8.11.25
The argument between fear and pride eased as the words of the Step moved from my head to my heart. For the first time in years, I opened my box of paints and poured out an honest rage—an explosion of reds, blacks, and yellows. Looking at the drawing, tears of joy and relief streamed down my cheeks. In my disease, I had given up my art, a self-inflicted punishment far greater than any imposed from the outside. In my recovery, I’ve learned that the pain of my defects is the very substance God uses to cleanse my character and set me free.
This passage from Daily Reflections resonated with me. Not very long ago, my days were ruled by an endless tug-of-war between fear and pride. I carried my denial like armor, punishing myself in quiet, deliberate ways to justify the constant hum of self-pity. One of the deepest wounds I gave myself was abandoning my individuality — silencing the parts of me that made me feel most alive, most me.
In recovery, I’m starting to see that even the sharpest pain in my character has a purpose. It’s not there to crush me; it’s what God uses to cleanse me, to free me piece by piece. That shift — from my head to my heart — has been slow, but it’s real.
Tonight, after book club, I had an unexpected visit from Kendall’s oldest sister, who’s here from California. It was the first time I’d seen her since coming home from rehab, and I felt nervous at first. But as soon as we started talking, that nervousness faded. Seeing her doing so well and enjoying life made me genuinely happy.
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