There are Some Good Things
We live in a nice, cute, safe home—one I can afford.
My boys are able-bodied, able-minded, and excellent in countless ways. They are creative, strong, bright, fun, and funny as hell.
We are held by the steady love of Sweet Greg and Favorite and her family—on special days, in crises, and best of all, on the ordinary days in between. They remain unshakable sources of goodness, comfort, and laughter. We also have the good fortune of kind, reliable neighbors.
I have satisfying work where I feel increasingly competent and valued. I receive steady income, health insurance, and paid time off—things I went without for seven difficult years while raising small, frequently ill children alone, without support.
And I have a program of recovery. It guides me through ease and hardship alike. I was never taught how to live in this world in a way that was safe, grounded, or sustainable. Recovery teaches me now.
My older son will undergo a four-hour MRI in two weeks, to rule out multiple sclerosis.
Without recovery, I would be undone by this. I would be a puddle on the floor—not only from fear of what may be, but from the reality that his father and I will not face it together.
Recovery teaches me to live one day at a time. To surrender what I cannot control or know.
I still struggle to accept hard things. But today, I practice acceptance—not as a feeling, but as an action.
I accept that something may be wrong.
I accept that I am afraid.
And I accept that fear does not require panic, obsession, or collapse.
Worry will not change the outcome.
What I know is this: I will do whatever needs to be done. And I will not be alone.
These are my miracles.
I am not helpless. I am not hopeless. I am not alone—as I was taught to believe.
It always comes back to this.
The messaging that I was wrong. Invalid. Discardable. The lies and myths designed to keep me small and uncertain. The pain of having nowhere to put grief, anger, or truth.
Until I found recovery. Until I found the rooms. Until I found people living honestly inside their own healing, including through Alcoholics Anonymous and other recovery communities.
And so, the healing continues.
One day at a time, I expand my capacity to love, and to be loved.
