Not Me Anymore

A Noticeable Change

One of the things I’m learning in recovery is that having an off day does not mean I am back to being the old person I used to be.

My dear brothers and sisters, always be willing to listen and slow to speak and slow to become angry. James 1:19

The other day at work, I was having an off day. I was short with people, snippy, and clearly frustrated. We were running behind, and I was trying to figure out why. I walked into the hallway and saw two employees standing there. I asked them what their roles were for the day. They started explaining why things were behind, but I interrupted them and said quickly, “I just want to know your role today.” They answered, and I walked away frustrated. A few moments later I asked another employee the same question. She looked at me and said, “I haven’t seen you in a while. You don’t talk to us that way anymore.” The moment she said it, I knew instantly that she was right. I stopped, took a breath, changed my tone, and said, “You’re right. I’m sorry.” Then I calmly asked her what was going on, and she explained the situation to me.

As I walked back down the hallway, one of the other employees stopped me and said, “I didn’t appreciate you snapping at us like that. We didn’t deserve it.” Before recovery, I would have gotten defensive. I would have justified my attitude or blamed stress or pressure. Instead, I paused and listened. I looked at her and said, “You’re right. I was wrong. You didn’t deserve that. Please forgive me.” She smiled and said, “No problem. I figured you were just having a bad day. That’s normally not like you.” Honestly, that one comment meant more to me than she probably realized. It showed me that growth is happening in my life. Not because I never have bad moments anymore, but because those moments are no longer who I am. There is a noticeable change that I wasn’t trying to force. It just is happening. Trusting the recovery process really works.

I walked away from that conversation genuinely grateful. Grateful that people felt safe enough to confront me honestly. Grateful that I was able to hear it without shutting down or lashing out. Grateful that I could admit I was wrong and immediately make it right. But more than anything, I was grateful that my behavior stood out as unusual instead of normal. Recovery is not making me perfect. I still have off days just like everyone else. But today those moments are the exception instead of the norm. I am finally becoming the kind of person I had always hoped to be. And that is the gift of recovery for me.

Prayer

Father, thank You for the changes You are making in me day by day. Thank You that I no longer have to react the way I used to. Help me to stay teachable, honest, and willing to listen when I am wrong. Remind me to slow down and show grace to others. Continue shaping me into the person You want me to be. Amen.

Accepting Life As It Is

Surrendering Control

I’m learning that peace is not found in controlling everything around me. It is found in learning to trust God in the uncertainty.

Father, if you are willing, take this cup away from me. However, not my will but your will be done. Matthew 26:39

I have two grown children whom I love very much. Unfortunately, they both live in another state, so I don’t get to see them as often as I would like. We talk a couple times a week, usually through text messages, and most of the time I am the one who initiates the conversation. Before recovery, that would have really bothered me. My thinking was very all or nothing. “If they won’t call me, then I won’t call them.” Or, “Why do I always have to be the one reaching out?” But through recovery I am learning to accept relationships as they are instead of demanding they happen on my terms. I am learning to stop rejecting people simply because things are not happening the way I want them to happen. That is what my sponsor says is learning to live in the gray. It is somewhere in between the all or nothing thinking that used to consume me.

Before recovery, I saw almost everything as black and white. Things were either right or wrong. Good or bad. Safe or unsafe. I liked certainty because certainty felt safe to me. If something fit neatly into a category, then I knew how to respond to it. I knew how to control it. Or at least I could plan and be ready in case things didn’t go as planned. It made me feel safe. But life rarely works that way. People are complicated. Relationships are complicated. Emotions are complicated. Things don’t always go as planned. Doing a fearless moral inventory has forced me to start facing the uncomfortable truth that much of life happens somewhere in the gray.

The gray makes me uncomfortable because I don’t know what will happen. I don’t know how to protect myself. I don’t know how to be prepared for or avoid potentially being hurt. Accepting the gray requires trust. It requires patience. It requires me to accept uncertainty instead of rushing to fix it or force it into a category that makes me feel better. Which I now do, although usually reluctantly. One of the things I have discovered through step work with my sponsor is that many times my attempts to “help” or “fix” people were not as selfless as I made them out to be. A lot of it was driven by my own need to feel in control. If I could manipulate and control the situation, calm the conflict, or get the outcome I wanted, it gave me relief. What I have learned since is that my need for control was really giving a dopamine release in my brain. That release temporarily soothed my anxiety and discomfort. It made me feel better, so I sought to feel better again. It was my addiction. I was trying to feel better by managing everyone and everything around me. That realization was hard for me to admit, but by staying honest with myself in my recovery I am learning to face my motives realistically instead of staying in denial about them.

Working through the steps has helped me realize that emotional sobriety or behavioral change is not found in controlling everything around me. It is found in learning how to live honestly, peacefully, and faithfully even when things feel uncertain. I still do not like the gray. I do not like not knowing what is going to happen. I do not like feeling unprepared or out of control. But I am learning how to accept being uncomfortable instead of trying to escape it. I am learning that as I relinquish control God is present in the gray ready to help. And strangely enough, by accepting the gray areas of life, I can now see and appreciate the vibrant areas of life that are full of color, depth and complexity. And that is the gift of recovery for me.

Prayer

Father, help me to stop fighting reality and demanding that life happen on my terms. Teach me to surrender the gray areas of my life to You. Help me to stop trying to control everything around me. Help me to trust You when I feel uncertain, uncomfortable, or afraid. Amen.

Learning How to Be There

Presence Over Control

I’m learning through my recovery that sometimes the most loving thing I can do is to stop trying to fix people and just be there with them.

Be happy with those who are happy. Be sad with those who are sad. Romans 12:15

I’ve heard it said that recovery is a selfish program. And honestly, it is. In the rooms of recovery I have learned that I need to start taking care of myself. Really taking care of myself. My whole self. Taking responsibility for my actions and facing my own issues. I had to learn that I needed to put on my own oxygen mask before trying to help everyone else with theirs. Before recovery, I was always trying to help everyone else get their oxygen while I was suffocating myself and could not breathe. I rarely focused on facing my own needs or healing. I focused almost entirely on what everybody else wanted, needed, or expected from me. Or at least what I thought they did. But I am learning that if I don’t take care of myself emotionally, mentally, and spiritually, I won’t have anything healthy to offer anybody else.

Somewhere along the way, I got part of that mixed up. My wife recently had surgery, and leading up to it, I wasn’t as supportive as I could have been. I meant to be and wanted to be, but I reverted to old behavior. I kept focusing on trying to help her “not be afraid.” I wanted to fix the fear she was feeling instead of simply recognizing that fear before surgery is normal. It’s human. Instead of just sitting with her in it, reassuring her, and being present, I kept trying to move her away from what she was feeling.

In recovery I am learning that sometimes people just need support, reassurance, and comfort. Sometimes they just need someone to be there. Sometimes they may need help that I actually have the ability and capacity to give. I have learned to stop trying to fix everybody else. If I want to fix anyone, I need to focus on fixing me. I can help without fixing or being in control. I can help even if things are not done my way. I can help by just being there and letting people be who they are. I am learning, slowly, that it is healthy to still care deeply about others even when I am unsure of outcomes. And that by doing that, I am taking care of myself too.

I am grateful and thankful for my recovery program and the tools I have learned. Fortunately, by using them, I was able to correct my behavior and do just that on the day of the surgery. I was supportive. I acknowledged the fear. We prayed about it together. I assured her she was not alone in this, not just with my words but with my presence. I was just there with her, and I let her guide the emotions and conversation instead of trying to control or redirect them. I truly felt supportive, like I was showing real compassion and care. I was showing her that she was important. In short, I was showing her love.

Working through the steps of recovery, I am learning that taking care of myself is important. But healthy recovery is not becoming emotionally distant from the people I love. Sometimes the people I love are afraid. Sometimes they are hurting. Sometimes they don’t need me to fix their emotions or talk them out of them. Sometimes they just need me to sit with them, care about what they’re feeling, and let them know they are not alone. That’s something I am learning a little more every day. And that is the gift of recovery for me.

Prayer

God, thank You for teaching me how to care for myself in healthy ways without becoming distant from the people I love. Help me to stop trying to control or fix everyone around me. Teach me how to be there and listen. Amen.

At Peace With Myself

I spent years trying to escape my thoughts. Recovery taught me how to face them honestly

You will keep him in perfect peace, whose mind is stayed on You, because he trusts in You. Isaiah 26:3

The topic at a meeting I attended recently was simple: “What do I feel when I’m alone?” As I listened to others share and thought about the question, I realized that I had spent most of my life trying not to answer that question. I stayed busy all the time, always doing something. Working, studying, reading, watching TV, playing video games, just going somewhere, anywhere. I consciously kept my mind busy and active so that I didn’t have to be alone with my thoughts and deal with my feelings. I didn’t have to think about how I felt. I didn’t have to feel “those” feelings. Because if ever I was alone and quiet, then the reality of what was really happening in my life would slap me in the face. And I just couldn’t face it. Really, I didn’t know how. My best thinking came up with this idea. I would literally exhaust myself on purpose until my body finally gave out and I fell asleep doing whatever it was I was still doing. Staying up as long as I could, until the wee hours of the morning, until I could no longer physically keep my eyes open or stay awake any longer. Then when I came to, usually around two or three in the morning, I would crawl myself into bed. It was the only way I could sleep. Because if I went to bed at a normal time, I would lay there alone with my thoughts. I would never fall asleep. My thoughts and feelings would haunt me, because I had no solution and no answer. I could find no way of escape. I never just sat quietly alone with my own thoughts. It was overwhelming. So, I avoided being alone. I was afraid. Scared. Hopeless.

I was trapped inside my own thoughts and emotions. This was a lie that I didn’t realize I was living. I thought by avoiding those thoughts and feelings, I was protecting myself, but what I was really doing was keeping myself trapped. Stuck in a world of denial and escapism. I just kept kicking that can down the road. Hoping that one day I would suddenly wake up and be all better. One day turned into years, decades and a lifetime of frustration and resentment. Until one day things did finally change, just not how I expected. There was nothing magical about it though. The pain finally got bad enough that I did something different. I went to a recovery meeting. I heard others share their experiences and in their stories it sounded like they were talking about me and how I felt. I felt like I was no longer alone. There was someone else who understood. Hope began to appear inside of me.

One of the things that helped me a lot in those early days was a simple little bookmark that I read every single day. It said: “Just for today I will have a quiet half hour all by myself and relax. During this half hour, I will try to get a better perspective of my life.” In the beginning, spending 30 minutes quiet and alone was a daunting task. I couldn’t do it. But I could do 5 minutes, then 10, then 20 and eventually 30. I grew to where sometimes I could even do more. Such a gift. Little by little, recovery taught me how to sit still without running from my thoughts and my feelings. I was really running from myself. Today, I cherish my quiet times and I actually look forward to them. They are no longer filled with fear and torment. They have become a place of solace for me. It’s where I get centered. It’s where I find peace, clarity, and perspective. Recovery taught me that being alone and being lonely are not the same thing. And that is the gift of recovery for me.

Prayer
Father, thank You that I no longer have to run from my thoughts and feelings. Thank You for the peace and freedom You have brought into my life through recovery. Help me continue to remain honest with myself and with You. Thank You for helping me feel safe. Amen.

My New Normal

Grateful For Peace

Recovery didn’t just change my habits. It changed what normal feels like.

You, Lord, give true peace to those who depend on You, because they trust You. Isaiah 26:3

When I sat down to write today’s devotional, I was completely stumped. I had nothing. No big realization. No powerful moment. No dramatic story. I started thinking back over my day, trying to figure out what I could possibly write about. But honestly, the day was uneventful. It was just a normal, calm, and peaceful day. Then I sensed that still small voice rising up inside me. I knew that was God revealing to me that most days these days are normal just like this one. And that’s life now. I was so encouraged by that.

I paused and pondered that thought for a minute. My life today is mostly made up of normal days. Quiet days. Peaceful days. Uneventful days. And as I reflected on that, I was so very grateful. A small smile crept across my face. What I now call normal used to seem impossible for me to ever achieve before. It always seemed unattainable. Like a proverbial dangling carrot out in front of me that I could never reach no matter how hard I tried. But somewhere along the way, a real actual change took place in my thinking and in my life.

Before recovery, my normal days were filled with chaos, anger, frustration, disappointment, confusion, and sadness. There was always some kind of crisis, conflict, or emotional exhaustion happening in my life. The peace I occasionally felt was temporary and fleeting. It never lasted. Calmness was unfamiliar and felt very uncomfortable because I was so used to living in survival mode. If my adrenaline wasn’t maxed out I felt like something was wrong. But my recovery program slowly changed all of that. By working the steps with my sponsor, listening to others, applying the principles, and following the recommended solution, my life began to change little by little.

Today, I have a new normal. My new normal is peace. My new normal is calm. My new normal is stability. Not every day is perfect by any means. Life still has its challenges, and some days bring bad news that try to steal my peace. But I have learned that it’s not always what happens that determines whether I keep my peace, but how I respond to it. Most days, though, are no longer filled with chaos and emotional turmoil. They are just normal days. And I am deeply grateful for that. That is the gift of recovery for me.

Prayer

Father, thank You for the peace You have brought into my life. Thank You that my life is no longer filled with constant chaos and confusion. Help me to continue trusting You and responding to life in healthy ways. Teach me to protect the peace You have given me and not take these normal peaceful days for granted. Amen.

How Important Is It?

Protecting My Peace

One of the greatest gifts of recovery is learning what to let go of.

Set your minds on things above, not on earthly things. Colossians 3:2

Before recovery, I reacted to almost everything. If someone embarrassed me, challenged me, disrespected me, or hurt my feelings, I usually had one of two responses. I would either lash out and launch into a verbal barrage, using my intellect and vocabulary to hurt and insult people without them even realizing it until they went home and looked up the words I used. Or I would keep it all inside and carry it around for hours, days, or even longer. I replayed conversations and situations over and over in my mind. I built resentments. I lost sleep over things that really were not nearly as important as they felt in the moment.

The other day at my daughter’s softball game, one of the players got upset with me after I asked her to move in a little closer on the infield, something I regularly do with all the players. She started yelling at me, telling me she couldn’t do it. I let it go and figured I would deal with it later. Then her parent came over near the dugout and loudly yelled at me and the other coach, saying that I should not be talking to her daughter and that someone else should be. It was loud enough that everybody in the bleachers heard it. Honestly, it embarrassed me. I acted like I didn’t hear it, but inside I definitely felt it.

In that moment, one of the recovery slogans that has helped me many times over the years came into my mind: How important is it? When the girl and her parent each yelled at me, the first thing that came to mind was this slogan. That might not seem like a big deal to some people, but it is to me because before recovery my instinct would have been to react, defend myself, or lash back out. Instead, I realized this was just an upset child and an upset parent at a softball game. I did not have to let their chaos affect me and steal my peace. I didn’t have to defend myself, react, argue, or make a scene. Recovery has taught me that not every situation deserves my energy. Sometimes the healthiest thing I can do is let it go and keep my peace.

The realization didn’t really stand out to me until the next morning. My wife and daughter both commented on how calm and even tempered I had been in that situation. They noticed that I just let it go and didn’t react. The truth is, I would have never handled something like that this way before recovery. And what means the most to me is that I wasn’t trying to act different or make people think I had changed. I was just being me. That was my new instinct. As I reflected on it, I realized this was not just about one moment at a softball game. Recovery and working the steps have genuinely changed me from the inside out. It also doesn’t eat at me afterward the way it used to. When my mind tries to replay the situation, I just ask myself again, How important is it? And when I do that, I realize it usually is not important at all. I don’t lash out. I don’t lose my peace. I don’t build resentment or lose sleep over it either. That is the gift of recovery for me.

Prayer

Father, thank You for changing me from the inside out. Thank You that I do not have to react the way I used to. Help me to continue to walk in peace and wisdom. Help me to let go of what is not important and keep my mind focused on You. Amen

Freedom Through Honesty

Seeing What Was Already There

What I thought would destroy me was the very thing that led me to freedom.

You shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free. John 8:32

Like most people in recovery, I first came because of a broken relationship. I was hoping to learn how to fix it. I remember when I had the aha moment. I was frustrated and telling my sponsor, “I’m getting mixed messages and I’m confused.” He smiled and said to me, “You’re not getting mixed messages. She said plainly she didn’t want to be with you anymore. How is that a mixed message?” I said, “Because we still live together.” He said, “That is not a mixed message. She told you her truth. You just don’t want to believe it.” When he said that, it finally sank in. Almost like it had been there the whole time, but was invisible to me. Looking back, I think he had probably been trying to help me see that for a while. I was so stuck in denial that I could not see it, even from him. I wasn’t confused. I wasn’t lacking information. I was choosing not to believe what was being said to me plainly. That day I realized something I wish I had learned much sooner. When people tell me their truth plainly, I need to believe them. They mean it. I could have saved myself so much frustration, anger, and pain if I had learned that one sooner.

What I slowly began to realize in recovery was that I was not confused nearly as much as I was in denial. Denial had such a grip on me that it was easier to believe what I wanted to be true than what I could clearly see right in front of me. It was almost like I had brainwashed myself into believing my version of reality instead of accepting what was actually happening. Facing reality meant facing pain, grief, and loss, and at the time I did not think I could handle that. I kept hoping things would change. I kept believing that if other people would just change their thinking, change their behavior, or come around to my point of view, then everything would be okay. So I poured enormous amounts of energy into trying to manage outcomes, force conversations, control situations, and hold things together that had already fallen apart. The more I fought reality, the more exhausted, frustrated, angry, and emotionally drained I became. I even pushed away one of the closest friends I ever had because he tried to tell me the truth.

Recovery has taught me to open my eyes and look honestly at what is happening in my own life. What surprised me was that accepting painful truth actually brought me more peace and serenity than denial ever did. What was uncomfortable and painful was actually the very thing that led me to freedom.

As I continued working my recovery, I started realizing this way of thinking went all the way back to my childhood. Growing up in an alcoholic home, pretending things were okay often felt safer than admitting they were not. Denial became normal to me. But recovery taught me that honesty is safer than illusion. Today, I still do not enjoy painful truths or difficult situations, but I try not to explain them away anymore either. I try to face what is real, bring it honestly to God, and trust Him enough to walk me through it instead of hiding from it. I have learned that acceptance brings far more peace than denial ever did. And that is the gift of recovery for me.

Prayer

Father, thank You for bringing me through my denial and revealing the truth to me. Give me the courage to face difficult truths honestly. Help me to trust You in the midst of them. Thank You for the comfort You give me to help me through it. Amen.

One Step at a Time… Again

Back to Basics

Drift doesn’t announce itself. It just shows up quietly. Before I even notice.

So, if you think you are standing firm, be careful that you don’t fall! 1 Corinthians 10:12

This week after meeting with my sponsor, I realized something that caught me off guard. For the first time, I hadn’t completed all my work and assignments. I had been so busy that I completely forgot to finish it. It wasn’t a relapse. It wasn’t a slip. It wasn’t even a major issue. But it got my attention. I didn’t like it, not at all. It borderline scared me that I could drift and be completely unaware of it. It made me stop and think. Why did I forget to finish my work? I didn’t even think about it. That’s when I have to stop and be honest with myself. Something has changed, and if I don’t catch it here, it will only grow and get worse.

I’ve learned to pay attention when something feels a little off. I look to see if I’m too busy, a little more distracted, a little less focused, or starting to think maybe the old way could work. That’s when I need to ask myself some questions. Am I still attending the same number of meetings? Am I still doing my step work? Am I still praying and seeking God? When I really look, I usually find something in these basic areas has shifted. It’s a symbiotic relationship. It’s simple cause and effect. When my recovery disciplines start to slip, my thinking soon follows. And vice versa. That awareness has become a check and balance system for me.

This is where this mindset helps me keep going. If I’ve done this before, I can do it again. I don’t have to feel discouraged or beat down. I don’t have to entertain lies. I don’t have to feel like I’ve lost everything. This stuff really works if I apply it to my life. So I go back to the basics, to what got me here. One moment. One hour. One day at a time. That’s how I started, and that’s how I continue. The journey of a thousand miles begins with one step… the next right step again.

I don’t say this because I’ve relapsed or slipped. I say this because I don’t want to. I’ve seen this work in my own life. I know that I know that I know that I know that if I do my recovery disciplines, they will work. I feel better about myself. I know I am changing. That brings me peace, happiness, and serenity. That gives me confidence. It allows me to throw my shoulders back, lift my head high, have a smile on my face, and keep going on. My life isn’t over. I’m still moving forward. I’m still growing. And that is the gift of recovery for me.

Prayer
Father, thank You for helping me see when things start to drift. Help me stay aware and honest with myself. Show me where I’ve slipped and give me the willingness to go back to the basics. Keep me grounded in the disciplines that brought me here. I don’t want to go backward. I want to keep moving forward with You, one step at a time. Amen.

When I Changed, Everything Changed

From Control to Peace

The change I was chasing didn’t start with them. It started with me.

First clean the inside of the cup and dish, and then the outside will also be clean. Matthew 23:26

I was listening to a newcomer share their story, and it brought me back to when I first came into recovery. I can still remember all the times I tried to fix the addiction of my qualifier. I destroyed their drug of choice. I left books, articles, and magazines out on the coffee table, opened to the exact page I wanted them to read. I underlined lines so they would see it. I left Bibles open with verses highlighted, hoping something would finally click. I knew that I could not change them. Any change would have to come from their own self-awareness. I was hoping my “hints” would nudge them and help them discover it on their own, that they needed to change. These were my hints about the damage addiction was causing, not just to them, but to our relationship and our family.

At the time, I was at my wits end. I was depressed, alone, sad, and angry. My life and family were falling apart. In recovery, we call that out of control and unmanageable. I really thought I was helping. I thought if they would just change, everything would be better. I would be happy. Our life would be better. Our family would be whole. I believed the solution was to fix them. I see now that what I called helping was really control and manipulation.

Since working through the steps of recovery, I have discovered how I used these same tactics in my dealings with other people, not just the addict. Friends, coworkers, subordinates, supervisors, customers, basically everyone I met. I was trying to get them to do what I wanted, what I thought was best. I did this through manipulation and control. I may have gotten an initial response, but seldom did it ever stick, and many times resentment was left behind. I was always left frustrated. I have learned that this was a form of pride showing up because of my low self-esteem. I didn’t think I was good enough, so I overcompensated by making myself, in my own eyes, the one with the answers. I felt uncomfortable not knowing how to deal with situations where I wasn’t in control. Trying to be in control of everything and everyone is what made me feel safe.

Recovery has taught me to focus on me so that I can have peace and happiness even in the middle of chaos. That kind of thinking wasn’t immediate. I didn’t come into recovery wanting to change myself. I wanted to change the situation. By that, I mean I wanted to change them. I thought I was right and they were wrong, and that became my problem. Over time, attending meetings, working the steps, and meeting with my sponsor, something started to shift. I began to see things differently. Think differently. And because of that, I began to experience the peace I had been chasing. Even though the other person didn’t change at all, I changed. I just noticed one day things looked different. They were suddenly better. I felt different. I was happy. I started liking who I was. That was a first. When I changed, everything else changed. That is the gift of recovery for me.

Prayer
Father, thank You for leading me to recovery. Thank You for showing me things I couldn’t see before. Help me to keep focusing on my part. Help me stop trying to control everything and everyone else. Teach me how to trust You fully. I surrender to You and Your will. Keep changing me from the inside out. Amen.

I’m Not Who I Was

Not Defined By My Past

My identity isn’t who I was then. It’s who I am now.

If anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation; the old has gone, the new has come.
2 Corinthians 5:17

I’ve lived long enough to know what it feels like to be hurt. I’ve experienced difficulties, pain and trauma, even some health issues and concerns. People have hurt and mistreated me. I have been tricked, lied to and taken advantage of. I have survived experiences that left a lasting mark. They’ve caused wounds, and those wounds have left scars behind. But none of those things define me. They are unfortunately just the toll of life.

What I love about recovery is that it gives me practical tools and new skills to use. They help me heal and recover from the wounds and scars. It’s not salve that magically heals everything, nor is it a catch-all for every problem or situation. But it provides me with a different way of thinking. It teaches me to approach life differently. I am not a victim. I am not damaged or broken. I am not ruined or irreparable because of the things that have happened to me. Instead, I approach life as a whole person who has had bad things happen to me. And when I see myself that way, I’m able to confront, deal with and recover from the damage that was left behind.

I call that emotional collateral damage. It is what has happened to me as a result of the trauma and abuse that I experienced as a child. Those wounds, although sometimes still very painful, can be healed completely. It’s not like a surgery where they go in and remove the problem organ, and it’s all gone in one moment. This kind of healing is a process. It takes time. The damage and scars didn’t develop suddenly overnight and they’re not going to go away suddenly overnight either. This is what the Bible describes as the renewing of the mind and the saving of the soul. It’s a process that takes time as I grow into the full nature of a child of God.

And that’s where I live today. I’m not pretending those things didn’t happen, but I’m not letting them define me anymore either. I’m learning how to deal with what’s been left behind, one layer at a time. Sometimes that looks like choosing a different response when I feel hurt. Sometimes it’s simply talking about what I’m feeling instead of holding it in. Some days are harder than others. Some wounds are still tender and hurt when something hits them. But I’m not stuck there like I used to be. I’m healing. Not all at once, but steadily. I’m not who I was, and I’m not stuck where I’ve been. I’m moving forward into what God has for me.

Prayer
Father God, thank You for being my healer. Help me to face the hurts from my past instead of avoiding them. Give me strength to walk through them. Guide me and help me as I continue moving forward in You. Amen.

How I Stay Safe

Noticing The Little Things

I didn’t notice it… until it wasn’t there.

Whoever walks in integrity walks securely, but whoever takes crooked paths will be found out. Proverbs 10:9

When I got out of the shower this morning, I stepped onto the floor and my foot slipped. For a moment I thought I was going to fall and hit my head on the tub. It scared me. It caught me off guard. I’ve never done that before. I wondered, why did I slip? I shower every day, and I had never slipped like that before. Then I realized something. The mat that’s normally outside the shower wasn’t there. My wife had taken it to wash it. I’m grateful she takes care of those things, but it hit me. That mat has been there every day, keeping me from slipping, and I’ve never once really noticed it. I didn’t think about it. I didn’t appreciate it. Until it wasn’t there.

It made me start thinking about how many things in my life are like that. The small, consistent things that I don’t pay attention to, but they’re actually holding me up and keeping me safe. In my recovery, it’s things like: my daily time with God, journaling, attending meetings, talking things out, sharing honestly. None of those feel big in the moment. They just feel like part of my daily routine. But I’ve noticed when they’re missing, that’s when I start to slip, just like I did on that floor. That’s when I feel it. I’m not always aware and grateful in the moment for them. I just expect them to be there.

Today I’m grateful for the little things. The things that don’t get noticed but make all the difference. The things that keep me grounded and from falling back into old patterns. They may seem small, but they’re not. They are what keep me safe, and keep me from slipping, just like that mat did. They are the important things. And when I stay consistent with them, I don’t just avoid slipping, I stay safe and I keep growing. And that’s the gift of recovery for me.

Prayer
Father, thank You for the little things in my life that I don’t even notice. The things that keep me safe. Help me stay aware, stay consistent, and not take them for granted. Help me continue doing the small things every day that keep me safe. Amen.

A Different Approach

Peace Instead of Pressure

I used to go home and replay everything. This time, I had peace.

If you do what is right, you will be accepted. But if you do not do what is right, sin is ready to attack you. That sin wants to control you, but you must control it. Genesis 4:7

I coach my daughter’s softball team. I have coached my kids’ teams for several years, so I’m not new to this. But I saw something different in me during our last game. We lost the game, but our team played well and we actually had a chance to win. We just made some mistakes. What does this have to do with recovery?

What I noticed is my attitude was different in that game. I’m very competitive. I play hard, I coach hard. I try to win every time. All the time. And in that game, I did not feel any of that pressure. I felt something different. I just enjoyed being in that moment. In the past, I would’ve been very frustrated during the game. I would’ve gone home and spent hours spinning in my mind, thinking about all the things we could’ve done differently and what we could’ve done better. When I got home that night, instead I was at peace. I was happy. I had fun. Yeah, we lost the game, but it was still fun. I was able to have fun and be proud of our team and how they played and performed regardless of the scoreboard. It was a close game. I think we could’ve won. But that didn’t matter. I was really proud of the girls and I noticed that’s all I was thinking about. That was such a different approach for me, even from last year when the other coaches commented that I was intense. But I didn’t feel intense that night, not at all.

I’m confident that the change in my feelings and behavior is a direct result of the work I’ve been doing in my recovery. I’ve been spending more time journaling and doing step work. Focusing on my behaviors. Attending regular meetings. Practicing the third step prayer. Setting aside time for my writing. I’ve been trying not to improve anyone else, but myself, specifically my spiritual life and my connection with God. That’s what’s made the difference. And that’s the gift of recovery for me.

Reflection
What can I do today to put myself in a position to see change in my life?

A Better Father Than Me

Through My Children

The way I love my children helped me understand how God loves me.

If you, imperfect as you are, know how to lovingly take care of your children and give them what’s best, how much more ready is your heavenly Father to give wonderful gifts to those who ask him. Matthew 7:11

Sometimes I struggle with the concept of a loving, caring God. It’s hard for me to believe that God would care for me regardless of, or even in spite of, the things I do. That He would love and accept me for who I am. I start to ask myself why. Why would God have compassion for me? Why would He be there? Why would He help me? Why would He even want to? And honestly, it’s held me back in my life. I want to believe it, but I never saw it modeled in my life, so I don’t even know what it would look like.

I was pondering this today and I started thinking about my children and how I would do anything for them within my power. If there was anything they needed or wanted, I would do whatever I could to make it happen. If they’re in trouble or something’s bothering them, I want to know, because I care about them. I love them. And if there’s anything I can do to help or ease their pain, I would do it. That’s when the aha moment hit. God cares for me the same way. After reflecting on that, I realized the fact that I even have that comparison to think about parenthood and God came from God to help me and give me perspective. He is so good.

When I started to put that into perspective, I realized God is probably a better parent than I am. So if I have those feelings toward my children, and I would do anything within my power to help them, to love them, to care for them, to accept them, even if they were mad at me or even if they refused, I would still be willing and available. Why wouldn’t God be the same toward me? My obvious conclusion is He would, and probably even more so. What I’ve found is I am my worst critic. I am hard on myself. I judge myself. I consider myself not worthy. But when I look at my children, I realize there is nothing they could ever do that would cause me not to love them or care for them. Nothing. That allows me to be more gentle with myself. It helps me accept that God will never reject me, that He loves me, that He cares for me, and that He’s always there willing to help me. That matters because it gives me confidence to ask Him for help, knowing He’s there when I do. That’s part of the gift of recovery for me.

Reflection
What would change if I actually believed God cares for me the way I care for my children?

I Cannot Tell His Story

Peace Through Perspective

I can’t tell his story. But I can change mine.

Man looks at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart. 1 Samuel 16:7

What I knew about my dad was that he was a master sergeant in the Marines. He trained paratroopers. He was injured on a jump when one of the lines sliced him, leaving a scar across his abdomen. Although he never identified himself as an alcoholic, I know he drank a lot, and when he drank, he got drunk. And when he was drunk, he was often mean and violent. That’s what I experienced growing up. There were times when he wasn’t like that. But there were many times when he was. He was estranged from his biological children, and I believe he carried resentment from that into our home. For most of my life, that’s the story I told myself about him.

As I’ve gone through recovery, I’ve started to see how much of that experience shaped me. He demanded things be done right. Not just done, but done perfectly. I remember washing his diesel truck and missing a few spots on the grill. He inspected my work and instead of having me fix that one area, I had to wash the entire rig again. Hours of work, over something small. The same thing happened with mowing the lawn. It had to be cross cut, then diagonal cut. It had to be done a certain way, and if it wasn’t right, I had to start over. That mindset stayed with me. I learned to strive for perfection. I learned that getting it wrong meant starting over. And while that shows up today in doing things well, it also shows up as pressure and an impossible standard I can’t always meet. I have learned those were unrealistic expectations.

After I got into recovery and started working through the steps my sponsor pointed out something I didn’t want to see or admit. He said that I seemed to have a hatred for my dad. I denied it. I was a Christian and I didn’t have hate in my heart for anybody. But as I worked through the steps, I found that there was hatred in my heart for him. My sponsor suggested I do a fourth step just on my dad. So I did. It was a very long fourth step. It took me months.

In doing that, I realized something that changed everything for me. I cannot tell my dad’s story. Outside of what I experienced, I knew very little about him. That helped me begin to see him as a person instead of a monster. I’m not excusing what he did. But when I started to understand there was more to him than what I saw, I began to develop compassion for him. I just wish I had come to that place before he passed.

Recovery has given me a way to make amends to him even though he’s no longer here. I make a living amends by changing how I live. By letting go of the resentment. By choosing to see the good in him and not defining him by his struggle with alcohol. By accepting him as my dad, the man who raised me. Most of my life I called him my stepdad. I kept that distance. Today, I call him my dad. I love him for who he was, not what I wished him to be. And there is a peace in that I can’t fully explain. That is the gift of recovery for me.

Prayer

Father, help me to be honest about what’s in my heart. Give me the courage and strength to let go of the resentments and pain I’ve carried, and help me offer forgiveness instead. Thank You for the healing and peace that comes with that. Amen.

What’s Really Bothering Me

Looking At My Part

When I stop and ask why I’m really upset, the answer usually has nothing to do with the other person.

Let us examine our ways and test them, and let us return to the Lord. Lamentations 3:40

Someone called off work on a really busy day. We were already short staffed coming off a weekend, and there was a lot going on. They didn’t say why, they just called off. I asked if they were sick and didn’t get a response. That frustrated me. And not just a little. It got under my skin. I felt myself getting angry. My mind started going right away. This is exactly the kind of thing that throws everything off. Now everyone else has to pick up the slack. Service slows down. People wait longer. It affects the whole team, the business, and our reputation. And in that moment, it felt like none of that mattered to them. And I start judging them. I start thinking, I would never do that. I would show up. I would push through. I would do what needs to be done. Why can’t other people do the same? That’s where my mind went.

I have learned in recovery that when I get worked up like that, I need to write about it. So I did. It has become my first go to. As I began writing, I was exploring my frustration and anger. Then I asked why. Why does this bother me so much? As I sat with those thoughts and got honest with myself, something else started to emerge. This wasn’t really about someone calling off work. This was about what gets set off inside me. I was upset because of how it made me look. Don’t they know how much time, energy and effort I have put into restoring our reputation? Don’t they know the sacrifices I have made here? My sponsor told me a long time ago, when I am angry ask myself what am I afraid of. Because those two are so closely connected and tied together. That is when I saw it. I was afraid of how this would reflect on me. My core issue was being hit. I was feeling like I am not good enough again.

So this whole rant about being frustrated over an employee calling off is really about me feeling like I am not good enough. I have found that every time I am upset, that feeling shows up. And it’s always about me. When I saw it this time, I actually chuckled and laughed out loud. That’s a different response than I used to have. Instead of staying frustrated, I kept the focus on me and why I was upset. I can’t control anyone else. Just me. The situation didn’t change. They still called off. We’re still short staffed. But I’m not carrying it around with me anymore. I can step back. I can breathe. I can let go of trying to control everyone else. I come back to me and focus on my part. That’s where I find peace now. And that is the gift of recovery for me.

Reflection
What am I afraid of right now?