Once upon a time, there was once a gentleman who didn't feel very safe in the world. People said things he didn't like. Sometimes people did things he didn't like, but this wasn't his main problem: he lived in a nice house, had a nice job, had a nice cat, and had nice things. His main problem was how others made him feel. They triggered him. They were toxic. They were narcissistic. They did not see him. They did not hear him. They did, of course, see him and hear him. You couldn't miss him! And you couldn't miss his complaining! But the problem was them, not him, because he was the nice one. He was empathetic. He was authentic. He'd had such a difficult childhood, where his needs weren't met, you see, and it turned out that the world wouldn't meet his needs either.
Fortunately, he found Al-Anon. He had now found a safe space. People were so kind. He would read something in the meeting, and people would thank him for his service. He would share, and people would say how glad they were he was there. He would unburden himself about the past and about others, and people would display heart emojis. The sorrier he was, the more emojis he would garner. The emojis would soon wither and fade, but there were always more available. The world did not change, but he was changing, he felt sure: he was healing, albeit slowly; with this gentle programme, he knew he had a safe space to come to.
But then, out of the blue, a sequence of Terrible Things happened. He heard someone share, and he was convinced that the share was directed at him, was criticising him, was belittling him. He was being gaslighted; the person was not allowing him to share his truth. Of course, the person did not actually stop him from sharing his truth, but it was no longer safe to share his truth, because this was no longer a safe space. Although people continued to nod sympathetically whilst he shared, and the emojis kept on coming, the threat of not being heard, of not being seen, was ever-present. His safe space was no longer safe. He decided to stand up for himself, to assert himself, and point out to the group that the meetings were damaging to newcomers. This was a safeguarding issue, he said. Although everyone was very kind, and a few nodded, as a group they couldn't see what he could see.
He realised with horror that they were brainwashed; they were being controlled behind the scenes. Al-Anon had helped him find his voice, so he started to use it, to call out others' misbehaviour, their flouting of Al-Anon principles; he studied the Al-Anon Traditions and Concepts, and learned how to call group conscience meetings, how to voice grievances, and how to stand up for What Is Right. He was no longer the mouse of his childhood! He had finally grown up.
One day, whilst he was shaving, he was contemplating how unspiritual the people at his group were, and he saw his own face, tense with anger, muttering its well-worn arguments, and it was as if he were looking at a stranger, who was chastising him. The man in the mirror was the enemy. The man in the mirror was the only enemy. The attack was coming from behind the lines; the call was coming from within the house; the lack of safety was emanating not from the world but from him.
He was very quiet in meetings for a long time. But, little by slowly, he started to apply the ideas contained in the daily readers, and he realised that the power to recreate his world lay in his hands, and in his hands only. His safety lay within not without. His power lay within not without.
'People can affect me only as I allow them to.' (One Day At A Time In Al-Anon)