u/MikeMichalko

Over a span of fifteen years, my wife caught me acting out twice. Both times were agonizing, yet both times she chose to offer me grace out of genuine love and kindness. My in-laws extended a similar grace to me as well, though I recognize that flowed from my wife’s decision to forgive first. (A fellow addict might ask: if I truly received that gift, why did I act out a second time? It wasn’t because I lacked gratitude. Rather, it was rooted in the deadly illusion that I had somehow "graduated" from my addiction. I let my guard down, forgot my powerlessness, and slipped back into denial. That mistake taught me the hardest lesson of my recovery: honoring grace requires daily humility and active, rigorous work.)

That lived experience made me reflect deeply on what grace actually is. For over twenty years, I have studied world religions, and throughout that journey, one reality has continually stood out to me: Christianity is distinct in the sheer depth and centrality of the grace it offers. I see grace woven into foundational rites like baptism—an unmerited cleansing of sins—and sustained through confession, which serves as an ongoing renewal of that sacred gift. In a deeply personal irony, my wife once shared with me that I was the one who brought her back to her faith—a faith that ultimately gave her the spiritual foundation to extend profound grace to me when I shattered our lives.

In recovery, I have had to take a hard, honest look at what grace actually is, and just as importantly, what it is not. Grace is not a legal pardon, nor does it wipe away or forget the very real harm I caused. Most critically, receiving grace does not mean the person offering it has submitted or shown weakness; it is, in truth, a staggering act of strength on the part of the giver.

Grace is never an entitlement or a pass to take for granted. In this life, we naturally expect justice—and sometimes, we endure injustice—which makes true grace completely unexpected. It arrives as a rare gift of pure love. When I receive it, grace is not a permission slip to rest; it is an open door to cleanse, an urgent lever for action that demands dedication and sustained effort. If I simply return to my acting out, I cannot expect grace to remain an endless safety net.

Finally, experiencing grace has forced me to examine how I extend it to others within the rooms of SAA. In our fellowship, we sit beside men and women who have done unspeakable things. Extending grace to another addict does not mean I condone their actions, minimize the gravity of what they did, or turn away from feeling deep sorrow for their victims. I can support the hurting and still recognize the humanity in the addict sitting across from me. Grace is the unearned lifeline that was handed to me when I least deserved it, and living in gratitude means working every day to honor that gift while holding space for others fighting for their lives.

By working the steps honestly and thoroughly, many of us expect to arrive at Step 12 having experienced "a spiritual awakening as the result of these steps." I know people who walked smoothly away from their addictions into peace and tranquility. I was even one of them when it came to alcohol. After twenty years of heavy drinking, my wife asked me to stop, and I did. My marriage was on the line, and that leverage was enough to cut the cord cleanly.

So why couldn't I walk away from compulsive sexual behavior just as easily? Because sex was never just a substance; it was a desperate affirmation of my worth, a default sanctuary I ran to whether riding a high or scraping bottom. Its roots were wrapped tightly around my psyche.

Early on, I imagined Step 12 as a summit where spiritual maturity would erase my desire to act out. I envisioned walking the high road of serene sobriety, leading newcomers who admired how neatly I had conquered my demons.

If that model worked for you, consider yourself blessed. This post is not for you.

This is for those of us who still have to patrol the wire every single day—the ones who know that the second we let our guard down, the opening to destroy everything we cherish widens immediately.

My long-term recovery does not look like a tranquil garden; it looks like the 38th Parallel. North Korea is my active addiction; South Korea is my sober life. In this standoff, Step 11—"sought through prayer and meditation to improve our conscious contact with God"—is not mystical contemplation. It is daily surveillance. It is morning reconnaissance that clears the fog, hones my instincts, and keeps me vigilant on the perimeter.

The practical tools of the program—meetings, phone calls, step work, and daily check-ins—are our radar stations and guard towers. We scan the line for fractures, reporting weak spots in our defenses or in each other's. When I am exhausted, isolated, or depressed, my radar weakens. On the flip side, overconfidence is equally lethal; the moment I convince myself the adversary across the wire is no longer a threat, an incursion is already underway.

Day and night, the propaganda loudspeakers blast across the DMZ. Culture, social media, algorithms, and pornography continuously blare the lie that the other side offers paradise, connection, and effortless fulfillment. But I know what actually lies across that border: spiritual famine, profound isolation, devastation of my relationships, and the complete surrender of my autonomy to an authoritarian impulse.

Every time a fellow addict speaks up in a meeting after a slip or a relapse, I listen intently. Those shares are field reports brought back from the North, stark reminders of the brutal conditions on that side of the wire.

I am not a pacifist with my addiction. I am armed. My recovery is not a peace treaty; it is détente. The adversary does not leave me alone out of goodwill; it stays across the wire because my defenses are manned, my weapons are clean, and I am backed by an allied force of recovering addicts standing shoulder-to-shoulder with me.

I may never experience the effortless serenity promised in the brochures. But holding an unbroken armistice through vigilance, mutual defense, and daily discipline is my spiritual awakening.

To all the grinders fighting this battle along the wire, day after day, post by post: this soldier salutes you.

I have been a paid customer of protonmail since it started. I like the extra security and privacy it offers, and felt it worthwhile pricewise.

My biggest frustration with the service is that lack of the ability to do complex filtering. I know that the labels function exists and use that, but filtering rules seem to be something that not much consideration is being paid to.

I'm kind of hoping that someone will tell me that I'm wrong, that I'm not aware of a feature which allows filtering with great detail. But if that's not the case, I would encourage the good developers at Proton to focus on adding this to their core product, the one they make money on, in front of adding products that let's face it, most people already have.

Am I wrong? Do you have any hacks, workarounds, or tricks that allow you to do custom filtering, like that seen in Outlook or Thunderbird? Thanks in advance.

Last week, I set up a meeting in Proton Meet. I noticed that when I started a meeting, a notice to take notes from Zoom came in. I checked to see if I had opened Zoom instead of Proton Meet accidently. It made me wonder if there is a connection between Zoom, and if so, are there any differences in security, privacy, and secrecy.