Scraping Ice

Sometimes clarity starts with doing the things I don’t want to do.

We can’t allow ourselves to get tired of living the right way. Galatians 6:9

One of my “favorite“ things to do in the winter is scraping the ice off the windshield of my car every morning. I say that tongue in cheek because it is one of my least favorite things. I stand there in the cold, hands hurting, clothes getting wet and wishing the ice would magically just disappear. I am a hot weather person and I would take a hot sunny day over a cold day every single day and twice on Sunday. If I was to say I hate cold weather I don’t think that would be too strong a word. As I was begrudgingly clearing my windows of this loathsome task, I started thinking about other things in my life that I don’t like to do, but I do them anyway. It is frustrating, inconvenient, and uncomfortable… but the payoff is greater than the pain. In this case the windshield clears. My day moves forward. The discomfort has a purpose and eventually passes.

I started thinking about how recovery has been the same way. There were things I didn’t want to face, and for years I avoided them. I pretended they weren’t there, hoping they would melt on their own. My sponsor once told me that in order to recover I needed “face everything and recover.” That was his acronym for fear, and apparently I had a lot of it and didn’t see it in myself. I didn’t like it, but I needed it. I have learned that the only way out is through. I couldn’t run, hide, ignore, or avoid anymore. I had to face the decisions, the conversations, the truths, the parts of myself I didn’t want to see. Moment by moment and a little bit at a time.

Today I’m grateful because, by working the steps, I can now confront those things that I avoided and ran from before. I am learning how to face the challenges in front of me one by one. I try to focus on doing what’s right for today, and trust that God will handle the outcomes. This allows me to take in grace with each breath and let out fear with each exhale. And little by little, I am seeing things more clearly.

Prayer: Father, thank You for helping me face the things I would rather avoid. Give me the strength to keep doing what is right even when it feels uncomfortable. Help me trust that each step forward matters and that You are clearing my view as I keep moving. Amen.

Resenting the Weather

Letting go of expectations I can’t control

Make sure that no bitterness grows in you to cause trouble, which disturbs many people.
Hebrews 12:15

I do yard sales to supplement my income. It’s one of the ways I try to make ends meet. I buy liquidated merchandise and sell mostly online, but a couple times a month I open the garage doors and have a sale. Everything is on shelves and labeled and organized. Now that it’s set up, it’s fairly easy to manage.

One thing I’ve learned though is that for a yard sale to be successful, the weather has to cooperate. If it’s too hot, people don’t want to come out. If it’s too cold, most stay home except for the diehards. Wind or rain? Forget it. That’s a deal breaker. So good weather is essential, and for me that means seventy to eighty degrees, no wind, and clear skies. Unfortunately, I have absolutely no control over the weather. None whatsoever. And that frustrates the heck out of me, especially because it always seems like the times when the weather is bad are the times when I need the extra income the most. Before I know it, I get resentful. I’m irritated by the rain, agitated by the wind, and I can’t stand the cold. I catch myself getting offended by things that I don’t like anyway.

In my recovery, I’ve learned that when I catch myself getting angry over something completely out of my control, I need to stop and ask myself why it bothers me. The answer usually isn’t complicated. In this case, I’m upset because I can’t control the weather. That’s how resentment works. Most resentments, past and present, come from unrealistic expectations. I’ve heard it said that unrealistic expectations are future resentments, and I have found that to be true in my life every time.

My solution starts with slowing down and naming what I’m actually feeling: frustration, anger, powerlessness. Then I write about it. I ask and answer the questions I need to face. Why does this bother me? Why does this situation make me feel powerless? When I do that, I can usually identify my part. More often than not, it connects back to something inside me that feels not good enough. That is my core issue. Writing helps me see what I can and cannot control. It helps me ask better questions, like whether this is something I can change or something I need to accept. From there, I can choose a healthier response. That’s where resentment begins to loosen its grip, and that’s where quiet healing and freedom start to take root. When I follow this process in a timely way, I don’t end up owing anyone an amends. That isn’t just success. That is growth, and I’m deeply grateful for what these principles have brought into my life.

Prayer

God, help me recognize when I am holding unrealistic expectations. Keep me from letting them turn into resentments. Help me see the good in things when I feel frustrated or upset. Give me the willingness to release things to You instead of trying to control them. Show me my part more quickly, and give me the willingness to respond differently. Thank You, Lord, for the changes You are making in me. I am grateful for the growth that comes when I apply these principles in my life. Amen.

Small Town America

Doing what’s right, even when there is no crisis.

We must pay the most careful attention, therefore, to what we have heard, so that we do not drift away. Hebrews 2:1

I love small town America where I now live. Life moves at a slower pace, and I’m grateful for that. But along with calmer surroundings, there are also fewer recovery meetings. When I lived in a more urban area, a thirty- or forty-minute drive to a meeting didn’t seem unusual; it was part of life and you just got used to it. Now out in a rural area, that same thirty-minute drive through the desert feels more like a whole ordeal. Yet in reality, on the clock it’s the exact same amount of time. The only difference is my perspective has changed. That’s how recovery works too. It’s all about perspective.

When I start to think that going to a meeting is too far away or is inconvenient, I ask myself one question: How important is it? The answer usually brings everything back into focus. There may only be one meeting each week in this area, but it’s there and I can go. I’ve learned that I need meetings not just when I’m struggling, but when life feels stable and comfortable. Those are the times when complacency can creep in, and I can get squirrely real fast. I remember how desperate I was in the beginning. I didn’t care when or where the meeting was; I went because I needed help. The only thing that’s different is now I am not in crisis.

I was talking about this with my sponsor, and he mentioned that he attends online meetings several times a week. I knew there were online meetings, but quite honestly, I had forgotten about them. His reminder got me curious, so I attended one. I liked it and got a lot out of it, so I went to another. It has been such a blessing. There are online meetings happening around the clock. So even in a rural area like where I live, I can now find a meeting almost any time of day. And I do several each week. It reminded me that staying connected often starts with remembering what’s already available.

I remember what the old timers told me in the beginning. They said, “Don’t ever forget, you need to dance with the one that brought you.” I can easily drift off course if I stop doing the things that I did in the beginning that eased the pain and helped me start to get my mind straight. There will always be reasons why I may want to miss a meeting, work, family, being tired, or thinking I’m “all better now.” But when I keep doing what I know is right, I stay connected to God and to others. I am realizing that knowing the right thing to do isn’t enough if I stop doing it. Scripture warns how easy it is for me to drift off course when my attention fades, and recovery has proven that to be true for me more than once. How important is my recovery? My recovery, like my faith, depends on consistency, not convenience. When I remember that, my viewpoint shifts again, back into alignment, and peace returns.

Prayer:
Father, I am grateful that You keep opening my eyes to things I never saw before. I am glad that I do have meetings I can go to. Help me keep doing what I know is right, and give me the discipline to continue even when I don’t feel like it. Amen.

I Am My Own Qualifier

I stopped explaining myself and started owning my part.

We always think we are right, until the Lord shows us our motives. Proverbs 16:2

I went to my first recovery meeting not because of alcoholism in my own life, or in the life of someone close to me, but because I read an article that said 12 Step recovery programs offer a solution for people who are controlling and manipulative. I was looking for a solution because I had just read a comment about myself on an internet message board that said I was abusive, manipulative, and controlling. That stopped me cold. I immediately pushed back. I was not abusive. And yet, those words quietly began to churn inside me. I could not shake the feeling that they might be true. My first instinct was to fix it. I am a fixer. That is what I do. I thought I could just fix this too. I grew up in an abusive home, and I was determined never to repeat that. I had never raised my hand or my voice. I had never threatened anyone. I never even thought of hurting anyone, EVER. I did not see myself as abusive at all.

It was not until I started working my Fourth Step inventory that the truth began to surface, and it was something I could no longer avoid. The only reason I ever found that message board in the first place was because I had been snooping through the browsing history on our family computer. I told myself I was just trying to understand what was going on, trying to make sense of why my family was falling apart. But as I continued working through my inventory, the truth was impossible to ignore, and I had to admit what it really was. That was manipulation. That was control. Once I saw myself actually doing the things that the message board described, I was embarrassed. I wanted to believe no one else could see it, but the truth was everyone knew long before I did.

When I finally walked into that first meeting, something unexpected happened. I realized I belonged. I qualified, not just because of my family of origin and their lifelong struggle with alcoholism and addiction, but because of my own behaviors. The fixing. The controlling. The managing. The way I tried to change everyone else while ignoring myself. Suddenly, all the times friends and coworkers had gently suggested I consider recovery meetings made sense. They were not criticizing me. They were recognizing patterns they had already faced in their own lives and were trying to carry the message to me. I am grateful I finally embraced it. Through working the steps, I began to take responsibility for my actions and for how they showed up in my relationships. I respect other people’s personal space now. I no longer snoop or invade privacy. I accept that others hold opinions different from mine without needing to challenge, correct, or control them. I no longer feel responsible to fix everyone. I still catch myself slipping into old patterns at times, but today I recognize it sooner, take responsibility for it, and turn it over to God. I do not have to be obsessed with the outcome anymore.

Prayer
Lord, thank You for revealing to me the truth I could not see on my own. I want to be responsible for my actions. Help me remain teachable and open to change. When I feel the urge to control or fix others, remind me to pause, release it to You, and trust You with the outcome. Amen.

Being Present Without Guilt

Learning to enjoy where my feet are.

Recovery has taught me that I don’t have to justify every moment or fix myself before I can enjoy what’s right in front of me. Sometimes the simplest thing is just being present.

I know that there is nothing better for people than to be happy and to do good while they live.
Ecclesiastes 3:12

We have a few simple traditions during the Christmas season. One of them is driving around town and looking at the Christmas lights and decorations on the houses. There are a few neighborhoods that really go all out. They have lots and lots of lights. Some are synchronized to music, with cutouts and blow ups of all the characters. Some nights Santa is out there handing out candy canes. It’s a lot of fun. We make hot cocoa and pour it into our cups, and sometimes, if we have a few extra dollars, we stop by a local place and pick one up. We play Christmas music on the radio and sing along. We have a really good time as a family. No electronic devices. No distractions. No competing voices. Just us hanging out together doing one simple thing, and it is beautiful. It is absolutely one of my favorite parts of the holiday season. True confession, we do it several times and always one last time on Christmas Eve.

For a long time, I was not able to enjoy simple moments like that. In recovery, it is easy for me to stay focused on my faults, my shortcomings, and my character defects. I have a tendency to live in fourth step mode, always taking inventory, always looking for what needs to be fixed. One of the blessings of completing my inventory and continuing through the rest of the steps was learning to see the good things in life and the good things about me. That was not easy. It took my sponsor prompting me to even try. But somewhere along the way, as I stopped defining myself only by what was broken, I was able to see some good things about myself. This in turn also made it possible to see the good in others and in simple moments without guilt getting in the way. I also stopped feeling like these simple things were unimportant. They didn’t have to have a purpose, and they didn’t have to be earned. I could just be there.

Before recovery, guilt and the feeling of never being enough followed me everywhere, even into special moments with my family. Those feelings leaked out of me and I quietly spoiled what should have been joyful times. Today, I am able to enjoy the little things without overthinking them. I can think about our simple traditions and feel grateful instead of distracted by what I think is wrong with me or what I should be doing instead. I am not trying to fix myself or prove anything in those moments. I am just there with my family, present for what is happening, and that is something I never want to take for granted. It really is that simple. Being present without an agenda or a purpose feels liberating to me. It makes me feel whole, like I have finally grown up.

Prayer
Father, thank You for teaching me how to be present in the moment. Thank You for showing me that I can enjoy simple things without an agenda, just because. Help me continue to live in the moment and appreciate the ordinary. Teach me to show up fully, with an open heart, and to enjoy the good You place in front of me today. Amen.

Wherever I Go

There are meetings everywhere.

One God and Father of all, who is over all and through all and in all. Ephesians 4:6

Whenever I travel anywhere, I make it a point to find a local meeting. I’ve been to meetings in many different places, New York, Oregon, Ohio, and California. Sometimes the meeting was in a church basement, a school classroom, or even a hospital annex. I’ve been to AA, NA, Al-Anon, Nar-Anon, ACOA, Celebrate Recovery, and group therapist-led recovery meetings. But in all these different settings, what always amazed me was how familiar each one felt. The moment I walked in, I saw different surroundings, different faces, different voices, and different towns, but the same hurts and the same desire to be free. The same readings, the same steps, the same language of hope and honesty.

What I’ve learned from all those experiences is that recovery works anywhere because truth works everywhere. The settings and the people may change, but the principles of recovery remain the same. They’re not limited by geography or personality. They work because they’re based on God’s Word, and He’s the One behind the healing and restoration process. The people and the rooms might look different on the outside, but on the inside we’re all just people looking for help, trying to be free from pain. We’re all experiencing similar feelings.

Today I’m grateful that I can find a meeting even when I’m not at home. There’s safety in knowing that wherever I go, and whichever meeting I find, the same principles are being practiced by people who are trying to find the same solutions I am. I’m not alone in this journey. The rooms may look different, but the message is always the same. God’s grace is there, working through people, helping us all heal one day at a time.

Prayer

Father, thank You for being the same wherever I go. Thank You for showing me that recovery works because You are working in it. Help me keep doing the work, staying honest, and trusting You to bring healing and restoration in every place and every life. Amen.

Buried Feelings

The journey back to my feelings.

The Lord is close to all whose hearts are crushed with pain, and he is always ready to restore the repentant one. Psalm 34:18

When I began doing step work, I imagined I would have to confront the insidious nature of alcoholism and addiction. But I never expected to uncover the deep seated patterns and behaviors in my own life. I did not expect to come face to face with my real feelings, the ones I had spent a lifetime burying.

As a child, what I saw and heard didn’t match what I was told. The fights, the broken glass, the shattered television, the damaged cars, the bruises, the police showing up at the house, the screaming, and the silence afterward. All of it was untouchable. Off limits. Growing up in that environment, I learned that emotions could not be trusted. The message, spoken or unspoken, was always the same. Everything is fine. This is normal. So I learned to treat chaos like routine and danger as part of daily life.

That conditioning didn’t stay in my childhood. It followed me into adulthood and has caused real damage. It became the lens I saw my whole life through. When someone in front of me was hurting, I froze. I didn’t know how to comfort them. Not because I didn’t care, but because I was trained to react as if their pain was just another routine moment to gloss over and pretend nothing was happening. I learned to shut down and disappear emotionally. I learned to cover everything up, including myself. If I had to toughen up and move on, then so should they. So I came into recovery with no idea how to deal with real feelings, mine or anyone else’s.

In recovery, I am learning that awakening old emotions, while uncomfortable, is also necessary. Tears I stuffed down for years often come, and they are the beginning of honesty and healing. They represent years of buried truth finally rising to the surface. It is ironic that it was pain that finally brought me through the doors of recovery. The pain finally got greater than my fear of change. But even that pain, the failed relationship and collapse of what I thought was normal adulthood, wasn’t the source. It was merely an echo. The real wound was buried deep below the surface. There lived a much older ache, one formed long before adulthood, long before my own choices and consequences. One I never had permission to feel. That buried pain is what created the pain that dragged me into the program.

Recovery has helped me face both layers: the adult pain that brought me in and the childhood pain that kept me stuck. Step work has helped me face the truth that the hurt I carried into adulthood was born long before I ever had adult responsibilities. Working with a sponsor, going to meetings, learning to tell the truth in inventory, making amends, all of it has helped me peel back the layers and finally see myself as I really am. For the first time, I am beginning to understand what compassion looks like, both toward others and toward myself. I am learning how to listen, to be patient, to forgive without conditions. And because I don’t inherently know how, I now ask, “How can I help?”

𝗥𝗲𝗰𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗿𝘆 𝗶𝘀 𝗮 𝗽𝗿𝗼𝗰𝗲𝘀𝘀.

It is a daily process to unlearn all those years of pretending. A daily process to tell myself the truth. A daily process to feel what I feel without shame. A daily process that is slow, painful, and confusing at times. A daily process of allowing God to help me and heal those hidden layers.

But this process is freeing. I am receiving something I never had growing up, the emotional room to feel, to express, to be honest, and to become whole. For the first time in my life, I am building a new relationship with my own heart. And that is recovery too.

𝗣𝗿𝗮𝘆𝗲𝗿

God, thank You for staying close to me even when I buried my feelings so deeply that I could not reach them myself. Help me continue to face the pain I used to run from. Teach me to trust the emotions I learned to fear. Heal the hidden places where old wounds still speak and give me the courage to feel honestly, love openly, and live fully awake. Amen.

Slogans I Live By

New thoughts leading to new experiences.

The people here were more open-minded since they welcomed the message with eagerness and examined the Scriptures daily to see if these things were so. Acts 17:11

I was in a meeting this week and the topic was slogans. Everyone started sharing their favorite ones and how they’ve helped them. I was ready with mine. One day at a time. How important is it. Those have carried me through a lot. Then one guy shared something that stopped me cold. He said the best slogans are the ones he makes up himself. That hit me harder than I expected. My mind kind of exploded. I thought about how open that was. How flexible. How not rigid. And it clicked for me that this is exactly what recovery has been teaching me all along.

Of course, the slogans we all know were made up by someone. They didn’t come from a book at first. They came from lived experience. From people working the steps, falling down, getting back up, and finding words that helped keep them safe. That shifted something in me. I realized I was already living this way. I just don’t always call them slogans. I have my own ideas I’ve adapted into my life, things that help me, things that keep me grounded. Things I practice and also share with sponsees. Things like: if you don’t want to fall into the pit, don’t get so close to the edge. Always ask what’s my part. If you won’t write about it, then don’t talk about it. Some of these sound extreme, but it’s the extreme that keeps me safe.

I used to be rigid in my thinking. I would have never agreed that I was closed minded, but I was definitely locked into what I already knew. I told myself it was wisdom. That I was protecting myself from ideas that might only cause confusion. Looking back, it was simply arrogance disguised as… well… arrogance. How could I ever learn anything new if everything had to pass through my own way of thinking first. My best thinking is what got me here. It really was stinking thinking. Practicing the principles of recovery is teaching me new ways to think. To stay open, curious, and honest to ideas and concepts I’ve never heard before. And even to consider the possibility that some things I rejected in the past might be beneficial after all. That willingness has reaped a bountiful harvest. I embrace my personal slogans now. They work for me. And I keep finding that when I stay open minded and willing, this stuff really works in all of my affairs.

Reflection Question:
What slogans have guided you so far, and what new ones might you create as you continue in recovery?

A Different Response

Recovery keeps changing me.

Be transformed by the renewing of your mind. Romans 12:2

I had one of those subtle spiritual awakening moments last week, the kind that shows up in everyday life and catches me off guard. It was real and unintentional. I promised my wife I would take some important, time-sensitive documents into work and have them scanned so we could get digital copies. I forgot the first day. The next day I remembered, put them into a manila folder, and made sure they were in my backpack. As I was heading out to work, I noticed a small note my wife had taped up on the door. It simply said “Documents” with a smiley face and a heart. When I saw it, I smiled and chuckled to myself. I genuinely thought it was a thoughtful and kind gesture. That was unexpected for me. I stopped for a moment and thanked God for opening my eyes to the heart behind the note.

There was a time, not too long ago either, when that same note would have irritated me. I would have felt corrected or nagged. I would have thought I already remembered, why are you telling me again? I would get defensive and irritable without even noticing it, and I didn’t know how much my reactions were shaped by fear, pride, and old patterns I never questioned. But this time something different happened. I saw the note and instead of feeling annoyed, I felt grateful. Grateful for her heart. Grateful for the reminder. Grateful that my first thought was kindness instead of irritation. And most importantly, I felt loved. It dawned on me and I saw it. I wasn’t being pestered, I was being reminded that she cared about me.

That is the gift and miracle of recovery. I could see the shift in my thinking, and I started feeling differently. Although my wife had left many similar notes in the past, this was the first time I could see her heart instead of my hurt. This is a new way of seeing things. Not through hurt or experiences of the past, but through acceptance and love. I am learning healthier ways to respond than I used to and I feel good about that. I am proud of myself for it. Not pride as in ego, but a real self-esteem where I can see myself as a person of value and worth. One worthy of love. That humbles me and collapses my defenses. I now notice and feel the difference in how I respond. I live and relate to others in healthier ways, and I don’t take that lightly. This transformation in how I see things heals old wounds and invites hope to fill my soul. This kind of change doesn’t happen by accident either. It comes from doing step work and being willing to change.

Prayer: Father, thank You for the changes you are making in me. I am grateful that You are allowing me to see the heart of others as You do. Help me to keep confronting old thought patterns and being open to new ways of thinking. Give me the courage to make the changes I need to make. Amen

3 More Hours

Choosing between frustration and peace

If you wait for perfect conditions, you will never get anything done. Ecclesiastes 11:4

During the holidays, we like to do simple crafts and activities together as a family. One of our little traditions is making chocolate-covered pretzels. We placed our order for the things we needed at 9:00 a.m., with a promised delivery time of noon. Instead, the order was delayed and then disappeared altogether. Never filled, let alone delivered. Frustration started filling the room. My wife was on the phone trying to fix it, growing more irritated by the minute. I was sitting on the couch watching it unfold, not in the middle of the conflict but close enough to feel the tension and see the smoke coming out of her ears. She was upset, uncharacteristically short-tempered, and understandably frustrated. Before long, that frustration turned toward me for not jumping in to fix it. If I had been the one on the phone, I probably would have felt the same way. I’ve been in that spot before, and I’ve reacted worse than she did.

It became clear that no matter what we said, how much we complained, or how frustrated we became, the delivery wasn’t within our control. We couldn’t make anyone respond differently. We couldn’t speed things up. We couldn’t fix the delay or undo the mistake. We had no control over what was happening with the order, and it didn’t seem like anyone on the other end of the phone did either. No amount of frustration was going to change that. What we did have control over was simple, almost embarrassingly simple. Our response. We could stop arguing with people about something we couldn’t change and decide what to do next. Instead, we resisted that option. We stayed on the phone. We kept pressing. We kept trying to force a solution that wasn’t coming. Looking back, I wasn’t just watching a delay. I was watching how hard it is for me to let go of control when I feel I’ve been wronged.

We stayed there for three more hours. Three more hours of phone calls, explanations, and frustration. Three more hours of trying to convince someone else they were wrong. Three more hours of sitting in powerlessness, hoping control would eventually show up and fix things. Looking back, it’s almost humorous. I didn’t just wait three more hours for a delivery. I chose three more hours of anxiety, irritation, and resistance. Eventually, I did the only thing that was actually within my power. I got up off my butt, went to the store, picked up what we needed, and came home. By then, my wife had worked through her frustration, and the tension had passed. We were still able to do what we planned to do. It was just delayed. The real loss wasn’t the delay. It was the time I spent sitting still, insisting on fighting something I couldn’t change. I’m reminded how often I do this in life. I sit in discomfort waiting for someone else to change, waiting for circumstances to bend, waiting for tomorrow, instead of taking action right now. I didn’t lose hours because of the problem. I lost them because I refused to let go of control. And every time I do, I pay the same price. Not in time, but in peace.

Prayer

Father, help me recognize when I am holding on to control instead of choosing peace. Show me where I am waiting when I need to take action. Give me the courage to act on what is within my power. Teach me to respond instead of react. Thank You for the peace I receive when I choose to be happy instead of being right. Amen.

The Hurt That Opened My Eyes

Pain broke through my denial and I finally accepted the truth

He brought me up from a horrible pit, out of the mud and clay, and set my feet on a rock. Psalm 40:2

I will never forget the day everything fell apart. After twenty years of marriage, my wife told me she was leaving. Not thinking or talking about leaving. Leaving. She already had a place lined up, had spoken with our teenage kids, and asked me not to be there when she moved out. She had been planning this for a long time, and I had been pretending not to see it. When she said I love you, but I’m not in love with you, something inside me shattered. The shock and confusion filled my whole being. It felt like the rug had been pulled out from under my life, and I remember standing there not knowing who I was anymore or where I would end up.

A few months earlier I had already told a coworker I thought we were headed toward divorce. We had a separation agreement that said we were separated but living in the same house. I wasn’t as blindsided as I told myself. I just didn’t want to face the truth because the truth hurt. I saw things that didn’t make sense, or maybe they did, but I didn’t want to look any closer. I told myself stories. I tried to keep the illusion of a family even though it was slipping through my fingers. Ignoring reality felt easier than honesty until it wasn’t, and denial only made the crash harder when it finally came.

Looking back, that day was the beginning of my recovery, even though it didn’t seem like it. It’s what I later learned was called hitting bottom. Pain finally stripped away the stories, the lies that I told myself. The shock forced me to stop pretending. Losing what I thought I couldn’t live without opened the door for God to meet me in a place I had never let Him into before. It pushed me toward honesty, a truth I had been running from. When my world fell apart, something new began. I didn’t feel strength. I didn’t feel hope. But I did feel the truth, and that was eventually enough to cause me to humble myself and look for help. I had to face my life as it actually was, not as I falsely wished it were. And as painful as that was, it created a small opening for me to surrender to God and allow Him into the anguish and heartache I had been concealing in the shadows of my heart.

The solution didn’t come overnight and it didn’t come the way I thought it would. But it did come. It came by me working the steps and opening the hidden places of my heart to God and to my sponsor. I started doing the simple things they told me to do every day. I showed up, shared honestly, and took one small action at a time. Little by little, the ground under me began to feel solid again. Pain and hurt were replaced with peace and ease. Resentments were replaced with gratitude. I don’t know exactly how it happened, or even when. I only know that it did as I followed the prescription they gave me: going to meetings and working the steps with a sponsor. Keep coming back, it works.

Prayer:
Father, thank You for being close to me when my world fell apart. Thank You for not giving up on me and leading me to recovery. Help me to always stay honest about what is real and let You into the places I try to hide. Give me the courage to keep walking this path one day at a time. Thank You for the peace You give in place of where there used to be pain. Amen.

Trust Takes Time

Surrender Is a Process

When I am afraid, I put my trust in You. Psalm 56:3

I’ve noticed I write a lot about surrender and trust. It really bothered me. I wondered if it meant I wasn’t growing in my recovery or that I should be past this by now. I thought maybe it pointed to unresolved issues I still hadn’t dealt with. But then I realized something different. These are the places where my deepest wounds sit. Growing up with fears of rejection and abandonment shaped the way I learned to survive. It left me with severe trust issues, and to feel safe, I tried to control everything. Even today, these are my biggest struggles, so it makes sense that trust and surrender keep showing up in my writing and my recovery. This is where I’m learning to rest and let go of control. But those childhood fears are still there and make surrender hard.

Today I had one of those aha moments. I realized that this is something I will probably have to work on for the rest of my life. That doesn’t mean that I’m stuck and never able to change. It simply means it’s a process. I had 42 years of unhealthy dysfunctional living, including my formative childhood years. That doesn’t just go away overnight. It’s going to take time, one of those four letter words I so dread. I have to learn how to live healthy and free. But the difference is that now I’m aware. I’m awake to what’s happening inside me. These old fears still get stirred up from time to time, but not in the same way they used to. They don’t happen as often. And they don’t knock me down for days or even hours anymore. They no longer define me. I can sense the changes happening daily.

These changes are working a transformation in me, starting with how I perceive myself. And that works its way down into my daily thinking. By committing myself to writing, step work with my sponsor, and going to meetings, I am healing inside. As a result, I feel a sense of peace and security I never received before. Now when something makes me afraid, I don’t have to spiral out of control. I pray and ask God to help, write about whatever is upsetting me, and talk it through with my sponsor. I figure out what my part is, name the emotions, and put them where they belong instead of letting them ruin my whole day. Recovery has taught me how to respond in healthy ways instead of react. That’s where the real and felt healing is. Not in never struggling again, but in knowing what to do when the feelings begin to surface again. Knowing that this is a lifelong process is actually a comfort. I accept that I am not permanently damaged. I have a way to think, feel, and get better. It is in using these tools and allowing myself the same grace I have been offered by others in recovery.

Prayer
Father, I thank You for always being there for me, even when no one else was. Help me to trust You when fear shows up and I am tempted to take control. Keep me aware and honest about what’s happening inside me. Thank You for the changes You are working in me, even when they feel slow. Help me surrender to You and trust that You will always take care of me. Amen.

Recovery Glasses

Bringing Life Into Focus

But I know this: I once was blind, and now I can see! John 9:25

I remember riding with a friend one day when he asked me to help navigate. We were trying to find a certain street, and he told me to let him know when we were getting close. So I was watching for the sign, feeling pretty confident in my role, and we were having a good time. Then out of nowhere he sounded irritated. “There’s the street right there. Why didn’t you tell me?” I told him we weren’t close enough yet for me to read the sign. I honestly had no idea how he could read it. He looked at me like I had three heads and said, “You can’t read that sign?” When I said no, he said “You need glasses!” I said “No I do not!” and then he handed me his glasses and said, “Put these on.” The moment I put them on, it was like I had been in a pitch black room and someone just flipped on the light switch. I could suddenly see every single letter clear as day. Everything seemed more vivid, vibrant and defined.

Later that day at his house, he handed me the glasses again and said, “Look at the TV through these.” I laughed and said, “What difference could that make?” Famous last words. I put them on and I was flabbergasted. The colors were bright. The picture was sharp. It was amazing. I thought I could not believe I had never watched TV like this before in my entire life. Let me tell you, I’ve watched a lot of TV too. I know how to watch me some TV, and apparently I’ve never really seen any of it.

I was thinking about that memory this morning during meditation, and it hit me that recovery is very much like that. Before recovery, I was walking around without realizing how blurry my thinking was. I thought my reactions and my fears were normal because they were all I had ever known. I thought I was seeing things just as clearly, maybe better, as everyone else. But once I started doing the steps with a sponsor, going to meetings, and doing acts of service, things slowly came into focus. My feelings made more sense. Life felt more understandable. I didn’t have to get right up on every problem to figure out what was going on. It was like putting on actual glasses for the first time. Everything came into focus and I could see things as they really were, not as how I was interpreting based on limited sight.

When I think about recovery now, I think about those glasses. I didn’t know anything needed to change until someone handed me a clearer way to see things. God used people, meetings, and simple tools to show me what I couldn’t see on my own. And when I keep my recovery glasses on, I feel alive and the world is a much more beautiful place filled with vibrant colors and experiences. It is more real and defined. My circumstances didn’t change or automatically fix themselves, but the way I see them changed. And when I see more clearly, I can live more honestly and have more serenity, the kind that comes from finally seeing things as they really are and not just how I imagine or want them to be.

Prayer:
Father, thank You for helping me see things as they really are, not just how I imagine them or want them to be. Thank You for the gift of recovery and the people who guide me along the way. Keep my vision clear today. Help me stay honest, willing, and grounded in Your truth. Amen.

Trust, but Verify

Courage isn’t opening up all at once, but opening up wisely

He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds. Psalm 147:3

Freedom doesn’t come from hiding; it comes from honesty. I was hurt very early in my Christian walk by the person who led me to the Lord. It was gut-wrenching and painful. This person shared things I had told them in confidence and they even mocked me behind my back. That experience left a deep wound, a scar that shaped how I saw people for years. From that moment on, I kept my guard up, convinced that if people in the church couldn’t be trusted, no one could. I learned to smile on the outside but stayed guarded on the inside. I reasoned that I was protecting my witness, but really, I was covering my pain. If no one knew my challenges, then they couldn’t use them to hurt me again.

For a long time, I believed that sharing my struggles was like announcing to the world that I was weak and didn’t measure up. But in recovery, I began to see that it wasn’t the principles of trust and confession that were wrong, it was trusting and sharing with the wrong person. Admitting my wrongs (confession), done safely, is where healing begins. Telling the truth to someone trustworthy has become one of the most freeing experiences of my life. Every time I bring something into the light, it no longer has power over me, and I find a little more freedom. That’s what recovery has taught me: when I tell the truth in a safe place, I am actually humbling myself, and when I do I receive the grace that God promises.

God has a way of using safe people to rebuild broken trust. Through relationships in recovery, He showed me that it’s possible to open up again, not carelessly, but courageously. The Just for Today bookmark reminds me that I can do something for twelve hours that would appall me if I thought I had to do it for a lifetime. So, I adopted my own slogan: “Trust, but verify.” It allows me to be open and honest in pieces and still feel safe. I can share something with someone, but not everything all at once. I pause and see how they respond, and if it still feels safe, I can share more. For me, it has worked. Healing didn’t come all at once, but through each moment of honesty and grace. My walls began to lower, and I could finally breathe. I learned that trusting again isn’t a sign of weakness; it’s a demonstration of freedom from the wounds and scars of the past. And I can see the reality of the promise in James 4:6.

Prayer:
God, thank You for healing my broken trust and teaching me how to be open again. Help me to recognize the safe people You’ve placed in my life and give me the courage to keep living honestly. Use my story to help others find safety, healing, and hope in You. Amen.

Different Memories

Learning to accept someone else’s reality without losing my own.

I have learned to be content whatever the circumstances. Philippians 4:11

About 6 months into my recovery journey, I was feeling pretty good about myself and optimism filled my soul. I was developing a healthy self-esteem. I was sharing this with my younger brother, explaining how recovery was helping me heal, not just from hitting my bottom, but from the scars and terror of our tumultuous childhood. I was absolutely shocked by his response. I was expecting him to listen, understand, and agree. Instead, he said, “What do you mean?” I said, “You know; the beatings, the fights, emotional damage, the name calling and abuse from our stepdad.” My brother looked me square in the face and with no emotion, said, “I don’t know what you are talking about, I never experienced that.” I stood there stunned, unable to speak. I couldn’t believe what he said. I pressed a little more yet he remained resilient in his position.

The thing is, my brother had suffered far more physical and emotional abuse than I ever had. In fact, my stepdad kicked me out of the house when I was 18 because I stood up to my stepdad when he was beating my brother. I told my stepdad to leave my brother alone and go sleep it off. My brother had absolutely no memory of it at all. He was so calm and reserved about it, I wondered if somehow, I was imagining all this. Did I invent some abusive childhood home life to explain my pain or seek attention? But why would I do that? And deep inside, I knew certain facts don’t lie.

Thankfully, recovery gave me new tools to help me work through this. In speaking with my sponsor, he assured me this was common. He even reminded me of how long it took for me to see I needed help. For years, many people suggested recovery to me, and I was just as adamant that I didn’t need it. These people were from similar backgrounds, also in recovery. Even though I never told them about my childhood, I leaked so bad they saw it gushing out of me. It was the damage done to a child growing up in an alcoholic home. I think of the saying, “If you spot it, you got it.” They saw it all over me, even though I never did. And neither did my brother. Denial, what is thy name?

It was hard at first, I didn’t understand how my brother could absolutely deny all of the things I remembered vividly. But I’d experienced transformation in my life, which was the precipice for the conversation in the first place. He saw the change in my attitude and in my growing acceptance. That also meant accepting that my brother had a different reality than I did. He remembered our childhood differently. I didn’t need to argue or prove my version of events. He didn’t have to acknowledge my pain either. I loved him; he was my brother. And I decided to show him love and allow him the same freedom to live his life his way, the same way I have been allowed to live mine. That is exactly what recovery has taught me to do. That is the gift I can give to him, but really it’s also a gift for me. Acceptance is truly the answer to all of my problems today.

Prayer: God, thank You for healing my pain and replacing it with Your peace. Help me to continue to accept things and people as they are, not as I want them to be. Grant me the grace to love others as You love me, so that I can live in contentment. Amen.