Truth connects us to life while fear, isolation, and dishonesty alienate us from it. As using addicts, we hid as much of the truth about ourselves from as much of the world as we possibly could. Our fear kept us from opening ourselves up to those around us, providing protection against what others might do if we appeared vulnerable. But our fear also kept us from connecting with our world. We lived like alien beings on our own planet, always alone and getting lonelier by the minute.

The Twelve Steps and the fellowship of recovering addicts give people like us a place where we can feel safe telling the truth about ourselves. We are able to honestly admit our frustrating, humbling powerlessness over addiction because we meet many others who've been in the same situation-we're safe among them. And we keep on telling more of the truth about ourselves as we continue to work the steps. The more we do, the more truly connected we feel to the world around us.

Today, we need not hide from the reality of our relations with the people, places, and things in our lives. We accept those relationships just as they are, and we own our part in them. We take time every day to ask, "Am I telling the truth about myself?" Each time we do this, we draw that much further away from the alienation that characterizes our addiction, and that much closer to the freedom recovery can bring us.

We say the Serenity Prayer so often in NA meetings that it's easy to do it by rote, without intention or commitment. "Sometimes I forget that it's actually a prayer," one member reflected. "It was only when it was suggested that I say it outside of meetings as a prayer for willingness that I began to connect to it, to really use it to help me in a moment of strife, confusion, or indecision."

"It helps me get real," another member offered. "I need to know what I can change before mustering up the courage to do it. Most of the time it's me that's standing in my own way. Not my past. Not my upbringing, or my culture, or institutions, or even other people. Just this addict."

Change is hard because it's often painful. Our current level of discomfort is familiar, at least. Trading it in for the unknown seems risky. We fear the pain will be worse on the other side of a decision. Who wants to experience rejection or failure? Or what if we succeed? Then, there may be a slew of new responsibilities to deal with. Will we be able to manage those? In the simplest terms, these are fears that limit our capacity to grow.

Change is even harder when we view the world as hostile to us, when we listen to the voice in our heads telling us "you can't" or "don't do it." Ignoring that voice and practicing willingness to change the things we can—and then taking an action toward that change we want to make—requires a lot. We have to simultaneously accept where we are right now and be willing to take a risk.

There are lessons to be learned, no matter how things turn out. A bonus of NA membership is that we get to report back and share those with each other.