You know the old saying, if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it? For the longest time, I believe I have been operating under the mantra: if it is broken, just cobble something together that’s good enough.
Step Three: made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of God, as we understood Him.
I’m talking mentally here; about my go-to reactions and my fall-back defenses. And what worked well enough in the past might not be holding up so well in the light if day, what with my current age and daily sobriety and common human growth. Growth that was long overdue.
Ego-soaked tantrums. Storming pouts. Running away. Calling names. These are the actions of sandbox fodder. The survival guide for toddlers. And I was raised and taught and learned how these reactions don’t cut it once our brains expand and we start having deeper thoughts than Mine! Mine! Mine! At least, that was the theory.
I known what it’s like to have friends, and how it feels to be without. And through my teens and into my serious drinking years, up to right now, I still reach for what I used in the past. That instant flush of anger, embarrassment and defiance always fuels my need to retaliate. To prove you wrong. Let me convince you how much I don’t care. Then I’m caught in the elliptical “why am I so upset, if I don’t care so much?” The playground has spoken: I was clinging, and it cost me. Now I’m ridiculing myself, or at least that’s how it feels.
Thankfully, through the fellowship and the program, I have learned that everybody has a set baby crutches that are ridiculously tiny.
Today, realize: whenever I use them, I become very small.