Finding the Way

Coming Back to Reality: What Disney Vacation Taught Me About Recovery and Change

July 15th, 2025

The alarm clock felt like an assault after a week of waking up naturally at Disney World. As I stumbled toward the coffee maker, my mind already racing with thoughts of the pile of paperwork waiting on my desk, I realized something profound: this moment of transition was recovery in action.

After almost eight years of sobriety, I’ve learned that recovery isn’t just about not drinking. It’s about learning to navigate life’s constant changes with grace, acceptance, and the tools that keep me grounded. Coming back from our family vacation to Disney World last week reminded me that every transition—whether it’s returning to work after time away or facing the bigger upheavals life throws at us—is an opportunity to practice what recovery has taught me.

The Magic of Presence

Disney World has always been our happy place. My wife, son, dog, and I have a tradition there that mirrors what I’ve learned in recovery: we keep it simple. We don’t race from ride to ride, cramming in every experience possible. Instead, we savor the moments—the look on my son’s face during Spaceship Earth, the way my wife laughs at the corny jokes on the Jungle Cruise, even the simple pleasure of sharing a Dole Whip in the Florida heat.

This approach to vacation reflects something my sponsor taught me early in recovery: be present. During those seven days, I maintained my morning routine of prayer and reflection, rising before my family to center myself for the day ahead. I spoke with my sponsor regularly, not because I was struggling, but because these daily practices are what keep me grounded whether I’m at home or at the Most Magical Place on Earth.

Being present during vacation was easy. The challenge came when I had to bring that same presence back to my desk at the mobile home dealership where I work as a sales processor.

The Reality Check

Walking into the office after a week away felt like stepping into a different world. The stack of correspondence from customers, lenders, permit offices, and contractors seemed to mock my vacation-relaxed state. New deals had come in while I was gone, old deals needed attention, and the familiar weight of deadlines and responsibilities settled back onto my shoulders.

For a moment, I felt that old familiar anxiety creeping in—the same unease I used to drown in alcohol. But recovery has taught me something valuable: I can only worry about what’s in front of me right now. Just like in early sobriety, when the idea of “never drinking again” felt impossible, the key was to focus on today, this moment, this single task.

I picked up the first file and got started. Keep it simple, as we say in the rooms.

The Parallel Path

The more I thought about it, the more I realized how similar this transition was to other changes I’ve navigated in recovery. When I got sober, I went through a divorce and stopped seeing my children as often. I lost most of my friends—the ones whose primary connection to me was through drinking. Each of these changes required the same approach I was using with that stack of work: acceptance, presence, and taking it one step at a time.

My relationship with uncertainty has evolved dramatically over these eight years. I know it sounds cliche, but nothing is set in stone. We can be here one moment and gone the next. This reality used to terrify me, driving me to drink to numb the fear of life’s unpredictability. Now, it’s become a source of freedom. If nothing is permanent, then neither are the hard times. If change is inevitable, then I might as well learn to dance with it.

The Daily Practice

What struck me most about returning to work was how my recovery tools automatically kicked in. The same principles that help me stay sober—daily prayer, humility, regular check-ins with my sponsor, and weekly AA meetings—became my compass for navigating the transition back to routine.

The humility part was crucial. I had to accept that I wasn’t going to catch up on everything in one day. I had to ask for help when I needed it. I had to admit that the vacation hangover was real and that it was okay to feel off-balance for a bit. In recovery, we learn that admitting powerlessness isn’t defeat—it’s the beginning of real strength.

By day two, I was back in the groove, processing deals with the same efficiency I’d had before vacation. But the real victory wasn’t in getting caught up on work. It was in recognizing that I’d navigated another life transition using the tools recovery had given me.

Always Ready for Change

What I really learned from this experience is that recovery has prepared me to accept change as a constant companion rather than an enemy to be feared. Whether it’s coming back from vacation, dealing with divorce, losing friends, or facing any of life’s inevitable transitions, the same principles apply: stay present, keep it simple, and trust the process.

Every morning when I wake up, whether it’s in a Disney resort or in my own bed before another day of processing mobile home deals, I have a choice. I can approach the day with anxiety about what might go wrong, or I can approach it with the tools that have kept me sober for almost eight years.

Today, I choose presence over panic, simplicity over complexity, and acceptance over resistance. That’s the real magic—not the kind you find in theme parks, but the kind you build one day at a time, one change at a time, one moment of acceptance at a time.

And when the next transition comes—because it will—I’ll be ready.
From Darkness to Light: My Journey from Addiction to Serenity

July 14th, 2025

The bottom has a way of announcing itself with startling clarity. For me, it was a gradual descent over the course of a few months—I was still showing up where I was supposed to be, still maintaining the appearance of functionality, but when I would drink, it became increasingly uncontrollable. This slow erosion of control culminated in a devastating crash that left me sitting in a cold jail cell, wondering how my life had spiraled so completely out of control. Those two nights behind bars became the catalyst that would eventually lead me to a serenity I never thought possible—a peace found not in a bottle, but in surrendering to something greater than myself.

The Descent

My relationship with alcohol began innocently enough, as it often does. What started as social drinking gradually became my solution to everything: stress, anxiety, celebration, boredom, pain. Alcohol was my constant companion, my reliable friend who never said no and always promised relief. But like all toxic relationships, it slowly began to take more than it gave.

Rock Bottom: Two Nights That Changed Everything

The night that led to my arrest is still fresh. even after almost 8 years. Celebrating the close of a community theatre production at a cast party, I drank as usual. I went home as usual. But a switch flipped and I became a monster. Becoming capable of hurting the ones I was supposed to protect. The authorities were alerted. The cuffs went on. And I was removed from everything that was familiar. I remember with painful clarity the moment my name was called for central processing. Knowing that I wasn’t going home to my own bed and all the comforts I was used to.

Those two nights in jail were the worst nights of my life. It wasn’t just the physical discomfort—the thin mattress, the fluorescent lights that never dimmed, the constant noise of a place where desperation lives. It was the psychological weight of realizing I had become everything I’d once judged, everything I’d sworn I’d never be.

I sat on that narrow bunk, shaking not just from the cold, but from the crushing recognition of what my life had become. The walls seemed to close in, and I felt smaller than I’d ever felt before. In that concrete box, stripped of my usual escape routes and forced to confront the wreckage of my choices, I experienced a terror that went deeper than fear of punishment. It was the terror of seeing myself clearly for the first time in years.

The other inmates, the guards, the whole machinery of the justice system—none of it compared to the judgment I passed on myself during those endless hours. I had hit bottom, and bottom was harder than I’d ever imagined.

The Turning Point

I knew I was done drinking. I had made that decision before I was even arrested—The final item on my ‘at least I’m not that’ list had been crossed off. After the second night, a friend helped me make bail. The 5 hours between speaking to him and hearing my name called seemed like an eternity. But after my name was called, I signed some papers, and I was released. I was walked to the exit gate. It was late November and the air was cool. It felt like a second chance. And then….I saw them. My parents had been waiting. The shame was overwhelming. It was then I realized that I was not going to be able to shake this addiction on my own. I was going to need help.

Finding My Sponsor

At that first AA meeting, I met the man who would become my sponsor. He was sitting right next to me while my shame and guilt manifested in tears and emotional turmoil. But he had a way of speaking that cut through all the noise in my head. He’d been where I was, and somehow, he’d found a way out. When I told him about the jail time, about the shame and the fear, he listened without judgment.

“Here’s what I want you to remember,” he said after I’d finished my story. “No matter how bad it may seem, you don’t have to drink over it.”

Those words became my lifeline. My sponsor repeated them to me countless times during those early, shaky days of recovery. When I was overwhelmed by legal consequences, when I was facing the wreckage of relationships I’d damaged, when the shame threatened to swallow me whole—my sponsor’s voice would cut through the chaos: “No matter how bad it may seem, you don’t have to drink over it.”

Learning to Trust

The concept of trusting in God was foreign to me when I first got sober. I’d been relying on myself—poorly—for so long that surrendering control felt impossible. But desperation has a way of making the impossible seem necessary.

Working the steps with my sponsor, I began to understand that trust in God wasn’t about having all the answers. It was about accepting that I didn’t need to have them. It was about recognizing that the same power that had allowed me to find that jail cell could also provide a way out, if I was willing to let it.

Trust came slowly, in small increments. First, I had to trust that I could make it through one day without drinking. Then I had to trust that sharing my story in meetings wouldn’t destroy me. Eventually, I learned to trust that this process, this fellowship, this power greater than myself, could actually restore me to sanity.

The Gift of Serenity

Today, nearly eight years later, I live with a serenity I never imagined. It’s not that life has become easy—I still face challenges, disappointments, and pain. But I face them differently now. When difficulties arise, I hear my sponsor’s voice reminding me that no matter how bad it may seem, I don’t have to drink over it. More importantly, I don’t want to.

The God I trust today isn’t the punishing deity I feared in that jail cell. It’s a loving presence that works through other people in recovery, through the program, through the small daily miracles that keep me connected to hope. This God doesn’t demand perfection; instead, it offers grace for the journey, strength for today, and hope for tomorrow.

Those two nights in jail, once a source of deep shame, have become a gift I carry with me. They remind me where I came from and how far I’ve traveled. They keep me humble and grateful. Most importantly, they remind me that rock bottom became the foundation upon which I built a new life.

A Message of Hope

If you’re reading this and you’re struggling, please know that your bottom doesn’t have to be the end of your story. It can be the beginning. The same power that lifted me from that jail cell can lift you from wherever you are right now.

No matter how bad it may seem, you don’t have to drink over it. And you don’t have to face it alone.

Recovery, serenity, God.

One day at a time.
The Science of Belonging: How Coral Reefs Teach Us About Recovery

July 11th, 2025

Standing before the massive aquarium at EPCOT’s Living Seas pavilion, I was struck by something I couldn’t quite name at first. The coral reef stretched before me in impossible colors—electric blues, vibrant oranges, deep purples, and sunshine yellows—all swaying gently in the artificial current. But it wasn’t just the beauty that caught my breath. It was the sense that everything belonged exactly where it was. The bright yellow tang fish darting between purple sea fans, the orange brain coral nestled against delicate pink staghorn formations, the schools of silver fish weaving through it all like living ribbons. Nothing seemed out of place. Everything fit.

What I didn’t realize in that moment was that I was witnessing one of nature’s most remarkable demonstrations of collective resilience. Coral reefs don’t just grow—they rebuild. They don’t just survive—they remember how to belong to each other again.

## The Art of Rebuilding Relationships

The vibrant colors that captivated me aren’t just decoration. They’re the visible signs of one of the most intricate partnerships in the natural world. Those brilliant hues often come from zooxanthellae, microscopic algae that live inside coral tissues in perfect symbiosis. The corals provide protection and nutrients; the algae provide food through photosynthesis. It’s a relationship so fundamental that when it breaks down—during bleaching events caused by stress—the corals literally turn white and begin to die.

But here’s what makes coral reefs masters of recovery: they don’t just regrow as individuals. They rebuild their relationships.

When a reef begins to recover from bleaching, storm damage, or other trauma, it’s not simply a matter of new coral polyps settling on the substrate. It’s a complex process of remembering how to be a community again. The surviving corals must re-establish their partnerships with the algae. Fish species must return and resume their roles—the cleaner fish setting up their stations, the herbivorous fish managing the algae growth, the predators maintaining the balance.

Recent research has revealed something extraordinary: healthy coral reefs can achieve full recovery in just four years. That’s faster than scientists ever expected. But the timeline isn’t just about growth rates—it’s about the reef remembering how to function as an ecosystem.

## The Chemistry of Collective Healing

What does it mean for a reef to “remember”? The science reveals a sophisticated system of chemical communication that guides recovery. Healthy corals release chemical signals that attract the larvae of fish, crustaceans, and other marine life. These chemical cues essentially say, “Come home. We’re rebuilding.”

But it’s not just about attracting new residents. The established community members play active roles in recovery. Herbivorous fish like parrotfish and surgeonfish graze on algae that might otherwise smother recovering corals. Cleaner fish remove parasites and dead tissue. Even the predators contribute by keeping populations in balance, preventing any one species from overwhelming the recovering system.

The reef teaches us that recovery isn’t a solo journey. It’s a collaborative effort where each member’s healing contributes to the whole, and the whole supports each member’s recovery.

## Adaptation Through Belonging

Perhaps most remarkably, coral reefs are adapting to new challenges while maintaining their essential character. As ocean temperatures rise and chemistry changes, some reefs are developing new partnerships with heat-resistant algae strains. They’re finding ways to belong to their environment even as that environment shifts.

This adaptation doesn’t happen in isolation. The corals that develop new partnerships share their innovations with their neighbors through spawning events, where genetic material spreads across vast areas of reef. The community learns together, adapts together, and becomes more resilient together.

## Lessons in Living Color

Standing in that aquarium, watching the yellow tangs navigate between purple sea fans, I was witnessing something profound: a community that had learned not just to survive, but to thrive by remembering how to belong to each other. The colors weren’t just beautiful—they were functional, purposeful, part of an intricate system of mutual support.

The coral reef’s approach to recovery offers us a different model than the one we often embrace in human healing. Instead of focusing solely on individual resilience, reefs show us the power of collective recovery. They demonstrate that healing happens not just within us, but between us. That our recovery is intertwined with the recovery of our communities. That true resilience comes not from going it alone, but from remembering how to belong to something larger than ourselves.

In the end, the reef’s most important lesson might be this: we heal not by becoming invulnerable, but by becoming more deeply connected. The colors that caught my eye weren’t signs of individual strength—they were evidence of relationships restored, partnerships rebuilt, and communities that had learned to belong to each other again.

Recovery, like the coral reef, is a collective masterpiece painted in living color.

P.S.- I will be traveling home from vacation this weekend so I will be unable to post. I’ll be back on Monday.
The Miracle of Forgiveness: When Time Becomes the Greatest Teacher

July 10th, 2025

“I don’t care if you live or die. I never want to speak to you again.”

Those words hit me like a physical blow, even though I knew I deserved them. I was sitting across from him in his office, across from the man who had welcomed me into his family twelve years earlier, who had walked his daughter down the aisle to marry me. Now he could barely look at me.

I had come to make amends—part of my recovery process after losing everything to alcohol and the monster it had turned me into. The marriage was over. I had become abusive, something I never thought I was capable of. The woman I had promised to love and protect had to protect herself and our children from me instead.

“I understand,” I managed to say, my voice barely above a whisper. “What can I do to make it better?”

“Nothing.”

I walked out of his office, knowing we would probably never speak again.

Recovery taught me that making amends doesn’t guarantee forgiveness. It doesn’t mean people have to welcome you back or give you another chance. Sometimes the most loving thing someone can do is protect themselves by keeping you out of their life. I had to learn to live with that reality.

I threw myself into being the best father I could be during my time with my nine-year-old son and eleven-year-old daughter. Soccer became part of our routine. Every Saturday morning, I’d sit in my folding camp chair, watching him warm up with his team, taking that time of quiet to reflect on the past week.

This particular Saturday started like any other. I was early, as always, setting up my camp chair and watching the kids stretch and run drills. The familiar sounds of a soccer field filled the air—cleats on grass, coaches calling out instructions, parents chatting about weekend plans.

Then I heard it.

“Whatcha say there, Jeremy?”

Just like that. Like we’d talked yesterday. Like the last two years hadn’t happened. His normal greeting to everyone, the same words he’d said to me a thousand times before everything fell apart.

He didn’t come over. We didn’t talk.

But something had shifted. The wall of rage and hurt that had stood between us for two years had developed the smallest crack. Not forgiveness—not yet. But maybe, just maybe, the beginning of it.

Plant growing in a crack of concrete wall.

That’s the miracle of forgiveness in recovery—it doesn’t always look like tearful reconciliation or dramatic forgiveness speeches. Sometimes it looks like a simple greeting between two broken people who are both trying to figure out how to move forward.

Time doesn’t heal all wounds by itself. But time combined with consistent change, with showing up differently day after day, with proving through actions that you’re not the same person who caused the pain—that creates space for miracles to happen.

I didn’t know if my former father-in-law and I would ever have a relationship again. I didn’t know if he would ever trust me again. But I know that greeting meant something. It meant he saw me—not the monster I had become, but the man I was trying to be.

And sometimes, that’s how forgiveness begins. Not with words, but with the simple recognition that people can change. That time, combined with genuine transformation, can soften even the hardest hearts.

The miracle isn’t that he forgave me in that moment. The miracle is that after two years of thinking I was dead to him, he spoke to me like a human being. And for someone in recovery, for someone who had given up hope of ever being seen as anything other than the worst version of themselves, hearing those familiar words was everything.

Recovery has taught me that miracles don’t always look like Hollywood endings. Sometimes they look like a casual greeting across a soccer field, a crack in the wall, the first sign that time really can heal what seemed impossibly broken.

And sometimes, that’s more than enough.
7 Years Sober and I Still Thought I Could Take a Vacation from My Principles

July 9th, 2025

We’re currently on our long-awaited summer vacation—a time my wife lovingly and meticulously planned so we could enjoy some well-earned rest. For us, vacations are about slowing down. Life usually runs at a frantic pace, so these brief moments of calm are sacred. No alarms. No deadlines. No stress. Just simple pleasures: shared meals, long walks, quiet mornings, and the joy of doing very little.

But even the best-laid plans can run into trouble. For us, that trouble came in the form of a guest—someone we invited to stay with us. A guest who, to put it kindly, lacked boundaries, manners, or any real social awareness. At first, it was manageable. We attempted gentle correction, offered guidance, and tried to set some limits. But this person ignored every cue. Others in the house were visibly frustrated. I tried to stay calm. I tried to stay spiritual. But eventually, I lost it.

I raised my voice. Loudly. I let him have it. It felt good—righteous even—in the moment. But that satisfaction didn’t last long.

Recovery Doesn’t Take Vacations

When we go on vacation, we pack light and leave our daily baggage behind. But here’s the thing: recovery doesn’t pack itself away when we head out of town. I had to learn this the hard way. Just because I’m away from my normal environment doesn’t mean I’m free from the responsibility of living by the principles that have kept me sober for the past seven years.

I forgot that. I thought maybe, just for a few days, I could coast. That the spiritual maintenance I practice daily could be paused while I enjoyed my family time. But that’s not how this works.

The truth is, when I lose sight of my spiritual principles—no matter how briefly—I quickly default to old behaviors. Anger. Resentment. Control. And sometimes, the illusion that I am in the right and others are in the wrong, no matter how I behave.

Selfishness Still Creeps In

This incident reminded me that selfishness isn’t something I conquered when I put down the drink. It still creeps in, even now. It shows up in sneaky ways—like thinking that my comfort is more important than someone else’s learning curve, or that my need for peace justifies breaking someone else’s spirit.

What felt like “standing up for myself” was really about controlling my environment. I didn’t want discomfort. I didn’t want conflict. I wanted ease, and when I didn’t get it, I lashed out. That’s not self-care. That’s selfishness masquerading as righteous indignation.

Self-Care vs. Selfishness

One of the hardest things I’ve had to learn in recovery is the difference between self-care and selfishness. Self-care means taking time to protect my peace without robbing others of theirs. It’s saying “no” with clarity, not yelling “NO!” in frustration. It’s setting a boundary calmly, not punishing someone for crossing one I never clearly expressed.

On this vacation, my idea of self-care got distorted. I thought, “I deserve peace. I deserve comfort. I deserve a break from people who act this way.” And maybe I do deserve those things. But recovery teaches me that I only truly get them through practicing spiritual principles—through honesty, patience, and love. Not through a raised voice and a bruised ego.

God Works Through Our Discomfort

That night, I couldn’t sleep. I tossed and turned with guilt. I replayed the outburst in my head. Even though others reassured me it was “deserved,” I didn’t feel at peace. I knew I had veered off course—not just in how I reacted, but in how quickly I forgot the principles that guide my life.

So I put on some Sleep Token, trying to drown the noise of my conscience. But that didn’t work either. I wasn’t being haunted by guilt—I was being invited to change.

And then something happened. Somewhere in that discomfort, I felt a shift—like a gentle whisper from my Higher Power. A new idea came to me, not born out of anger but out of grace. A different way to approach this person. A way that didn’t involve shouting, punishing, or controlling. A way that centered compassion instead of ego.

That’s how God works. Not always in comfort, but often through our discomfort. When we feel out of sync, it’s usually because we are. And sometimes the pain of that misalignment is exactly what guides us back to center.

Moving Forward in Grace

This morning, I woke up with renewed clarity. I can’t undo what I said, but I can move forward with a better attitude. I can use this as a reminder: even seven years into sobriety, I am still learning. I’m still human. I’m still capable of slipping.

But the real growth is in the return. In choosing again. In surrendering again.

I’m choosing to approach this guest differently today. Not with passive tolerance, but with healthy boundaries, calm communication, and love—even if it’s tough love. I don’t need to shout to be heard. I don’t need to control to feel secure. I just need to lean on the principles that have served me well for the past seven years.

And to remember that recovery doesn’t take time off.

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Final Thoughts

This vacation hasn’t been what I expected—but maybe it’s been exactly what I needed. A reminder that my principles aren’t seasonal. That spiritual growth isn’t linear. And that even when I fall short, my Higher Power is never far away.

If you’re reading this and you’ve had a moment recently where you slipped—whether in words, actions, or thoughts—know this: you’re not alone. None of us are immune from ego, fear, or frustration. But we are given endless opportunities to return to love, humility, and grace.

Today is a new day. And I’m grateful for the lesson—even if it came wrapped in discomfort.

Have you ever caught yourself thinking you could take a ‘vacation’ from your principles? How did you find your way back to center? I’d love to hear your thoughts in the comments below.
Daily Surrender: A Reflection on Letting Go of Control

July 8th, 2025

Today’s reading is powerful—it reminds us how difficult it can be to surrender, and how essential that surrender is to begin truly healing. Whether you’re in recovery or simply seeking a life of deeper meaning, today’s reflection is about one core truth: we aren’t in control—and that’s okay.

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The Illusion of Control

Every recovering alcoholic knows the moment—sometimes vague, sometimes crystal clear—when the truth breaks through: We were out of control long before we ever admitted it.

It’s one of the cruel ironies of addiction. Before others see our brokenness, we deny it. We insist we’ve got it under control, that we can stop when we want. We say things like:

• “I just need to cut back.”

• “This time will be different.”

• “I’ve got this handled.”

But as the AA Thought for the Day wisely states, it often takes a lot of punishment to break through that wall of denial. And no one—no person, no force, no disease—dishes out punishment quite like alcohol, or “John Barleycorn,” as the old timers call it.

Those who’ve been through it know. Alcohol takes what it wants, and it leaves nothing behind but guilt, broken promises, damaged relationships, and spiritual emptiness. Still, we hold on—for dear life—to the illusion of control.

The Turning Point: Admission

If we’re lucky—and yes, luck plays a role—we reach a breaking point. Not everyone does.

Some of us wake up in a jail cell (guilty). Others in a hospital. Some are confronted by loved ones, or forced into rehab. But regardless of how it happens, the turning point is always the same: admitting powerlessness.

Not intellectually, but emotionally. Deep in the gut. That’s the moment we finally whisper, maybe even shout: “I can’t do this anymore.”

And it’s terrifying.

But it’s also beautiful. Because that’s the moment when healing begins.

God’s Will and the Stream of Goodness

The meditation for today shifts from despair to hope. It tells us something we desperately need to hear: there is a force for good in the world.

And here’s the real gift: That force wants to work through you.

You see, once we’ve admitted defeat, we don’t fall into a void. We fall into grace. We are carried not by our own strength, but by something greater—a loving Higher Power who invites us into a stream of goodness.

This doesn’t mean life gets easy. But it does get simpler. We are no longer fighting everything and everyone. We’re no longer trying to control the uncontrollable. We are surrendering—not to defeat, but to purpose.

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Aligning Our Will with God’s Will

This is where it gets practical. The meditation invites us to bring our desires into oneness with God’s desires. But how do we do that?

Here are three simple but powerful steps:

1. Pause and Ask: When faced with a decision or a temptation, take a moment to ask, “What would God have me do?” Not what feels good, not what satisfies the ego—but what aligns with love, truth, and goodness.

2. Seek Guidance: Through prayer, meditation, or conversation with a sponsor or mentor, stay open to spiritual direction. You don’t have to know everything. You just need a willingness to listen.

3. Act in Faith: Once you’ve sensed a nudge toward the right path—take it. Even if it’s scary. Especially if it’s uncomfortable. That’s often where growth lives.

Final Thought: Have You Truly Surrendered?

So here’s the challenge: Are you still holding on to the belief that you can manage this on your own?

Or are you ready—really ready—to let go of the wheel and let something greater carry you?

Surrender is not weakness. It’s wisdom. It’s strength born of humility. It’s the beginning of a life not built on fear, but on trust.
July 7th, 2025

A Message on Control, Pain, and Trusting the Process

Hey friends,

Even though I’m still on vacation, I made a commitment to show up here each day, and that hasn’t changed. These daily reflections have helped keep me stay grounded, and I know they mean something to many of you, too. So, let’s dive into today’s message—a tough but honest look at the illusion of control, the value of testing, and how faith helps us move forward.

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Recognizing When the Illusion Breaks

“I still had my family… I still had my job… I didn’t believe I was an alcoholic.”

Many of us held onto that denial for a long time. It’s common to compare ourselves with others who seemed worse off. Maybe we hadn’t landed in jail. Maybe we still managed to show up to work most days. Maybe our loved ones hadn’t left—yet. And because of that, we clung to the belief that we weren’t like “those alcoholics.”

But beneath that surface of “functioning” was deep sickness—spiritual, emotional, and physical. Our lives were out of control, even if we didn’t want to see it. And it wasn’t just the drinking—it was the despair, the loneliness, the lack of peace. If you’ve ever told yourself you could control it, today might be the day to ask: Have I really changed my mind?

The Truth About Painful Seasons

Today’s meditation reminds us that pain often has purpose. It doesn’t feel that way in the moment, but recovery asks us to look deeper. What if your current hardship isn’t a punishment—but a preparation?

The testing we endure is shaping us for something bigger than we can see right now. That doesn’t make the struggle easy—but it gives it meaning. Our worst moments, our rock bottoms, our desperate prayers—they’re all part of a refining process.

Selfishness, pride, and control are like toxins that need to be burned out. Not because we’re bad people, but because we’ve been carrying around heavy weights we weren’t meant to bear. When those things are removed, we finally begin to heal, and we finally begin to receive.

Faith When It Doesn’t Make Sense

It’s easy to pray for healing and change. It’s harder to accept the route those answers sometimes take.

Today’s prayer speaks volumes:

“I pray that I may be willing to go through a time of testing. I pray that I may trust God for the outcome.”

This kind of prayer isn’t about getting what we want. It’s about trusting the process, even when it’s painful. Faith means surrendering to a power greater than ourselves—not just when it feels good, but especially when it doesn’t.

Trusting God (or the higher power of your understanding) is not passive. It’s a conscious choice to believe that something beautiful can rise out of the ashes. It’s a willingness to walk through fire so we can emerge free from what used to hold us captive.

So if you’re in a season of waiting or discomfort right now, don’t lose heart. Your transformation is unfolding. Just keep walking.

3 Steps to Reflect On Today

1. Ask Yourself Honestly: Have you fully accepted that you are powerless over alcohol (or whatever your struggle is)? Or are you still holding onto control?

2. Look for Purpose in the Pain: Can you identify anything your current hardships might be preparing you for? What might be getting “burned away”?

3. Pray for Willingness: You don’t have to be strong—you just need to be willing. Willing to be tested. Willing to surrender. Willing to trust the outcome to something greater than yourself.

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Closing Thoughts

The journey of recovery doesn’t promise comfort, but it does promise peace. And that peace comes not from control—but from surrender.

Thank you for checking in today. I’ll be back again tomorrow with another reflection, even if I’m still sipping coffee somewhere new.

Take what you need. Leave the rest.

One day at a time.
From Obsession to Purpose — A Journey of Surrender and Strength

July 6th, 2025
Hey friends, Jeremy here — I’m taking some time away this week on vacation to rest and recharge. But even while traveling, the journey of recovery and reflection never stops. Each morning still begins with meditation, prayer, and the AA Thought for the Day. Today’s message struck something deep in me, and I hope it reaches you too.

Facing the Unexplainable: The Obsession to Drink

For many of us in recovery, there was a time when we tried to understand our drinking. We dug deep into our past, looking for root causes — trauma, stress, loneliness, bad influences. We sought therapy, hospital stays, even time away in treatment centers. But no matter how much we tried to figure it out or “fix” it, the obsession remained. The urge to drink overpowered reason.

We told ourselves lies dressed up as logic:
- “I drink because of my childhood.”
- “I just need to get through this one season of stress.”
- “If I can just moderate, I’ll be fine.”
But the reality was more painful and far less rational: We drank because we were alcoholics.

And that meant we had a spiritual disease, not just a psychological one. No analysis, excuse, or institution could heal us — only a spiritual solution could lead to freedom.

“Finally drinking had gone far beyond even a habit. We had become alcoholics, men and women who had been destroying themselves against their own will.”

It’s a gut-punch realization. That we were not only hurting ourselves — we were doing so against our own will, trapped in a cycle we couldn’t escape alone.

Freedom Begins with Surrender

There’s a powerful question in today’s AA thought:

“Am I completely free from my alcoholic obsession?”

Only you can answer that. But if you’re reading this, and you know the obsession still claws at you — there’s hope.

Freedom doesn’t come from trying harder. It comes from surrendering deeper.

That surrender isn’t weakness. It’s the path to spiritual strength. It’s where the meditation for today brings us:

“You can do practically anything in the field of human relationships, if you are willing to call on God’s supply of strength.”

You can break free. You can rebuild trust. You can show up again for those you’ve let down. You can live with integrity.

But not on your own strength.

Instead, we are called to:
1. Ask — through prayer, through honest inventory, through talking with a sponsor.
2. Receive — when we are ready, open, and humble enough to accept help.
That’s the miracle. Not a lightning bolt of perfection, but a slow unfurling of strength we didn’t even know we had access to.

Strength That Grows With Us

One of the most hopeful messages from today’s meditation is this:

“As you grow spiritually, a feeling of being plentifully supplied by God’s strength will possess you…”

That strength doesn’t arrive all at once. It grows with your faith, your practice, your honesty.

The first time I felt it, I didn’t even know what it was. It came as the quiet urge to say “no” when I normally would’ve said “yes” to a drink. It showed up as courage when I apologized sincerely. It appeared in the words of someone who loved me enough to be honest.

God’s supply is real. And it grows with your willingness.

So here are 3 practical ways to step into this strength today:

1.

Pray Honestly, Not Perfectly

You don’t need flowery words. Just say, “God, I can’t do this without You. Help me.” Start there. Honesty is enough.

2.

Pause and Ask Before Reacting

When something triggers you — whether it’s anger, fear, or the urge to escape — take a breath and ask: “What would strength look like right now?” Then wait for the answer. It will come.

3.

Lean Into Fellowship

Don’t isolate. Go to a meeting. Call someone in the program. Strength often shows up in the voice on the other end of the line.

A Prayer for Today

Let’s close with the simple, powerful prayer from today’s reflection:

“I pray that I may claim God’s supply of strength by my faith in Him. I pray that it shall be given to me according to my faith.”

We don’t earn grace. We just receive it — when we’re ready.

Until Tomorrow…

Thank you for joining me today, even while I’m off enjoying some sun and quiet time. Recovery doesn’t stop while we rest — it just deepens.

If this message spoke to you, I invite you to subscribe. Together, we can walk this road — one honest, grace-filled day at a time.

See you tomorrow.

With gratitude,

— Jeremy
From Excuses to Direction: Finding Sobriety Through Surrender and Action

July 5th, 2025

For many of us in recovery, the idea of stopping drinking wasn’t foreign—we’d tried. We’d made promises, set deadlines, and swore “never again.” We were filled with the desperate belief that somehow, someday, we’d learn to drink like normal people. But time after time, we lapsed into the same pattern: that ceaseless, unhappy drinking cycle that ruined relationships, careers, and our own sense of self-worth.

The AA Thought for the Day reminds us of this painful truth: we didn’t lack the desire to stop—we lacked the power. Friends and loved ones tried to help, and when they finally gave up, it wasn’t out of hate—it was out of despair. It was only in AA that we began to understand: it wasn’t about drinking less or drinking differently. It was about giving up the excuses and surrendering our will to something greater.

That brings us to the key question:

Have I given up every excuse for drinking?

Let’s be honest—excuses are seductive. They whisper to us in moments of weakness:

• “Just this once.”

• “It’s been a hard day.”

• “I deserve it.”

• “I can handle it now.”

But behind each excuse lies the same outcome: relapse, remorse, and regret. Recovery begins the moment we stop believing those lies and start accepting responsibility—and guidance.

1. Action Step One: Get Honest with Yourself

The first real step toward achievement in sobriety isn’t dramatic. It doesn’t require anyone else’s permission. It happens quietly and powerfully in the heart: brutal honesty.

Take a moment today to look at your thoughts. Are there still excuses hiding in the background? Are you still trying to hold on to a shred of control, secretly believing that someday, somehow, you might return to “normal drinking”?

Let those thoughts go.

Write down every excuse you’ve used in the past. Get them on paper. Say them out loud. Then ask yourself:

Did any of these ever lead to real joy? Peace? Freedom?

Chances are, they led only to pain.

By exposing our excuses to the light, we take away their power. Excuses thrive in secrecy. Truth is their undoing.

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Meanwhile, the Meditation for the Day reminds us of another key truth—life will throw things at us that threaten to knock us off course. A fight, a loss, even success can stir old instincts. But no matter how far we drift, there’s a compass that remains steady: God’s will.

You don’t have to call it “God” if that doesn’t sit right with you. The key is recognizing there’s a greater force at work—one that doesn’t shift with your moods or circumstances. While you and I may falter, that steady hand continues to guide, waiting patiently for us to realign ourselves.

Sometimes we resist. Sometimes we outright rebel. But the current of grace is always there, waiting for us to swim with it instead of against it.

2. Action Step Two: Invite God Into Your Decision-Making

It’s easy to call on God in a crisis. But what about calling on Him in the small moments? What about letting that Higher Power into the decisions—not just the disasters?

Try this today:

Before making any decision, large or small, pause and say a simple prayer like:

“God, guide me in this moment. Help me choose what aligns with peace, not ego.”

This simple pause redirects your thinking. It gets you out of “self-will run riot” mode and into receptive mode. You’re no longer the captain of a boat spinning in circles. You’re now a crew member on a ship steered by purpose.

The final part of the message—the Prayer for the Day—hits home with quiet conviction:

“I pray that I may try to steer a straight course. I pray that I may accept God’s direction in my life’s journey.”

Isn’t that what we’re all after? A straight course. A path with fewer storms, fewer wrecks, fewer regrets. But even when the waters do get rough—as they sometimes will—there’s a comfort in knowing you’re not steering alone.

So, if you’re still battling the urge, or if you’ve recently stumbled, know this: the course can still be corrected. You’re never too far off. The excuses can be laid down. The wheel can be handed over.

And each day that you choose honesty over denial, surrender over control, and faith over fear, you’re achieving something far greater than just sobriety. You’re achieving peace.

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In Summary:

• We’ve all made excuses—but freedom begins when we stop believing them.

• Life’s chaos doesn’t stop, but God’s direction is always available.

• We achieve lasting sobriety through honesty and willingness, not willpower alone.

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Today’s Two Actions for Achievement:

1. List and challenge your excuses. Expose them. Examine them. Let them go.

2. Pause and pray before decisions. Invite your Higher Power into the small moments, not just the big ones.

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Come Back Tomorrow…

Tomorrow’s reflection will explore how we can begin to forgive ourselves—a necessary step on the road to healing. You won’t want to miss it.

Until then, may you find peace in the pause and strength in surrender.
July 4th, 2025
The Power of Selfless Respect: Living the Spirit of AA

In the heart of Alcoholics Anonymous lies a principle that transcends addiction recovery—it’s the spirit of giving without expectation. There is no chase for personal profit, no pay-to-participate system. Members aren’t asked for dues or fees. Instead, the currency of AA is mutual support, honesty, and humility. Members give of themselves—time, experience, and care—so that others may find what they’ve found: sobriety, dignity, and a life worth living.

This selfless structure isn’t just practical—it’s sacred. It offers something deeper than just a recovery plan: a glimpse into how people can relate to one another with respect, empathy, and compassion. At the core of today’s reflection is a question that hits home: Am I willing to work for AA without material gain to myself?

The answer for many who walk this path is yes—not because they don’t need money, but because they’ve tasted something richer. Sobriety. Clarity. Purpose. The rebuilding of broken relationships. The sense of standing up straight in the world again.

The Invisible Reward of Respect

Sobriety is more than abstaining from alcohol—it’s about stepping into a life of integrity. It’s about waking up and recognizing that you are finally, truly becoming someone respectable. That doesn’t come from impressing others or racking up achievements. It comes from consistent, humble action—showing up for others without asking, “What’s in it for me?”

In doing so, we earn something precious: the respect of others. And just as important, we begin to respect ourselves.

But here’s the twist—some of the people we meet on this journey may not respect themselves yet. They might be deep in shame, pain, or denial. They might lash out or shrink away. And it’s in these moments that a deeper kind of spiritual work begins: learning to treat others with dignity even when they cannot yet see their own.

One Powerful Action:

Practice Active Listening Without Judgment

Want to know where respect starts? It doesn’t start with praise, advice, or even kindness. It starts with presence.

When someone is struggling, just being there and listening—without interruption, correction, or assumption—is a radical act of respect. You’re telling that person, “You matter. I’m not trying to fix you, judge you, or change you—I’m here to walk beside you.”

Here’s how you can start practicing active listening:
- Put away distractions. Close your phone, stop planning your response, and give them your full attention.
- Listen to understand, not to reply. Let them finish their thought before speaking. Reflect back what you’ve heard.
- Avoid judgmental language. Replace “You should…” with “That sounds really difficult. I’m here for you.”
- Hold space for silence. Sometimes the most healing moment is found in a shared silence that says, “I’m not going anywhere.”
This simple action builds bridges. It creates a space where transformation becomes possible—because people are finally heard. Respect becomes contagious.

A Friend in Need: Discovering God Through Human Connection

The meditation portion of today’s reading shifts the focus from action to perspective. It reminds us that what we often call a “religious conversion” is, at its core, a discovery of friendship—not just with people, but with God. When we hit rock bottom and find ourselves unable to stand on our own, we often cry out—and that’s when we find God not as a distant deity, but as a Great Friend who shows up right in the mess.

This friendship with God isn’t about ritual or rules—it’s about relationship. The more we lean on Him, the more we become capable of showing up for others. The more we realize that we are not alone, the more we can make sure others don’t feel alone either.

In fact, it is through these friendships—fragile, honest, and sacred—that we often come to understand the nature of divine love. God’s power and presence show up most clearly when we treat others as He would treat them.

And when we do that—when we treat the struggling person with gentleness, when we listen without judgment, when we show up without asking what’s in it for us—we discover something beautiful: we become the answer to someone’s prayer.

A Simple Prayer for Today

“I pray that I may think of God as a Great Friend in need. I pray that I may go along with Him.”

Let this prayer guide us as we move through today. Let us walk with God—not sprinting ahead, not dragging behind. Let’s let Him teach us how to see people the way He does: not as problems to be fixed, but as souls to be loved.

Let’s respect those who cannot yet respect themselves—not because they’ve earned it, but because we know what it’s like to feel lost. Let’s honor the miracle of recovery by becoming a living example of its power.

Final Thoughts: Becoming Respectable by Giving Respect

Alcoholics Anonymous has never been about prestige or profit. It’s always been about people. Broken people becoming whole again. Isolated people learning to connect. Ashamed people finding acceptance. It’s a sacred fellowship where love flows freely—not because people deserve it, but because they need it.

We don’t need to have it all together to be useful in this world. We only need a willing heart, a listening ear, and a commitment to treat others with respect—even when they struggle to see their own worth.

Want to take this practice deeper? Tomorrow, we’ll reflect on what it means to let go of control and truly surrender to the journey of recovery. It’s a hard topic, but it opens the door to freedom and peace.

Until then, be gentle with yourself. Be present for others. And remember—you’re not alone.

See you tomorrow for another reflection on the journey.