After reading him last week's post, my husband thought it important to note that "Jeopardy" is my favorite (and only) game show, lest someone mistakenly think I watch Wheel of Fortune or some other drivel (ha! my judgement). I've watched Jeopardy regularly since 7th grade, when I was literally laid up for three weeks, flat on my back with pneumonia. It was a mid-day show back then, and I played along with pencil and paper to record my "wins," contributing to an internal storehouse of trivia. I don't know a lot about anything, but I do know a little about a lot (though I will admit for the category 1985, I zero'd out, nil, nada. I got sober in January, 1986 and still couldn't tell you a thing that happened in '85).
So does it matter what people think about my TV viewing habits? It probably did, in the past. There was a time I wouldn't leave the house without being fully made up and would never go grocery shopping in sweats. I was petrified to speak in a meeting, paralyzed by the bondage of self - I want your attention, but please don't look at me.
Growing up, and well into my 30's (and beyond??) I cared what you thought - about how I looked, how I acted, how I was in the world. Much of that was likely the normal adolescent developmental stage of the "imaginary audience" where we think everyone is paying attention to us. And, when we start drinking at 12, 13 or 14, we can get stuck there. So, yeah, I came into the rooms of recovery more concerned than I needed to be about what you thought of me, until I came to realize, many of you felt the same. I'll never forget the guy, who before my first AA dance, told me not to worry because I'd be in a room full of self-centered alcoholics who wouldn't be paying any attention to me. What a relief!
When I felt hollow inside, the outside was all I had to offer, but somewhere along the line (thank you Steps, therapy, and meetings galore), I got to the place where my insides and outsides matched. I no longer had to look a certain way to mask my insecurities - not that they weren't still there, but as I learned and grew through the Steps, I understood it was my character that mattered more than whether or not I had on mascara.
On another note, do any of you who were raised on the 3rd edition, remark, when you notice the clock at 4:49, "Acceptance!"? I love how the principles and sayings and catch phrases have become a part of who I am, my operating instructions and guides. In early recovery I could use the word, "acceptance" in a sentence, but until I put the principle of surrender into action, it was just a word. I can still struggle with remembering to level the playing field by accepting what is going on - not liking or approving but acknowledging what is. Only then can I apply the Serenity Prayer to determine what is mine to change and when to simply move on.
And I continue to have my mind blown by how we live this thing called recovery. In a Step 6 meeting last night, my brain made a synaptic connection between "fully conceded to our innermost selves," and the directive "were entirely ready..." Sometimes the absolutes in the first 164 pages can slip by me. "Entirely ready," yeah, yeah. "Admit powerlessness," okay, okay. Can't we just get on with it? Sure, I can go through the motions, but the act of standing on the edge of a cliff and saying, "Alright! I surrender!" takes a conscious effort, lest I slip back to the perceived comfort of hanging on tightly to old ideas of safety and security. Those old ideas are my ideas, and some are pretty entrenched by now, but I love and appreciate when I read a sentence or hear a phrase in a new way.
How has, "What you think of me is none of my business," entered your psyche? Does that apply more at some times than others? When the bondage of self strikes, how do you breathe into acceptance of yourself in all your perfectly imperfect-ness? What might you be battling to accept today? How can you remember your powerlessness in order to bring you closer to serenity?
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See my post from 2/4 for information on the Now What? workbook, now available for $12.95 as a PDF I send you via email, or $19.95 for a spiral bound copy I mail to you.
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