Uncategorized

We Failed Idealists Need Attention

By Rick R.

I came from a family riddled with alcoholic drinkers and many of them had the same problem as I did. I recall the first month or so, when I got sober, still hanging out with them at our favorite watering hole, drinking ginger ale. I would slip out every night at 8:00 p.m. and go to the AA meeting at 8:30 p.m. and return at 10:30 p.m. without telling anyone where I was going. I didn’t want anybody to know I was checking out the AA program. I didn’t want to face the ridicule at the time, and I wasn’t sure it was going to work for me. If it didn’t work, I wouldn’t have put up with them mocking me. You might say that I was protecting my anonymity at the time and didn’t even know it. 

After thirty days, I didn’t care who knew about it because I believed I found the answer, and I had. Soon, I was one of those guys who wanted to shout it from the rooftops and try to sober up everyone around me, and you know how that turned out. As I dragged each of my five brothers to AA meetings, it seemed they each learned just enough to be able to rationalize exactly why they were not alcoholics, and they ridiculed me anyway. Since then, one brother, a nephew, and a niece have committed suicide. 

That was among the experiences that gave me hard earned lessons to respect the principle of anonymity. Of the rest of my immediate family of ten siblings, only one sister saw something in me that she liked. She got sober in the program and hasn’t had a drink in over forty-eight years. 

We are exposed to the discussions in AA meetings as newer members complain about someone breaking their anonymity; or ones wanting to shout it from the rooftops, like my former self. Such will always be the case in AA as that is one of the symptoms of alcoholism. We are failed idealists who need attention. But as we get more experience, we learn the true value of the spirit of anonymity. We can always come up with some noble reason for tooting our own horn. We can dress it up in the altruistic motive of sacrificing one’s own anonymity to save someone’s life, which sometimes, in the long run, destroys the chance of being a good example. Often the result is just the opposite, which  I have personally witnessed. Tradition Twelve talks of Anonymity as” The spiritual foundation of all our Tradition ever reminding us to place principles before personalities.”

There is a difference between the” Spirit of the law”, and the” Letter of the law.” We who have been diligent with the program have been highly influenced by the Spirit of what the founders learned and introduced us to in the form of the 12 steps and the 12 traditions.  They all come in the form of unselfishness of the spirit. I have yet to find one prayer or principle in the two books we use as reference guides, that are of a material nature or of selfish motives. This tells me the things I do, as the result of practicing the principles of the program, should be done unselfishly and without fanfare. So long as I needed the attention I was always seeking when I was looking for the photo opp., I was still only following the letter of the law, so to speak. When I came to understand the Spirit of Anonymity, I was able to rein in my EGO and my selfish motives. I try to be a good role model and do so quietly. It seems to work better that way.   

By Dede H.

Courage calls me to be better than I am
To channel moral and mental strength
To face my fears, to persevere and withstand
I must face my ordeals going to any length
I am so glad I have you all to hold my hand
Courage may you be my Higher Power today
Carrying me through trials and tribulations
I see them on the horizon coming my way
I need not call upon ghosts and apparitions
Mighty Courage you are here to save the day
I carry you in my pocket and in my head
Round my neck in the emblem on my necklace
Courage, I think of you to avoid the purloin
I’ve achieved Courage with a smile on my face
Ask and I’ll show you my sobriety coin!

By Christine. R

“Now about sex.” This single sentence from page 68 of our Big Book pulls the covers for a world of room to talk all we want about sex.  The sex discussion continues on 69, proving “there are no mistakes in God’s world.” “We all have sex problems.” Underlined and highlighted several times over in my book.  

Sex is one third of our Fourth Step. Yet, bring up sex as a topic and you’d think we AA’s were a bunch of monks and nuns – never had an intimate relationship anywhere, anytime. Nope!  Nope!  Nope!  If the topic is resentment, all hands rise. If the topic is sex, it’s crickets. Mum’s the word.

In our 12 x 12, p.56 the reference is to secrets so shameful, “we hope they will go to the grave with us.” Such were the topics of men and sex for me. 

While whining and complaining about this man or that, my good sponsor would “bring me up sharply” to say, “They might have been jerks, but you chose them. Your picker is broken. You need a new picker. Why not let God choose for you next time?”  

“Are you out of your mind? Why in the world would I do that?” was my internal dialogue.  Page 70 continues with: “Pray for the right ideal, for guidance, for sanity and for strength to do the right thing.” Turns out God can be a part of our sex conduct. Whoa!  

Indeed, I was picking Mr. Dick instead of Mr. Right. Not looking into the long haul of any relationship, if Bob was busy, there was always Steve. If Steve wasn’t available, there was always Joe. Rather like going from drink to drink, I went from man to man. Men were drinks with legs. Eventually, I had to reveal to my home group I was addicted to men, things got so out of hand, so to speak. Alcoholism is like whack-a-mole. If it’s not drinking, it’s spending. If it’s not spending, it’s eating. If it’s not eating, it’s sexing. One way or another, we seek escape. 

I didn’t know how to be faithful. With no self-control, I wanted what I wanted when I wanted it to arrive by yesterday.  

Some of our oral traditions are not written down; they are not memorialized. One of those traditions is to keep away from relationships for the first year of sobriety. Another crock, I thought. Yet, after taking a year off, I learned more about men by not dating than I did by dating them.

The carrot my sponsor put forth was to attend women’s meetings. Learn how to be a woman among women. Learn how to be in relation with women, not in competition. What clinched it was my sponsor saying, “Once you learn to be a friend with women, you can learn to be a friend to men.” Oh boy! Let’s go to the meetings. Sure enough. Not only did I learn to be a friend to women, I learned to be a friend to men. I’d never had male friends before. Through our Program, I learned to be myself, not what someone else wanted or who I thought I should be. 

No longer a steak dinner for sex. A doormat no more, I moved from the floor under one’s feet to a wall hanging to be appreciated and enjoyed.  

Through esteem-able acts, came self-esteem. 

One of the best suggestions is “if sex is very troublesome, we throw ourselves the harder into helping others.” When lonely, lustful or the thought of texting that ex-boyfriend seems like a good idea, a call to a newcomer saves the day. The privilege of listening to someone else. They call them “Exes” for a reason. Because it’s over and time to move on.  Letting go and moving on – sometimes the hardest thing in recovery.  “It quiets the imperious urge when to yield would mean heartache.” The heartache is for other people as well as ourselves when we pursue this “imperious urge.”

After taking a year out and pulling down the blinds on relationships with men, I began dating a guy in our Program. Supportive to have someone who speaks our language of the heart, who doesn’t let me get away with things and who champions me when times are tough. We’ve been together for 18 years and recently married.  

The woman who never could stay faithful, found faith. The woman who never knew lasting love, found love at last. While it took time and time takes time, it was worth every minute to find Mr. Right, Now.

I Did Not Fit In

By Rick R.

When I look back on my experience, after going through my pre drinking years, my drinking years, and my sober years, in the AA program, it is not hard to see what a troubled individual I had become. In my days from birth to the day I entered grammar school, I was unaware of the dysfunction in my immediate environment. With the absence of supervision, discipline, and role models, I did anything I wanted to do, and my behavior became dishonest, selfish, and shameful, as I later learned. On my first day of parochial school the world came apart for me when I looked around the classroom and realized I did not fit in. All the other kids were having fun and enjoying the experience and I was terrified knowing I could never live up to what was expected of me at that time. As a result, I developed fears and inhibitions those other kids did not seem to have. I learned right from wrong in church but was much too insecure to do what was right. I learned to cut corners, to lie, and cheat, since I had no confidence I could ever keep up with my peers. I began to overcompensate and to act out to make up for my short falls, but it never worked for me. Fist fighting became a regular event. 

This all went on till I turned thirteen and found the answer to all my problems. I had access to alcohol. I did not recognize it at first, but it immediately removed all those fears and inhibitions. For the first time in my life I felt normal and I was as good as anyone and better than most, so I thought. I continued to drink to feel good but when I awoke in the morning, I was more terrified than before. All I had to do was  take that first drink and everything was right with the world again. I continued this pattern until I was twenty-eight years old when I woke up one morning to face The Hideous Four Horsemen, Terror, Bewilderment, Frustration Despair (Big Book pg. 151) and I had a moment of clarity. 

I knew that I had to do something about my drinking, or I would die a horrible death at the hands of others or by my own hand. I called AA, struggled to find the location of the meeting place, arrived there two hours later, and was greeted by three members who were compassionate and understanding. As they listened, my sense of isolation slowly went away, as did the desire to drink. I have never wanted a drink from that moment: October 15,  1969 to the present. I have never had to struggle with the AA program and have embraced it to the best of my understanding. I came to understand the things that I did as a child and as a practicing alcoholic were the ingredients of the disease of Alcoholism. The die was cast at the age of six. All the ingredients were there long before I ever took a drink and all I had to do was add the alcohol. 

Once I removed the alcohol, all the ingredients were still there and that is what the program helped me to set right. I was not responsible for becoming an Alcoholic. I am, however, accountable for my behavior while I was drinking. If I am willing to make restitution and clean up the wreckage of the past, I can free myself from all the guilt and shame and walk away with my dignity and self respect. Today my life is better than it ever could have been, had I never become an Alcoholic in the first place.

Of that, I am convinced.

By John W.

Long before I became a Grateful Alcoholic – no, I never thought I would describe myself in that way – in another dimension of life I had heard the gift of courage described as fortitude. I had an intellectual sense of what “fox-hole courage” was intended to mean, but having never been in the military, much less in battle, I had no literal reality in which to frame the term. When I began losing, with increased intensity and consequences, my battle with the disease of alcoholism, my fruitless, solitary struggle, my Bottom, led me to the AA program and there I experienced the miracle which allowed me to achieve a daily reprieve from my disease. In that awakening, with the help of others, I worked the 12 Steps, sought to live the 12 Traditions and even learned of the 12 Concepts.

But as I trudged and strove to practice these principles in all of my affairs, I had to ask myself: what on earth did that really mean? Dearest Maggie, a darling octogenarian with over half of that time sober, occasionally would drive my home group to tears of laughter, when sharing about how she thought at first that compliance with this suggestion meant she needed to increase her liaisons with different members of the male gender. But when the laughter subsided, she would put the joke aside and burn into your consciousness, as only she could, what it had been like when she drank, how she had come to AA, and what her life was like now because of AA. She would put flesh on the bones of the skeleton of the Principles, but never a name to them.

Although he had pointed to no particular location in the literature, as if only by virtue of the oral tradition of AA, my sponsor had conveyed to me the Principles: Honesty, Hope, Faith, Courage, Integrity, Willingness, Humility, Brotherly Love, Justice, Perseverance, Spirituality and Service. As I had then worked the Steps and continued to do so in the many days that have followed, each Principle had become so easily recognizable in each Step, yet their collection in one place was as elusive as a finger of fog ‘neath the bridge on a blossoming October morning in the city. They were like a good friend who timely arrives with help when trouble is afoot, always there to shed light on the problem at hand or to guide to the next right thing when doubt or fear permeates the senses.

So it is no surprise to me now, as I Zoom from one virtual meeting to the next in these shuttered times, in a March that had come in like one lion and was exiting into April as a pride of them, with not a lamb to be seen, that the Principle of courage is on the nearing horizon.

Born from a Faith which embodies the awareness, to paraphrase FDR that “The only thing to Fear is Fear itself,” fortitude needs now to be summoned to carry this alcoholic through these troubled times. This too is the Principle of courage: the knowledge and belief that no difficulty need be so great as to preclude the ability to confront it with Integrity. I was hearing the Principle of courage expressed by those sharing their experience, strength and hope in my Zoom rooms and I needed to hear it. Whether I attended a Zoom in my home town to strike back at the feeling of loneliness that the shelter-in-place mandates had fostered or tuned-in elsewhere just for a change of pace, the response in the end was always the same – have courage, you are not alone in this battle. 

I saw in my Zooms how vital and necessary it was to have been searching and fearless when I had taken that inventory. That tool in my spiritual kit, that fourth principle, courage, was now being put to use in ways I had never confronted, contemplated, or not a mere few weeks before even imagined possible. Courage, the Principle of step four, honed so many days passed in the inventory’s making, was today confronting the fears of the pandemic, and this was in real time for me Practicing These Principles in All My Affairs. 

This was me in real time practicing the principles in all my affairs to build “the arch through which we passed to freedom” (Big Book, p. 62).

By:  Christine R.

Alcohol is a great eraser.  Put alcohol on a clothing stain and “Voila!”  The stain is erased.  Vanished. Gone.  In fact, alcohol erases just about everything for us alcoholics.  It removes: your job, your driver’s license, your car, your marriage license, your home, your family, your children, your friends, and eventually, your life.  Works wonders, eh?

This morning, a newcomer shared the reality of alcohol, the great eraser.  He’d lost his home, wife, kids.  He’d lost himself.  He could not account for the time lost.  Alone in a far-away hotel, a friend finally found him and took him to rehab.  Once out, the newcomer had the craving to contend with.  30 days is barely the DNA of the head of a pin of sobriety.  Yet somehow there’s the sense now the drink problem is solved. “We are unable to bring with sufficient force the memory of the suffering and humiliation,” the anguish of even a few days previous. BB p 24.

My first 30 days – everything went swimmingly.  New car. New home. New boyfriend.  New job.  Elated and to celebrate, out came the bottles of wine.  Without spiritual tools in my toolbelt, I drank.  Over-elation leads to inebriation. The next day my sponsor advised me I had to “start all over again as a newcomer.”  Outraged that I was not told the “Rules of the Program,” I started over again.  This time angry, hostile, and resentful. And, of course, I drank. 

This second round was like a flaming oil rig.  No way to douse the flames of craving for yet another drink and another and another.  The flames of alcohol consumed my new home, my job, my lover and nearly my life.  The only thing to save me was my home group, The Cabin.  The one thing I’d done right was to have a commitment and steady attendance there.  When I went missing, a member woman came to fetch me.  She brought me back and I’ve been coming to that same meeting ever since.  

Came, came to, came to believe.  First we have to come.  Get to a meeting. Know when and where the next meeting is.  The home group saved me.  Having at least one place where I could tell the truth and listen to the answers from others saved me.    

Where is your next meeting?  Here’s one hour to put our lives on hold and have the privilege of listening to someone else for a while instead of the constant clamoring for another drink. Always cast for the next lily pad of sanity. As a morning, noon, and night drinker, I went to meetings morning, noon, and night.  90 meetings in 90 days turned into 2,000 meetings.  Sometimes, it’s not one day at a time.  For some, it’s one minute at a time. 

As I came – I began to “came to.”  Sobriety began to sink in a little at a time.  That muzzy-headed feeling lifted.  I began to realize birds sing, not shout.  Fears subsided.  As I came to, I came to believe.  

I came to believe there was a Power to restore me to sanity.  The Power was my home group and the membership.  Looking about me, I could see people getting well and restored to sanity, to home, to family, to their lives.  If they could, so could I.  Thanks to the people around me, I was given hope by their example. 

Alcoholism makes us say things we don’t mean to those we love.  Makes us spend money we don’t have on something we cannot afford.  We drink and we lose everything.  We stop drinking and we gain everything.  One woman said to me, “You aren’t giving up drinking.  You are gaining your life back.”  Thus it can be for us all.  More than that, we have the unique ability to help others who are sinking in the mire of our disease. We can help when no one else can. BB page 89.

Completely empathetic on the phone with a newcomer yesterday, I could hear the disease had her by the throat.  Alcoholism was erasing her home and her mind.  She helped me as much as I did her.  With that conversation I remembered with total recall, the crazy madness, the incessant murmuring, the cooing of alcoholism.  The great eraser. Yet, whatever may have been erased, with our Program we can rewrite our life stories in a fine bold print: Sober Today. Just For Today. One Day At A Time.

By  Caroline M.

My life, while under the influence of alcohol, resembled one great, messy knot. A wet one, an alcohol-fueled one. No matter how hard I applied self-will, arrogantly believing in my own smarts to figure out my way through any situation, I seemed to end up entangled in all sorts of problems; never free of worry about what would happen next.

Coming clean through the steps, pausing when agitated, taking life one step at a time, all lessons learned in sobriety, even mundane household chores can flow more easily.

For example, this afternoon I was doing laundry. When I opened up the lid of my washing machine I found a great twist of aprons, dish towels and cleaning rags firmly locked in an embrace of the central agitator paddle. Strings from aprons had woven themselves throughout this heavy, wet knot and it was impossible to pull the load free. Had I been drunk, I’d have taken a pair of scissors to it, which of course could not have cut through such a thick wet mass. But such logic would have eluded me.

After a few futile attempts to shimmy the load past the agitator, I proceeded to pick and pluck at small sections until I loosened first one apron string, which in turn freed up the corners of a twisted cloth and then another, and so on until eventually the knot was resolved and the load came free. It probably took about 5 minutes and since I was not in a rush and sober, the aprons and cloths remained intact. As a bonus there are no accidental stab wounds from scissor blades gone askew. At times like these I realize how much I love being sober, Saturdays without a hangover, especially.

Thank you AA and to God, the mysterious, patient, creative, loving source of all wisdom and life.  

By John W.

Before, it had always been so linear. When confronted with a problem, or otherwise looking for a solution, I applied my best analytics to the circumstances and made a decision. If things turned out bad, I had a drink. It made the mistake seem not so glaring. If things turned out well, I had a drink. After all, one was entitled to “take one’s comfort” [in my case it was of the “Southern” variety] after a successful venture or experience. Of course before the decision was confronted or chosen, I had to have a drink to allow me to get focused on the problem, to clear away the distractions, as I once explained to my bartender. My problem was that “one” was never enough. “One too many,” was never more than enough.

When finally driven to A.A., and not on a string of victories, a man tried to help.  He  actually answered one of my calls when no one else would. We talked about my predicament, wife, job, children and, of course, my drinking. He told me that while I likely would not believe it, if I were willing to follow a few simple suggestions, my life would change. He further predicted it would be in ways I could not then imagine or believe possible. To which I responded, “Yeah, but you see my circumstances are different.” Then I would explain things to Mike.

This badinage continued for a bit. To each observation as to the unmanageability of my life served by Mike, I would volley back a “Yeah but” retort. Like a Wimbledon champion on the court with a rank amateur, he ran me from side to side, baseline to net. I was always a step too slow or a return too weak. Every point I thought I made was shredded by Mike’s simple observation of the truth I obscured with my denial. My “Yeah buts” met their match.

So I asked him what I would have to do to be as successful as he had been in the Program of Alcoholics Anonymous. He replied, “Just work the Steps like your life depended upon it, because it does, and you’ll be OK.”

With new-found conviction, I hooked up with a sponsor and we started the process.  My “day at Wimbledon” broke  down most of my barriers.  My sponsor took care of the last vestiges of grandeur and denial I harbored. Still my thinking was linear, still I expected that “treat” to  focus, to console or to congratulate. A pattern that demanded change. So I asked my sponsor “What do you have to replace this process within me – that is all I have ever known?”  It was then we discussed The Decision. While turning over my life seemed to make sense, and I was  convinced it was unmanageable, turning over my will was not the same thing.  

By then I learned the suggestions worked. I was willing to try. As it worked with the drink, now I could  live this new life I was given by the same spiritual principles that saved it. What an order! Could I go through with it? At times it seems anything like the answer to this inquiry is the foregone conclusion of “Yes.” I believe the journey I have walked thus far, one step at a time, one day at a time, demands I repay that Power which brought me here. I have learned I must do so with the respect and honor the drowning man would give the sailor who had hauled him to safety from the foaming sea. I can offer nothing less for the life I was so freely given. Still the doubt is there, the “Yeah but” rears its hooded head, ready to strike with cobra’s speed to infuse the venom of doubt into my veins. I know not what works for others. Nay, only what has worked for me, where my only defense against this lethal apparition is to say something like:  “God, I offer myself to thee, …”  However, I can also truly say it works – it really does. This is a change, neither imagined nor predicted, but with which I can live today.