I used to think. A long long time ago, when I was but a 19 year old thing falling face first into the rooms of AA, that I had to yell to be heard .  It morphed into;  having to be “hard” to be safe and being a “bitch” to get my point across.  Ego driven arrogance that demanded attention and dared anyone to tell me different. I’d slam the Big Book when I spoke and thump to the crowd who clapped and applauded.  *sigh* I was all about it. I thought.

The hardness, I justified, was because of the severity of the situation. This was life or death man! I don’t have another drunk in me! Ahem.  After fifteen years sober I found out I did. Funny thing. I think it may have been worse to not die.  The misery of active addiction is a powerful thing. Death would have been a boon, but I was too chicken shit to pull the trigger.

Back to hardness and rigid boundaries.  Most times we need to bounce off the walls to find the middle.  Being “all or nothing” type folk, this is our process more often than not.  After banging my head off the wall a like a patient in a straight jacket; I found out in a major way that softness can be strength. I had all the “hard” beat outta me during the year of the relapse; both literally and figuratively.

In your face, vein popping, spittle spewing is not always the most effective brand of recovery-speak.  Now to each their own of course, opinions on “hard ass” are varied and everybody’s got their perceived notions of such.  Today I find myself leaning towards the soft, intensity of loving kindness.  I can tell the truth without leaving marks.  Using my children as a reference, I have learned a few simple truths.  When I get down to their level, literally on my knees, and speak what I really need them to hear softly with eye contact; they listen in a major way.  It seems “important” and special.  Even and especially if they don’t like it … they hear it.

A power greater than me does the same. The collective conscious of the universe is but a whisper most times.  Speakin’ easy into my conscience or “gut”; no hellfire and brimstone and four horsemen cometh. Just a nudge or nod or twinge of “uh oh”.  It is my job to listen to it, cultivate the mildness, and act accordingly.

These days it tells me. “You don’t have to scream anymore.  There is strength in softness and beauty in gentle kindness. You may be a balls to the wall bitch sometimes … but do it with some style would ya? It fits much better with you these days Amy.”

Now compassion doesn’t mean lying, and kindness doesn’t mean babying.  It’s more the old adage, “The longer I’m sober the less I know.” Emotional intelligence and the knowing that it’s really not about me anyway, leads to a much happier life experience.  Walk softly, forget about the stick.