifetime, I am experiencing what it means.
I’m glad
I’m living through this crisis because it is unveiling so many unsung heroes.
My confidence in the human race is soaring. My grandchildren getting
home-schooled by two loving parents tirelessly stepping up to the plate in a
game they never planned for. Health care workers risking their lives so that we
might live another day. Postal workers, baggers at the grocery stores; the list
is endless. But what I’m seeing as a result of all this courage is what Ann
Frank saw in that attic in Holland before she died: “In spite of everything, I
still believe people are really good at heart.”
It’s not
every day that our lives, and how we live them, are brought into such sharp
focus, from frequent hand washing to thinking twice before we hug someone. How
life has changed for us all! Now it is abundantly more clear to us how what we
do in our individual spaces has an impact on the community we live in, and in
neighboring communities and so on. I’ve learned a great deal about what happens
in a petri dish.
But of much
more interest to me now is how the health crisis has brought out the best in
millions of people around the world. There are also sad, angry stories of
corruption popping up like weeds in my garden. But I don’t focus on them any
more than I focus on anything else I can’t control. I am heartened by this
Easter’s celebration of humanity and hope in a time of fear and uncertainty.
And how creative we are! Drive-in movie theaters have become venues for church
services. And long after Easter Sunday this year there may be a revival of
drive-in movie watching!
“Revival…”
My Latin tells me that word means “live again.” Is that what we’re all doing
now? Learning how to live again?
From Each Day A New Beginning, by Karen
Casey, November 28:
“The idea
of God is different with every person. The joy of my recovery was to find God
within me.” ~Angela L. Wozniak
Well,
there’s a thought…and how empowering! Too much do I rely on the outside world
for kindness and goodness and strength. When I don’t always get those things, I
feel vulnerable. We’re all flawed human beings, and we don’t always give or
receive what’s needed. All the more reason to maintain a wellspring within
ourselves—one of faith and hope for better days.
Isolation
is not the answer for us who are in recovery, though, admittedly social
isolation is necessary for some of us right now because of the health crisis in
America. But neither is too much dependence on how we interact with others. We
have to face life’s inevitable disappointments. I try hard to keep my
expectations in check, do what I can to make a positive difference in the
world, and then let go. I can’t control other people, places or things. But I
can try to remain a steady force in my own life and those closest to me.
My
recovery has taught me how to manage my ego and remember how small I am in the
stream of things. I have to muster humility in order to take the first three
steps (the “God” steps), and humility is knowing my place in relation to God’s:
a very small one, like the grains of sand on my beach. Every day I have the ability to marshal my
thoughts and inner resources so that I’m not thrown off balance by what’s
happening in my small world or the world at large. All I can do is use the
tools of the program as best I can. And, for me, that means keeping God close
in my heart and relying on His strength as I watch what’s happening in the
world. We all have the power to find peace amid the storms swirling around us.
Blessings to all my sisters and brothers in the weeks ahead. Stay safe!
“The world
cannot be discovered by a journey of miles…only by a spiritual journey…by which
we arrive at the ground at our feet, and learn to be at home.” ~Wendell Berry
Without the gift of spirit in my life, I would be drifting on an island in the middle of the ocean. Spirit can be anything we want it to be: some people say God, or Higher Power; others focus on a statue or a tree in the garden. It doesn’t matter. What’s important is that it’s not US. “My best thinking got me here.” (into the rooms of recovery)
Here’s
another acronym: EGO=Easing God Out.
That
floating island in the middle of the ocean can be a dangerous vessel without a
steering wheel. Maybe not dangerous; just completely self-reliant and without
guidance.
Self-reliance
was something I learned as a child because I had to. The adults in my life were often distracted with their own
problems, so I learned to do things by myself. This was a vital survival
strategy when I was a child. But as an adult, it became a huge defect.
As an
adult, I’ve too often carried that survival tool into situations in my life
that required outside guidance. Too proud sometimes, or afraid, to ask for help
or advice, I steered my ship into some dangerous waters. Like everyone else,
I’ve made mistakes, and some of them were preventable if I’d had the humility
to ask for help.
So, again
like everyone else, I’m just a child of (God, a tree, the stars), and I’m
growing every day, learning (hopefully) from my mistakes and trying to do
better. Humility is a great leveler, and it has brought me closer to the one
thing I’ve missed all my life: being part of a community of equals. When I’m in
touch with the spirit within me, I’m no longer alone or isolated. I’m at one
within my fellowship—and it feels good to be alive.
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!
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.
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.
