Half Measures Avail Us Nothing

 Today, the pain is ramped up high.

And on a day like this, I have to remember what it took for me to get sober.

And what it took for me to find my way into Al-Anon.

Both times, there was a lot of pain.

More pain than I ever imagined I could carry.

I never dreamed I would work as hard as I did in both programs.

But I did.

I’ve surprised myself over and over again.

In the beginning, I was motivated by pain.

But somewhere along the way, something changed.

I became motivated by desire.

I wanted to heal.

I wanted to understand myself.

And I came to deeply love both programs and the gifts they have given me.

I love sharing what I’ve learned with others.

Now, here I am again.

Another kind of pain.

Another place where I’m being asked to look deeper.

I have a feeling that this pain may be pushing me toward another kind of healing.

I don’t know exactly what that will look like yet.

But I know one thing about myself:

I don’t do well with half measures.

When I finally decide to walk through a door, I walk through it.

So perhaps this is another doorway.

Another opportunity to surrender.

Another opportunity to learn.

And another chapter in a journey I never expected to take.

I’ll be talking more about that in the chapters to come.

Being the Safe Adult

In order to help our little girls feel safe

and begin to heal the wounds of the past,

they need a place where they can feel their feelings.

And they need a safe person.

That person is you. That person is me.

When you look back at your childhood,

what was missing?

What did that little girl need

that she didn’t receive?

Is she still looking for it?

Or did she tuck those needs away so deeply

that she no longer knows they’re there?

I had safe family members in my life.

My grandparents loved me dearly.

But they didn’t live in my house.

So for the majority of my childhood,

my needs weren’t met.

So I learned not to expect much.

I learned to take care of others

while ignoring myself.

Today, I am still discovering unmet needs.

I can’t change what happened to her.

But I can change what happens now.

I can remind her that her feelings aren’t too much

and her needs aren’t a burden.

She needed someone who wouldn’t leave her alone

with her fear.

And today,

that someone is me (and you).

The Little Girl Who Ran the Show

 What happens when you have a very frightened, stubborn little girl living inside you?

And how much control has she really had?

I don’t think I ever realized that so much of my need for control came from her.

From a little girl who was raised to be afraid.

She learned early that if she could anticipate what might happen, stay careful, and try to control her surroundings, maybe she could stay safe.

So she grew up believing control was protection.

And I carried that belief into adulthood.

I didn’t see the frightened child underneath it.

I just knew I needed things to go a certain way.

But today, I’m seeing it differently. 

I no longer want fear making my decisions.

That little girl has been running the show for a very long time.

And I understand why.

She was trying to keep us safe.

But she doesn’t have to do that job anymore.

I can comfort her.

I can love her.

But I don’t have to hand her the steering wheel.

Today, I surrender control.

And perhaps this is what freedom begins to look like:

letting my frightened little girl come along for the ride—

but no longer letting her run the show.

Getting My Will Out of the Way

 In order to release the deep wounds of childhood

and the conditioning that was spoon-fed to us from a very young age,

we have to surrender it.

We have to get our will out of the way.

And that isn’t easy for me.

So I asked myself:

How do I surrender when I’m afraid of physical pain?

Because that’s exactly what I want to release.

The fear.

The fear that began long ago with threats and punishment.

The fear of not feeling safe.

Today, that old fear can attach itself to my body.

And I can feel myself wanting to control it.

To protect myself from what might come next.

But perhaps surrender means something different.

Maybe it means saying,

I don’t know what tomorrow will bring.

I don’t know what my body will feel.

And I don’t have to know.

I can surrender the fear.

Not perfectly.

Maybe a hundred times a day.

And if that’s what it takes,

then that’s what I’ll do.

Every time fear rises,

I can surrender it again.

Every time my mind tries to take control,

I can let go again.

Every time my little girl becomes afraid,

I can remind her:

We don’t have to live in the past anymore.

This isn’t about forcing the fear to disappear.

It’s about no longer allowing it to lead me.

I’ve spent enough of my life carrying what happened yesterday into today.

It’s time to loosen my grip.

It’s time to let go of the past.

And perhaps surrender is how I finally begin.