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”].
