This morning was a rare one—we all slept in. For me, it was the first time in over a year that I had slept past 5:30 a.m. It’s strange how, since committing to complete abstinence from alcohol, my body just doesn’t seem to need as much sleep. I suppose it makes sense—I’m no longer “burning up energy foolishly,” as it says on page 88 of the Big Book. Instead of waking up groggy and depleted, I rise with clarity and purpose. But while I felt well-rested, the same couldn’t be said for my wife and the kids. A late start in our house means absolute chaos. On a good day, getting everyone ready for school is a circus act, but today? Today was bedlam. Moods soured instantly, and the blame game began in full force. Everyone pointed fingers at everyone else, convinced they were the only innocent party.
Well, everyone but me. That’s the part that surprised me the most. My head, for once, remained calm. I simply observed the storm around me, knowing it would pass. And now, with the kids off to school and the morning madness behind us, I can see that none of the perceived catastrophes actually materialised. No one was late, no one forgot anything vital—it was just a flurry of emotions stirred up by the stress of rushing. But even though the chaos has settled, I can see that it has lingered in my wife. The tension, the frustration—it’s all still with her, simmering beneath the surface. And that, more than anything, breaks my heart.
She carries so much. The weight of daily life, of motherhood, of everything that’s expected of her. And I know that this morning’s stress, coupled with the pain of her bad back, has already determined the course of her day. I’ve been there before—I know what it’s like to hold onto frustration, to let it take root and fester. And I hate seeing her in that space. I wish I could take it from her, lighten her load somehow. But I also know that no amount of wishing will do that. What I can do, though, is be the person she needs today—the calm in her storm, the steady presence reminding her that this morning doesn’t have to define the rest of the day.
Lately, I’ve found myself thinking a lot about my childhood. It was a strange one in some ways. My mum and dad were together, but my mum was very ill, so for much of my early years, from birth to about seven years old, I lived with my grandma and grandad. My grandad was a huge figure in my life, and now that I understand my own alcoholism, I can see that he was one too. I don’t think he ever admitted it to himself, and he certainly never found what I’ve found in AA. But he was a good man. A quiet drinker, for the most part, except when it came to boxing. He loved boxing, and he loved teaching me how to fight—or at least, that’s how it felt to me at the time. To my young self, it often felt less like a lesson and more like being beat up in the back yard.
I remember one particular morning, walking with him to the pub at 11 a.m. We passed someone he knew on the street, and the man greeted him warmly, “Hi, Les, how are you today?” It was the kind of greeting that carried genuine care, like he really wanted to know. But my grandad responded without hesitation, “Very good, mate! How are you?” On the surface, it seemed normal enough, but what struck me was that, just before we’d left the house, he and my grandma had been locked in an all-out war—screaming, throwing things, and finally, my grandma shouting “Don’t come back!” as he walked out the door.
I couldn’t understand it. Why had he told his friend he was doing well when, only minutes before, his world had been in turmoil? I asked him about it once we were inside the pub, his first pint of the day in hand. His answer stayed with me forever. He said, “Why spread sorrow when you can create happiness?” And then he explained further. “No matter what’s going on in your life, no matter how bad it seems, there is always something to be grateful for. And if you focus on that, if you share that gratitude with every person you meet, you’re not just changing your own perspective—you’re spreading it. If the person you meet is having a bad day, maybe, just maybe, you’ll help make it better.”
At the time, it confused me. But I never forgot it. And now, after everything I’ve been through, I understand it completely. Today is a perfect example of that lesson in action. I can already see my wife struggling to let go of this morning’s stress, holding onto it the way I used to hold onto every grievance, every disappointment—until they festered into resentment, until they became the fuel for “Poor me, poor me, pour me another drink.” Back then, I revelled in my misery, eager to share my anger and self-pity with anyone who would listen, completely unaware that all I was doing was feeding negativity and creating an environment that enabled my addiction.
But today is different. Today, I’m not going to contribute to that cycle. I’m going to stay grounded in my gratitude, and I’m going to make sure that everyone around me—especially my wife—feels it. The chaos of this morning is over. It’s done. It doesn’t have to shape the rest of the day. So, instead of dwelling on what went wrong, I’m going to focus on what’s right. I’m going to be a source of patience, kindness, and love. Because she deserves that. Because we all do.
Today, I will spread happiness. 😁 Today, I will choose love. ❤️
When Joy You Can Share
The still morning, a rare bloom,
Beyond the clamour of five-thirty's gloom.
Absence, a space where fullness resides,
No burning, no waste, clarity's tides.
But stillness for one, is storm for another,
The household, a tempest, sister and brother.
Blame's sharp arrows, the pointing of hands,
Each claiming innocence, in failed plans.
Yet, a quiet centre, within the fray,
Observing the chaos, that will fade away.
No catastrophes birthed, no vital things lost,
Just the rush of emotion, at what small cost.
But the storm’s echo, in her heart remains,
A simmering tension, that daily life sustains.
The weight of her burdens, the ache of her pain,
A familiar landscape, of sorrow's dark rain.
To lift it, impossible, a wish unfulfilled,
Yet, presence, a solace, a spirit instilled.
The calm in her tempest, the steady, the true,
A reminder that moments, do not define you.
Childhood's echoes, in memory's deep well,
Grandad's quiet strength, stories to tell.
A life lived in shadows, a silent, deep thirst,
Yet, kindness bloomed, where bitterness cursed.
The pub at eleven, the greeting's soft grace,
A mask of composure, on a troubled face.
"Why spread sorrow, when joy you can share?"
A simple wisdom, in the beery air.
Gratitude's seed, in the heart's fertile ground,
A shift in perspective, where solace is found.
To meet another's pain, with a gentle release,
A moment of kindness, a moment of peace.
The old patterns, of grievance and blame,
Fuelling the darkness, the addictive flame.
To revel in misery, a self-made despair,
A cycle of sorrow, beyond all repair.
But today, a new path, a different design,
Grounded in gratitude, where love will align.
The chaos is past, its echoes subside,
In patience and kindness, true strength will abide.
Not dwelling on shadows, but seeking the light,
To be a beacon, of love, pure and bright.
For she deserves solace, and so do we all,
To choose love's embrace, and answer its call.
To spread happiness, like seeds on the breeze,
To choose love's gentle, unwavering ease.
