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dividing line between letting go and doing our part. We need to find a balance between solving problems and learning to
live with unsolved problems. Much of our anguish comes from having to live with the grief of unsolved problems, and
having things not go the way we hoped and expected. We need to find a balance between letting go of our expectations
and remembering we are important, valuable people who deserve to lead decent lives.

Getting Started

Frequently I am asked, where do I start? How do I get started? How do I even get my balance?

I've discussed many suggestions and ideas in this book, and some of us may feel overwhelmed.

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For some of us, getting our balance may seem impossible. We may feel like we are lying flat on the floor of a dark cellar,
and we cannot possibly crawl out. We can. Alcoholics Anonymous and Al-Anon offer a simple three-part formula for
doing this. It's called "HOW": Honesty, Openness, and Willingness to try. Earlier, I wrote change begins with awareness
and acceptance. The third step in changing human behavior is assertive action. 2 For us that means doing things
differently. Get honest, keep an open mind, and become willing to try to do things differently, and we will change.

Choose one behavior to work on and when that becomes comfortable go on to another item. I have heard we need to
repeat an action 21 times to make it a habit. That's a rule of thumb to keep in mind. The checklist in Chapter Four may
provide some clues about where to start. The activities at the end of the chapters may give us some ideas. Figure out
where we want to start and begin there. Start where we're at. If we can't figure out where to start, start by going to Al-
Anon meetings, or another appropriate group. If we're in the basement, start crawling out. We'll learn to walk; we'll get
our balance.

Getting started is both difficult and fun. When I began my recovery from codependency, I felt hopelessly trapped in
myself and my relationships. Gloom surrounded me, and depression seemed to have permanently confined me to my bed.
One morning, unhappy about being alive and awake, I dragged myself into the bathroom to get dressed and comb my
hair, when my son insisted I follow him to another part of the house. I discovered a raging fire was consuming my
bedroom. It had spread to the curtains, the ceiling, and the carpet. As in the past, I thought I could handle things myself; I
thought the fire was not the disaster it appeared to be, so I grabbed a fire extinguisher and emptied it on the flames. Too
little, too late. The fire raged on as we left the house.

My house was gutted by the time the fire department arrived. It was two weeks before Christmas, and my family and I
had to move into a small apartment minus most of our clothing and the most basic of comforts. I hit my peak of
despondency and anxiety. I had already lost so much, including myself. My home had been my nest, my remaining

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source of emotional security, and now I had lost that too. I had lost everything.

As the weeks passed, life began to require a little activity from me. Insurance inventories, negotiations, cleanup, and
rebuilding plans demanded my attention. I felt anxious and insecure, but I had no choice. I had to think. I had to get
busy. I had to do certain things. Once the actual reconstruction began, I had to do even more. I made choices about how
to spend thousands of dollars. I worked hand in hand with the crews, doing everything I was able to do to help cut costs
and expedite the project. That included physical activity, a part of my life that had become nonexistent. The busier I got,
the better I felt. I began to trust my decisions. I worked off lots of anger and fear. By the time my family and I moved
back into our home, my balance had been restored. I had begun living my own life, and I wasn't going to stop. It felt
good!

The important concept here is, get started. Light a fire under yourself.

Growing Forward