Struggling with the need for clarity when dealing with abstract concepts, I have always wanted to know what something is. After 15 years in Al-Anon, I had no idea what serenity was. How could I tell I had serenity if I had no idea what it felt like? I started thinking hard about the concept. I could identify what serenity wasn’t, and by doing that I could begin to understand what serenity was.
Serenity isn’t walking around on tiptoe (sometimes literally) to avoid setting off my alcoholic. It isn’t having to watch every word I speak, praying I won’t be misunderstood. So when I can be my mumbling, bumbling self without fearing ridicule or punishment, maybe that’s a taste of serenity?
Serenity isn’t being consumed by thoughts, worries, and fears for my alcoholic loved one. It isn’t lying in bed at night listening for their car to pull up or for the front door to open so I know they are alive. It isn’t having to monitor their spending so the lights don’t get turned off. It isn’t calling their workplace and lying about why they won’t be in—again. So when I can get a good night’s sleep, pay my bills on time, and not have to make up stories about imaginary illnesses, maybe that’s a taste of serenity?
Serenity isn’t pouring out alcohol or begging them not to drink just for this occasion. It isn’t sitting at work praying they remember to pick our son up from practice and that they are sober when they do. It isn’t making sure there is beer in the fridge on a Saturday night so they have it on Sunday when it’s not for sale in the store. And it definitely isn’t yelling and trying to prove my point with someone who won’t remember it tomorrow morning. So going to a special event without worrying about a drunk person making a scene or going out with friends and knowing my children are safe, maybe that’s a taste of serenity?
Lastly, serenity isn’t about keeping secrets from those who care about me so I or my alcoholic loved one won’t look bad. It isn’t about accepting blame for things that go wrong just to keep the peace. It isn’t about trying to do it all to the point that I’m physically, mentally, and emotionally exhausted. So when I can release the opinions of myself, tell myself I’m doing the best I can (and believe it), and take the blame only for my part of things, maybe that’s a taste of serenity?
I still struggle with what serenity is, but I can see now what it isn’t. I realize, at least some of the time, that I’ve found it. Serenity!
By Tanya B.
The Forum, November 2026
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