I’m stuck in a block; my sponsor chips away at me. I struggle to hold still. With surgical precision, she cuts through the debris with which I have surrounded myself. After my sponsor frees my hand and arm, she places a hammer in my open fingers. When the other arm and hand are rescued, she places a chisel in that hand. This is how, before my head showed above the surface, I began to help in my own restoration. I am the sculptor the program has made me. Recovery has taught me I can be anything if I keep chipping away at the things that hold me hostage. As time travels on, I am a new shape with each turn through the steps and have an ever-lustrous finish with every application of the traditions.
Everything has its own intelligence and you do, too.
Gratitude is a thing which collects and solidifies,
it’s pink and I can walk around on it.
Some days it is a broad highway
and other times a winding spindling track.
Ever present if I am mindful
gratitude roots out pests and pestilence
while planting a garden beyond my dreams.
Gratitude is like handholding
it warms and strengthens me, k
keeps me connected to real life
and reassures me that I am not alone.
Many days I find a way to make a face and pout,
plundering the rich rewards of sobriety
for the thin gruel of discontent,
Poke me with a stick on these days
and remind me who I am,
for I am never Oliver even if I feel a little twist.
You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault