For a while now, I’ve not only had a morning routine that helps me start the day with gratitude and a positive mindset, but I also have an evening practice—one that serves as a foundation for reflection, accountability, and growth. This routine is suggested in the Big Book on page 86:
“When we retire at night, we constructively review our day. Were we resentful, selfish, dishonest or afraid? Do we owe an apology? Have we kept something to ourselves which should be discussed with another person at once? Were we kind and loving toward all? What could we have done better? Were we thinking of ourselves most of the time? Or were we thinking of what we could do for others, of what we could pack into the stream of life? But we must be careful not to drift into worry, remorse or morbid reflection, for that would diminish our usefulness to others. After making our review we ask God’s forgiveness and inquire what corrective measures should be taken.”
Each night, before I go to sleep, I take the time to do a thorough review of my day. This isn’t just a casual reflection—it’s an honest, constructive inventory of my thoughts, actions, and interactions. I don’t just ask myself these questions in isolation; I truly examine my role in the events of the day, looking at whether I lived by the principles I strive to uphold. Did I act with integrity? Did I treat people with kindness and patience? Did I let fear dictate my responses? Did I put my own desires before the needs of others?
But I don’t keep this review to myself. I share it with a friend or a fellow member of AA. Doing so adds another layer of accountability and helps me remain vigilant about the areas where I still need to grow. By openly acknowledging my missteps, I create an opportunity to correct them rather than letting them fester in secrecy. And just as importantly, I also take note of my progress—the moments when I stayed the course, corrected myself before making a mistake, or acted in a way that reflected my newfound principles.
Some may think this type of reflection might be a heavy or even a negative way to end the day. But the Big Book makes it clear: “We must be careful not to drift into worry, remorse, or morbid reflection, for that would diminish our usefulness to others.” This practice isn’t about punishing myself for where I fell short—it’s about growth, about recognising the full picture of my day. Yes, I acknowledge my mistakes, but I also celebrate my successes, no matter how small. I make a conscious effort to recognise those little moments of grace—the times I saw a situation clearly and made the right choice, the times I felt a deep sense of connection, or when I noticed something beautiful that would have previously escaped my attention. I call these “my God moments,” and they serve as gentle reminders that I am walking a new path.
As alcoholics, many of us spent years trapped in self-recrimination, weighed down by guilt and shame. We lived in a negative world of our own making, a world that revolved around our addiction. But now, we are all stepping into something new—freedom. Freedom from the chains of addiction, freedom from the cycle of self-destruction. Every single day that we remain sober is a victory. So if you find yourself sitting at the end of the day, reflecting, writing, and reviewing, then no matter what challenges the day may have brought, know this: today has been a good day. Because today, you are going to bed sober. And that is always something worth celebrating.
The Heart’s Ledger
The day's river,
flows into the still pool of evening.
Not a harsh judgment,
but a gentle sifting tide.
Were the stones of action,
sharp and jagged,
or smooth, reflecting light?
Did the heart hold tight,
or open, like a flower to the sun?
Resentment, a shadow,
selfishness, a clinging vine,
dishonesty, fabricated pain,
fear, a whispered lie.
To name them, not to dwell,
but to release, like leaves on a breeze.
An apology, a bridge built,
a secret shared, a burden lightened.
Kindness, a quiet stream,
love, the unseen root.
To seek not perfection,
but the subtle shift,
the better way, a silent echo.
Not the weight of remorse,
nor the fog of worry,
but the clear, still water of reflection.
To ask, "What flows now?
What path opens in the dark?"
A voice shared,
a mirror held by another,
truth spoken,
growth, a slow unfolding.
The "God moments,"
small sparks of grace,
new growth trembling in sunlight,
a connection, deep and wordless.
The old self, a phantom,
chained to the wheel of craving.
The new self,
a seedling pushing through.
Each sober night,
a victory whispered,
a star in the vast, dark sky.
The day's burdens, laid down,
the spirit, light as a feather.
No matter the storm,
the day's end, a quiet knowing.
The breath, a steady rhythm,
the heart, a gentle drum.
To sleep,
not in the shadow of yesterday,
but in the quiet promise of tomorrow.
The path unfolds,
one breath, one step, one sober night,
At a time.
