In meetings, we sometimes refer to "speaking from the heart." That probably means different things to different people, but I think of it as saying what is real for me at any given moment. I admit that I do have a spiel - "canned AA" - that comes out when there are new people in the room and I'm trying to convey what worked for me. But, I also have those moments before sharing when my heart races and I don't want to talk, and I know I need to speak what's really going on.

It took time to find my voice, my identity within 12 Step programs. I wasn't sure where I belonged. At NA meetings, I'd push my up my sleeves so that my needle marks showed, trying to fit in. In Alanon, I'd roll the same sleeves down, lest they identify me as one of "them." And in AA, I usually sat very still so as not to be noticed. In addition to being paralyzed with the "bondage of self," I didn't know how to talk about what was going on inside without talking about what had gone on outside, and back then, there was a strong message that if you had a problem other than alcohol, you should keep that to yourself. So, I stayed quiet in what I now believe was a form of PTSD. When I listen to our stories, I'm so often amazed that a) we got out alive, and b) that we can talk about it without screaming. I am so grateful for the safe places to process the losses and the sheer insanity of the active drinking and using days, whether that was in more relaxed AA meetings, with my sponsor, with friends, and through the inventory process.

For a long time, my story sat on my right shoulder, whispering in my ear, "You don't belong here." "They'll find out you're an impostor," "If they really knew who you are, they'd go away." I spent a few years in therapy in early recovery, at least partly attempting to reconcile the ending of an important relationship. At one point, my therapist, who years later thanked me for teaching her about the 12 Steps, suggested that I write it all down. She'd been listening to bits and pieces, mostly focused on my faults and defects, and suggested that there might be more to the story. And so I put pen to paper and ended up with a 100 page narrative. Through the act of taking a step back and writing down the facts, as I knew them, I was able to put a sliver of emotional distance between myself and my history. I was able to take a breath. (this writing was the precursor to my novel, "Shadows and Veins.") So part of finding my voice was writing down what happened, not just my part, but the contributing factors as well.

Another piece of finding my voice, my identity, was listening to the way I talked to myself. I was able to identify the punitive voice in my head as my dad's, and not his voice as directed at me, but at himself. I realized that by calling myself a girl, rather than a woman, I was keeping myself small. Being aware of my internal chatter allowed me to re-frame the words I use about myself, which shape how I view myself, and thus how I relate to you.

I had to inventory my morals and values as part of the process of self-discovery. I needed to learn about my feelings - when the topic of a meeting was "emotional honesty," I had no idea what that meant. Little by little I learned to speak my truth, which is a worn out expression, but was so meaningful at the time when I was accustomed to speaking your truth, or yours, or theirs.

I'm noticing as I move along in time - both linear, as in my physical age, and in recovery time, which tends to be more of a spiral - that I don't question myself much anymore. As our book says, "What used to be the hunch or the occasional inspiration gradually becomes a working part of the mind" (Bib Book, p. 87) I no longer worry whether I should call myself an alcoholic, or an addict, or both. I don't stress as much walking into a new meeting, or anticipating a challenging conversation. The roller coaster that I rode for so many years has smoothed out. There are still bumps and tight corners, because that is life, but with the Steps, my support system (both in and out of the rooms), and this long history of riding the wave, I know who I am today - a sober woman. A woman of integrity. A woman committed to spiritual growth. Thank you, God. Thank you AA & Alanon. Thank you to all who walk the path, ahead, behind, and beside me.

How your self-acceptance changed over time? How have you used the inventory process as a tool for self-discovery?