My reflection this morning is rooted deeply in my experience yesterday—a day that started with gratitude and service but ended with a lesson in acceptance and emotional sobriety.

The morning began on a high note. I’ve taken on the service role of hosting the 7 AM Sunrise Step 11 AA Zoom meeting on Saturdays, and it fills me with joy. There’s something profoundly humbling about being of service to the Fellowship, especially to a meeting that has given me so much. I’m also involved on other days throughout the week, and each time I do service, it feels less like an obligation and more like a privilege. Without grateful alcoholics willing to give back and help others find recovery, AA wouldn’t exist. I am one of those grateful alcoholics today.

The meeting itself went smoothly, followed by the group conscience meeting, which was productive—though, as always, the process was not without its complexities. Decisions were made, I think. But what stood out to me was how good I felt afterward—energised, focused, and willing to engage with life rather than retreat from it.

With that energy, I turned to my home. I tackled the couch first, scrubbing away the wear and tear of daily life, and then moved on to deep-cleaning the entire front room. I even repaired the blinds. At one point, I caught myself, recognising the old tendency to push beyond balance, to try and fix everything at once. Instead, I chose a different path—I made myself a cup of tea, sat down, and allowed myself to write.

Writing, once something I feared, has become a crucial part of my recovery. A year ago, I was paralysed by the thought of expressing myself. Today, the words flow freely. AA has given me the courage to be seen, to share, to create. Once my thoughts were on paper, I shared them—because I know the power of the written word in this journey.

I was reminded of a moment after my mother passed when I found a box filled with her journals. Sitting in her flat, I read, and I wept—not just from sadness, but from the overwhelming joy of hearing her voice again. Her wisdom lived on in those pages, yet they had been hidden away, unread, unseen. I don’t want that for my writing. Whether my words are profound or just the ramblings of a recovering alcoholic, I share them in the hope that someone, somewhere, might find comfort, hope, or even just a moment of recognition. If my words can help even one person find their way to AA, then they are worth sharing.

Later in the day, my daughter and I made bracelets together—a simple, joyful activity that I never would have been present for in my drinking days. She picked out healing crystals: green jade, tiger’s eye, and rose quartz, and I made myself a new mala bracelet. These moments, small as they seem, are the foundation of my new life. They are what I fought for in sobriety.

Then my wife came home, and the energy shifted.

She had experienced something that stirred deep resentment in her, something unfair and frustrating. I tried to help her let it go, but she isn’t an alcoholic—she hasn’t walked the path I have, doesn’t have the tools I now rely on daily. Her resentment grew, and soon, every small irritation became fuel for the fire. The neighbour’s car blocking our driveway. My attention to AA commitments, which she sometimes sees as me not being present enough. The fact that I had only cleaned one room when the whole house needed doing.

I recognised what was happening. I knew this wasn’t really about me. It was the situation, the hurt, the frustration. And yet, it took everything in me not to absorb it, not to let it fester into my own resentment. That’s the real work of recovery—not just staying sober, but choosing, moment by moment, to stay spiritually fit.

For a brief moment, she let me in. She told me she was fed up, that everything was weighing her down. I tried to help, but she couldn’t hear me through the noise of her own emotions. I had to accept that.

By the end of the day, I was exhausted—not physically, but mentally. Holding onto my own emotional sobriety while standing in the storm of another person’s resentment is draining. But this is the path I have chosen. I am no longer the man who numbs himself with alcohol, who lashes out or withdraws. I am a man in recovery, striving each day to be present, to be kind, to be patient.

It’s hard when you can see a better way, when you know things could be lighter, easier, more peaceful—if only the other person had the same tools. But I can’t force that. Just as no one could force me into recovery, I can’t make someone else see the world through the lens of acceptance and surrender.

So I did what I could. I stayed sober. I stayed present. I let go of what wasn’t mine to carry.

And in the end, that was enough. ❤️

---

The Road I Choose to Keep Clean

The street, a ripple of dawn, swept clean,
a single broom, a breath of service.
7AM, a digital altar, words like water,
flowing through screens, a shared cup.

Then, the house, a body needing tending,
dust motes, old resentments, scrubbed away.
Blinds, like eyelids, lifted, mended,
a moment caught, a tea's quiet bloom.

The pen, a river, once frozen, now free,
ink, a voice, a mother's whispered echo.
Journals unearthed, not tombs, but gardens,
seeds of stories, shared, a fragile sun.

Beads, like moments, strung with gentle hands,
jade, tiger's eye, rose quartz, a whispered prayer.
A child's laughter, a bracelet's circle,
small things, the mountain's unseen base.

Then, the storm, a sudden gust of wind,
resentment's shadow, a neighbour's blocked path.
The house, a vessel, rocked by unseen waves,
words turned to stones, flung with weary aim.

Trying to mend, a hand reaching through fog,
tools of acceptance, useless in the tempest.
The other's burden, a weight not to be shared,
only held in the gaze, a silent knowing.

Emotional sobriety, a tightrope stretched,
between the self and the other's surging sea.
Exhaustion, not of the body, but the soul,
a quiet surrender, letting the storm pass.

The street, still clean, a single footprint,
no forcing, no pushing, only a gentle space.
Acceptance, a stone dropped in still water,
ripples spreading, a quiet, lasting peace.