We’re currently on our long-awaited summer vacation—a time my wife lovingly and meticulously planned so we could enjoy some well-earned rest. For us, vacations are about slowing down. Life usually runs at a frantic pace, so these brief moments of calm are sacred. No alarms. No deadlines. No stress. Just simple pleasures: shared meals, long walks, quiet mornings, and the joy of doing very little.

But even the best-laid plans can run into trouble. For us, that trouble came in the form of a guest—someone we invited to stay with us. A guest who, to put it kindly, lacked boundaries, manners, or any real social awareness. At first, it was manageable. We attempted gentle correction, offered guidance, and tried to set some limits. But this person ignored every cue. Others in the house were visibly frustrated. I tried to stay calm. I tried to stay spiritual. But eventually, I lost it.

I raised my voice. Loudly. I let him have it. It felt good—righteous even—in the moment. But that satisfaction didn’t last long.

Recovery Doesn’t Take Vacations

When we go on vacation, we pack light and leave our daily baggage behind. But here’s the thing: recovery doesn’t pack itself away when we head out of town. I had to learn this the hard way. Just because I’m away from my normal environment doesn’t mean I’m free from the responsibility of living by the principles that have kept me sober for the past seven years.

I forgot that. I thought maybe, just for a few days, I could coast. That the spiritual maintenance I practice daily could be paused while I enjoyed my family time. But that’s not how this works.

The truth is, when I lose sight of my spiritual principles—no matter how briefly—I quickly default to old behaviors. Anger. Resentment. Control. And sometimes, the illusion that I am in the right and others are in the wrong, no matter how I behave.

Selfishness Still Creeps In

This incident reminded me that selfishness isn’t something I conquered when I put down the drink. It still creeps in, even now. It shows up in sneaky ways—like thinking that my comfort is more important than someone else’s learning curve, or that my need for peace justifies breaking someone else’s spirit.

What felt like “standing up for myself” was really about controlling my environment. I didn’t want discomfort. I didn’t want conflict. I wanted ease, and when I didn’t get it, I lashed out. That’s not self-care. That’s selfishness masquerading as righteous indignation.

Self-Care vs. Selfishness

One of the hardest things I’ve had to learn in recovery is the difference between self-care and selfishness. Self-care means taking time to protect my peace without robbing others of theirs. It’s saying “no” with clarity, not yelling “NO!” in frustration. It’s setting a boundary calmly, not punishing someone for crossing one I never clearly expressed.

On this vacation, my idea of self-care got distorted. I thought, “I deserve peace. I deserve comfort. I deserve a break from people who act this way.” And maybe I do deserve those things. But recovery teaches me that I only truly get them through practicing spiritual principles—through honesty, patience, and love. Not through a raised voice and a bruised ego.

God Works Through Our Discomfort

That night, I couldn’t sleep. I tossed and turned with guilt. I replayed the outburst in my head. Even though others reassured me it was “deserved,” I didn’t feel at peace. I knew I had veered off course—not just in how I reacted, but in how quickly I forgot the principles that guide my life.

So I put on some Sleep Token, trying to drown the noise of my conscience. But that didn’t work either. I wasn’t being haunted by guilt—I was being invited to change.

And then something happened. Somewhere in that discomfort, I felt a shift—like a gentle whisper from my Higher Power. A new idea came to me, not born out of anger but out of grace. A different way to approach this person. A way that didn’t involve shouting, punishing, or controlling. A way that centered compassion instead of ego.

That’s how God works. Not always in comfort, but often through our discomfort. When we feel out of sync, it’s usually because we are. And sometimes the pain of that misalignment is exactly what guides us back to center.

Moving Forward in Grace

This morning, I woke up with renewed clarity. I can’t undo what I said, but I can move forward with a better attitude. I can use this as a reminder: even seven years into sobriety, I am still learning. I’m still human. I’m still capable of slipping.

But the real growth is in the return. In choosing again. In surrendering again.

I’m choosing to approach this guest differently today. Not with passive tolerance, but with healthy boundaries, calm communication, and love—even if it’s tough love. I don’t need to shout to be heard. I don’t need to control to feel secure. I just need to lean on the principles that have served me well for the past seven years.

And to remember that recovery doesn’t take time off.

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Final Thoughts

This vacation hasn’t been what I expected—but maybe it’s been exactly what I needed. A reminder that my principles aren’t seasonal. That spiritual growth isn’t linear. And that even when I fall short, my Higher Power is never far away.

If you’re reading this and you’ve had a moment recently where you slipped—whether in words, actions, or thoughts—know this: you’re not alone. None of us are immune from ego, fear, or frustration. But we are given endless opportunities to return to love, humility, and grace.

Today is a new day. And I’m grateful for the lesson—even if it came wrapped in discomfort.

Have you ever caught yourself thinking you could take a ‘vacation’ from your principles? How did you find your way back to center? I’d love to hear your thoughts in the comments below.