Day 641
It used to bother me a lot. If my sexual addiction ever became public, I would be labeled. People would think of me the way I've always thought of cheaters and perverts. Me, the good guy, the man of faith, the father of the year, the husband that other husbands envied and other wives wanted.
At some point during my recovery, I realized that I would be lucky to be grouped and labeled with the people in 12-Step meetings. I'm surprised that I don't remember exactly when it was that I realized I AM just like them, on my good days. There are none so kind as those that need kindness, and none so generous as those who need grace. I am yet to meet a saint in a Meeting, nor have I met anyone that is the person I always wanted to be and thought I was. I thank my Higher Power for that small gift, and for the sinners and seekers around me that inform my recovery. I've spent most of my life around perfect, church-going, tithing people. I don't blame any of them for what's happened to me or for where I am today. But every time I see an addict put a buck or two into the envelope for a group's self-sustenance, I am touched to my core and wonder if I ever saw an offering plate with as much of a person's soul as that meager collection by and for addicts. I've never been able to find happiness in imperfection. Anything short of exactly right was a problem in need of a fix, and it was my job to get it done. Now I find joy in knowing that God loves me because of who I am, not instead of it. He finally can give me what He wants to give because I'm no longer in a position to take it or to get it for myself.
–JR
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