In May 2002, I was separated from my wife of 17 years because of my addiction to pornography. We had two children: a 13-year-old daughter and a 15-year-old son. A professional counselor told them about my addiction.
A few weeks later a friend who had been to an SA meeting before told me about some meetings in our state. The next meeting was a 2 1/2 hour drive away, so we hopped in the car and drove. I knew I was in the right place immediately. My friend and I went to three meetings that first week, the closest being an hour and a half away. After putting hundreds of miles on the car, we decided to start a meeting in our own city, in which I am still active. During this time, my daughter spent as little time as possible with me. It was difficult to find things to do together, and our communication was strained. Eventually we were able to communicate on a deeper level. When she left for college, we started the habit of talking on the phone at least once a week, which we still do five years later.
She gave me a poem during one of her visits, and it had a deep impact on me. The poem also helps me to be extremely grateful for the gifts of recovery. I’ve shared it with others in the program, and it has brought hope to many who have had strained relationships with family members. I would like to share her poem with the fellowship today, in the hopes that it might also be useful to others.
John W., Yakima, WA
Peace Instead of Bitterness
I remember how it used to be:
how proud I was of our family tree.
I knew nothing of the rot inside
and all the things you used to hide.
I remember the day it fell apart
and I set the table without your fork.
I spoke the lie I thought was true,
“Good Christians didn’t sin.”
Do you remember what it did to me?
How I took all the pain
and changed it into blame
and tried to keep you far from me?
But you’re not who you used to be.
Time has now intervened.
The mistakes you made have left you changed:
they’ve given you humility.
And I’m not who I used to be.
I have power of life and death in me.
With words I speak I can forgive
and choose peace instead of bitterness.
