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Tag: 12 step

  • 5 Ways to Process the Death of a Friend in 12-Step Recovery

    5 Ways to Process the Death of a Friend in 12-Step Recovery

    Dealing with the death of a close friend in sobriety can be tough. But if you follow some simple guidelines and take it slow, you can transform a painful trial into a caring tribute that honors their memory.

    When a friend in a 12-step fellowship dies, processing the loss can be challenging, even if the person was sick with a chronic disease or naturally nearing the end of life. The idea that someone might die is very different from the reality of that person dying and being forever gone. 

    Because of the way we share in 12-step groups, we quickly become intimately acquainted with our fellow meeting-goers. We also see our peers regularly—weekly or more frequently—often over years, sometimes decades, in the same rooms and homes and restaurants. The resulting relationship is uniquely strong and meaningful. So when a loss occurs, whether you are working a program or just on the outskirts of meetings, it can be tough to get through. However, if you follow some simple guidelines and take it slow, you can transform a painful trial into a caring tribute that honors their memory. 

    Recently, I lost a sober friend in a 12-step fellowship. Although we rarely saw each other outside of the meetings, there was a close connection between us. His smile helped me overcome a feeling of alienation after I’d moved to a new neighborhood and started to attend new meetings. He made me feel welcome. As a person with the disease of alcoholism or addiction or whatever you want to call that sense of being “other” and “less than” that bubbles up from within, I resisted, especially then, acceptance and comfort when it was offered to me. My new sober friend, a senior citizen in his 70s, helped me overcome this insecurity and feel “part of” a meeting that eventually became my beloved home group. 

    Not that long ago, he was diagnosed with a brain tumor. At least, it seems not that long ago. When it happened, I immediately knew something was wrong. Although his smile remained bright, his health and strength were taken from him. He fought a courageous battle for well over a year. 

    My friend was loved by many, and after he passed, we had to figure out a way to process his death. The guidelines below, which focus on maintaining decency and decorum and avoiding added hurt and unnecessary damage, helped us grieve. (Although these suggestions may be helpful in general, they are specifically meant to be considered within a 12-step context.)

    1) Respect the Spiritual Principle of Anonymity

    The 12th Tradition of Alcoholics Anonymous states: “Anonymity is the spiritual foundation of all our Traditions, ever reminding us to place principles before personalities.” The majority of 12-step fellowships have adopted this tradition. In the digital age of mobile technologies and the internet, anonymity needs to be respected beyond the original boundaries of “press, radio, and films.” 

    Although many people, including myself, are quite open about sobriety on social media, others are strict about maintaining anonymity. When a sober friend dies, you may be tempted to post a tribute on their Facebook page, letting the world know that they died sober. Resist the temptation. By taking such an action, you could be violating their anonymity, and revealing something to family or co-workers that they would prefer to have kept anonymous. Also, don’t automatically assume you know all the details, which brings us to number 2.

    2) Never Presuppose a Relapse or Speculate on Causality

    Sadly, people in recovery sometimes return to drug and alcohol use, and sometimes it results in death. Although this was not the case with my friend, I have seen too many people overdose and die or develop fatal diseases because of excessive drinking. However, when a sober friend dies, until you know for sure from a medical report or similar legitimate source, you shouldn’t speculate on whether or not they relapsed. Such speculation is nothing more than gossip, even if you don’t intend it to be. As Aesop wrote in a fable and Thumper later adopted as his motto, “If you can’t say anything nice, then don’t say anything at all.” 

    Even if someone did die as a result of a relapse, do not act like the “wise” sage. It’s not your job to use that knowledge to warn others. Such an attitude raises you above the emotional reality and places your sobriety on a pedestal. And imagine if you are wrong. Then, not only have you damaged a sober friend’s legacy, you have hurt yourself by telling such a story. In these cases, better safe and kind than sorry and foolish. As a member of a 12-step fellowship, I don’t want to point fingers or take other people’s inventories. I don’t want judgment to consume my capacity for love and empathy. 

    Instead, focus on the good: What was special about your friend?

    3) Be Cautious and Respectful When Speaking to the Family

    If you meet a sober friend’s family at a memorial service or funeral organized by them, make sure ahead of time that it’s okay to discuss your friend’s sobriety. Many people remain anonymous even within their own families. They also have friends and co-workers who know nothing about what happened in the past. 

    It’s not your job to enlighten everyone about what a great speaker or sponsor your friend was. You will likely end up creating confusion and uncertainty. And if your friend did not disclose his or her participation in a 12-step program, you could be adding to the family’s already-heavy emotional burden. 

    If you believe the family may not be aware of a sober friend’s 12-step participation, then come up with a story about how you knew each other. Maybe a book club, a favorite activity, or a past introduction through mutual friends. 

    It’s easy to take the focus off of you by talking positively about your friend. You can tell people what a good person he or she was and how much you enjoyed their sense of humor. With my friend who died recently, his family knew about his sobriety and celebrated it. At the same time, people who knew him from 12-step fellowships talked about his business acumen, his lovely smile, and his joking personality. It was not hard to find topics to discuss that were outside of the 12-step context. 

    4) Set Up a Separate Memorial for the 12-Step Fellowship to Mourn and Celebrate a Sober Friend

    Although it makes sense to attend the family’s funeral or memorial service to show your support by being present, it’s a good idea to set up a separate memorial service as well. This second service can focus on your sober friend’s 12-step community. Often there will be a meeting before this kind of memorial service. Then, in the service, people will openly talk about the person’s role in the fellowship, and what gifts he or she brought to the program. The meeting and the service should both be open so that anyone can attend. When you publicize this event, be careful not to use social media in such a way that violates anonymity. In most cases, word-of-mouth at meetings and personal one-on-one communications should be enough to raise awareness. 

    5) Celebrate the Positive and Maintain a Loving Legacy

    Once a sober friend is gone, the best way to process that loss is to celebrate the positive. Rather than focusing on the loss, talk about what that person gave to others and their memorable qualities. My sober friend always made a point to offer a seat next to him to newcomers. He made everyone feel welcome. Today, I do my best to maintain that loving legacy by doing what he did. I keep his smile and his love alive by going outside of my comfort zone, following his example, and acting as he did. 

    As alcoholics and addicts in 12-step fellowships, we are vulnerable to our character defects, and sometimes end up relapsing as a result of them. The process of getting sober is about progress and not perfection, and we make mistakes and fall back into deeply entrenched negative patterns of behavior. The death of a sober friend reminds us of the real, lasting value of our sobriety. We can celebrate the positive while we grieve the loss. We recommit not only to our recovery, but also to practicing the principles that reflect the best qualities of our departed friend. 

    In Memory of Lenny Levy

    View the original article at thefix.com

  • Betty Ford Center

    Betty Ford Center

    Considered the flagship location, The Betty Ford Center in Rancho Mirage treats alcohol and drug addiction, dual diagnosis and offers medical detox, residential and outpatient treatment, sober living, family care and after care.

    Introduction and Basic Services

    Founded in 1982 by former first lady Betty Ford, The Betty Ford Center for addiction treatment sits on 20 acres in Rancho Mirage, California, about 20 minutes south of Palm Springs. First known as the Betty Ford Clinic, it merged with the Hazelden Foundation in 2014. The umbrella organization has been renamed The Hazelden Betty Ford Foundation and is the nation’s largest nonprofit addiction treatment center. The Hazelden Betty Ford Foundation has 17 locations throughout the United States that are licensed by The Joint Commission. The Foundation also has a graduate school of addiction studies, a publishing division, research center and various professional and medical education programs.

    Considered the flagship location, The Betty Ford Center in Rancho Mirage treats alcohol and drug addiction, dual diagnosis and offers medical detox, residential and outpatient treatment, sober living, family care and after care.

    Facility and Meals

    The Betty Ford Center’s residential program treats men and women in four large gender specific dormitory-style halls. Each hall has a kitchenette, common living room space with a TV, deck and patio overlooking the campus lake. All rooms have two full beds, two desks and chairs, two wardrobe and a full private bath. The large, tree filled campus offers various outdoor recreational opportunities.

    Clients eat breakfast, lunch and dinner at the same time of day with their hall members in a cafeteria. Meals are served buffet style and designed by a nutritionist.

    Treatment Protocol and Team

    Residential treatment first starts with a medical and psychological evaluation by clinical staff that provides a client with a diagnosis that includes substance addiction and co-occurring mental health conditions and a highly individualized, holistic recommendation for clinical care. Staff includes physicians, nurses, psychiatrists, psychologists and licensed addiction counselors and marriage and family counselors. Other staff includes nutritionists, wellness and fitness specialists, financial advocates and clinical case managers.

    Medically assisted detox at the Betty Ford Center is monitored by medical staff and length is contingent on a client’s needs. Treatment includes separate group and individual therapy to address substance abuse and dual diagnosis, wellness and fitness activities, educational lectures, trauma and grief therapy, family care and aftercare. Evidence-based treatments for alcohol and drug addiction includes Acceptance Commitment Therapy (ACT), Cognitive Behavioral Therapy (CBT), Dialectical Behavior Therapy (DBT), Interpersonal Therapy, Mindfulness Based Cognitive Therapy, Motivational Enhancement Therapy (MET), Motivational Interviewing (MI) and 12-step facilitation.

    Length of treatment is contingent on the individual needs of the client. The staff works with the client, family and insurance provider to craft an individualized treatment schedule. Treatment plans can also include relapse prevention and sober living skills. Prior to leaving, clients receive an aftercare plan that includes support groups, connection to AA and NA meetings and recovery coaching.

    Once admitted, clients can contact family and provide phone numbers and times that they can be reached. Kiosks are available for clients to have limited access to email and account info like billing. Laptops, cell phones, tablets and email and video enabled devices are prohibited while in treatment.

    A typical day begins at 7 am and includes a full schedule of group and individual therapy for both dual diagnosis and substance abuse with meals served at the same time each day. Schedules are highly individualized and tailored to meet the treatment needs of the client. Weekends include on-site and off-site recreational activities and family visitation on Sundays.

    The Betty Ford Center also offers outpatient, intensive outpatient, sober living, recovery management, family and children’s program for family members of clients. Outpatient programs offer gender specific group therapy and utilize both 12-step and evidence-based treatment methods.

    A three day family care program is available for family members ages 13 and older of current clients. The program focused on the issues the family has experienced with a client’s addiction. Its Children’s Program for children ages 7 to 12 is a four-day program that helps children and their parents or caregivers safely share their feelings about addiction and rebuild relationships.

    Aftercare entails a personalized recovery plan that includes structured recovery support option that fit the individual needs of the client. Service include continuing care groups, mobile apps, recovery coaching, web-based tools, online social groups and retreats.

    The Betty Ford Center’s alumni program, Better Together, offers opportunities to stay in touch with alumni worldwide, including retreats and online support.

    Bonus Amenities

    The campus features an indoor gym, walking and meditation trails, volleyball courts, frisbee golid and a pool with water polo. There is also a pool, spa and on-site gym.

    The Betty Ford Center offers a wide array of wellness activities including yoga, Tai Chi and spiritual care and animal-assisted programming to its clients with its certified therapy dog, Irish, a male golden retriever who offers comfort to clients suffering from homesickness, grief or trauma.

    Summary

    A world-renowned multidisciplinary treatment program, Hazelden Betty Ford Foundation’s flagship location in Rancho Mirage, California, The Betty Ford Center offers a wide array of substance abuse and dual diagnosis treatment programs that include detox, residential, outpatient and sober living and family care programs. Located on a sprawling 20 acre campus, its residential program gives clients plenty of opportunity for outdoor recreational and wellness activities. Treating substance abuse like a disease, the Betty Ford Center crafts an individualized treatment plan for its clients using evidence-based models, 12-step, individual and group therapy and wellness practices. In addition to the main campus, the Hazelden Betty Ford Foundation has 17 locations with different treatment programs throughout the United States.

    Other locations in California include Los Angeles and San Diego. Colorado, Florida, New York, Illinois, Minnesota, Massachusetts, Oregon and Washington.

    Betty Ford Center Location

    39000 Bob Hope Drive, PO Box 1560

    Rancho Mirage, CA 92270

    (888) 430-2694

    Betty Ford Center Cost

    Insurance, Private Pay, Financial Assistance (30 days)

    Find the Hazelden Betty Ford Foundation on Facebook, Twitter, YouTube, LinkedIn and Instagram

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  • 5 Messes I’ve Had to Clean Up in Recovery

    5 Messes I’ve Had to Clean Up in Recovery

    When I’m on top of my 10th step game, it goes something like this: Sorry, my bad. How can I fix it? The apologies come easily, and I promptly follow up with offers to make up for all harms done. But I’m not always on top of my game.

    What Does Recovery Feel Like to Me Right Now?

    Good question.

    It feels like making less mess, less often and…
    It feels like cleaning up the messes I still manage to make.

    When I’m really on top of my 10th step game, it goes something like this: Sorry, my bad. How can I fix it? The apologies come easily throughout my day, and I promptly follow up with offers to make up for all harms done. Then at night, under the covers, I make sure to scribble in my journal for those few minutes before Mr. Sandman knocks me out cold. Surprisingly, I learn a lot about myself in those last illegible minutes of consciousness. I see the patterns within the actions, where someone (sometimes me) gets hurt.

    But I’m not always on top of my game.

    Here are five messes for the first five months of 2019 and how I’ve managed to mop them all up.

    1. My Kid’s Library Fines

    In January I tore open another notice from the collection agency looking for me to make good on my son’s library fines. It was at least the sixth notice, and it had been years since I’d declared the book lost. ‘Til that point, though, I’d refused to send payment, both for the late fees accrued while I waited for it to turn up under the bed or at school, and for its replacement charge (because it never did).

    I was waiting for amnesty. I’d heard the library does this from time to time, waive all late fees. I didn’t feel I should have to pay $41.10 on a fantasy book about cats. My kid’s read all of them: the series on cats, dogs, wolves, and bears—for free, but I couldn’t cough up $41.10 for accrued fines? That’s insanity!

    Finally I saw it. I could screw up my kid’s credit before he gets the chance to do it himself. Everyone should have the right to ruin their own credit. No one should be robbed of that privilege by say, a spendthrift spouse, or a stingy, stubborn parent.

    So last week I finally fed three twenties, one single and one dime into the fine box at the local library. It felt great: a clear account and a clear conscience. The cost of coughing up proved well worth the relief it bought. Lesson learned: going forward, I’ll suck it up, pay promptly, and stop getting those “important notices” in my mailbox which have a way of souring my serenity.

    2. My Speeding Ticket

    Contrary to what the bumper sticker reads, I want to believe my choices behind the wheel don’t really matter.

    Not long after the library’s collection agency stopped courting me, I tore open another “important notice,” this time a $50 citation for speeding in a school zone.

    My first response was to defend myself: Oh brother, I wasn’t speeding! According to the fine print, I was going “41 mph in a 30 mph zone.” My second response was to rationalize: Come on, I was only going 11 miles over the legal limit. And my third response, finally, was acceptance. Yes, I was unlawfully speeding.

    I don’t write out many checks anymore, which might be why I get all pouty when I have to actually do it. It’s so damn involved: the writing, folding, sealing and licking (do I have a stamp?) and then the envelope knocks around my backpack for a week before I remember to mail it. But the mailing of that check made payable to the NYC Department of Finance felt good — the act of popping it into the blue box on the corner, both a physical acknowledgement of my error and a conscious effort to rectify it. It was another Step 10 moment, making amends to my fellow drivers and pedestrians of central Brooklyn. And hey, I found myself feeling a fourth response rising, gratitude: Hey, it was a school zone after all. I could have hit a kid crossing Ocean Parkway on the way home.

    3. My Unhappy Downstairs Neighbor

    Who does jumping jacks at 10:30 at night? I do, and it’s a problem because I have a neighbor below me who doesn’t sleep well. Sometimes my teen doesn’t get around to practicing piano until 10:30 pm either, and if it’s Haydn, I’ll break out into pretty awful pirouettes on the living room rug. Born about when Stalin first came to power, my neighbor always smiles kindly at my kids on the elevator. This babushka’s done nothing to deserve my thoughtlessness. It’s taken her banging the broom handle against her ceiling — more than once — to make me realize her reality and stop. This last time she knocked on my door in her housecoat.

    It shouldn’t have come to that. I apologized, again, but this time it felt different. I felt her frustration with me, and her chronic fatigue, bordering on despair. I prayed for the willingness to find a solution, and got one. My teen now practices by 9:30 pm, or not at all (mostly not at all). And instead of performing leaps and bounds to my reflection in the living room mirror, I’m using a folding chair from a funeral parlor as a ballet barre to do late-night low-impact leg lifts and silent swan arms. And I’m saving all jumping jacks for the laundry room.

    4. My Coffee Table Catastrophe

    Clumsiness isn’t a defect per se, but the carelessness that leads to avoidable accidents is. If you’re a good housekeeper, and sober, you don’t usually break shit. But when you’re willful, preoccupied, or impatient —whether drunk or dry — the odds are less in your favor. I was feeling all three when, to earn a few extra bucks, I was cleaning my neighbor’s home recently.

    It was an Ethan Allen bicentennial-era colonial table from the ‘70s, with a smoky glass insert. I could have just wiped down the glass. Or I could have taken a few moments to study the situation, then gingerly lift the glass to clean the crumbs along the maple-esque ledge upon which it rested. I did neither. In my haste to move onto activities more worthy of my talents coupled with my resolve to get at that damned dirt at all costs, I reached down underneath the glass and pushed it up with force. In slo-mo horror, I watched the six-foot tinted glass oval slip from my fingers, tilt up, then fall smack through the frame and shatter against the parquet floor.

    Oh f*&$%!

    Thankfully, after a little conscious breathing and a lot more profanity, I had the presence of mind to pray. I credit the serenity prayer for helping me come up with a sober 10th step strategy: apologize, clean it up, save a shard, identify a glass factory in the tri-state area that makes custom inserts for vintage coffee tables, place the order, pick it up and deliver the replacement glass to its rightful spot, nestled in that oval frame set between two plaid sofas in Mr. Donald’s living room. Good as new!

    The problem was, I didn’t want to do any of this. I wanted to cry and run home instead. I wanted to bail on this good neighbor, who’d been a true friend to me, my sons, even my ex, all these years, pre- and post-divorce. This neighbor who brought me fresh mint from the farmer’s market and cannolis from Bay Ridge, who got my latchkey kids off the doorstep and into their home when they’d forgotten their keys. I wanted to leave this true friend with a true mess. Fortunately, though, I didn’t. I sucked it up and swept it up, and followed through on all the rest. Today I’m even more grateful for the friendship of my forgiving neighbor. And I’m not ever allowed to touch his new coffee table.

    5. My $700 Face Cream

    And here’s a real dollop of sloppy spending. One recent morning I was trudging that road to happy destiny and stumbled. I fell, hard. Nose to pavement, that mindful breath knocked clean out of me, knees bleeding through the exposed portions of my distressed denim, I saw the cause: it was those stubborn roots of that ancient tree — my character defects. They’d buckled the pavement and tripped me up again.

    I’d just performed the single most obscene act of overspending in my not-short lifetime: I dropped down the Visa for a $765 face cream. My sober spending habits — and my sanity — snagged by those sinewy tendrils: vanity and fear. In that shockingly short-sighted moment when I confirmed the purchase, I sought false comfort in cosmetics instead of in the care of my creator.

    Pre-sobriety, I tried to self-soothe with a bubbly Bellini or a pitcher of sangria. Towards the end, it was bargain barrel red and Four Roses blended whiskey. Typical addict’s descent: desperately seeking substance for relief from self. So it was humbling now, five years into recovery, to admit to this irresponsible oopsie with the ol’ plastic. And no surprise, the high from spending on skincare lasted only as long as it took that confirmation email to hit my inbox. Almost instantaneously, I added panic and guilt to my shopping cart.

    That nagging itch of fear around aging, illness, and dying with a Siamese instead of a soulmate was now the sharp pain of fear and remorse that I might not make next month’s rent, and my kids’ summer holiday could be spent at the rundown neighborhood triplex — rumored to have bedbugs — instead of lobbing lemony tennis balls all day long at camp.

    I was stunned and embarrassed by my reckless misuse of purchasing power — certainly too embarrassed to admit to my sponsor that, in my quest for an eternally youthful jawline, I was galloping straight into the jaws of debt instead.

    Luckily I had just enough recovery to rein it in, and turn towards Step 2. I asked HP for guidance and got it:

    The solution was obvious:

    Return it.

    And still more lucky, dermstore.com, with more than 10K visitors monthly, takes all returns, no questions asked. What’s even better is that when those unsaleable items in my character — fear and vanity — trip me up, I can pick myself up today, blot my bloody shins, and choose a different path. In my drinking days, I was down for the count on all my defects….

    So, thanks, Second Step, you stopped the runaway horse of spree spending, and you too, Step 10, because I was able to reverse the financial harm done to self. My face, while not slathered in luxe cream tonight, feels radiant and clean, because I can face the Visa bill in the morning.

    My Sober Strategy for the Second Half of 2019: Steps 6 and 7

    But the habit of relying on Steps 2 and 10 to bail me out of scrapes is wearing on me. It feels un-sober. I’m starting to think that lasting emotional sobriety depends on my willingness to keep plugging away at 6 and 7, to really yank at those defective roots of self-centered fear and vanity.

    Soon after that life-affirming afternoon five and a half years ago, reading my 5th step aloud in a garden gazebo as mosquitoes ate me alive, my sponsor suggested I follow up by reading Drop the Rock: Steps 6 and 7: Removing Character Defects. Four years after that, I finally Primed the paperback to my doorstep and began reading. One story is resonating right now. A gal beset by sloth, who struggled with clutter for years, finally struck on a solution that pretty much sums up my strategy today:

    “I now know that if I don’t want to live in a mess,” she realized, “I need to pray to God for the willingness, courage and motivation to clean up my own mess.”

    Isn’t that what I tell my own teen 20 times a day anyway?

    I may never completely stop this habit of compulsively punching 16 digits into devices for ill-conceived purchases (did I mention I want to lease an Audi Q5?) but this week my impulse purchase was three Wham-O Frisbees. Progress.

    Half-measures avail me nothing. I gotta push myself to make those 10th step amends, to others and to myself, as promptly as possible, but better late than never! And I can use the steps (and the slogans, and my sponsor, and my sober sisters) to help me break each amends down into baby steps, steps that will take me further from, rather than closer to, that first drink. This feels like recovery, and a better set up for long-term sobriety and my happy life.

    Final Takeaway: Do the right thing, even when I don’t want to, even when it doesn’t seem like a big deal. Or, even when it is actually sort of a big deal; in fact, it feels so big, it’s kinda overwhelming:

    Still do the right thing.

    View the original article at thefix.com

  • Relapse Prevention: Staying Sober Through Life Setbacks

    Relapse Prevention: Staying Sober Through Life Setbacks

    Without recovery tools or a relapse prevention plan, it can be difficult to stay sober while dealing with a significant life setback. The lure of the drink or drug to ease the pain and bring comfort becomes too great to resist.

    When people at treatment centers or in 12-step meetings say that relapse is part of recovery, it turns my stomach. Although the door to recovery remains open after a relapse—as long as a person survives such dangerous waters—relapse is not part of recovery. At the same time, however, the slip and slide process that leads to a relapse does happen in recovery.

    Whether we are newly clean and sober or have stacked up many years—even decades—of sobriety, the triggers that lead to a relapse happen before we pick up the first drink or drug. But if we have done the work and have recovery tools in place, these triggering events can be processed successfully instead of leading to a relapse. We acquire recovery tools through 12-step programs, SMART Recovery, therapy, or whichever recovery pathway we have chosen, and we use them for relapse prevention.

    Without recovery tools, it can be immensely difficult to stay sober while dealing with a significant life setback. The lure of the drink or drug to ease the pain and restore a sense of comfort becomes too great to resist. It reminds me of the mantra of Dr. Gabor Maté: “The question is not why the addiction, but why the pain.”

    But we have to know how and when to use the tools properly, which requires practice. We gain this practice by working the 12 steps or taking other constructive actions in our recovery pathway well before a triggering event occurs. Then, when we hit a life setback, we are prepared.

    Here are four life setbacks which can lead to relapse if we do not have recovery tools.

    1. The loss of a job, a promotion, or a major work opportunity

    One of my favorite sayings in 12-step programs is that an expectation is a resentment under construction. When you miss out on a significant work opportunity or you’re let go from your job or passed over for a promotion, it is natural to feel crushed and overwhelmed. Many people in recovery take professional setbacks personally, punishing themselves for a perceived failure. There is a reason alcoholism is called a disease of perception. We will drink or use to escape the pain of a perceived failure, or—in a masochistic fashion—to inflict more damage on themselves as the vicious punishment for such a failure. When you consider the consequences, this outcome can be devastating.

    Rather than sinking into depression and self-blame, you can use recovery tools to put the setback into context. Did you know people change jobs an average of 12 times during their career? In January 2018, the Bureau of Labor Statistics reported that the median employee tenure was 4.3 years for men and 4.0 years for women. The very nature of employment is a roller coaster ride of ups and downs.

    Given these statistics, it’s easy to apply the second and third steps to a career setback. If you turn over the disappointment to a higher power and have faith that another opportunity will arise, then relapse is less likely to occur. If you discuss the problem in a group, you will receive support and learn from the similar experiences of other people.

    2. Global events like elections, terrorist attacks, and natural disasters

    People in recovery tend to take everything personally. We sometimes use big events that may have no direct impact on our lives as reasons to drink or use. After the last presidential election, I heard many people in meetings bitterly joke that they were either moving to Canada or having a drink. Luckily, most of them did neither, regaining their focus on the microcosm of their own lives. They focused on what was right in front of them, remembering to take things one day at a time.

    When seemingly apocalyptic moments arise, there is an urge to console ourselves. We feel the pain and horror of terrorist attacks and natural disasters and use those feelings as a justification for a relapse.

    An essential recovery tool for sidestepping this kind of relapse is avoiding isolation. When we are alone and in our heads, we are in dangerous neighborhoods. By going out and spending time within a supportive community, the disaster loses some of its power over us. We come to understand that it’s not only our tragedy and can share our pain with others. We do not minimize the horror or sadness of what happened, but we also do not use it as a reason to relapse. We don’t have to make our lives worse in response to disaster.

    3. The death of a family member or a close friend, and the pain of mourning

    Death can be one of the hardest challenges to face for anyone in any context. The loss of a family member, a loved one, or a close friend can be incredibly painful, both spiritually and emotionally. For someone in recovery, the situations in which we grieve present their own unique difficulties. In circles of mourning, alcohol is a conventional lubricant. It can be easy for someone without recovery tools to pick up a drink during this time.

    By talking about your feelings and reaching out for support, you can be guided through the pain. You will learn that by staying sober and clear, you have the opportunity to be present for your family and friends. You can be of service in a time of great need. Moreover, you honor your loved one by maintaining your sobriety. If you feel like you were not able to make amends for a past wrong, then make a living amends by staying sober and honoring their memory.

    4. The end of a relationship

    Have you ever heard the story of a person in early recovery who started dating and turned their partner into their higher power? Rather than focus on their own recovery and sanity, they focus on the relationship. What they fail to realize is that whenever recovery becomes supported mainly by a human relationship, the recovery (and usually the relationship) are on thin ice.

    Sometimes, the end of such a relationship leads to a relapse. When someone in early recovery focuses with such fervor on a partner, they no longer can keep the focus on themselves. This is why you hear the recommendation to stay out of relationships during the first year of recovery, or until you’ve worked all 12 steps.

    The end of a healthy relationship in long-term recovery can be dangerous as well. Breaking up can hurt so deeply that you feel you can’t bear it; having a drink or taking a drug seems to be the only way to stop the heartache. However, the pain is so much worse when it’s kept inside and remains unspoken; and while drinking or using may look like a way to find quick relief, you can’t actually escape this hurt. You only postpone the feelings and frequently the relapse brings more misery. By sharing the pain and talking about it with other people, you can obtain perspective. Although applying the principles of recovery to a breakup may help you avoid a relapse, it’s not a cure-all. When love ends, we suffer, and such suffering takes time to heal.

    Whatever life setback you might face today or in the future, taking a drink or using a drug will not help resolve the difficulty and in the vast majority of cases, it will make a bad situation much worse. Instead, cut the cord that connects drinking and using with pain relief. It’s a temporary and usually ineffective fix. For people who have lived with addiction or substance use disorders, the most powerful recovery tool is the simple and honest realization that drugs and alcohol are never the solution.

    What’s in your recovery toolkit? How do you deal with life setbacks without using or drinking?

    View the original article at thefix.com

  • The Ugly Side of Dating in 12-Step Programs

    The Ugly Side of Dating in 12-Step Programs

    When someone acts perfectly, their best selves, when that’s what they present to us, we often fall for it. I wasn’t special or not special. I was typical.

    Recently I was in a relationship with a guy I met in the program. We’d been together about four months, on again-off again. Really twice on, twice off.

    The first breakup wasn’t pretty — we’d had an argument one evening and when we parted he wasn’t happy. I’d say he was disappointed, but it was more than that. But after years of working my AA program, my “people pleaser” was quick to reassure him we were “good.” In fact, while the argument wasn’t really that bad and could have even been food for growth, his anger had frightened me. I’m eleven years sober, he had four years. I thought the recipe was for love, not disaster.

    The truth is: I’d been on the fence about him since we met.

    On our first date, he told me that he’d threatened to kill someone during a relapse. This left me feeling unsettled, but when I told my friends and therapist, I learned it was apparently really, really bad. I thought well, it was a relapse, not the type of thing he would do sober. I remembered him also telling me of a breakup that had happened when he was still using. Maybe all of his negative behavior was when he was using. I’d been through this before with sober men, and it was altogether confusing. An ex had gotten physical with a few women before I knew him, and I assumed it was while he was drinking. I learned at the end of our relationship that it was actually during a dry period. 

    I sound so judgmental. I guess we all have to be, to some extent, while we’re choosing who and who not to date. But apparently I’m not judgmental enough. I ended up dating the man who’d threatened someone’s life, and now here we were, post-fight, all my protective feelings swirling around inside me. I hate it when people say they were a hot mess, because it implies that they are or were hot, which is a little too narcissistic for my taste, so let’s just say I was a mess. (Not that I’m completely free of narcissism, but I choose to believe in the good in myself and focus on my character defects one at a time, rather than bundling them together.) 

    I’d like to say I was fine, but really I wasn’t fine. I was going to act like I was, though, to maintain the status quo. In other words, I’d said everything was okay, so I’d act like it was. Acting as if is a skill I learned fairly early in sobriety, and it had served me well.

    The morning after the fight I awoke to a long Facebook messenger message, really a few long messages from him, clustered together. This was the guy I was dating exclusively, and sleeping with, and basically in a “sober” relationship with. His messages were angry and spiteful. I’d thought all was okay enough to at least be civil to one another, but no such luck. And I felt sick about it. 

    I can’t remember if we spoke after the messages, but I don’t think we did. I was livid and hurt, an ugly combination of emotions. I broke up with him. Over messenger. The way we loved, we died.

    The Resurrection

    Until he started love-bombing me. I call it “The Resurrection.” It started with things he was going to give me, restaurants he wanted to take me to. He gifted me with a very personal family heirloom… and on and on. After about a month, I caved. Our second-round first date was at a park near my home. When this guy was on, he was on. We ended up kissing at my place, just kissing, and I was falling in love like I never had with him before. When someone acts perfectly, their best selves, when that’s what they present to us, we often fall for it. I wasn’t special or not special. I was typical. 

    The love affair lasted about two days, and then the old him reappeared: not listening well, an underlying frustration, a continuation of great and comforting sex (that’s where the connection stemmed from). All in all, except for the sex, nothing very exciting. Except I’m leaving out my behavior in the whole episode. Knowing I didn’t feel as strongly about him as he did about me, I should have ended it the first time around.

    Then the second time, about a month in, we went to a couple of galleries and walked around on a Friday night when everyone in New York City, like us, was mulling around for free. I wasn’t in a very good mood; my insecurity and self-hatred were getting the best of me. We had an argument — again, not so bad — but he got too angry for the situation.

    I woke up the next morning, upset and out of sorts, and called my sponsor, as I had a few times during our courtship. I asked her if I should keep my date with him that night. For the third time, she suggested I take a break from seeing him, but I didn’t listen. Suggestions are just that, I told myself, and at 11 years sober, who was I to have to listen to my sponsor.

    I went over to his place around six that evening. We took a taxi to a restaurant we liked, and the whole ride there was awkward, with short bursts of forced conversation. It got worse at the restaurant and culminated in me telling him I didn’t have the same feelings for him that he had for me. Read: My Part. I shouldn’t have gone in the first place, should have broken up with him the night before (as I didn’t hesitate to mention during what I now realize was a fight from the minute I set foot in his apartment).

    But then his anger moved in, like a dark cloud.

    “I’m breaking up with you, bitch,” he said and slammed his hand on the table. He started to walk out, which I feared would leave me stranded, far from home, with no means of getting back to my warm apartment and my sweet cat. At times of high stress, I, like so many others, go to the worst place, a place of abandonment and rejection. And as much as he really might have been rejecting me, I knew in my heart I had left the relationship months ago.

    I ended up begging him to let me ride home with him — that feeling of being stranded, scared, and alone that reminds me of all the reasons I drank and drugged — and we ended up sharing a taxi back to his apartment so I could take the subway the rest of the way home. During the 45-minute ride he alternated between yelling at me and saying he wasn’t going to be mean to me any longer, an agreement he broke countless times during the drive. He spewed hate at me while I mainly stayed silent and looked out the window. And then he said the most danger-filled and threatening thing anyone’s ever said to me: “if you think this is bad, try pouring alcohol and coke on it.”

    The moral? I should have left sort-of-well-enough-alone. After I knew who he was, I never should have gone back and dated him the second time. Or, if I am honest with myself, the first. I’m glad I got out before something really awful happened, though I remain worried that he might stalk me. I don’t know if that’s his style, but he did tell me that I had reason to be terrified of him. He said there are only a few people in the city who he hates, and they are scared of him.

    I’m dating again and it’s hard. I’ve had difficult breakups, in and out of sobriety, but this has to be the worst. It’s an all-time low; the one that leaves you with the most vile taste in your mouth. I don’t even know if I want to publish this, for fear he might read it, for fear you might. I’m going to go with HP on this one — pray like there’s no tomorrow, pray to be of service, to learn what HP has brought me in offering me this experience which I have embraced and then, finally, un-embraced, and to affirm that whatever happens, I’ll be taken care of.

    View the original article at thefix.com

  • Why You Should Embrace AA Groupthink and Shed Your Terminal Uniqueness

    Why You Should Embrace AA Groupthink and Shed Your Terminal Uniqueness

    AA encouraged me, a sauced snowflake loaded on liquor and individualistic narcissism, to put aside enough of myself to embrace two traits required to curb my alcoholism: discipline and structure.

    Addiction has a grand irony: For a disease whose treatment thrives on identification with fellow sufferers, its symptoms are extraordinarily individual. Precisely how addiction manifests in each of us — drug of choice, length of active substance abuse, depth of debauchery — varies more widely than nearly any major affliction.

    This is because addiction, like no other ailment, turns us insane and then turns us loose on the world. Ours is not a disease subject to controlled clinical settings; we find ourselves in circumstances that, though certainly following a pattern, have variables as unique as life is complicated. I have a recovering friend who, unlike me, has never sideswiped a taxi in the Holland Tunnel, blind drunk, and kept going. But alas, I’ve never been so creative as to hide vodka in a vase, as he has (#HappyHourFlowers).

    As an alcoholic, then, my addiction-fueled adventures differ from the experiences of other problem drinkers. These exploits also are so abnormal in terms of their setting — namely, civilized society — that they feed another peculiarity of addiction: the “terminally unique” mindset that I am, somehow, alone in my inability to stop drinking at any cost.

    For me, the result was a hopeless alienation that, in turn, only further fed my alcoholism. Afraid and isolated, I gave up trying to give up.

    Amid this lonesome landscape lies the tailored times in which we live. A solid case can be made that we are in the single most individualistic era in human history.

    Take me, for example. Like most people Gen X or younger, from early childhood I’ve been called unique, singular, special. I’ve been told I can do anything, be anyone, and was perfect exactly as I was. I am, it appears, a gentle snowflake.

    Fast forward to today’s iWorld. We have made-to-order music playlists, binge TV watchlists, e-newsletter subscriptions. Our Facebook and Twitter feeds serve up personally-algorithmed news items between posts from our personally-constructed list of cyber-friends. From our social media silos, we see, hear, and click on hyper-customized content — our own little gated communities in the World Wide Web. For God’s sake, even our sleep is customized.

    We do exactly what we want, when we want, how we want. We ultra-individualize, then wonder why modern society is so uber-fractured.

    And then, those of us with addiction get too high or too drunk for too long, and need help. Suddenly, we uber-individuals need help from… well… ourselves.

    And when we walk into the rooms of Alcoholics Anonymous, that’s exactly what we get.

    AA Pluribus Unum

    Despite its imperfections — including those noted by yours truly — nothing has ever made me feel so simultaneously special and ordinary as my early experiences in Alcoholics Anonymous. As a newcomer, I was told I was the most important person in the room; but as a person in the room I was told that, though our experiences may be vastly dissimilar, we were all here for the same reprieve to the same disease.

    First and foremost — before I ever considered that I may have found a solution to my compulsive, destructive drinking — AA provided a cure for my self-diagnosed tragic uniqueness. I wasn’t sure I could quit drinking but, after just a few meetings of identifying with the similar compulsions of fellow alcoholics, I was damn sure that I wasn’t the only one who had this affliction. A lot of acronyms get thrown around in AA; perhaps one should be Alienation Antidote.

    For me, this prerequisite to recovery — this normalization of my abnormality — was an immediate and amazing upside to AA, one that fortunately superseded or masked some of my preconceived concerns.

    Like most people, I skidded along the bottom before finding recovery. Months before my eventual sobriety date, I’d been warned by peers during an unsuccessful rehab stint that AA was a cult or, at least, cultish in its groupthink. I was told that there would be a lot of people spouting a lot of nonsense and, worse, telling me what to believe while they did it.

    And you know what? They were partially right. AA did indeed ask me to set aside some of my individualism — my preconceived notions, my longstanding perceptions, the personal penchants that made me me — in favor of a program that, I was told, had a well-established track record of helping alcoholics achieve sobriety.

    AA encouraged me, a sauced snowflake loaded on liquor and individualistic narcissism, to put aside enough of myself to embrace two traits required to curb my alcoholism: discipline and structure.

    Structured Settlement

    I came into AA a stone-cold atheist and remain a skeptical agnostic, and for a long time I thought AA’s first requirement for newcomers was that they develop faith in a higher power.

    I now realize that this isn’t true. Before AA asks for anything enshrined in the 12 steps (the higher power concept is introduced in Step 2), AA asks us to stop having complete faith in ourselves — or, at least, the drunk and desperate versions of ourselves that, alone, simply cannot stop drinking.

    The salve for this outsized self-reliance comprises some of the very same group-centric activities many AA-haters find cultish: chants like the Serenity Prayer offering a simplified perspective; readings like “How It Works” providing experience-driven direction; ubiquitous signage with familiar phrases and, of course, the ever-present Twelve Steps.

    As someone who entered AA as the Smartest Person on Earth (an unofficial title, it turned out), I fully understand how threatening this can seem. Even as a scared newcomer in desperate search of a solution, I didn’t want to trade my hellish life for a post-apocalyptic Zombieland. Despite the attraction of folks who’d clearly found a way to stay sober, I’ll admit to checking the coffee machine for Kool-Aid during my first few meetings. 

    But what I soon realized was that there was a simplistic beauty to AA’s anti-individualism that, for me, was extraordinarily effective in early recovery. My rehab roomies, I found, were just so full of themselves that, when confronted with a different approach, they reflexively labeled it full of shit.

    Are there cultish aspects to AA? Absolutely. Even Catholic masses don’t end with everyone standing in a circle holding hands. Anyone wondering why some people duck out of meetings five minutes early should re-examine that ritual.

    But by and large, AA’s so-called groupthink offers newcomers a keep-it-simple structure that — as fledgling sobriety becomes longstanding recovery — can be selectively shed. It asks spiritually disarmed newcomers to buy the whole standardized toolset… then allows us to return some piecemeal as we acquire new, more customized tools.

    I for one needed some discipline to replace the chaos my life had become. I also needed certain concepts — powerlessness over alcohol, the hurt I was causing others, the incredibly alien concept that there was, in fact, hope — beaten into my brain. In hindsight, I realize AA is repetitive for a reason.

    I see a lot of newcomers enter the rooms as customized as they are clueless. For them as for myself, rigidity en route to freedom is an entirely worthwhile tradeoff. There is value in a traditions-based organization with agreed upon rules that, when adhered to successfully, work well for many people.

    How has AA’s emphasis on the group helped you? Let us know in the comments.

    View the original article at thefix.com

  • Is AA Too Religious for Generation Z?

    Is AA Too Religious for Generation Z?

    “What I try to teach is: if you don’t buy into any kind of a supernatural higher power, navigate the 12-step world, filtering the god-stuff out, working the program in your own way; there is lots that really works.”

    Are today’s mutual-aid recovery groups ready to satisfy Generation-next?

    “More than any other generation before them, Gen Z does not assert a religious identity. They might be drawn to things spiritual, but with a vastly different starting point from previous generations, many of whom received a basic education on the Bible and Christianity. And it shows: The percentage of Gen Z that identifies as atheist is double that of the U.S. adult population.”

    Released early this year, Barna Group’s Generation-Z Report (Americans born between 1999 and 2015) surveyed over 2,000 13 to 18-year-olds. The oldest of this generation turn 20 in 2019.

    According to AA’s most recent triennial membership survey, 1% of AA is under 21—that’s about 20,000 sober teenagers in AA rooms right now. What’s my personal affinity with this demographic? It’s two-fold: I have two millennial children and one 18-year-old stepson; secondly, while I am a grey-haired Baby Boomer, I was a teen at my first 12-step meeting. My 20th birthday was 1980, three months shy of my fourth anniversary clean and sober.

    I was a second-generation AA member and—like Barna’s youth focus group—my worldview seemed incompatible with the old fogies of 12-step rooms. My mother mused about finding god’s will for her from meditation or her daily horoscope. She was such a Virgo, you know. Horoscopes, higher powers, legends of Sasquatch, these were all fictional symbols as far as I was concerned. Reasonable people didn’t take such constructs literally, did they?

    Bob K, like me, is a second-generation AA. He’s currently between historical book projects; Key Players in AA History will soon have a prequel. Bob’s follow-up research will produce a book about pre-AA addiction and treatment. At age 40, Bob made it into AA as a result of his dad 12-stepping him. He also was uncomfortable with the emphasis on “God.” 

    “When I was a month sober, it was ‘God-this, God saved me’ and I was going to put my resignation in. I didn’t think I could stand it in AA any longer. I went to the internet of the day—which back then was the library—and I looked for non-religious alternatives to AA. They had them in California but nothing in Ontario Canada. So it was AA or nothing. If I tried to brave it alone, I’d be drunk; I knew it.”

    Today, Bob enjoys the likeminded company at his Secular AA home group, Whitby Freethinkers, which meets in the local suburban library just East of Toronto. 

    If I were confronting addiction/recovery as a teen today, I wonder if I would go to AA or NA? If AA was once “the last house on the block,” today it’s one house in a subdivision of mutual-aid choices. Today, newcomers have access to Refuge Recovery, SMART Recovery, Secular Organizations for Sobriety (SOS), or Medically Assisted Treatment, none of which existed in the 1970s.

    On Practically Sane, therapist Jeffrey Munn states: “I like to take a practical approach … I’m not a fan of the ‘fluff’ and flowery language that is often associated with the world of psychology and self-help.” Jeffrey came into the rooms at 20, stayed sober for 2 ½ years, relapsed, came back and is now 13 years clean and sober.

    “I was mandated to three 12-step meetings per week to stay in the program I was in. Since I was young I have been agnostic. I wanted to find a higher power that was common sense-based, but in the rooms I felt pulled towards a more dogmatic spiritual idea of higher power. Back then, I needed to come up with my own conception of what was happening on a psychological level.” Recently, Jeffrey wrote and published Staying Sober Without God: the Practical 12 Steps to Long Term Recovery from Alcoholism and Addiction.

    “I looked at SMART Recovery,” Jeffrey tells The Fix. “I looked at Moderation Management, too—that one struck me as being an organized resentment against AA—I wasn’t feeling it. When it comes down to social support and a practical plan of action, it’s hard to beat 12-step programs. What I try to teach is: if you don’t buy into any kind of a supernatural higher power, navigate the 12-step world, filtering the god-stuff out, working the program in your own way; there is lots that really works.”

    Barna reports, “Nearly half of teens, on par with Millennials, say, ‘I need factual evidence to support my beliefs.’” Jeffrey hopes Staying Sober Without God—which joins a growing secular 12-step recovery offering—offers the rational narrative today’s youth crave. Barna calls today’s youth “the first truly post-Christian generation [in America].”

    Certified Master Addiction Counselor David B. Bohl of Milwaukee understands the value of other-oriented care. David tells The Fix: “As head of a 20-bed coed dual-diagnosis treatment center, emerging adults, 18 to 25 years old, came into our care. I wouldn’t say that they universally shrugged off the 12-step approach but almost universally, in reaction to our volunteers, alumni, and traditional AA community, younger clients didn’t want what the volunteers and alumni had. And I wouldn’t say it was the religiosity always. Sometimes it was an age-thing or life approach. So, our recovery management function became that much more important in terms of building individualized treatment that suits everyone.

    “In the USA, 75% of all residential treatment centers identify as 12-step facilitators,” David tells us. “In the simplest form, our job is to introduce people to the language and the concept of the 12 steps and then to introduce the clients to support groups or people in support groups when they are discharged from acute care.

    Where trauma is involved—religious trauma in particular—traditional AA language and rituals trigger that shame they feel from negative formal religion experiences.”

    Let’s put this overbearing religion caution to a real-life test: Suwaida F was the second oldest of 11 children to Somalian refugee parents who fled to Canada in the 1980s.

    “In Kindergarten I didn’t have to wear a hijab; my parents weren’t super religious. I went to an Islamic school in grade one. It was normal for teachers to have belts with them, they would hit you; child abuse was normalized. They didn’t really teach us that much math, science, history. The Islamic teachers weren’t that educated. My parents took me out and put me in public school. Then, some of my mom’s Somalian-Canadian friends started moving their kids to Egypt. My friends would stay in Egypt two years, finish the Qur’an and the girls came back wearing burqas and head-scarves. Some Muslim friends would come to school in their hijab, take them off and put them back on when they went home. We called them The Transformers.

    My parents really wanted us to learn the Qur’an; I don’t speak Arabic, so it was difficult. And I never believed it. I asked my mom and dad, ‘How do you know that this stuff is real?’ They got frustrated and mad and said, ‘Don’t ever ask that question again.’ I knew it wasn’t real. Mom got more and more religious. Pictures of her at age 19 — she wore no head-scarf when she was my age. My mom expected me to be religious and I rebelled. I had to leave home.”

    Suwaida misses her sisters. She feels unwelcome in the family home unless she is dressed in the Islamic custom and that wouldn’t be true to herself. Away from home, Suwaida found the welcoming community she craved in the booze and cocaine culture.

    “It wasn’t a matter of having no money; I had no sense of hope. People at work didn’t know I was hopped from shelter to shelter at night. One winter I was told, ‘Suwaida, you’ve been restricted from every youth shelter in the city of Toronto.’” As addiction progressed, Suwaida recalls an ever-descending patterns of compromises, bad relationships and regrets.

    “Today, it’s like I still never unpack my suitcase; I’m always ready to go.” During a stay at St. Joe’s detox, Suwaida went to her first NA meeting.

    “At 7 PM, a woman spoke. I made it clear that I thought it was stupid; I wouldn’t share. At the end, everyone was holding hands to pray and I said, ‘I’m not holding any of your hands.’ I didn’t go back. When I was discharged, I went drinking at the bar with my suitcase, not knowing where I was going to stay that night.

    My second meeting I consider my first, because I chose it. I thought I should go to AA. I googled atheist or freethinker AA to avoid a repeat of my NA experience. I found Beyond Belief Agnostics and Freethinkers Group on the University of Toronto campus. I went there last February. For a while, I had wine in my travel-mug, and I didn’t say anything. In August I felt like the woman beside me knew I was drinking, and I ask myself, ‘What am I doing?’ So, my next meeting, I went sober. I’ve been clean and sober ever since.”

    Despite the child-violence of Islamic school and rejection from her family, Suwaida isn’t anti-theist. “I do believe in God or in something. I feel like I’m always looking for signs. I don’t believe in a god in the sky but to say there’s nothing beyond all this doesn’t make any sense to me. Sometimes the freakiest things happen. Maybe it’s because I’m a storyteller, I try to make a story out of everything; you think of someone, then they phone you, is that random?

    I feel a part-of in secular or mainstream AA meetings. My self-talk still sounds like, ‘Don’t share Suwaida, you have nothing to add.’ Maybe it comes from not being able to express myself when I was growing up. I have no sense of self. I guess I have something special to offer but I don’t know how to articulate it. It’s hard; I have limited self-confidence.”

    “Give them their voice; listen to them,” is Kevin Schaefer’s approach. He co-hosts the podcast Don’t Die Wisconsin. He’s also a recovery coach.

    “I’ve been in Recovery 29+ years. I’m a substance abuse counselor and I got into addiction treatment through sober living. When I started working in a Suboxone clinic, I came to realize that AA can’t solve everything. I always come from a harm reduction standpoint: meth, cocaine, benzos; I ask, ‘Can you just smoke pot?’ and we start building the trust there.

    Medically Assisted Treatment (MAT) is geared towards this generation. Most kids coming through my door know a lot about MAT, more so than people in AA with the biases and stigma that they bring. Kids sometimes know more than the front-line social workers. Their friends are on MAT, that’s how they gather their information (not to say their information is all correct). But a lot of therapists don’t understand medication. Medication can be a ticket to survival out on the streets.”

    The Fix asked Kevin his opinion on the best suited mutual-aid group for this generation.

    “Most of the generation you’re talking about walks in with anxiety and defiantly won’t do groups.” We talked about the role of online video/voice or text meetings for a tech-native generation. “Yes—where appropriate. Women especially, because from what I’ve seen, most females have suffered from trauma. I have heard women who prefer online recovery; that make sense to me. I’ve been to InTheRooms.com; as professionals we have a duty to know what’s out there. And there are some crazies online.

    If someone has an Eastern philosophy bent, I’ll send them to Refuge Recovery; I’ve been there. If I can, I’ll set them up with somebody that I know can help them. And let’s not forget that some youth, if Christianity is your thing, Celebrate Recovery is amazing — talk about a community that wraps themselves around the substance user. There are movie nights, food, all kinds of extracurricular activities. The SMART Recovery Movement? Excellent. SMART momentum is building in Milwaukee. They are goal-oriented and the person gets supported whether they’re on Suboxone or, in one case I know, micro-dosing with LSD for depression; they’ll be supported either way. My goal with youth is: ‘Try to get to one meeting this month; start slow.’ Don’t set the bar too high and if they enjoy it, then great.

    The 12-step meeting I go to, it’s a men’s meeting. There are people there on medication and they don’t get blow-back. I wish more of AA was like this. When I came in, almost 30 years ago now, I saw all the God-stuff on the walls and I thought, ‘Nah, this isn’t going to work’ but thank G… (laughs), thank the Group of Drunks who said, ‘You don’t have to believe in that.’ The range in my meeting is broad—Eastern philosophy, Native American practices, Yoga, I was invited to Transcendental Meditation meetings at members’ houses. I was fortunate to fall into this group. You know, the first book my sponsor gave me was The Tao of Physics—not The Big Book—it was this 70’s book with Buddhism, Taoism, Hinduism, correlated to physics and contemporary science.”

    So, as to the question that kicked this off, some mutual aid meetings are ready to meet the taste of a new generation; results may vary. Who’s heard: “If you haven’t met anyone you don’t like in AA, you haven’t gone to enough meetings”?

    The reverse is true, also. If the peer-to-peer meetings I’ve sampled seem too narrow or dogmatic, maybe my search for just the right fit isn’t over. And if I don’t want a face-to-face meeting, there’s always Kevin’s podcast, virtual communities like The Fix, or I can order one of Bob or David or Jeffrey’s books if that’s more to my taste.

    View the original article at thefix.com

  • How to Keep Your New Year's Resolutions, Ten Minutes at a Time

    How to Keep Your New Year's Resolutions, Ten Minutes at a Time

    You can keep your New Year’s resolutions just by devoting ten minutes to certain simple daily tasks. I’ve seen people build websites in 10-minute increments, write screenplays, do taxes, and even date!

    I want to work out more. I want to lose five pounds. I want to drink less. Have better relationships. I used to love making New Year’s resolutions. I would write my list, check it twice, and write another one, and another, and another. I loved writing lists. It made me feel productive, organized, on top of things; in control. I can’t tell you how many lists I wrote that had “drink less” on it. Or “save money.” “Get in better shape.” I wanted to be perfect because I thought that would get rid of the anxiety and the feeling that something was very, very wrong.

    The only thing that worked for me was recovery. AA, DA, SLAA, and Alanon have become my cocktail of choice. But as they say, “program” is not self-improvement, it’s self-acceptance and, of course, surrender.

    I was talking to a friend yesterday who was chowing down the candy at a SLAA holiday potluck. She laughingly said she was out of control. She’s in a few programs and goes to OA occasionally; she’s not sure she really identifies.

    “I really want to lose some weight this year,” she said. I asked if she tried Weight Watchers because it seemed to work for some people.

    “I’ve tried everything. The only thing that works for me is self-will. It may not sound program to say that, but it’s true. I just set my mind to it and I can control my food and lose weight. All on the strength of will.” She helps herself to another cookie.

    “Is it sustainable?” I ask.

    She looks at me then sighs. “No. It works for a time – even a long time, but then eventually I give up.”

    I understood. I tried to quit drinking or “drink responsibly” so many times and then, like my friend, eventually gave up and went back. I could not do it on my own will. Some people can. And based on un-scientific observation, a few of them are sorta happy and not complete assholes. I have a friend who quit drinking without any program in his 20’s and never looked back. He may be a little workaholic-y (not like I’m taking his inventory or anything) but he seems pretty happy, and not, as they say, “dry.”

    I can’t speak for other people’s process, but I can say that now that I’ve found recovery, I don’t drink (aka I’m sober), I have an IRA, and I don’t use unsecured debt. In terms of SLAA, I don’t have sex outside of a committed relationship. I also meditate regularly and exercise maybe three times a week, sometimes more, sometimes less.

    I still do love the illusion of being “perfect” but I have to admit that as I get older, or perhaps accumulate more time in recovery, it compels me less. When I first got sober, I would think of myself conceptually, like I was a conceptual art piece. It wasn’t conscious and it was only in retrospect that I noticed it. It was like I was outside my body and I looked at myself like a piece of clay that I wanted to mold. It was an idea of me. Just like I had an idea of who my boyfriend was, or what our relationship was going to be or “should” be. Or just like I had an idea of who my dad was supposed to be. Or what life should be like. They were all concepts. Ideas. Fantasies. And they all were outside of me. From me, but looking in from the outside.

    I am learning to trust myself more. I think that’s hard for an addict. That still small voice – is it safe to trust her? But as I get to know the lay of the land of my dis-ease and recovery, and I do it within a community, I find that, yeah, I can trust her and wow, I can maybe even trust life. And if I want to make sure that life doesn’t get dry and brittle, I’d better start listening to that inner voice because that voice is deeply connected to my higher power. And that higher power is intrinsically linked to the life around me.

    And to that end (here come the lists!):

    I want to be more present
    Find work that is more rewarding
    Reconnect to my creativity
    Date in a fun and juicy way
    Furnish my new apartment
    Continue to expand my community
    Volunteer

    So how do I do it?

    In my local Debtors Anonymous, a guy named Chris created the DA Tools Game. It is brilliant. Everyone gets into teams of about four and you play for four weeks against the other teams. The team with the most points wins. You gain points by taking four daily actions. And each action you do for exactly ten minutes, not more, not less.

    The first action is making an outreach call to one of your team members to check in. The second action is spiritual/financial (which is usually recording what you spent your money on or opening your bills, etc.) The third action is self-care (stretching, taking a walk, listening to music). The fourth action is income expansion so that can be sending out a résumé, following up on a lead, or updating your website. Once you choose what your action is going to be, you have to commit to it for the whole month otherwise you lose points. This is to avoid the monkey mind that wants to switch things up all the time – especially when things feel uncomfortable. So if you choose taking a short walk as your self-care action, you can’t, after week one, switch it to yoga – unless you check in with your team first. And the consequence is losing 100 points (ouch!).

    The brilliance of this game is that you get to see how much can be accomplished in ten-minute segments each day. Some people will have decluttering as their self-care action and will spend the ten minutes every day that month decluttering their home office and then, lo and behold, they find themselves in a new relationship, or career path, or, at the very least, a clean office! The phone calls keep us accountable and provide support. I’ve seen people build a website in ten-minute increments, write a screenplay, do their taxes, and even date!

    Every action gets 25 points so if you do all your actions in a day, you get 100 points and the team with the most points at the end of the month wins. It’s a great way to accelerate one’s recovery: “Just for today, I will do my numbers for ten minutes. Just for today, I will work on my résumé…for ten minutes. Just for today, I will listen to music. Just for today, I will make a phone call to a fellow.” It cuts right through the obsession of perfection, the obsession of self-will, procrastination, and isolation.

    Granted, there are those who are able, through the sheer force of their own will, to change their lives. There are a ton of YouTubers talking all about that. I think that’s awesome. But that has never worked for me. And when it did (for a time), I was not a very fun person to be around. There wasn’t much room for intimacy when I was like that.

    But just for today… I will not drink. I will not debt. I will not act out. I will call a fellow. I will meditate. I will take actions to increase my earnings. And other “top line” behaviors (as they say in SLAA) would be: having fun, dancing, singing, going to yoga, cooking, sponsoring, being sponsored, doing the steps, reading literature, and practicing gratitude. A lot of those actions were on previous New Year’s resolution lists but, prior to recovery, the chance that they would become a part of my life was close to zero. 

    Let me know your thoughts on how your life has changed and what resolutions you’ve made in the past or want to make today. I would love to hear your experiences with this stuff because there are as many approaches as there are people. Let me know in the comments.

    And Happy New Year! Happy New Day.

    View the original article at thefix.com

  • 5 Myths About Leaving 12-Step Fellowships

    5 Myths About Leaving 12-Step Fellowships

    We have a responsibility to do whatever we can — even if that means pointing someone to an alternative (non-12-step) pathway of recovery.

    I’ve lost count of the number of conversations I’ve had with people who are frightened to leave 12-step fellowships. They contact me because they heard that I left Alcoholics Anonymous and Narcotics Anonymous over a year ago, and want to see if it’s true that I’m okay — that is, stayed sober.

    It’s true: I left 12-step fellowships in March 2017, and not only have I stayed sober, but my resilience, independence, and emotional well-being have grown exponentially. I’d even say that my sobriety has evolved more over the last year than the five years I spent in AA.

    What saddens me the most about these conversations — which echo my own fears of leaving — is that some members of 12-step groups believe sobriety is contingent upon their membership in AA or NA. So deep-rooted is this conditioning that they believe that if they stop attending meetings, they will return to using alcohol or drugs. Well-rehearsed 12-step myths say that without a program a person will become a “dry drunk,” or that they lack gratitude. Yet another surefire way of keeping people in the program is to tell them that leaving means they are unwilling to help newcomers.

    My experience, along with that of many others who have left 12-step fellowships, is that these beliefs are dogmatic conditioning. I will never tire of debunking these myths.

    Last month, a woman who spent over 20 years in a fellowship contacted me because she was tired of attending, fearful about leaving, and concerned that people mistakenly thought the length of her sobriety meant that she had the secret to long-term recovery. Such was her sense of responsibility that she blamed herself for the unfortunate fate of some people in the program. I’m saddened that someone in long-term recovery felt so confused and frightened about leaving.

    Today, my recovery represents independence. I now understand recovery as a knowing of myself and reclaiming my instincts. After six years in recovery, I’d like to think that I can make decisions based on what is right for me, rather than on the judgments of others if if I go against the grain. But this isn’t the reality for many who attend 12-step groups and they believe they have no control over their own sobriety other than showing up at meetings and working the program.

    These are just a few examples of the reasons many people have contacted me to discuss these very real fears and they’re always the same. Here is what I have to say about some of these common myths:

    • How will I help newcomers if I leave?

    First off, newcomers don’t always show up in meetings. They need someone to tell them that a meeting exists before they know to walk through that door. Second, there are a million ways to share a message of recovery: writing about your journey; giving peer support at a recovery center; sharing your experience in a treatment center or prison; offering help to someone who is struggling; or telling your friends, family, and doctor that they can refer someone who needs help to you. By leading a fulfilling life in recovery, you’re providing a real example to others that healthy and happy recovery is possible. I’d argue that all of these examples of helping a newcomer are equally, if not more, powerful than sharing your story and your telephone number in a meeting.

    • If I leave, I’ll relapse..

    This most pervasive myth of all has proven false for me and for hundreds of people I know who have left 12-step meetings. We feel a sense of freedom from breaking free of the dogmatic messaging and have taken back our power by choosing a pathway that is right for us.

    If someone wants to use drugs, they will find a way to do so whether they attend meetings or not. I don’t use substances because I choose not to, and because I care enough about myself to stop harming my body and preventing my ability to lead a fulfilling life. I no longer believe that I have a monster living inside of me, or a disease doing pushups in the parking lot waiting for me to mess up. Those are simply myths designed to keep me surrendering my will to an illusory bearded man who lives in a church basement, listening to people’s sad stories.

    • AA is the only way to recover.

    This statement is simply untrue. There are many effective pathways to recovery. In fact, a leading study shows that tens of millions of Americans have successfully resolved an alcohol or drug problem through a variety of traditional and nontraditional means. Specifically, 53.9 percent reported “assisted pathway use” that consisted of mutual-aid groups (45.1 percent), treatment (27.6 percent), and emerging recovery support services (21.8 percent). 95.8 percent of those who used mutual-aid groups attended 12-step mutual aid meetings. However, just under half of those who did not report using an assisted pathway recovered without the use of formal treatment and recovery supports.

    Another study comparing 12-step groups to alternative mutual aid groups found that LifeRing, SMART, and Women for Sobriety were just as effective as 12-step groups. Study author Dr. Sarah Zenmore and her team reported that “findings for high levels of participation, satisfaction, and cohesion among members of the mutual help alternatives suggest promise for these groups in addressing addiction problems.”

    • If you don’t feel suited to a 12-step program, you’re incapable of being honest with yourself.

    We’ve all heard of that paragraph in AA’s Big Book, “Rarely have we seen a person fail who has thoroughly followed our path. Those who do not recover are people who cannot or will not completely give themselves to this simple program, usually men and women who are constitutionally incapable of being honest with themselves.” Really?! What about atheists who feel uncomfortable at the idea of handing over their life to God? I’d argue that it is being honest with yourself to acknowledge that the 12-step program doesn’t align with your values and beliefs.

    It is harmful to suggest that you are the problem if AA doesn’t work for you. If the 12 steps are so powerful, how come their success rate varies wildly from 20 percent to only 60 percent? Shaming isn’t the answer to long-term recovery — that only deepens an already desperately low self-esteem. Supporting someone as they find the right pathway is a far more compassionate, helpful approach. When so many people are dying from substance use disorder, there is no room for shame. We have a responsibility to do whatever we can — even if that means pointing someone to alternative pathways of recovery — so that we have a fighting chance at saving some lives.

    • My desire to leave is my disease talking.

    You don’t have a monster with a different voice living inside you. Yes, our behavior changes when we use drugs, and yes, drugs override our ability to make rational choices. We also have a desire to avoid painful realities — that’s what got most of us in the habit of using drugs in the first place. But attributing your realization that something isn’t right for you to a walking, talking disease is utter nonsense. I decided to leave because I was sick and tired of entering church basements in a cloud of cigarette smoke to hang out with people eating candy, drinking tar-like coffee, talking through people’s shares, and listening to the same old story on repeat. There was a time that community was helpful, but a point came where I wanted to go out and live my life. After all, this program was designed to be a bridge to living normally.

    View the original article at thefix.com

  • 4 Important Reasons to "Keep Coming Back" to AA, Even When We Don't Need To

    4 Important Reasons to "Keep Coming Back" to AA, Even When We Don't Need To

    Don’t underestimate just how powerful your presence at a 12-step meeting can be for another person’s recovery.

    More than I care to admit, my usual 12-step meeting times will pop up on my calendar and I’ll think to myself, “Can I get away with skipping this one?”

    A lot of folks in the rooms will tell you that you shouldn’t skip meetings because relapse happens when we get lax in recovery. You get out of recovery what you invest into it, and the practice of consistently showing up makes your program stronger.

    I don’t disagree with that. But even so, when I’m having a good day, going to a meeting sounds like a drag — and one meeting, I figure, is not going to make or break my sobriety.

    Besides, I’ve earned a break, haven’t I?

    There are four simple words that snap me back into reality, though: It’s not about you.

    Put another way, we show up to these meetings because we’re building a community of support. But when we feel the temptation to not show up, it’s easy to forget the bigger picture.

    So why go to that meeting, even when your recovery doesn’t depend on it? It’s pretty simple: recovery is about so much more than not picking up a drink. The next time you’re thinking about missing out on a meeting, consider these four reasons why showing up still matters.

    1. Someone might need your presence or your story.

    You might be the one familiar face in the room that reminds someone that they’re in the right place. Something that you share might be exactly what someone else needs to hear. You never know what your presence is bringing to the table — and how valuable it might be to someone else.

    When I finally went back to AA after two years of relapses and denial, I can’t express just how comforting it was to see people I could remember. They were still there (and amazingly, still sober) and genuinely happy to see me again.

    Their presence was a reminder that AA wasn’t just a gathering place for sad drunks — it was a community. It was a place where warmth, compassion, and laughter could always be found. At times, it was really the only place where I could laugh.

    Many of us arrive at our first meetings unsure of what we’ll find and afraid to speak up. And often times it was hearing “our story” — seeing ourselves and our struggles in someone else’s share — that gave us the strength to keep coming back and truly commit to our recovery.

    Despite numerous therapists, social workers, and loved ones urging me to get help, the only thing that pulled me from my deep state of denial was listening to other alcoholics. As one old-timer explained to me, “This fellowship is the only mirror in which I can see myself clearly.”

    To this day, I can remember those people’s stories, even if they never noticed me hiding in the back of the room. They may have spoken casually without any thought of reaching anyone, but their words had an unforgettable impact on me.

    Tonight, someone might show up to the rooms, not sure if they belong or if they want to stay. Your smile, your energy, or your words could be the anchor that grounds them. Don’t underestimate just how powerful your presence can be for another person’s recovery.

    2. 12-step meetings can only thrive if everyone commits to showing up.

    Think about it: if we only showed up when we were feeling terrible, what would meetings look like, exactly? They’d be pretty dismal places. There’d be experiences to share — but where would the strength and hope come from?

    On chip nights, when I saw members getting their chips for five, ten, even twenty years, I used to wonder why they bothered to show up. “Do they really think they’re going to slip up at this point?” It’s true, they might, but when I listened to the responsibility statement, I realized that it wasn’t just for them. They showed up for the fellowship, and for the alcoholic who still suffers. Their presence was an act of gratitude.

    Members who show up consistently, even and especially when they don’t “need” to, are the heart and soul of 12-step meetings. The program only truly works when people are willing to build a lasting community together.

    AA isn’t just the couch you crash on when you’re down on your luck; these rooms represent a safe haven that should always be there, and will be — as long as we keep coming back.

    3. Sobriety is an ongoing practice — not a destination.

    I’ve often joked that alcoholism is a form of amnesia, but there’s some truth to that, too. Without a consistent practice — in which we repeatedly confront, accept, and reflect on our condition, while building up the coping skills needed to manage our lives — it’s all too easy to return to our old ways.

    I don’t know about you, but my old ways weren’t exactly charming.

    I could be resentful, self-centered, and impulsive. Like many alcoholics, I’ve fooled myself into thinking I had more power over situations than I actually did. I’ve been the bull in the china shop, barreling my way through life. I much prefer the acceptance, grace, and warmth that I work hard to embody today.

    Left to my own devices, though? I fall out of the routine that helps me sustain my recovery and keeps me accountable. The resentments start to pile up. My stubbornness comes to the surface. My sense of gratitude diminishes.

    Sobriety is not a point at which you arrive. Personal growth is a direction we move in — not a finish line we cross. Think of a fellowship, then, as your compass, helping to direct that growth.

    Sobriety is a practice, and when we regularly attend meetings, we flex the muscles needed to strengthen and maintain our coping skills. The more we flex those muscles, the more intuitive those skills become. And as the Ninth Step Promises state, we “intuitively know how to deal with situations that used to baffle us.”

    Developing that intuition means reinforcing it, and meetings are a consistent and reliable way of doing this, with a community that supports you unconditionally through that process.

    4. Joy is an incredible contribution.

    I’m an optimist and an extrovert by nature. When I first started attending meetings, I very seriously wondered if my personality would be “too much” for a space like AA. Was I too happy? Would my upbeat nature be grating in such an emotionally-vulnerable space?

    But each time I shared my experiences, there was a chorus of gratitude that followed — the energy that I brought to the rooms was appreciated and seen. That’s when I finally understood something: authentic joy is an amazing gift to bring to my community.

    So when I’m especially happy on any given day? I make an extra effort to show up to meetings. I let my smile signal to others that there is joy in sobriety. I let my laugh remind newcomers that there are better days ahead.

    And I let my excitement and enthusiasm lift up those around me, especially those who might be wondering if there is a place for them in AA. When I show up authentically, it allows others to do the same. It makes those rooms a more welcoming place.

    I may not feel motivated on a given day to show up to a meeting. But when I can’t show up for myself, I do it for my community.

    And inevitably, when I do, my joy only seems to multiply. It seems that — at least in 12-step programs — what you give to others always comes back to you in spades.

    View the original article at thefix.com