The Point

By Christine R.

Heard, helped, healed.  How these three come together in times of trouble are revealed when  we read the following few stories.

A sponsor was called upon to do a 12^th Step call for a man at the 12 Palms Hotel. Taking a sponsee with him, both men found the drunkard in his hotel room, sick, drunk and dirty. The room was much the same: bottles strewn everywhere, feces and clothes in a tumble.  

The sponsor took his time with the drunk, chatting up the Program, sobriety and a message of hope. He handed the man his card with the name, address and time of the next meeting he would be attending. In closing the sponsor said, “I hope to see you there soon!” 

Walking away after they left, the sponsee said to the sponsor, “Well, that was sure a waste of time.”

About 2 weeks later, while at the meeting the sponsor recommended, a newcomer showed up. A newcomer with only a few days of sobriety. This newcomer came to the sponsor, handing him the very card he left at 12 Palms.

The sponsor exclaimed, “You’re not the guy I spoke with!” The man answered, “No, I’m not.  I was under the bed. I heard every word you said.” 

The message was heard. Someone was helped. Someone found healing.

*     *     *

A friend of mine was 28 years in the Program when her entire life collapsed. Her career took a nosedive. Her lover left her for another. She was about to be evicted from her home which turned out to be an illegal housing unit. Everything was circling ‘round the drain. As we do in Alcoholics Anonymous, she came to a meeting. Sobbed her little heart out for the entire hour. At the end of the meeting, the young man sitting next to her said, “Don’t worry Honey. It gets better.” The young man only had 7 days.  

Oldtimer with 28 years or newcomer with 7 days, we can carry the message when needed most. It’s not a matter of years in our Program. The number of years is simply a string of days. When the going gets tough, as it will and it does, those days are recorded in terms of minutes: One minute at a time. 

*     *     *

Sitting next to a person in a meeting, we don’t know what lies behind the face. Once we start sharing, we can’t tell who among us will be helped. The person you help might be sitting next to you.

Before the Cabin meeting started, I sat next to a woman with whom I engaged in the usual banter about the weather, where we lived, and how great it is to be sober.  That kind of thing. Later on, I shared about Teleservice; how volunteers are needed; and my joy at answering the phone, helping others by listening. In this process, they are heard and helped – as I am also.

Right after my share, my neighbor spoke. She confirmed how Teleservice saved her life. In desperation 6 months previous, she called. A woman answered and gave her directions to the Cabin meeting. That’s how she got there those months ago. She relayed how the Teleservice person called her back to hear her story, to soothe her, and bring much needed relief. “Today I have 6 months of sobriety. I found my way here because someone heard me. Someone helped me. And that someone is sitting next to me. Thank you, Christine.”  

Often my sponsor reminds me, “It’s not about You!” Particularly, when whining about this person or that, some wound or another. “It’s not about you,” is followed with, “Maybe this is happening so you can smooth the way for someone else. So you can relieve their burdens.” My shoulders straighten at that one. Often I can help you more than I can help myself. My experience benefits others and a 9^th Step promise comes true. 

That’s the elegance of our Program. A problem shared is a problem halved – which is why we leave feeling lighter after a meeting, or a time out with one’s sponsor or good friend. From there, we are heard. We are helped. Healing is found.

A Program Greater Than My Own

By Rick R.

Never, that I can recall, have I attended a meeting where someone hasn’t referred to his or her higher power, and as I see it, most people that stay around for any length of time come to some sort of terms with, or understanding of, a power greater than themselves that works for them. Once that hurdle is cleared, they seem to settle into a more comfortable way of life. There are also those that come to us with a strong religious affiliation, and they sometimes share that the AA program helps them to enhance their faith. Others come here that are atheist or agnostic, and the program works for them as well as it does for anyone else. Then there are those who, for whatever reason, have trouble clearing those hurdles and sometimes spend years struggling with this issue of God as we understand him.

I believe that as long as AA exists, we will witness these kinds of quandaries in new members who are conditioned by the environments from which they came, and I don’t claim to have a surefire answer to what makes us different, other than what I have learned about myself, and how I have come to see things as I attempt to resolve my own mental blocks. I know that I was biased when I first entered the program probably due to my failed attempt at religion as a child. This had little to do with religion but more to do with the fact that I had not mentally evolved enough to understand it at the age of six. Fortunately for me I recognized, early in my sobriety, that I could take the steps of the program with the minimum understanding of God, or a higher power, after all, that’s what it tells me in the Twelve Steps and Twelve Traditions (12 & 12). It says that even an atheist got through the hoop with room to spare.

I was at a meeting recently when a member was trying to articulate how he had come to terms with his faith in a higher power and as he was poking fun at himself trying to fit it all together and make sense of it so everyone could understand, he finally threw his hands up in the air and said, with a smile, “Well, that’s how it works for me”. We all joined him in laughter because we have seen it so many times before. As I was listening to him, a thought came to me as the result of what he shared, and as we were leaving the meeting, I was following closely behind him, I offered that thought to him. I said, “Maybe if, instead of calling it A Power Greater Than Myself, we could just refer to it as A Program Greater Than My Own”. He laughed and said, “That’s what I was trying to say.

It’s clear to me now, that it wasn’t as important to identify what or who God is, or what my concept of a power greater than myself was at the time. I found it more important at the time to proceed through the rest of the program and do the things that are suggested. The main thing that I had to do was to accept outside input, especially when it is based on sound, well-established principles. Many successful people in the program have come to understand the concept of a higher power in that way. Sometimes it’s hard to grasp it all at once. Don’t let that stop you. I would encourage anyone who is having trouble with this issue to consider the “Program Greater Than My Own” idea. Time and experience will help you along the road to understanding. After all, even the militant atheist cleared the hoop with room to spare. 

By John W.

‘Twas to be the jewel so long missing
From the crown belonging upon my head
The gold star of my progress commemorating
The passing to another of the Step lore I had wed.

Armed with this attitude, my first attempts failed.
So eager to preach, to promote, I forgot humility.
Attraction got lost, no surprise my targets had bailed.
My inventory when honestly taken exposed the roots of my futility.

My failures still confirmed, the work brought me a release,
A shield I could don, forged from the fire of intensity
Stoked by my work with others who suffered and sought peace.
To them I could be useful, in humility I had the propensity.

With renewed spirit and as The Promises began to be fulfilled,
I reveled in the joy of the accomplishments and success.
That “More Will Be Revealed” had not yet in me been instilled.
Thus, when the other’s slip occurred, on it I did want to obsess.

“You’ve Got Some Nerve” was a feeling that seemed
So justified in the having and so selfish upon reflection.
A great sponsor I was, when joy and smiles to me beamed,
Yet when “my guy” slipped, all I beamed was consternation.

While I professed it to be more at my shortcomings than his,
I managed to sow a resentment that had he but listened to me
This relapse would never have happened, nothing would be amiss.
Of course this was crazy and through my insanity’s fog I began to see.

My sadness was real, my friend had returned to hell
I was not sure if he could escape his choice and recover
Or if our powerful disease would cause him to never get well.
To live or die the stark choice, soberly I knew there was no other.

As days passed while his drama unfolded in rehabs remote,
My meditative ways left me to ponder my side of this street.
So mesmerized had I been by pride and the urge to emote,
I had forgotten the steps I had trudged, the soul for which my heart beat.

For me another bottom it wasn’t, instead an awakening it became.
I couldn’t “fix” my guy any more than I had “fixed” myself.
I could carry the message, but his disease was his demon to tame.
A hard lesson learned, but with it too came untold wealth.

By Anon.

And finally, we of Alcoholics Anonymous believe that the principle of anonymity has an immense spiritual significance. It reminds us that we are to place principles before personalities; that we are to actually practice a general humility. This to the end that our great blessings may never spoil us; that we shall forever live in thankful contemplation of Him who presides over us all.

My first Christmas of trying to not drink, sadly not sober nor to be for months despite daily 7:00 a.m. meeting attendance [“It was the worst of times”] is still, over a decade of sobriety later, as fresh in my mind as breakfast this morning. The annual event for my four siblings and their families, with my growing family of three all under age 11, was a mid-afternoon dinner at Grandma’s, sitting around her tree and enjoying the Spirit of the Season. So the innocent enough question posed: “Did Santa visit your house last night?” From grandma to my children was OK enough, the follow-up thought hit my internal fire alarm:  “Were you up bright and early to see if he had come?” Before I could cover my tracks in this room full of people, the response, “As soon as Daddy got back from his meeting” was out. Meeting – What meeting was that? Who could have a meeting on Christmas morning? I am sure none reading this need any more explanation of the scene or how it was affecting me. The stigma of being an alcoholic was most definitely alive and well in that moment. My mumbled reply and the diversionary inquiry of whether or not an NFL game was being broadcast later that day addressed the silence of the room, but not the cacophony between my ears.

I did not know then and only discovered some time down the sober road, that the need to place “principles before personalities” did more than just keep me from ignoring the belligerent jerk who arrived at the meeting drunk or the old timer who loved to pontificate about how much better A.A. was way back when. The principle of anonymity actually helped heal the wound of my soul which I inflicted upon myself by believing in the stigma of being an alcoholic. I certainly had gravitated to A.A. this “last time” because it was anonymous and I certainly wanted no one to know that I, moi, was an alcoholic – those were fighting words for sure. That Christmas moment only got worse by my retreat to the bottle that followed much later that night when I was home, alone, with everyone tucked safely into bed asleep. I was not yet ready to cease fighting everyone and everything, I was not wanting more, but I was unable to stop with less. Amazingly, the attraction of that 7:00 a.m. group got me there the Day after Christmas, giving a whole new meaning to the “Spirit of Christmas.”

I was told: Don’t drink, work the steps, your life will change – a simple formula. On my first sobriety anniversary, St. Patrick’s Day, a gift received was a license plate, personalized, with my sobriety date. Not quite shouting from the rooftops, but no longer a secret either. Certainly a vivid, daily reminder of that which saved my life and has kept me alive since. It has also been a conversation starter, sometimes in the most curious of circumstances to say the least. However, what I have witnessed in myself is how I have changed about admitting or acknowledging that I am an alcoholic. I no longer feel a “stigma” around my disease. While rigorous honesty compels me to admit I have yet to label myself a “grateful alcoholic” I have been told to “keep coming back” as more will be revealed.  So even for me I can see hope on the road I trudge with those who might read this.

One thing I know for sure, I was the arrogant type of drunk who knew it all and no one was going to separate me from the daily indulgence I had “earned” by my hard work on the job. This even though I also knew, at the end, it was killing me and separating me from all I held near and dear. So if there had been no secrecy at the beginning, I might never have gotten in the door. If I had to then get out on the circuit and proclaim to any and all within earshot not only “How It Works” but how it was working for me, I do not believe I could have stayed in the rooms. So the spiritual solution offered, anonymity, worked – it really did, for me. It got me here and, one day at a time, it has kept me here.

Oh, and that awkward silence that Christmas afternoon, two years later, same place, same cast of characters, same questions for my youngest. To each she was quick to respond “yes.” She then told grandma how she had called that morning to tell Daddy [who was living elsewhere due to the divorce], all about what Santa had left for her and the celery his reindeer had half eaten, right after he “got back from his A.A. meeting.” No strained silence, no “shoe stares,” just a couple of “high fives” and a warm hug from a grateful alcoholic Daddy for his Daughter [“It was the best of times”].

By Dede. H

Powerless without my stinking
thinking Sick and tired of being sick
and tired God wants me to stop
drinking Concretely and abstractly 
My Father Mother God loves me 

I align my will with God’s—I am
free I am creative, spiritually toiled 
I’m an individual—a moral savage In
the flow of all that’s good in the
world One with the power of the universe 
and no longer ravaged 

Powerless but feeling more
powerful Sick and tired of ugly hang
overs  In sobriety, I’m a peaceful gal  
There’s nothing to question
anymore God wants me to be a
sober female 

Liver disease and penniless insanity 
Await me If I take another drink  I will
die—demoralized and pitied
Everything gone down the sink From
a woman who’s no longer pretty 

Yellow eyes, inflated belly, yet boney
Paranoid—nothing makes sense
Carelessly spending money 
Staggering, reckless and
feckless Honestly—no good to
anyone  

I’m powerless yet more powerful
Free to live and love my loved
ones No debt to that resentful
creditor Alcohol has no power over
some Today I live in gratitude and
rapture 

I don’t need alcohol—it’s too
wild. Can’t have it. Allergic! 
Nothing left to solve 
Grateful for sobriety  
and my sponsor, Leigh 
For we are girls gone mild

By Claire A.

I went to Unity Day this year. I wanted to go, and I didn’t really want to go, but I had committed to it. My spouse was getting ready to go to a festival and my kid was going to have a lazy day at home. I wanted to relax too. I didn’t know how to find the meeting. I didn’t know whether I was going to drive or take MUNI. I didn’t know who would be there. It was hot. I didn’t know if someone would be appalled if I wore shorts to a church. My driver’s license had expired, and the new one hadn’t arrived yet. My alcoholic brain, as usual, was finding a million reasons to not do the very thing that would help me stay comfortably sober. 

AA has taught me to breathe, and to suit up and show up. I didn’t wear shorts, but I did dress comfortably. I printed out my new temporary license. I drove up Geary, fearfully swearing at the traffic, because even though I am afraid of going to Unity Day, I damn well know how you should be driving.

There were dozens of available parking spots underneath the church and my car would stay blessedly cool all day. As I walked toward the church, I knew I was in the right place when I saw a man wearing a shirt with “Resentment #1” printed across the back. My people! 

Old friends and new were finding each other in the basement of the church, enjoying a cup of coffee and organizing themselves for a day of work and fun. I heard laughter and I saw folks hugging and shaking hands. My fear quite forgotten, I was soon joining in. People I had only ever seen in a Zoom meeting were popping up everywhere.

I joined a sharing session about trying to get more people into service, and my first thought was “good luck getting alcoholics to do anything they don’t want to do.” But I sat and listened, and I did hear some good ideas. I can’t remember any of them now, but my idea was to write this article and talk about how much I have gotten out of service. In fact, I have gotten so much out of service, I might have to do a serial column to get it all down on paper.

For this column, though, and because I only have space for about 100 more words, I want to talk about being an IGR (Intergroup Representative). AAsfmarin.org describes the job as “the connection between the members of your group and Intergroup” which sounds simple enough, but boy did it teach me. I learned to listen to what was important to my group rather than assuming I knew or stressing out because I didn’t know. I worked through my fear of making announcements. I also learned to relax and trust my own judgement. There is an enormous amount of information available about all the good stuff AAs are doing in SF. Slowly, I learned I could choose what I thought would be of most interest to my meeting, and keep my announcements brief. Above all, I felt the satisfaction of doing a tiny part to keep our program humming in SF, and to make sure the hand of AA will always be there.

If you’ve read this far, thank you. I hope you’ll consider being an IGR. You can find out more at www.aasfmarin.org. Your group probably needs an IGR. And if you serve, I’ll see you at the monthly Intergroup meeting! 

By John. W.

‘Twas to be the jewel so long missing
From the crown belonging upon my head
The gold star of my progress commemorating
The passing to another of the Step lore I had wed.

Armed with this attitude, my first attempts failed.
So eager to preach, to promote, I forgot humility.
Attraction got lost, no surprise my targets had bailed.
My inventory when honestly taken exposed the roots of my futility.

My failures still confirmed, the work brought me a release,
A shield I could don, forged from the fire of intensity
Stoked by my work with others who suffered and sought peace.
To them I could be useful, in humility I had the propensity.

With renewed spirit and as The Promises began to be fulfilled,
I reveled in the joy of the accomplishments and success.
That “More Will Be Revealed” had not yet in me been instilled.
Thus, when the other’s slip occurred, on it I did want to obsess.

“You’ve Got Some Nerve” was a feeling that seemed
So justified in the having and so selfish upon reflection.
A great sponsor I was, when joy and smiles to me beamed,
Yet when “my guy” slipped, all I beamed was consternation.

While I professed it to be more at my shortcomings than his,
I managed to sow a resentment that had he but listened to me
This relapse would never have happened, nothing would be amiss.
Of course this was crazy and through my insanity’s fog I began to see.

My sadness was real, my friend had returned to hell
I was not sure if he could escape his choice and recover
Or if our powerful disease would cause him to never get well.
To live or die the stark choice, soberly I knew there was no other.

As days passed while his drama unfolded in rehabs remote,
My meditative ways left me to ponder my side of this street.
So mesmerized had I been by pride and the urge to emote,
I had forgotten the steps I had trudged, the soul for which my heart beat.

For me another bottom it wasn’t, instead an awakening it became.
I couldn’t “fix” my guy any more than I had “fixed” myself.
I could carry the message, but his disease was his demon to tame.
A hard lesson learned, but with it too came untold wealth.

By Anon.

How often I had heard the words: “I stopped going to meetings . . . “ woven somewhere within the fabric of an explanation for a “slip,” for a decision to have a drink after some period of sobriety. Whether one drink, many, or years that followed,the reality of which the observation bespoke did not seem to matter. Nor did the “time” the speaker possessed before succumbing to the urge, impulse, desire, fantasy, or just plain lie which preceded the drink, seem to matter. From those who uttered these words, I heard none remark of the wonderful time they had while “out.” To a person, when the time was described, invariably the description invoked regret, remorse, frustration, horrible loss and a progression of an illness that was relentless in its effort to devour and destroy its host. No wonder many believe the most important person in the room is the newcomer, both because they are escaping this horror while reminding all who pay attention to it, of how close it lingers to each recovering alcoholic.

During a meditation/discussion meeting I recently attended, the topic posed was one’s most favored, most memorable meeting. In my mind I immediately jumped of course to my local, 7:00 a.m. Log Cabin meeting, 7-days-a-week, 365-days-a-year, where I got sober as the clear choice. Upon the reflection promoted by the meditation aspect of the setting, I realized that while this was a “favored” meeting on so mainly levels, it was quickly challenged by the 7:00 a.m. at the Masonic Hall, the 7:00 a.m. at the Alano Club, the 7:00 a.m. in Fairfax and of course the 7:00 a.m. Urgent Care meeting. The obvious attraction had initially eluded me, the reflection allowed me to see – these were all 7:00 a.m.-ers.  

I then recalled whenever I traveled, whether to New Jersey or Los Angeles, or anywhere in between, I always looked for a local meeting which started at or before 7:00 a.m. I seemed to have found over the years of practicing the principles of staying sober which my sponsor had drilled into me [Thank You Higher Power for putting this generous and loving soul into my life], that those folks at the 7:00 a.m. meetings, no matter the city in which they convened, had what I wanted in AA. That is not to say the same experience does not occur at other meetings, of course it does. It is to say I found I experienced a whole new attitude and outlook upon the day in front of me when I started it off with a meeting. It also was what my sponsor did, what his sponsor did, and it [by today’s count] worked for several decades for each of them so who was I to knock success where before had been only abject failure. So the amorphous “7:00 a.m. Meeting” had to be my favorite. However the meditation period had not yet ended, and this alcoholic “monkey mind” continued to spin despite my efforts to contain it. What was I missing?

“Favored or memorable” was the topic. I then recalled that beautiful Friday afternoon in June, high blue skies, contrasted slightly with white clouds, a perfect afternoon by which to start the weekend.  Although my drinking caused quite a rift in the 14-year marriage, that was weeks ago and I was sober now for six weeks. I was sure this ‘marriage hiccup’ would be smoothed over any day now, the lawyers were working on it. I arrived home earlier than my previous normal, funny how not stopping on the way home for a quick drink [read four], started to get me home at a reasonable hour.  My three children, none of them teenagers yet, were having a great time with the neighbor kids, all was well as I exited my car. The young man who spoke my name, inquiring as to my identity caught me off guard. Innocently, I  uttered “Yes that’s me” without thought. The kick-out order and subpoena he then handed me did not foretell I would never spend another night in the house I loved, with a family I adored. In the span of 60 seconds I literally discovered I had nowhere to go!

Sober for only 6 weeks, still my sponsor had done good work.  My first thought was not to which bar I could head, but to what meeting I could go.. The 6:00 p.m. at The Loft was only minutes away and had just started when I arrived. Shortly before it ended, I shared my experience. Too numb still to think, I received in return the experience of several who had been through what I was just starting. They added their hope for me that I too could survive as they had. They shared their strength with me, when I had lost all of mine. I did not drink that night, nor have I had a drink since. But I know most certainly it was because of that meeting and the fellowship in it which was so freely given to me, those circumstances did not take me out that night. Wearing the same wrinkled suit and tie from the day before, I was at my Cabin at 7:00 a.m. the next day. Neither bright eyed nor bushy tailed, but sober and not hungover. This prescription I have found stood me well when I needed it the most. I have since heard going to meetings described as “The Easier, Softer Way.” I think I know from whence comes that saying – been there, doing that, one day at a time.

By Dede. H.

It’s a small way to say thank you
It’s a tiny way to help others 
It’s often not thanked or noticed
It’s something I too can do 
Even when I don’t feel like it 
Act myself into a better way 
Of thinking, of being, of not sinking
So low I don’t know what to say
I need to be more active do less
Thinking and drinking and thinking
It was a bad way of living 
Sometimes it felt like death 
I was broadsided by life
Completely out of breath
Now you’ve quietly helped me 
I can help you too