The throwing up of my hands is a big deal with me. The defeatist exhale. The downer mood that permeates everything to such a degree that I need to remind myself why I am in a bad mood in the first place. My brain will literally ask me, “what are we upset about, again?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Well, make something up. Your shoulders ache, your eyes are throbbing and your head hurts. Something must be wrong. Fake it until you make it, but in the opposite way it was intended.”
Step 6: were entirely ready to have God remove all these defects of character.
I know it’s not healthy, not leaving well enough alone. I understand that poking my psyche with a stick doesn’t do anyone any good, save my alcoholism.
Without drink, it takes more effort and time to get my mind hazy and resentful. Like, five more minutes, punctuated with a resigned sigh. The whole “here we go again” brain train is leaving the station.
This used to undo me for the day. But step six and this program has taught me that falling down repeatedly throughout the day means getting up repeatedly, not giving up and rolling over, off the road and into the ditch.
Today: Recognize each push away from the pavement as a little miracle.