Acceptance, And Facing Our Own Powelessness.

Yesterday I received a comment from a reader who had found a loved one dead from a heroin overdose, and felt guilty because they'd talked themselves out of a feeling of concern that something was wrong, and the next day, found his body.

I read the comment this morning, and was reminded of Neil Young's "The Needle And The Damage Done", in which he sings, "...but every junkie's like a setting sun..."
 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Lf6RXn_E_7s

I came to my blog this morning meaning to write a post about "Live and Let Live." I read that comment and thought of the last young man I knew who died from a heroin overdose. He was in his early twenties, a handsome university student. When I heard that he'd been found dead with the needle still in his arm, I recall being swept by an almost overwhelming sadness at the waste of another life.

When still married to my first husband, (who as far as I know is still drinking, 20 odd years after we've been divorced,) and very new to Al-Anon, I found the idea that I was powerless over his addiction to be maddening. Again and again I would speak at meetings about wanting to change him, and would hear others sharing about the difficulty of realising and truly accepting that the alcoholic or addict makes their own life choices. We can decide to stop enabling, and we can work on our own recovery. We cannot force them into sobriety. We are utterly and completely powerless.

We cannot save them from themselves, regardless of what the recovery business would like us to believe. I know couples who have almost bankrupted themselves putting a child into one rehab centre after another, only to lose the thousands of dollars expended, when the child leaves before the end of the treatment and picks up again. We are unable to fix what is wrong with them, they must be desirous of fixing their own lives. Some will, and go on to lead happy fulfilled lives. Some won't, and will die young, of alcohol or substance abuse. That's an unfortunate reality, but until we accept our own powerlessness, we can't be set free.

When LIfe, or Other People's Choices, Cause Us Pain.

One aspect of life about which I felt the most resistance, growing up, and to be honest, for many years into adulthood, is defined with utter clarity in the cry we hear from children: "It's not fair!"

Too right, life isn't fair. My most recent personal experience of this was meeting, becoming friends with,  and falling in love with Robert, only to have three blissful months with him in delight and joy before receiving a diagnosis of cancer.

It was the first time in many years that I had felt that instinctive resistance and frustrated anger about the unfairness of life - how could it be that I could meet the love of my life, this wonderful intelligent caring, witty, enjoyable, decent man, and be loved by him in return, only to have such a thing happen so soon into our relationship?  I spent about 24 hours filled with a towering fury at the unfairness of it - we were both in our mid-50's, and for each of us, this time together has been the culmination of all desires and wishes long thought unfillable.  How could this be happening? After that day spent sick with rage and resentment, I realised that I had a choice, I could either hold onto that old feeling, or I could open my heart and mind and let it go, turn it over to my Higher Power. If I didn't, I would destroy the very peace, humour and satisfaction of our relationship.

I made a conscious choice to let go of my sense of life's unfairness in this instance, because I have worked for 29 years to learn to live in peace and serenity, rather than suffer the ravages of a life lived with fear and anger as my constant companions.

There will also be times in my life when those I love may make a choice which may cause me great pain. A friend may become angry with me for whatever reason, a family member may want something from me that I'm not willing or able to give without trampling my own boundaries. I cannot change them. I can only choose  to allow myself to feel my feelings, and then make my own choice, to release them, to turn them, and my life, over to my Higher Power. I have never felt comfort arising from resentment, rage or fear - I've only repeatedly tormented myself with thoughts filled with frustration and anger.

I want peace, and I know what I must do to achieve it, I must LET IT All GO. Everything. I must accept my own powerlessness, and ask my Higher Power for comfort and serenity. With serenity, I can accept that life isn't fair, and have a good life in spite of that truth.

Embracing Powerlessness As A Signpost To Freedom.

So much of my past struggle, and for those I sponsor, and friends in program, arises from my, and their, inability to accept our powerlessness. We fight it tooth and nail, for various reasons, not least of which is wanting life, people, or things to be the way we desire them to be.

When I finally surrendered, I believe it was more from exhaustion with the fight, than any real understanding that the fight itself was an exercise in futility. I don't suggest that my sponsees require that understanding as a prerequisite to accepting powerlessness; quite the contrary, it can be a relief to let it all go before we ever reach a place of knowing why we are doing the letting go, or what we may possibly gain through doing so.

All I need is to believe that there is something, anything, which is a power greater than myself - this may be the group, Good Orderly Direction, nature, whatever works for me. As long as I can grasp that I am not the be-all and end-all, I have everything I need to begin the process of letting go.

I had to be shown step by step what "letting go" meant, because I hadn't a  clue, and as someone who spent a lot of time in anxiety and fear, the prospect of letting go, detaching, removing myself emotionally from whatever was possessing my mind at the time, sounded near to impossible.

To start, I needed a willingness to change my thinking. That meant I had to accept that my thinking was not the best and clearest that it could be with regard to whatever the topic was, and that the solution to my overwhelming fear and distress could come through letting go, and letting the Higher Power take it. My illusion of control was not doing me any good, it kept me mired in a mindset which was foggy and unclear, and the mindset made me unhappy and fearful.

As I think so do I feel,

as I feel so do I act,

as I act, so do the consequences of my actions, make my life one way or another.

My thinking affects the way my life works, or doesn't.
I couldn't see that reality for the longest time, I was convinced that my life was more affected by the choices of another person, namely the alcoholic, than by anything I did or thought. I felt victimised, trapped, angry, resentful, frustrated, and hopeless.

How could admitting powerlessness help me with any of that?

It helped me by opening up great stretches of my time previously spent obsessing. When I let go of a struggle I cannot hope to win, I turn instead to the business of living my life with hope, peace, and freedom. I make time in which to do the things I love, to be of service, to offer to another person who is fighting their own inner demons, the experience strength and hope so freely and lovingly given to me when I was new in Al-Anon.

May you have an excellent Sunday.

Three C's And Letting Go

I was wandering through my blog stats yesterday for the first time in months, and it's interesting to discover that the most read post continues to be the first one I wrote about the "three C's" - "I didn't Cause it, I can't Control it, and I can't Cure it."

In that one sentence are encapsulated two of the most powerful tools in 12-Step:

surrender,
                and
                       acceptance.

When I finally reach a place of understanding of just how far beyond my simple human power is the devastation and pain of this disease of alcoholism, that's surrender. I look at the world around me, I look at the suffering alcoholic, and I surrender to my powerlessness. I sink to my knees in defeat, and I say "I give up."

 I was raised to never give up - "winners never quit, quitters never win," and that may hold true for many human endeavors, but for the disease of alcoholism, it is only when we surrender and admit to our complete powerlessness that we win our freedom. 

I didn't cause the alcoholic to drink, or if sober, to behave atrociously - what they do is on their plate, and my plate is a separate piece of crockery.

I can't control a single aspect of their thinking, choices, or behavior, and when I've been caught up in trying to coerce or manipulate, I have been sunk in a particular form of insanity - a frustrated misery. When I let go of the notion that it is anything to do with me, when I step back and detach, my Higher Power has a chance to work in my life. We can't both steer my life, it's either my HP steers, or I steer, and I don't have the greatest record when it comes to driving my life.

I can't cure it. Nothing I can do will make a lasting change - real change for the alcoholic must come from within them. They have their own walk of surrender and acceptance.

Often the most loving thing I can do is get out of someone's way.  Even when I see the cliff approaching. Even when I know the brakes are faulty. Even when I've seen this crash before.

Detachment is a loving form of surrender and acceptance. I pray for detachment with love.

Common Denominators - Obsessive Thinking

If I were asked to pick the one character trait I have found most destructive of my peace of mind, this would be it. I have the sort of mind that, without program intervention, climbs onto that gerbil wheel and runs for hours, sometimes days at a time, until I'm sick at heart with rage, fear and frustration.

For those who may be unfamiliar with the term, obsessive thinking is when I have one idea in my head, and I just keep chewing it over, angry, fearful and distressed, walking through my day with my body in the here and now, but my head somewhere else entirely. That one idea becomes all I can think about; it takes me over completely.

It wasn't until I joined Al-Anon that I began to grasp the idea that I have some control over what goes on inside my own head. I may not be able to stop thoughts from arising, but I don't have to latch onto them like a trap slamming shut, and carry them over to the gerbil wheel for a little workout. I can honestly state with full conviction that I have never climbed back down from the gerbil wheel feeling anything but worse than when I started.

Obsessive thinking drains my energy, poisons my day, and renders me incapable of enjoying my life. I will be moving from one thing to the next like a zombie, consumed with my obsessive thinking, while hiding behind my cheerful facade. It creates a feeling of tremendous alienation from the world around me, and makes me feel helpless and hopeless.

So how do I deal with this? How do I not get started, or once started, stop?  I ask my HP for help.

I call my sponsor, or another program person, and speak honestly of the madhouse between my ears. That breaks my isolation. I read program literature or listen to a speaker tape. That reminds me that we are all in this together, and I am not a solitary lunatic, but one of a large group, many of whom will take my phone calls.

If I can laugh at myself, I can break that pacing back and forth of obsessive thinking. Obsession requires total serious concentration - laughter makes this impossible, because I am given, through the laughter, some detachment from myself.

I I cannot change whatever it is, why expend all my energy and life-force obsessing about it? Back to Step One: I admit that I am powerless, and my life is unmanageable while I'm obsessing. I turn it over, I work my program, and I receive relief. For that relief, I feel a deep and abiding gratitude.

Pulling On My Hair.

When a friend in Al-Anon is having a bad day, and I ask how she's doing, she'll respond cheerfully, "Oh, pulling on my hair!"  That one sentence encapsulates all the things we've discussed over the years, about living with an alcoholic, and not relinquishing our sanity in the process.

I'm feeling completely surrendered today. It's a wonderful, peaceful feeling. I know (again) that I am powerless. I'd like to be able to be supportive to the alcoholic as they struggle through their painful feelings about the loss of the friendship, but that's just not possible - when I try, the anger is simply redirected onto me.

I spoke to a program friend late last night, and we ended up in helpless laughing fits, describing to each other, the crazed thinking of our own early recovery. That helped me. Today, I feel compassion for the alcoholic's inability to say, "This hurts! I'm angry and frustrated, and I am mourning the loss of this friendship." I remember what an awful lonely place it was, when I was trying to pretend that I was "fine."

I remember the self-loathing, and how it affected my relationships with other people, and my inability to act with love when I was angry or in pain. I remember denying I was angry, while my heart pounded, and my hands shook with the intensity of my rage. I really was a crazy person.

No-one in Al-Anon ever told me how to change, or what to change - I changed because I could see their serenity, and I desired it with a powerful longing.

I pray for detachment to allow the alcoholic room to grow at their own pace, and compassion for their struggle.

"Even When I'm Wrong, I'm Right."

My ex used to say that, and I'd grind my teeth in frustration - in his worldview, he was always in the right, and that was just the way it was, period.

Life offers lessons; we accept or refuse them. When we are involved in a determination to be "right," we lose sight of the lesson we could be learning. When we are justifying our feelings or actions, we aren't listening to what our Higher Power may be trying to teach us.

It's always been a source of amazement to me, the way we human beings can take an obvious blunder, and through the use of some very tortured reasoning, flip it over into a deliberate choice motivated only by purest of feelings.  And then argue this with the most impassioned speeches. All in the service of being "right."

When I admitted my powerlessness, and to the reality that my life was unmanageable, I gave up trying to be right. Right didn't matter so much any more - what mattered was that I was sunk in a gloom-filled mindset, with emotions roiling and resentment festering, and I was desperate to find a better way to live.

Being right is about ego, and the facade we display to the world. When I can let that go, and admit to my having been in error, or thoroughly mistaken, I achieve a freedom I was unaware was possible, in this lifetime.

I used to spend a lot of time being righteously indignant about the way other people behaved, or the things they said; that was my bashed-about ego trying to assert itself. I didn't know any other way to feel satisfied than to be "right" and someone else "wrong."

In this wonderful program, I have found that I can let all of that go. I can admit that I am powerless over anyone but myself, and for that, I'm grateful. I can step back from my erroneous assumptions of obligation and responsibility, detach, and turn my efforts towards what I can change.

All that time I invested in proving that I was "right," did not afford me one molecule of self respect, or ability to love myself. When I work towards improving myself, I know that I'm doing what I'm meant to do, and it satisfies me.

I've heard powerlessness criticised as "giving up" and for me, it was just that, but it was a giving up of that in which I shouldn't have been involved to begin with - trying to control the drinker and the drinking. Not my business.

I'm reminded of a program friend who laughingly recited an incident in which she'd declared dramatically to her alcoholic, "I wash my hands of you!" and looking upwards, he'd declared with equal drama, "Thankyou, God!"

I pray for the continued ability to admit my powerlessness, and for relaxed acceptance of that truth.

Blind Determination

 ... can lead us to a destination other than the one we've planned.  When we ignore the speed limit, the caution signs, the signs telling us precisely where we will end up if we take this offramp, we cannot then complain when we arrive, and discover to our dismay, that it isn't where we thought we wanted to go, after all. It's not nirvana, it's not perfection, it's not at all the way we thought it would be. It's somewhere else, and - we don't like it much.

I've always liked this warning:

"When people tell you who they are, pay attention."

I take this to mean that most people give us a fairly good description of themselves in their stories, attitudes, opinions, and also by what they find amusing. 

Romantic relationships seem to be one area of life, in which we can deny the realities of another person's character, while we work like the dickens to try to make the person fit our ideal of them. I don't know why denial operates so powerfully in this area, but I've done this myself, and I've seen it done. We build a container first - this can have roots in our childhoods - and then go looking for someone to force into it. Only problem being:

You can't change other people.

When the person finally musters the strength to break out of the cage in which we've tried to contain them, to reassert what is, after all, their true nature, we can feel betrayed, outraged, angry. But it's not that they've acted out of character, but that they've gone back to acting precisely in character. The character we tried to eradicate, as we attempted to make them fit our construct.

Looking back at my first marriage, I can see that my ex told me who he was quite plainly, and I ignored it. I tried to make him fit my ideal, and he tried to comply, until he couldn't stand it anymore, and went back to being himself. I carried a lot of resentment towards him for that, but in reality, what else could I expect?

In Al-Anon, I have learned that when I accept and admit to my powerlessness, I am allowing my Higher Power the room to make changes for me. I don't have to like those changes right off the bat - they may cause me intense pain, the end of a relationship, grief and sorrow.

My part, is to pay attention when someone tells me who they are, so I'm not lost in a fantasy of how it might be/could be, if I were able to successfully manipulate this person into being and doing what I want.  When I find myself engaged in that activity, I know I've lost my focus, and I'm heading to a place I've visited in the past, and from which I couldn't wait to get away - denial. I don't want to go there.

How do I avoid it? Pay attention. Read the road signs - if they tell me I'm headed toward Disaster -  population too many to count; don't ignore that and start insisting that I'm driving in the direction of My Heart's Desire After Some Major Demolition and Rebuilding.

I can't change other people. If they tell me who they are, and I'm not comfortable with that -  let go, move on. My part in this is to face reality, act honorably, and don't try to change anyone but myself.

Grieving And Letting Go.

Many of us when new to Al-Anon, are stuck in our anger and frustration with the alcoholic; we aren't in touch with our feelings of grief. When we set out to work the Steps, we begin to realise that we are awash in feelings of grief - for what "might have been," were this person not in the grip of a disease.

We grieve for the hopes and dreams we had at the start; we grieve for the reality being so disparate from our imaginings.  We may have pictured ourselves at a far dissimilar place, by this time in our lives. Perhaps we feel a hot anger, when we  look around to see that we've arrived at a destination, to which we didn't agree to travel.

Grief is normal. Grief is part of the process, and we cannot reach recovery without acknowledging and allowing ourselves to feel our grief. But, and this is a powerful "but" - when I cannot accept, I can't let go. When I can't let go, I can't move forward.

Yes, it isn't right that this has happened, and yes, life sneaks up on us, and gives us a good hard shove between the shoulder blades, so that we land painfully, twisting our ankle, and skinning our hands. We can awaken from years of denial, to find ourselves sitting there, shaky, hurting and furious; our pain and grief may feel unbearable, at first.

We have a right to our feelings. We need to admit to ourselves and others, that this is where we have landed, this is how it feels, and this is not what we wanted. We need to admit that we were completely powerless in the face of that propelling shove.

If I cannot admit that I am powerless, if I'm still trying to find some magic sentence, some way to convince/manipulate/change the alcoholic, I will stay in that place of pain and grief, perhaps for many years.

When I give myself permission to grieve, and then let go, I'm giving myself the opportunity to find serenity, peace and freedom.

Surrender Into Freedom.

When we are locked into a relationship with a friend, family member, boss, or spouse, in which we are forever pushing for change, and the other is continually resisting, we are snared in a trap of our own devising; all of our mad wriggling and struggle, only tightens the cord about our leg.

The more pressure exerted in an effort to change the other, the stronger will be the resistance. We can get locked into our various positions, to the point that we are operating more on habit and routine, than from any real emotion. This can go on for years, if one person doesn't seek help: with each side becoming hardened and solidified in their half of the exchange.

When we learn in Al-Anon that we are powerless, we may kick against this truth for ages, refusing to accept or to believe that there isn't one action we can take to force change. If you are like me, you might believe that if you just find the right thing to say, the alcoholic will be able to hear you, and, presto chango! Poof! Problem solved.

I can say, without reservation, that this has been the belief which has interfered most with my search for serenity, this idea that my words will affect change in another person. I've spent many unhappy hours nattering away: advising, criticising, judging, complaining. And never, not one time has the other person changed as a result of all my hot air.

I took the dogs out today for a long walk, wandering my neighbourhood's quiet streets, daydreaming and meditating, and I realised that in some areas of my life, I have surrendered completely - but I have some places in which I'm still hanging onto my self-will and my desire to get my own way, if at all possible. This is a realisation which may have been percolating for a while, because when it rose to the surface of my mind and I caught sight of it, I had the instant gut reaction of "That's what's been getting in my way!"

I came home and printed up a sign to post on the wall behind my computer:

Surrender

 all

of it

to God.

I need these reminders, because life yanks me off on a tangent, and before I know it, I've forgotten the very thing I thought I'd always remember. 

Surrender. Letting go. Acceptance. I have had good experience with surrender; when I practise it mindfully and whole-heartedly, I am putting down my problem in the serene knowledge that my Higher Power is there to pick it up. I don't have to carry it, consider it, obsess over it, give it any head room at all. I'm much better occupied elsewhere.

I pray for the wisdom to close my mouth, and open my mind to surrender and acceptance.

Step One.

"Admitted we were powerless over alcohol - that our lives had become unmanageable."

When I forget this, I will be reminded, either in a slight and gentle nudge by the universe, my Higher Power, life, or in a smackdown which effectively flattens me. I will find myself sitting on the mat again, wondering where that blow came from, it happened so quickly, I didn't even see it coming. I took my eye off the ball, I was hitching up my trousers instead of paying attention, I got lazy, I didn't feel like carrying my end of the load, whatever the reason or the excuse, it happens. I lose my focus, and when I do, I lose my serenity.

I'm not suggesting that it's easy, to keep our focus when the alcoholic is acting out, either in drunkenness, or in sobriety, but it's vital for our equilibrium.

From the Al-Anon ODAT, page 116:

"...although many of us feel we should be able to correct a situation which is causing us so much suffering."

That's where I get into trouble, I feel as though I "should be able."
I'm an intelligent, capable adult, I've managed other areas of my life successfully, I've accomplished this, I've mastered that, why can't I do this one thing? Why? WHY?

"Why" is irrelevant. I could be given a satisfying reason, and within a very short time, I'd be back, asking for another. Reasons do not solve my problem; reasons do not give me serenity.

Surrender allows the peace of my Higher Power to flood my heart and mind. There have been many days when I've suddenly come to my senses to realise that what has felt like trying vainly to hold the door of myself closed against a massive wall of water, is in truth, my having turned my face away in denial, from a truth I already know so well - that I am powerless.

Asking For Guidance.

Recently,  I was seated at a meeting, with my legs crossed at the knee, and leaned over to grab my purse from under my chair. For one heart-stopping second, I felt myself going over - and because of my position, I'd have landed on my head. I'm not sure if I flung one arm backwards, and that changed my centre of gravity, but whatever the reason, I managed to regain my balance, and sat up, feeling slightly shaken, as one does after a close call of this type.

I learned a good lesson from that near-miss; when seated on a chair without arms, don't try to lean sideways with my legs crossed at the knee.

Today I learned another good lesson. Must be my week for them.

 I took the dogs out today, to my favourite park, which runs along the coastline. The path runs along the cliff beside the sea, for part of the time, and through tall trees and heavy bush the rest of the trail. It's peaceful, and secluded. We've seen eagles, herons, otters, and sea lions. on various visits.

I was walking along, enjoying the sunshine, and the brisk tangy sea air, while part of my mind was involved in thinking thinking thinking, getting ever more dispirited and irritated (and yes, "unreasonable without knowing it," some of that, too.) I decided to wrest my mind back to the moment, and recalled what my new sponsor had said to me earlier in the week: "Don't forget to pray for guidance."

I had forgotten. Completely. I was, in that moment, aware that I haven't been practising Step Eleven enough lately - "Sought through prayer and meditation to improve our conscious contact with God, as we understood Him, praying only for knowledge of His will for us, and the power to carry that out." Hence my disordered brain, and being right back at Step One.
Again.
And again and again and again.
Sheesh. I am a slow learner.

I began to pray for guidance, and received it in the first moment of asking. Clearly. No fuzziness, no vagueness, no way I could make that into something else, it was whacked down upon the table in my mind, with a certain ... emphasis.

When I got home, I called a friend I've made since moving here - I love talking program to her, because she makes me laugh so hard while she is roasting my toes at the fire.

True to form, a few minutes into our conversation, and she zeroed in on my discontent, asking sardonic questions which had me doubled over laughing. We are a lot alike, this friend and I - that similarity lets us read each other easily - and she won't hesitate to speak her mind.  She mentioned something that I really liked, which she had heard at a meeting:

"When I'm angry, I'm being self-absorbed."

I like that. I can't say I've ever looked at it like that, but I can already tell I'm going to find it helpful, just by the way it resonated with me, when she said it.

Forcing Solutions.

Our Al-Anon welcome contains the phrase: "... our thinking becomes distorted by trying to force solutions..."

When very new to program, I was confident that I knew the best solution for my alcoholics, and I expended great amounts of time, energy and breath expounding upon this belief. I was constantly trying to force solutions.

It didn't work. My first husband, as a result of my endless nagging, once managed to stay sober for nine months, white-knuckling it the entire way, with no program, and no support. He finally succumbed to temptation when his nephew came for a visit, bringing gallons of booze. I arrived home from work to find them all drunk in my kitchen, and we shall draw a curtain over the scene that ensued, dear reader, because it is not one of which I am proud to have been a part. I acted abominably, shrieking and... well, as I said, never mind about that.

That was, to my knowledge, the last time my ex tried to quit drinking, and he is still deep in the addiction. I'm grateful to be able to say that what I feel about that now, is a detached compassion, rather than the self-righteous disgust I once felt.

When I try to force solutions, I have come to a decision that I know the correct thing to do, and that I have the right to nag, wheedle or coerce the alcoholic into accepting this, in complete dismissal of their choices.

I have placed myself in a position of superiority above the alcoholic. I have set my jaw, clenched my teeth, and rammed my way through. 

In my time, I have been shameless in this regard. I wanted it: he was destroying himself: I would make it happen.

Quite apart from the fact that I couldn't make him quit drinking with any more success than I could make it rain, was the effect this behavior had upon me, and my self-respect. On some subterranean level, I knew I had no right to do what I was doing, and my feelings about myself reflected this knowledge. I felt an uneasy shame just beneath the surface of my self-righteous indignation.

Al-Anon has brought that lurking awareness up to the surface, and granted me the strength and the wisdom to point out when my little piece of ground is being trampled, but then, when the trampling stops, to shut the hell up, already.

I've learned from personal experience that I cannot force solutions, and that I do not have the right to force solutions. A sponsee once asked, a long time ago, "What do I do if I'm not trying to get him to quit drinking?" and I gave same gentle reply I'd received, when I'd asked my sponsor the selfsame question:

"Live your own life."

Why Should I?

"But why should I be the one to change? Shouldn't it be the alcoholic who changes? Why me?"

"Why you? Because you can't change other people."

I fought that truth for a long time.

I accepted many other truths Al-Anon offered, but that one - I just did not want to believe that "... all my efforts had been for naught, that I'd been doomed to failure before I've ever started, that it had been completely hopeless all along, that ..."
My first sponsor interrupted this litany of misery, to ask me, "Is there any other way you can look at this?"

We had many of these conversations sitting at her kitchen table; I did a lot of staring out the window at the trees, when I didn't want to make eye contact. That question, as did so many of her questions early on, brought me to a confused, somewhat resentful, silence. I hadn't a clue where she was heading with that question, and felt miffed that she had interrupted me while I was in full, self-pitying flow.

She smiled at me, and asked, in her crisp British accent, "How about viewing it as a gift of freedom?"

A gift? A gift?

This woman, to whom I was entrusting my most personal thoughts and feelings, was, obviously, barking mad. It was the only conclusion I was able to reach at the time.

I replied stiffly that I didn't quite understand how alcoholism could be viewed as a gift of freedom. I can just see myself, bristling at any suggestion that my thinking might be flawed, or confused, or self-defeating - I took offense very easily back then. I often drove home from these sessions with my first sponsor with nothing in my mind but anger and indignation -  she had said this, and that, and didn't have any sympathy!

The latter was true enough, sympathy she didn't have; empathy she dished out in generous helpings. When my self-pity and martyrdom receded enough that I once again began to be able to register anything apart from my all-consuming problems, I understood that she lived in much the same circumstances I did, but with considerably more peace and serenity.

Back to this "gift" nonsense. I sat in silence while my sponsor explained that what I could see as a gift of freedom, was the understanding that I couldn't change anyone but myself. Since that was the case, and it was an exercise in futility, I could stop trying to change my alcoholic first husband, and instead, learn to live my life fully and serenely. Wasn't that wonderful?

I eyed her dubiously, and made some sort of accepting murmuring noise, which, in hindsight, she must have recognised by my rigid posture and tight-lipped expression, that I didn't believe, or accept, for a nanosecond.

My desperation kept me coming back to Al-Anon meetings, and reading Al-Anon literature, and eventually, my desire for recovery overwhelmed my resistance, and I accepted that I couldn't change anyone but myself.

It is a gift of freedom - I let things go which would have obsessed me to the exclusion of all else, which would have caused me hours, days, weeks of angry chewing-over.

I can't change the alcoholic. I can't change other people. So, let it go, then. Instead, I can choose to play in my garden, paint, sew, walk the dogs, read a good book, spend time with friends, work upon changing myself.

Don't take even one or two steps down that lonely road - notice it as I'm passing, but shrug and keep walking towards my serenity - that's my goal.

My Feelings Are Not The Alcoholic's Fault.

I was raised in a very blaming environment - I've written about that elsewhere so won't go into details again - suffice it to say that I promptly internalised this attitude as I moved out into the world.

It wasn't until I entered Al-Anon that I began to dimly perceive that perhaps there was another way to live - a way which didn't include the assignation of blame, before changes could be made.

When I detach, take a step back from the heat of my feelings, I can see that no-one makes me feel anything. They may do A, and then I may feel B, but the two things do not have to follow "as the night the day," if I'm working my program, and have a healthy amount of detachment operating at all times.

When I am blaming another person for the way I feel, the receiver of the line to my Higher Power, is off the hook. The connection is disengaged. I can't get through to Him, and He can't get through to me.

I asked someone to be my sponsor, and she accepted with delight. (Only in 12-Step would someone agree to accept long blathering phone calls detailing the minutae of another person's navel-gazing, and consider it an honor.)
I knew that I'd picked the right person for me, during the very first phone call I made to her.

I was wallowing in some feelings of being hard-done-by at the hands of my significant other, and she heard me out, then made a comment which at one time would have caused me serious offense, but due to the wonders of Al-Anon, and the personal growth I've achieved as a result, now made me burst out laughing.

As soon as I did, the self-pity vanished, and I was able to say to myself, "Okay, now let's get some helpful thinking done here."

I feel what I feel, and that's fine. Not only am I'm entitled to my feelings, but it's of vital importance that I recognise and identify them, because my feelings let me know what's going on, when my head can't quite grasp it yet, due to fatigue, manipulation, whatever.

So I allow my feelings. I give myself permission to feel them to the depth of the container (me) - I even agitate it a bit, through prayer, meditation, and reasoning things out with someone else, to make certain that I'm getting them all out. Then I have a choice about what I do next.

In program, I've learned that I cannot change another person. (If I can't make them wipe the crumbs off the counter, why would I imagine I could make them change their personality, or coping mechanisms?)

I can only change myself. I can choose to remain mired in my misery by railing against fate, the alcoholics in my life, and the wrongs they have done me, as I perceive it. Or, I can choose to do things differently this time, rather than go down that same tired old road. I can choose to see my feelings as an indicator that change is necessary, and work to bring that change about, by working the Steps of Al-Anon.

I can set boundaries, and be willing to maintain them, even when I'm in HALT, even when that little voice of unreason is murmuring, "Oh just this once, it doesn't matter, surely?"

That sneaky little voice is my disease of codependence speaking to me. When it starts up, I need to have a conversation with my sponsor, a program friend, and my Higher Power. I need to do the work required, if I want the result that's promised.

I feel what I feel, that's nobody's fault. I hated that idea when I was new in Al-Anon, because I had no idea how to manage if I wasn't blaming. I can still fall back into blaming if I'm not working my program, and maintaining my healthy boundaries.

It's easier to lie back, weep wail moan and blame, than it is to get myself up and go to a meeting. But I want what the meeting offers: experience, strength, hope, love, and a good laughing fit. I'm willing to let go of blaming, to gain what is only possible when I do so - serenity. Gratitude. I heard someone at a meeting say recently, that she cannot love herself, if she's caught up in hating the alcoholic. I need to hear that kind of powerful insight, those reminders, to keep me balanced, focussed and content.

Love and Pain.

Love and pain are strange but close bedfellows. Today I learned that a friend I adore may be moving away. For a brief moment, as feelings swept over me, I felt an almost-nostalgia for the old me, the pre-program me, the one who was so shut down that she didn't feel much of anything in any situation.

I said as much to my friend, who laughed along with me, and agreed that there were times when a hermit's life seemed preferable to the endless pain we feel when we are loving, loved, and connected.

Small pangs, when the minor happenings of life twist off in a way we hadn't anticipated, or prepared for emotionally, and then the horror show of grief and anguish when we lose those with whom we are bound, in daily life.

Some weeks, some months, some years, seem to consist of one more jolting loss coming fast upon the heels of another, while we stand frozen under the sheer unimaginable weight of it.

I don't know how I'd manage, were it not for my faith.

Step One.

1. We admitted we were powerless over alcohol - that our lives had become unmanageable.

I've been asked by a sponsee recently, how did I know that my life was unmanageable? What does "unmanageable" mean?

I may define it as: chaotic, disorderly, or turbulent - we each have our own definition, because our lives, coping strategies, and definitions of success and serenity, differ.

I like this reading in Hope for Today, page 10:

"Like many children of alcoholics, I vowed I'd never drink like my father. Nevertheless, I do get drunk, only I get drunk on feelings. If not checked, my hurt, anger and fear can trigger a downward spiral that leaves me feeling completely unmanageable. I'm often unable to function as I allow my bad moods to drag me into a pit of depression. It's as if I'm an emotional drunk. I can't hold my feelings any more than an alcoholic can hold his or her liquor.
I use the First Step to accept that, just for today, i'm powerless by myself to stop these emotional binges once they gain momentum."

I think that's the best description I've ever heard of the way my feelings affect me, if allowed to run unchecked or unquestioned - an emotional binge. Just as the alcoholic does, I have a point at which I am still in control, and able to choose not to go that route. I can work my program to head off a binge. I can read Al-Anon literature, call my sponsor, meditate, and pray.

When I choose differently, and decide to allow myself to have an emotional binge, I do get drunk on my feelings, and I have about as much ability to think clearly as the alcholic does when under the influence. I make impulsive decisions, I cannot see my way to serenity, my thinking is black or white, my entire self is consumed by the heat of my feelings.

I too, have a hangover after an emotional binge. I feel self-disgust, embarassment and shame. I am faced with amends I need to make for my words or my actions while in the maelstrom of my feelings. I have to climb back upon my program, and set off at a slow and shaky pace down the familiar and safe road to serenity.

My life is unmanageable when I stand at the point of choice, and instead of admitting my powerless over my feelings, decide I can allow myself "just one" and then I'll stop. This is equally as ludicrous for me, as is "just one drink" for an alcoholic.

When I admit to my powerlessness - over my feelings, over an alcoholic, or anyone else, I am trusting my Higher Power to deal with it as He sees fit. I am choosing to admit that I have no control over any of it, that an emotional binge won't change anything, and the momentary satisfaction of the feelings will only mean I'll have to start all over again afterwards, from the exact same place in which I am standing now.
It's my choice how I spend my precious time - wallowing, or working my program. I choose serenity.

Step One.

"Admitted we were powerless over alcohol,and our lives had become unmanageable."

Step One is surrender. My dictionary defines surrender as: "to yield, to deliver up."

When this was explained to me, as a newcomer to Al-Anon, I felt an immediate, furious resistance. Why should I surrender? My entire focus was upon making the alcoholic, my ex-husband, surrender. After all, I had right on my side; he was causing anguish to all who loved him: he was destroying his health and sanity: he was ruining his business...all true, all irrelevant to my recovery.

Al-Anon is for us, and until we can shift our focus from the doings of the alcoholic to our own small arena, we may not be able to see just why we need to take Step One. I came to it only when I was so exhausted from all my other efforts, and their obvious futility, that yielding began to seem less an abandonment of responsibility, and more a relief from the stress and obsession which consumed my every waking hour.

I don't live with active drinking anymore, I've got a new and different set of life-problems. I use Step One when I am feeling overwhelmed by life. I use it when I can't find my balance, because I'm unable to extricate myself from whatever circular thought pattern in which I happen to be entangled.

When I awoke this morning, and was putting on the coffee and feeding the dogs, I realised I needed to take Step One again, to deal with the stresses of death and illness of those I love.

I am powerless over all of it. What can I do? I can extend a loving hand of support, I can speak of my feelings, I can offer to help out with the daily round - but I can't change the fact of the illnesses, not with all the wanting of my heart can I change the facts.

I work Step One to regain my centre, my balance, my serenity.