People are lonely because they build walls instead of bridges.
Joseph Fort Newton
When I was growing up I remember always being lonely and I never had many friends. In order to protect myself from the pain of rejection, or perhaps because I didn't have self-esteem or believe in myself, I gave the impression that I didn't need people. I was probably thought of as a snob. I thought that people didn't like me because I was shy and introverted, but I had built up around myself an impenetrable protective wall which didn't invite anyone in. It was small wonder that I spent many lonely nights buried in a book or food or any other solitary pursuit for that matter.In my adult years I became a people-pleaser in the hopes that people would like me more. That even spilled over to include my children as well, which meant that I wasn't able to say no to them or anyone else unless they stopped loving me. I would say yes when I really meant no, and consequently I was always filled with resentment and felt even lonelier than ever. I didn't know how to set boundaries and was terrified that if I said no, people wouldn't love me anymore.I now know that when I set boundaries, it is an affirmation of my worth, and in most cases I am respected and liked by those people who are really my true friends. My children, too, have benefitted from my having set boundaries with them, and they have more respect for me than before. I am beginning to realize that it is just fine to do what is right for me, and that it doesn't have to jeopardize any of my relationships.One day at a time . . .Sharon S.
I am learning that it is right for me
to define my boundaries with those that I love,
knowing that I set these boundaries in love and friendship,
rather than hostility, and that I am still a lovable person.
______________________________________
Each Day A New Beginning
Doubt indulged soon becomes doubt realized.
—Frances Ridley Havergal
We are powerless over our addictions, whether liquor, pills, people, food. We are powerless over the outcome of all events involving us. And we are powerless over the lives of our friends and family members. We are not powerless, however, over our own attitudes, our own behavior, our own self-image, our own determination, our own commitment to life and this simple program.
Power aplenty we have, but we must exercise it in order to understand its breadth. We'll find all the day's activities, interactions, and plans decidedly more exciting when we exercise control over our responses. We don't have to feel or respond except in the way that pleases us. We have total control and we'll find this realization exhilarating.
Our recovery is strengthened each time we determine the proper behavior, choose an action that feels right, and take responsibility where it is clearly ours to take. The benefits will startle us and bring us joy.
I will take charge of my life today.
—Frances Ridley Havergal
We are powerless over our addictions, whether liquor, pills, people, food. We are powerless over the outcome of all events involving us. And we are powerless over the lives of our friends and family members. We are not powerless, however, over our own attitudes, our own behavior, our own self-image, our own determination, our own commitment to life and this simple program.
Power aplenty we have, but we must exercise it in order to understand its breadth. We'll find all the day's activities, interactions, and plans decidedly more exciting when we exercise control over our responses. We don't have to feel or respond except in the way that pleases us. We have total control and we'll find this realization exhilarating.
Our recovery is strengthened each time we determine the proper behavior, choose an action that feels right, and take responsibility where it is clearly ours to take. The benefits will startle us and bring us joy.
I will take charge of my life today.
From Each Day
a New Beginning: Daily Meditations for Women by Karen Casey © 1982,
1991 by Hazelden Foundation.
Food for Thought
Survival
We will never make it if we feel we are responsible for solving everyone else's problems. It is tempting to our ego to feel that we can exercise control over the lives of those around us, but it is counter to reality. We cannot protect those we love from sadness, sickness, or pain. Making martyrs of ourselves only prepares the ground for future retaliation.
Our primary task is to remember our dependence on our Higher Power and by His grace to maintain our abstinence. The problems, which we face, are best deal with if our spiritual condition is strong. Without abstinence from compulsive overeating, we are not much help to anyone, least of all ourselves.
There are times when all we can manage is to hang on, to survive. We know in our heads that these times will eventually pass. Practicing Step Eleven convinces us in our hearts that God is in charge, no matter how far away He may seem to be.
By Your grace, may I survive the hard times.
We will never make it if we feel we are responsible for solving everyone else's problems. It is tempting to our ego to feel that we can exercise control over the lives of those around us, but it is counter to reality. We cannot protect those we love from sadness, sickness, or pain. Making martyrs of ourselves only prepares the ground for future retaliation.
Our primary task is to remember our dependence on our Higher Power and by His grace to maintain our abstinence. The problems, which we face, are best deal with if our spiritual condition is strong. Without abstinence from compulsive overeating, we are not much help to anyone, least of all ourselves.
There are times when all we can manage is to hang on, to survive. We know in our heads that these times will eventually pass. Practicing Step Eleven convinces us in our hearts that God is in charge, no matter how far away He may seem to be.
By Your grace, may I survive the hard times.
From Food for
Thought: Daily Meditations for Overeaters by Elisabeth L. ©1980, 1992
by Hazelden Foundation.
The Language of Letting Go
Detachment
One day, my son brought a gerbil home to live with us. We put it in a cage. Some time later, the gerbil escaped. For the next six months, the animal ran frightened and wild through the house. So did we - chasing it.
"There it is. Get it!" we'd scream, each time someone spotted the gerbil. I, or my son, would throw down whatever we were working on, race across the house, and lunge at the animal hoping to catch it.
I worried about it, even when we didn't see it. "This isn't right," I'd think. "I can't have a gerbil running loose in the house. We've got to catch it. We've got to do something."
A small animal, the size of a mouse had the entire household in a tizzy.
One day, while sitting in the living room, I watched the animal scurry across the hallway. In frenzy, I started to lunge at it, as I usually did, then I stopped myself.
No, I said, I'm all done. If that animal wants to live in the nooks and crannies of this house, I'm going to let it. I'm done worrying about it. I'm done chasing it. It's an irregular circumstance, but that's just the way it's going to have to be.
I let the gerbil run past without reacting. I felt slightly uncomfortable with my new reaction - not reacting - but I stuck to it anyway.
I got more comfortable with my new reaction - not reacting. Before long, I became downright peaceful with the situation. I had stopped fighting the gerbil. One afternoon, only weeks after I started practicing my new attitude, the gerbil ran by me, as it had so many times, and I barely glanced at it. The animal stopped in its tracks, turned around, and looked at me. I started to lunge at it. It started to run away. I relaxed.
"Fine," I said. "Do what you want." And I meant it.
One hour later, the gerbil came and stood by me, and waited. I gently picked it up and placed it in its cage, where it has lived happily ever since. The moral of the story? Don't lunge at the gerbil. He's already frightened, and chasing him just scares him more and makes us crazy.
Detachment works.
Today, I will be comfortable with my new reaction - not reacting. I will feel at peace.
One day, my son brought a gerbil home to live with us. We put it in a cage. Some time later, the gerbil escaped. For the next six months, the animal ran frightened and wild through the house. So did we - chasing it.
"There it is. Get it!" we'd scream, each time someone spotted the gerbil. I, or my son, would throw down whatever we were working on, race across the house, and lunge at the animal hoping to catch it.
I worried about it, even when we didn't see it. "This isn't right," I'd think. "I can't have a gerbil running loose in the house. We've got to catch it. We've got to do something."
A small animal, the size of a mouse had the entire household in a tizzy.
One day, while sitting in the living room, I watched the animal scurry across the hallway. In frenzy, I started to lunge at it, as I usually did, then I stopped myself.
No, I said, I'm all done. If that animal wants to live in the nooks and crannies of this house, I'm going to let it. I'm done worrying about it. I'm done chasing it. It's an irregular circumstance, but that's just the way it's going to have to be.
I let the gerbil run past without reacting. I felt slightly uncomfortable with my new reaction - not reacting - but I stuck to it anyway.
I got more comfortable with my new reaction - not reacting. Before long, I became downright peaceful with the situation. I had stopped fighting the gerbil. One afternoon, only weeks after I started practicing my new attitude, the gerbil ran by me, as it had so many times, and I barely glanced at it. The animal stopped in its tracks, turned around, and looked at me. I started to lunge at it. It started to run away. I relaxed.
"Fine," I said. "Do what you want." And I meant it.
One hour later, the gerbil came and stood by me, and waited. I gently picked it up and placed it in its cage, where it has lived happily ever since. The moral of the story? Don't lunge at the gerbil. He's already frightened, and chasing him just scares him more and makes us crazy.
Detachment works.
Today, I will be comfortable with my new reaction - not reacting. I will feel at peace.
From The
Language of Letting Go by Melody Beattie ©1990, Hazelden Foundation.
Today's Gift
I've never sung anything that I wasn't ready to sing.
—Claudia Schmidt
Most of us are curious about the "olden days" before we were born. We ask our parents what life was like when they were kids, what they did, what they looked like, and what they thought about. But most of us, even those who are parents ourselves, have probably never asked our parents, "Were you ready to go to school, to grow up, to get married, to get a job, to have me?"
So often we are afraid to take even a small new step, afraid of change. We feel so alone in our uncertainty. From our point of view, if often looks as though everybody's ready except us.
Perhaps another way to look at it is that, for most of our lives, readiness really isn't much of an issue. Were we ready to be born? Were we ready to walk, to read, to sing? Maybe we were; maybe not. What's important is what we did, not what we were ready to do. For life is mostly a matter of jumping in feet first shouting, "Here I come, ready or not!"
What am I going to do today, ready or not?
—Claudia Schmidt
Most of us are curious about the "olden days" before we were born. We ask our parents what life was like when they were kids, what they did, what they looked like, and what they thought about. But most of us, even those who are parents ourselves, have probably never asked our parents, "Were you ready to go to school, to grow up, to get married, to get a job, to have me?"
So often we are afraid to take even a small new step, afraid of change. We feel so alone in our uncertainty. From our point of view, if often looks as though everybody's ready except us.
Perhaps another way to look at it is that, for most of our lives, readiness really isn't much of an issue. Were we ready to be born? Were we ready to walk, to read, to sing? Maybe we were; maybe not. What's important is what we did, not what we were ready to do. For life is mostly a matter of jumping in feet first shouting, "Here I come, ready or not!"
What am I going to do today, ready or not?
From Today's
Gift: Daily Meditations for Families ©1985, 1991 by Hazelden Foundation.
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