I have a pile of recovery books on my desk every day.
There's one on the little table in the powder room.
I have them next to my bed.
I'm confident H has never looked at one of them.
Ever.
It's ok. It's not his recovery -- it's mine.
H is happy now, at least. Which hasn't been the case for years.
Even with my distance -- he is happy.
I'm working on my happy too.
The steps I am working in my HTC manual, and weekly at group have helped me accept this place and be ok with it. I don't like it. I'd prefer the honesty, the openness, the complete disclosures. I'd prefer to be able to trust.
Until then --
I have come to understand that I am powerless over this.
I am turning my will over to the care of God.
Each and every day I work my recovery. Regardless of how H see's his life, his actions and behaviors. Every day -- I work on me.
So that this can be my truth:
“One day in retrospect the years of struggle will strike you as the most beautiful.” - Sigmund Freud
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