I was up early on a Saturday morning to attend a recovery meeting on the beach. It was chilly and the wind was howling underneath the pier where I was told the group would be. I was late, because being awake this early on a Saturday was not what I wanted to be doing. I had promised I would come, though, and here I was. The people in the circle were already quoting some introductory stuff. I just parked my butt on the outside of the circle, hoping not to be noticed. Of course, recovery people are overly friendly, and the people near me moved to make room. I blushed at the interruption I’d just caused. Between the waves behind me and the wind, I couldn’t hear much of what was shared, and I certainly was in no mood to share anything myself.
Sharing, I thought, should end in some uplifting “but.” You know, I’ve had a really bad week, blah, blah, blah, but I had a breakthrough Friday night, blah, blah, blah. I had no but. I was deep in the trenches of my disease. After the meeting, I looked for my friend to whom I’d promised I’d come. It would be all for naught if she didn’t see that I drug myself here on a Saturday morning. Have I mentioned this was Saturday, and I had gotten up early for this?
My friend was talking to a petite elderly woman. I’d seen her around at meetings. She led most that she attended. I was quite certain she was completely recovered and just did this because she was retired and needed feel-good things to occupy her days.
Introductions were made, and the older woman asks me some deep, nosey questions. I try my best to give her pleasantries and recovery phrases like “I’m just faking it till I make it.”
She digs in, and I end up spitting out, there’s no real hope for my situation, I’m not gonna get better, I just come to try and keep my head above water. She nodded and told me, “you know what your problem is?” I’m thinking, lady, I have so many fucking problems, and I know a hell of a lot more about ‘em than you, but I bit my tongue.
She continued, “you have a pick-up truck for a god.” What? I so don’t need this. I thought people weren’t supposed to tell you want to do in recovery. We just share and share and quote shit. Doesn’t this woman know she’s out of line, I think to myself.
“You have a little pick-up truck for a god,” she repeated, “but you need a Mack truck God. You think your problems are bigger than God, but that’s because you’ve made him too small. Find a Mack truck God and you won’t feel so hopeless.”
I tear up to this day thinking of those words. She was absolutely right, of course. I had chosen to bask in the fear of my disease. I was so deep in fear, I couldn’t even see my “higher power.”
At the risk of being blasphemous, whatever you have faith in is only as big as you give it power to be in your life. Do you get that? If you want to shrink the power of the Universe down to be smaller than your fear, you can do that. But happy, recovered, and/or successful people know that they need a Mack truck force behind them. They know that if they don’t give into fear, then that God energy can be greater than any fear in front of them.
What you focus on grows. So, the key to this habit is focusing on your faith, your God, your Source Energy. If you focus on the fear, it grows and overshadows the faith you need to take risks, or somedays, for some of us, the faith we need to just keep putting one foot in front of the other.
We all fear failure. Fine, if you fail at something, that will suck, but shift the focus to the work. To your faith in your Source Energy. To your faith in your abilities. To your faith in your work ethic.
If you have a Mack truck God, it’s a lot easier to choose faith over fear.
“You gain strength, courage, and confidence by every experience in which you really stop to look fear in the face … You must do the thing you think you cannot do.” – Eleanor Roosevelt