As a child when things got quiet it meant my over-protective mother was keeping secrets and my father's frozen emotions were chilling my heart. Quiet also meant, "I'm disappointed with you!" When I was seven, quiet came in the form of a scary monster that played hide-and-seek with my emotions. I learned early to guard myself from this monster.

Following my parents' divorce, quiet meant the absence of loved ones. My father lived 600 miles away. He never called or visited. Struggling to feed us, my mother worked long hours. My siblings and I knew our mother loved us, but we also knew that coming home to a silent house meant Mom was asleep. The silence felt like abandonment, but I replaced it with television, jokes, and even arguments.

My life became my work and my work became my life. When things were quiet in my career, I felt unaccepted. I thought of life as a test that I desperately needed to pass. Wearing many masks, I soon lost myself in the image I created. I had an ever-hungry ego and unrealistic expectations.

As a wife and mother, the quiet meant my husband was outside drinking, the kids were finally in bed, and I was utterly alone. The quiet became a very noisy place for me as the screaming voices in my head told me things I didn't want to hear—they reminisced, rebuked, warned, and confused me. My emotional monster still held secrets and I felt more abandoned and doubtful than ever before, until all that quiet finally broke me.

As a grateful member of Al-Anon, when things get quiet it means I am serene and living in the moment. In my quiet there are no longer any secrets because I am working the Steps. Now I know I am not alone. Others have been where I've been and my Higher Power will never abandon me.

A quiet confidence that comes from using the tools of the program—such as the slogans, literature, and phone calls—has replaced my doubt. After I've listened to and shared all the noisy voices in my head with my Sponsor and then Al-Anon friends, I let go!

Quiet is now a most welcome friend. I call her "Serenity." When she comes, I embrace her, accept her, and cherish her. My life and my home may not always be the quietest of places, but deep within me serenity has found a home and I have found recovery.

By Connie W., Wisconsin
The Forum, July 2005

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