In this season of miracles, of gift-giving and receiving, I am reminded of the miracle that happened in my life a number of years ago, when I was given the gift of sobriety. I received this gift after struggling to win a war with a foe that had killed my grandfather and drove my dad to his knees until late in life. Both had been strong, decent, successful and respected men who proved no match for the disease of addiction.

Looking back, it seems insane that I would take on an opponent that consumed my grandfather and nearly killed my father. My dad was the most loving and dedicated of fathers, but he was so caught up in this insidious disease that he took his four children and his loving wife – the greatest joys of his life – on a 30-year journey of unpredictability and heartache.

Despite living through these tragic situations and experiencing the devastating effects of addiction, I told myself and those I loved that I was different. I was stronger. I could handle it. I found out later that my grandfather and my dad had said the same things to their spouses and to themselves.

From the outside, everything looked good in my life. I had a great wife, four beautiful children, a master’s degree, a good job, an active role as member of my church – by all accounts, I was a success. But I was living in two worlds. By day I was an outgoing, dedicated and successful social worker, but by night I was a reclusive homebody, not wanting anyone to get in the way of my drinking or get a glimpse of my other world. The closer you got to me, the clearer it became that alcohol was consuming me, as it had consumed my grandfather and father before me. My wife knew, my parents knew and I certainly knew!

When I wasn’t actively drinking, I was planning when I would have my next drink or worrying about what I might have done the last time. Alcohol-related car accidents during my teen years, both as a driver and as a passenger, didn’t deter me either, despite sincere and desperate promises to God and to myself as I walked away from these near-death experiences.

Being consumed by the disease, I constantly fell short of being the kind of husband, father and person that I wanted to be and that I believed God wanted me to be. This guilt and shame fueled my addiction and kept me sick. The common perception that alcoholism is a moral failing, which I shared, justified a secrecy that kept me sick.

Recently, I was reminded of this dynamic when I learned that a relative to whom I was very close when I was growing up has been struggling with addiction. He wasn’t aware I was in recovery because our moms were reluctant to share with each other their grown children’s struggles. Another example of this secrecy was when a very close friend of mine had his life splashed all over the front page of the Bangor Daily News as a result of his addiction. Until that happened, I hadn’t known he was struggling and he did not know I was in recovery. Shame and secrecy keeps us isolated in our sickness. I am happy to say that I was able to join with my cousin and my good friend in our mutual goal of sobriety.

I choose to attend AA, where I benefit from the wisdom of other alcoholics and their experiences in all stages of recovery, including those just sobering up and those who have relapsed and are returning to AA with vivid reminders of what happens when alcoholics drink. I also choose to be open about my disease with my children, my friends and my employer. I cannot afford to allow shame and secrecy about my addiction to be present in my life.

Recovery has freed me to fully engage with my family and my community. Some of the principles I try to live by are captured in the serenity prayer – God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can and the wisdom to know the difference – and in some slogans heard around the halls of Alcoholics Anonymous – Keep it simple and This too shall pass.

The most important principle for me is to take things one day at a time, maintaining a healthy respect for this disease that is always ready to re-engage me. After all these years, I still find myself toying with the idea that I could now drink safely. Fortunately, I have a strong support system that reminds me of the power of my disease.

It’s ironic that acknowledging my addiction and giving up the effort to control it has allowed me to win the battle against alcohol, one day at a time. Each day, I wake up with a choice, and by choosing not to drink, just for that day, I am a better husband, dad and person.

I cannot change the impact my drinking has had on my family and the hurt I have caused. I can choose, today, to respect the disease I have and the havoc it will wreak if I elect to drink. I also choose to enjoy the gifts that come from a sober life, a loving relationship with my wife and children, an active involvement in my community, and a strong faith in God.

On Christmas Eve many years ago, I chose to give my family a gift when I quit drinking. What I didn’t appreciate at that time was the gift I was giving myself. My wish in this season of miracles is that other addicts, and the people they love, will experience the miracle of recovery.

Shawn Yardley directs the City of Bangor’s Department of Health and Welfare. He lives with his family in Bangor.

Please join our weekly conversation about Maine’s substance abuse problem. We welcome stories, comments or questions from all perspectives. Letters may be mailed to Bangor Daily News, P.O. Box 1329, Bangor 04401. Send e-mail contributions to findingafix@bangordailynews.net. Column editor Meg Haskell may be reached at (207) 990-8291 or mhaskell@bangordailynews.net.