Our addiction caused us to think almost exclusively of ourselves. Even our prayers-if we prayed at all-were self-centered. We asked God to fix things for us or get us out of trouble. Why? Because we didn't want to live with the problems we'd created for ourselves. We were insecure. We thought life was about getting, and we always wanted more.

And in recovery we get more-more than just not using. The spiritual awakening we experience in working the Twelve Steps reveals to us a life we never dreamed possible. We no longer need to worry about whether there will be "enough," for we come to rely on a loving Higher Power who meets all our daily needs. Relieved of our incessant insecurity, we no longer see the world as a place in which to compete with others for the fulfillment of our desires. Instead, we see the world as a place in which to live out the love our Higher Power has shown us. Our prayers are not for instant gratification; they are for help in helping each other.

Recovery awakens us from the nightmare of self-centeredness, strife, and insecurity that lies at the core of our disease. We wake up to a new reality. All that is worth having can be kept only by giving it away.

We talk about "practicing spiritual principles" because they take practice. That's certainly true of acceptance. At times, the only thing we fully accept is the fact that we're addicts. On those days, that's good enough. We practice acceptance by not picking up. And if we don't pick up, we won't use.

As we grow in recovery, we start to recognize where our acceptance falls short. Sometimes we might acknowledge a problem, but not fully accept its implications, especially when a solution requires us to take responsibility and make an effort. For example, we might sense relationship trouble, but may or may not adjust how much time we spend with a partner. Some of us can't accept, or even recognize, that we've been dishonest until we do a Tenth Step; the disease calls us to stop writing.

Our ability to practice acceptance sometimes wavers depending on who else is involved. We may be able to accept relapse from others, but not when it's a family member. Maybe we can accept the blunders of newcomers but not those mistakes made by oldtimers.

We celebrate the progress we make, no matter how small: "Today I told my boss why I was really late; that was a first!" Or big: "The loss of my beloved dog opened the floodgates, allowing me to revisit the grief of other losses and come to new levels of acceptance."

As we recover just a little more each day, practicing acceptance pays off. We experience rare and remarkable epiphanies with acceptance and recognize the path it took to get there. We can hear other members' struggles with acceptance and think, Yep, they're right where they're supposed to be.