I think, maybe, for the first time ever, I am teetering on the edge of real acceptance.
I am not happy with my life as it is, but I am not fighting it anymore. It becomes easier to enjoy what is good when I stop fighting.
And fighting does not serve me or anyone else. My husband is a sick man, and he's working on himself to the best of his ability. Nothing I say or do will affect his recovery or lack of recovery. It's his. Mine is mine. I have to keep my hands off of his, offer feedback only when it's requested, and play the role of a loving, supportive wife. I am not his mother or his teacher or his sponsor. I am his wife, and my role is to be a partner...that's it. If I can't be a partner to him, then I can't be anything, and I should leave. I'm not ready to leave, so I only have one other option...and it's not unpleasant. The light I shine in my home gets reflected back at me through him. If I am angry and frustrated, I get anger and frustration back. If I am content and supportive, I get contentment and support back.
This information should not be new, and it isn't new, exactly. Often, I think I've got it, but then something happens, and I get it in a new way. I think re-working the steps is helping me in some subtle ways I didn't expect. I'm wrapping up the first step, and I think I'm having some first step epiphanies.
It is what it is, and that's all it's going to be. I can change the things I can, and that's only me.