Day 653*
Sometimes I forget. Even in recovery, in the middle of a commitment to work the program, I still forget. Today (April 22), I forgot to write. I'm not sure how or why, and I was very disappointed in myself that I did that, and that I didn't catch it until early May. *So while the counter on this page says it's day 653, I'm actually writing this some two weeks later. Why is this worth mentioning here in my journal? I'm not sure, but my wife is:
"You need to accept and share that you don't always get this recovery thing right." Really? "Yes, really. It's okay to acknowledge that you still stub your toe, even as you work through the successes and horrors of self-destruction."
She has a point. As much grace about my gargantuan failures as I've been able to find for myself over the past year, I'm still not so great at self-forgiveness for the little things. And that's a problem worth working on. Sometime between when I was supposed to write this and when I am, I had an encounter with my 3-and-a-half-year-old grandson. He's had a tendency to fib his way out of trouble, or at least he's been pushing that envelope. On this day, I watched as he inadvertently knocked one of my gizmos off its pedestal and onto the floor, potentially breaking it. He quickly went into repair mode, and I expected him to say the wind did it, or some other explanation that would keep him out of the crosshairs. Maybe I was projecting. When I asked what happened, he simply said, "Well, I think maybe I did that when I walked by, but it was an accident. I hope it's not broken." At that moment, I wouldn't have cared if he'd smashed it to pieces. I was so proud of him. Then there was that more familiar little boy's voice in my head, asking me why couldn't I be that honest? I'm working on it.
–JR
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