As I write this it is Halloween morning. I’m sitting in the office wearing my finest Miami Vice outfit. This weekend we made Jack-o-Lanterns with our grandsons and wore Raggedy Ann and Raggedy Andy outfits. I just love costumes and dressing up. Here’s the problem though: sometimes people get confused by the costume. My grandson Luc just turned 2 last week and he was decidedly thrown off by everyone wearing masks and such. My older grandsons Gabriel and Elijah had no recollection of the character I was portraying so they thought I might be Ronald McDonald or some other clown. People are constantly searching for some way to make the current reality jibe with their own perspective and history.
When we walk through the doors of recovery we are often wearing a costume of sorts. People see the outside. They see the grit and grime that life frequently uses as a patina. As people analyze me today, with my sorted past so many years in the mirror they still try to figure out what I’m “dressed up as”. Here’s your answer – I’m not dressed up as anything. I’m me. I can’t change the things I’ve done, but I can let the world know that although I did do those things, they aren’t who I am. I need to accept my past actions, but I don’t have to accept that as the definition of who and what I am. I have struggles, but just like the fancy blue pants, pink shirt, and linen blazer don’t make me James Crockett, those struggles do not determine who I am. Here’s all you need to know:
I’m a grateful Christian believer who struggles with co-dependency and pornography and my name is Paul. Happy Halloween, and…