Answer Addiction

Tag: 12 steps

  • My Higher Power Problem in Overeaters Anonymous

    My Higher Power Problem in Overeaters Anonymous

    Although I have a strong sense of higher power in my life, I did not understand how admitting one’s powerlessness and putting faith in a higher power would aid in eliminating my compulsive eating.

    I first encountered Overeaters Anonymous (OA) while hospitalized for having the disability of schizoaffective disorder, albeit in a roundabout way. During my stay, a woman came to the ward to share her story of success from her own schizoaffective disorder, during which she talked about how she lost over 100 pounds from participating in OA. Given that I too struggled with weight loss, I immediately was inspired by her story.

    After her presentation, we exchanged contact information, and she began to offer her advice on how to win the battle of weight loss. She recommended I write down everything I eat, and within a few weeks I was counting calories. After being discharged from the hospital, I continued to lose weight, writing all my calories every day without fail for over two years. I lost 70 pounds in total.

    I began to fall off with calorie counting when I started working full time, juggling the stress of my disability simultaneously. I began gaining weight again, then becoming further stressed when I started graduate school in social work while still working full time. While my mental wellness has become stronger and stronger, I still today struggle with compulsive eating and weight gain.

    Given my friend’s success with OA, I wanted the program to work for me as well. I attended a meeting in my neighborhood, but immediately felt alienated with the higher power concept. Although I have a strong sense of higher power in my life, I did not understand how admitting one’s powerlessness and putting faith in a higher power would aid in eliminating my compulsive eating. No matter how much I prayed, the change never happened. I shed many a begging tear.

    Subsequent visits to OA meetings did not clarify the concept of higher power. I wanted to philosophically discuss the nature of what it is, with others sharing how they worshipped, how they experienced their higher power as a force in their lives. Yet when people told their stories of recovery and abstinence, they merely referred to their spirituality in bare sentences. “I leaned on my higher power, and I was reformed.” “Hold on, and the miracle will come. It’s just around the corner.” This told me nothing about the strength of their spiritual senses.

    I also experienced confusion about how the spirituality of the 12 steps applied to overeating overall. I felt that compulsive overeating was different from alcoholism and substance abuse, in that it does not result in as much harm towards others. And while virtually anyone would prefer not to be around people who are heavily drunk or on mood altering drugs, overeaters are not as shunned or disparaged. Further, there is nothing comparable to the issues of body image that are always closely entwined with overeating and which are sometimes the focus of discussion in OA meetings. Body positivity is a current movement in which people embrace all shapes and sizes as equally valid. There are also people who are sexually attracted only to those who are overweight or obese. This external perspective can have an effect on how we perceive our own behaviors around food and may even cause some people to reconsider whether they need to lose weight or participate in a program like OA. I can’t think of anything similar when it comes to alcoholism or drug addiction.

    My personal faith includes the world manifesting according to the plan of a higher power that may not have my abstinence from compulsive eating in mind. Just because I ask for better eating habits, that does not mean that my desire will be granted. What of people who die due to tragic circumstances? Why do people suffer in general? I have cried and begged to my higher power for sobriety, and it has not been granted.

    For me, OA meetings are not enriching enough to make time for in my busy schedule. Virtually everyone at the meetings I attended were older retired and disabled women, none of whom worked. I did not find mutuality with them, not due to their different life stages, but because they did not have the same packed schedule as me. It was easy for them to attend multiple meetings per week and calmly remain connected with their higher power, while I could barely manage to make time in my schedule to relax and be mindful. I did not see them as people I could imitate, and my attempts at finding a sponsor yielded similar feelings.

    Attendees also were not people I wanted to be around in general. In previous years when I weighed less, incidentally when unemployed and still on disability benefits, I achieved weight loss because I frequently went to the women’s gym in my neighborhood. I made friends and got support from people in a mutual and empowering way, and I improved my physical health by exercising in classes and in the weight room. This felt like a more proactive use of my time than sitting in a circle idly, talking about an ambiguous higher power with physically inactive older adults.

    My past experiences have taught me the winning combination to fighting compulsive overeating: counting calories by writing my food intake down, eating healthy foods, and attending the gym at least three times a week. Although this proves more difficult today because I am busy with full-time work and graduate school, I now manage to go twice weekly. I hope to bump it up to three times in the near future.

    Although OA is not compatible with my sense of higher power, my investigation into the 12 steps proved to be an enriching experience. Many people have found recovery with 12-step programs, and it is important for me to understand how specifically it transforms lives, especially as a social work student. When people talk to me about how it benefits them, I can empathize and identify on a fundamental level. The 12 steps also symbolize a spiritual progression, from chaos and despair to spiritual wisdom and groundedness. My sense of spirituality is somewhat congruent with these concepts.

    I personally embrace harm reduction as the resolution to my compulsive overeating. This is the concept that complete abstinence needs not be the immediate goal of recovery, but rather that one can taper off by reducing the harm of current practices. This lends to taking a practical step-by-step approach to recovery, inviting the idea that recovery is a journey and not a destination.

    Harm reduction also seems more forgiving and affirming. These days, addiction is not always characterized as a disease that one remains afflicted with for their entire life; it’s often considered a behavior that is rooted in the need to address a certain underlying condition, such as stress or trauma. Relapse and slip-ups merely fall in stride with the bigger picture of life, and it’s not helpful to think of it as all-or-nothing.

    I hope to achieve recovery in the near future with my own eating, but I also need to celebrate what I have already. I have a loving family and a wonderful network of friends who are passionate about mental health and social work. I have achieved wellness despite my grave disability of schizoaffective disorder, and I am successfully completing more obligations than many can muster. Although weight loss is not happening now, I know that my higher power has the best plans for me in mind, and that I should have faith in everything unfolding in its due time.

    View the original article at thefix.com

  • A Newborn Kitten, 12 Steps, and One Night of Fatherhood

    A Newborn Kitten, 12 Steps, and One Night of Fatherhood

    When I put him in his makeshift little crib I had the first of several revelations that night: “When you were using you probably would have let that kitten die.” At that moment I fully embraced the experience.

    As a product of too many 12-step meetings to count in my multi-decade fight with three addictions, many themes stream through my inner recovery. One recurring theme that is anchored in that addiction library is the seminal moment when a fellow brother shares their impending fatherhood as a monumental reason for getting sober. Having been denied the opportunity of fatherhood myself (through the trifecta of alcohol, gambling, smoking), I secretly envied those who could use parenthood as an inspiration for getting clean.

    Rightfully so! What could be a more powerful reason for getting clean than wanting to be present physically and spiritually during perhaps the most important time in your life? Especially when most of us enter adulthood as wounded children with no modern-day guide to change that reality. Consequently, parents need every vicissitude of human awareness to help their partners raise a child in as stable a way as possible. The idea of getting a fresh start and having an AA or GA baby is uber-logical to even the most helpless addict.

    However, even the strong evolutionary pull in our chromosomes for parenthood is sometimes no match for the intense psychological and physical demons that obfuscate our nature when addiction has hijacked our soul. Since I was never in a position to experience fatherhood, I could only postulate from the ill-formed axons, dendrites, synapses in a substance abuser’s brain that the conscious mind desperately wants to rise to the occasion, but the unconscious is probably already working out the details of its next encounter with dopamine.

    Fortunately, I have seen many addicts seamlessly climb out of the abyss and become great parents. There are a small minority who work on a quick timeline and apparently “will” themselves to sobriety, leaving the rest of us marveling at how easy they make it look. These are what I call the “one and done group.”

    The rest of us have to get well in small increments. If we are sincere about our recovery, we need to rehab for as long as it takes to get a reasonable modicum of sobriety. Detox, if needed, happens quickly, but it’s the ability to handle environmental cues that is the 800-pound gorilla. That learned process can take years to build adequate defenses to handle cravings. The good news is no matter what threshold you’re at, just the contemplation of getting clean for parenthood’s sake is huge.

    Most of my adult life I was in self-destruct mode and the insanity of it all was that I was conscious of it, but if anyone tried to stop me, I would hit the jettison button sooner rather than later. Even though when I was high, I often wished that a stork would knock at my door and a wife and a child would magically appear, I knew deep down that I was not equipped for fatherhood at that time and it would have been an unmitigated disaster.

    Fast forward many years and today at 58 I have been clean of all the aforementioned vices “for many a 24 hour” as they say in 12-step parlance. It took many years but fortunately I stopped just short of the triple-crown (insanity, prison and death). I was a very slow learner.

    When I look back at my state of entropy, what bothers me the most was how selfish I was. If I saw a person who needed help or a good friend needed a ride to a doctor’s appointment I would give them a half-baked excuse. The only time I did something for others was if it furthered my self-interest. Today I cringe just thinking about how I let so many people down (including myself). I was oblivious to the world that existed outside my addictions.

    Today I feel like I am one with the universe. Whether it is an injured bird or counseling work with addicts, I am grateful that my desire to help people has been restored to what I feel is my purpose in life. I try to put forth a reparative approach to all organisms in the universe whether animals or humans (I draw the line with candida in my gut). However, my one big regret which I am patiently learning to accept is that I will never be a father. But that all changed a couple of weeks ago. I experienced one night of fatherhood that only could have happened if I was clean and sober. Ironically, the experience left me higher than a kite!

    My Fatherhood Tripalogue

    We are all guilty of talking the talk and not walking the walk at times. It is especially true of writers/addicts like myself who are sometimes guilty of “pontification by proxy,” whereby we sit on our cozy perch and lecture about things we may not have experienced, but we have book or third party knowledge of. While I have street and book credentials about addiction, I have never been a father. But after 58 years on this planet, sooner or later you’re apt to experience a temporary role as a father, even if the source of your caretaking is a kitten. And this kitten was especially dicey because it was only four ounces.

    About 6 p.m. one day last week I was returning from the grocery store, looking forward to putting on the baseball game and relaxing. As I walked up the three wooden steps to my front door, I heard this faint whine and between the wood steps was what looked like a small baby stuffed animal, the size of a potato. Wait a minute, I thought, stuffed animals do not make sounds unless you wind them up. This rocket scientist then realized it was a newborn kitten. Wonderful, I thought as I picked it up gently. I know as much about newborn kittens as I do about opera.

    My first response was I wanted to bolt, like the first time I went to AA and wished I was in the witness protection plan and was relocated to Siberia, but sanity prevailed and I assessed the situation.

    I realized that the kitten was no more than a few hours old. Not only was it not of my species, but now we’re talking about neonatal care of a kitten. Now Mr. Bigshot, purveyor of love, a Holden Caulfield wannabe was thrust in the middle of a conundrum: do I take care of the cat or watch the ballgame? Thankfully, since getting sober I’ve learned not to trust my first instinct.

    I thought of a compromise: I will pass the kitten off to all those cat lovers I know! But my sudden relief didn’t last as all of those ubiquitous cat lovers were not calling me back. A neighbor passing by told me to go get kitten milk and wait several hours for the mother to come back.

    Guilty thoughts permeated: “well that’s what I get for not going to enough meetings or maybe because I lied about jury duty or some other white fib, the gods were punishing me.” I stood in the open doorway waiting and watching for what seemed like an eternity for the mother to come back. (I was feeding it special kitten milk and put a light knitted blanket on it and picked it up every 15 minutes.) I then had a horrible thought: the nocturnal raccoons would probably eat it.

    Right then and there I drew a line in the sand and said to myself “that ain’t happening on my watch.” I picked the little guy up (I did not know the gender) and brought him inside and realized that at least for that night I was going to be his father and mother. When I put him in his makeshift little crib I had the first of several revelations that night: when you were using you probably would have let that kitten die. At that moment I fully embraced the experience.

    After giving him a couple of drops of milk (not as easy as it seems—I managed to get more on the little guy’s cheeks and neck then in his tiny mouth), I figured the cat and I would have a long snooze. No such luck, 10 minutes later he was crying. I petted him for a bit and got back into my crib. A cat person friend finally called and said “it is 50/50 whether he will survive the night without his mother.” Once again I said chauvinistically “that ain’t happening on my watch.”

    “Just hold him as much as you can,” she said. Realization #2 then crept into my brain: Whether you like it or not, you are going to have to be a surrogate parent for the night. Incredulous as this sounds, I said to myself, “here is your shot at fatherhood.”

    As the night drew on, I would pick him up for 10 minutes then put him down and he would cry, and just by hearing my utterance “it is all right little friend,” he would sleep for about 20 minutes. (Once I learned that kittens can’t hear or see for a week after birth, I realized my talking was a placebo for me; it calmed me down and maybe my little buddy sensed that and also relaxed). After holding him for another 10 minutes, I realized I was too nervous to sleep and at about 3 a.m. I took him with a towel and small knitted blanket and put him on my chest. He only cried three brief times after that. I think the little guy probably thought I was his feline mother because he positioned his body right over my heart. 

    It is incredible: these little guys do not have working ears, eyes, legs at birth and their thermostats are very nebulous. No wonder my cat friend gave him a 50 percent shot of making it through the night!

    When light befell this newly anointed kitten kennel, I realized I was responsible for the kitten’s life. Eye-opener #3: I might have saved him from the raccoons that night, but most importantly, his welfare was in my hands and I knew I had to get him some professional help.

    As soon as 8 a.m. rolled around, I went to the local vet and lucky for me, the newbie, they said they would take care of him and find a home for him. I felt relieved, but then epiphany #4 hit me like a load of bricks: I realized I would miss this itsy bitsy bundle of joy.

    Before my deep seated abandonment issues kicked in, out of nowhere a warm sense of calmness pervaded my being. Vision #5: I was “high.” For the last 10 hours my ego went into some sort of dissolution…I was tripping, like a psychedelic high — my sense of well-being was no longer about me, my whole apparatus shifted to the care for a four ounce cat.

    That is about as stoked up as I ever felt in recovery.

    HAPPY FATHER’S DAY!

    View the original article at thefix.com

  • There's Nothing Wrong With You If AA Doesn’t Work

    There's Nothing Wrong With You If AA Doesn’t Work

    It isn’t that you’re incapable of being honest with yourself, or that you’re not working a “program” well enough. You are not too broken, or too far gone.

    I spoke to a friend, Damien, last week. He was devastated at losing someone close to him to alcohol use disorder. What is particularly harrowing about this person’s passing is that it might have been prevented. Damien’s friend was repeatedly pushed toward Alcoholics Anonymous (AA), even though it clearly wasn’t the right fit for him. Just like many others, instead of being supported by peers and professionals and given alternative options, this friend was left feeling that the problem was him.

    “It’s really frustrating to see friends die because the default treatment option doesn’t work for them,” Damien says. “We are losing far too many people with substance use disorder who find 12-step incompatible with their life experiences and belief systems.”

    He goes on to say, “It’s not because they aren’t willing. It’s not because they can’t ‘get it.’ It’s because, for many people, treating addiction requires more than hope, spirituality, and fellowship. And yet, the only option most are presented with is founded on those three pillars. If the recommended treatment for bacterial infections had the same success rate as the 12 steps, then antibiotics would not be our go-to treatment plan for staph infections.”

    My overarching message is: There is nothing wrong with you if AA doesn’t work. It isn’t that you’re incapable of being honest with yourself, or that you’re not working a “program” well enough. You are not too broken, or too far gone. You simply haven’t found the right pathway for you.

    These kinds of beliefs stem from the Big Book of Alcoholics Anonymous, which states: “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.” [emphasis added]

    During my five years of attending countless AA and Narcotics Anonymous (NA) meetings, I have heard many members criticize those who come in and out of the rooms but return to using in between, categorizing them as unwilling, or incapable of being honest. “They just need to surrender to the program and work it like their life depends on it,” was the kind of statement I heard over and over again.

    I threw myself into the program because there were no other options for me in the northwest of England. I was so desperate to find something that would help me that I believed anything members said, even if there was no evidence to back it up. I did a fair amount of perpetuating these myths too. I was instructed to ignore my instincts and critical mind (because that was my “disease talking”), and do what I was told. Giving away my free will to a person in the sky or a church basement seemed weird, but I went with it for several years. After all, it had worked for many other members.

    With a period of sobriety under my belt, I couldn’t ignore my inner doubts any longer. They became louder. It was as though, even after years in recovery, I suddenly woke up. And I started to slowly unpack all the myths I’d been told.

    In particular, I tried to unpack “it works if you work it.” There is substantial evidence that shows there’s no one-size-fits-all method when it comes to recovery. If this program were suitable for everyone with substance use disorders, its success rate would be much higher. The fact is that success rates of 12-step programs vary wildly, from as low as 5 to 8 percent, with dropout rates from 69 to 86 percent, to as high as 42 percent after four years. I should point out that these dropout rates are a reflection of the attrition rates of addiction treatment generally. This underscores the point that the way we treat addiction isn’t appropriate for everyone and we need to get better at personalizing care based on individual circumstances.

    When I moved to the U.S., it was like my world opened up. I saw that despite what I’d been told in AA — that it was the only method for successful recovery — there was actually an open landscape of diverse recovery pathways.

    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 methods. That means:

    • 9 percent recovered with “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.
    • Just under half of those who did not report using an assisted pathway recovered without the use of formal treatment and recovery supports.

    I’m aware that an ideal model of treatment, individualized based on the person’s particular medical and psychological needs, is not always available to most people. Not all of us have the luxury of therapeutic treatment from a psychologist or psychiatrist. This is another reason mutual-aid groups are the most accessible form of recovery pathway — they’re free! We’re fortunate in the U.S. to have plenty of other support groups that are not all based on religion, and some have a solid evidence-based program. They include Refuge Recovery, LifeRing Secular Recovery, SMART Recovery, Moderation Management, Wellbriety — among many others listed here — and they have been shown to be equally as successful as 12-step groups.

    A 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 Zemore 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.”

    Despite my reporting about AA’s success rate and some of the myths perpetuated by the fellowship, I’m not here to bash AA. I’m here to shine a light on the false statement that it is the only successful way. There are many others. For those AA does work for, I respect your path. We just need to have a clearer picture of what recovery looks like so when someone is suffering, instead of saying they are the problem, we can be better informed to direct them to what may be a more suitable pathway. After all, we all have the same goal: recovery.

    View the original article at thefix.com

  • Dennis Rodman Pushing To Get Sober Again After Recent Relapse

    Dennis Rodman Pushing To Get Sober Again After Recent Relapse

    Despite relapsing, Dennis Rodman said he’s still focused on his recovery and doesn’t think he’s undone the progress he’s made over the past year. 

    Dennis Rodman says he’s in contact with his sponsor and attending AA meetings again after letting his sobriety slip two weeks ago. 

    According to TMZ, the star was out in the Newport Beach bar scene and had stopped going to 12-step meetings because they got boring. However, Rodman said he realized drinking again was a mistake and he reached out to his sponsor and his agent, Darren Prince, who has been sober himself for 10 years, for help. 

    “Dennis is the king of rebounds and he’ll rebound from this too,” said Prince. 

    Rodman entered rehab in January after getting a DUI. At the time, Prince said that was the culmination of years of substance abuse for the former NBA star. 

    “It’s no secret Dennis has been struggling on and off with alcoholism the past 17 years,” Prince said. “He’s been dealing with some very personal issues the past month and we’re going to get him the help he needs now.”

    More recently, Rodman told TMZ that the DUI got his attention. 

    “It was a wake-up call. . . . I’ve been doing pretty good man, considering the fact that before that it was up and down up and down being Dennis Rodman the party guy,” he said. 

    Despite his relapse, he said he’s still focused on his recovery and he doesn’t think he’s undone the progress he’s made over the past year. 

    “Now I got a clear view of what’s going on in life so that’s a good process,” he said. “It’s a long process and it’s gonna take time to get over the hump.”. 

    Early this year, when he was just 30 days sober, Rodman acknowledged that keeping clean was going to be tough.

    “I feel great, man. It’s kinda weird not to have a cocktail on a beautiful day in California but like I said, it’s just one day at a time,” he said in February. “I’m hoping that I can continue on my journey to be sober. That’s a long road.”

    Rodman has been in treatment before, including in 2014 after he returned from a much-publicized trip to North Korea. During that trip he appeared drunk and insinuated that an American in a North Korean prison deserved his treatment. 

    “What was potentially a historical and monumental event turned into a nightmare for everyone concerned. Dennis Rodman came back from North Korea in rough shape emotionally,” Prince said at the time. “The pressure that was put on him to be a combination ‘super human’ political figure and ‘fixer’ got the better of him. He is embarrassed, saddened and remorseful for the anger and hurt his words have caused.”

    View the original article at thefix.com

  • Support for President Trump is Not Sober

    Support for President Trump is Not Sober

    We would not accept from our sponsees things that President Trump does, without remorse, on a daily basis.

    If you go to 12-step meetings and you’re a MAGA person, here’s something fun to try. Pick a public statement of President Trump’s — one that isn’t explicitly political, as we wouldn’t want politics to sully the rooms — and share it with the group. Don’t cheat by picking something bland, choose a real Trumpian one. Call a woman “horseface,” maybe, or say of Mexicans, “They’re rapists.” Or if you want to bring up rape, raise your hand and tell your fellow addicts that women who don’t report rapes to the police are lying.

    Yes, yes, Alcoholics Anonymous is a non-partisan, non-political organization that, to quote the famous preamble, “does not wish to engage in any controversy, [and] neither endorses nor opposes any causes.” That’s great, for what it is — AA as an organization isn’t about to make grand proclamations about the issues. But nothing you shared with the group, hopefully not your home group, was really “political.” You just put forth your point of view, like the President does on Twitter every day. How do you feel? How is the room looking at you? Are you ashamed?

    it’s a cop-out to believe that the AA program has nothing to say about anything deemed “political.” Whatever your feelings on taxes or immigration, there’s no question that Trump doesn’t represent sober (in the 12-step sense) values. And it’s actually far worse: Trump, in his embrace and encouragement of resentment and ego, has made himself into a symbol of self-centeredness, a totem of negativity. His morals are about as far removed from sobriety as morals get, and he’s actively bringing down his followers with him. You cannot support this man and call yourself sober. Dry, maybe. Not sober.

    Calm down. This is not as limiting as it first sounds. Because Trump is unique, and support for his presidency is also a unique kind of support, there’s not much overlap with pure partisan issues when it comes to what is and isn’t “sober” as we 12-step adherents understand the word. I’m not here to tell people how to advocate for low taxes, reduce regulations, build a wall on the southern border, or that they need to repent and get right with the spirit of Bill W. I’m of the libertarian/anarchist bent, so if AA is a program for leftists, I better go check out LifeRing. I’m talking about Donald Trump as a man, what he stands for, and what emotional reactions he encourages (and in turn benefits from) in those who support him.

    If you get past the simplistic idea that AA is “non-partisan,” none of this should be too surprising. Trump’s whole life has been about his own gratification at the expense of the world, like mine was when I would guzzle vodka for days on end. In his 2005 book How to Get Rich, he explained: “Show me someone with no ego and I’ll show you a big loser.” (I can’t imagine he would think too highly of the idea that “Twelve Steps deflate ego.”) His supporters like this about Trump — that he is unabashedly self-seeking, proudly vain, constantly boastful, and in a way, I get that. It’s fun, and forbidden, but it certainly isn’t how we hope to model ourselves, or for that matter guide our sponsees; but as entertainment? There’s a certain magnetism.

    The bigger problem with President (no longer entertainer) Trump, for those of us who wish to live sober lives, is that he has embraced the role of playing on and promoting resentment, the thing the Big Book says “destroys more alcoholics than anything else.” His public persona, tweets, and political strategy have all become inseparable from his desire to inflame the ugliest sides of human emotion, the sides that we recovering alcoholics try to manage with grace and magnanimity. He tells his followers, both implicitly and outright: allow yourselves to be bitter; indulge your righteous anger; lash out and never apologize. If anything can conclusively be called “un-sober,” it is the celebration of resentment, and that is what the #MAGA movement stands for.

    Trump’s infamous and above-quoted take on Mexicans — “They’re rapists” — is nothing more or less than a naked appeal to the very sort of shit we sober folks try to avoid rolling around in — and this was in his campaign announcement speech! Since then, Trump has expanded this resentment narrative, directing the bitterness of his followers laser-like toward Muslims, immigrants, and women. He dubbed the midterms the “caravan election,” explicitly and unapologetically stoking fear and hate for a group of impoverished people who may or may not arrive at our border in 6 to 8 weeks.

    Look, you can feel any way you want about the legalistic issue of who should and shouldn’t be allowed in America. But sober people who give in to the caravan fear-mongering, or who play into the resentment culture Trump fosters, are trashing whatever spiritual development the 12 steps have helped them achieve. Is one president worth that?

    Maybe Trump does things like this for political expediency more than a desire to single out groups of people — I’m not the therapist he clearly needs — but the effect is to inflame and encourage resentment. This was certainly the result of his declaration that “very fine people” were part of the Charlottesville white supremacist march, and his prolonged foray into claiming that Barack Obama wasn’t born in America. Racism is resentment purified and focused. If we can’t call racist dog-whistling contrary to AA thinking, I’m not sure AA thinking is good for much of anything.

    We would not accept from our sponsees things that President Trump does, without remorse, on a daily basis. “Progress, not perfection,” goes the sobriety cliché. Trump luxuriates in his lack of progress. He infamously refuses to apologize — or even express some contrition — for his worst comments. With two years of the presidency under his belt, he took great joy in mocking (in public, at a massive rally) a woman who at the very least sincerely believed herself to be a sexual assault survivor. The day after an election he claimed to be happy about, he mocked members of his own party who lost — it’s hard to think of a less gracious way of behaving. As addicts we make mistakes, but we recognize that to live an honest life we need to evaluate those mistakes and learn from them. Trump just doesn’t give a shit about this, and in his role as the most powerful person in the world, he’s uniquely able to beam this way of thinking directly into the psyches of his followers. He is kryptonite to sobriety.

    There is a difference between making mistakes and acting selfishly and egotistically — something we all do, and something that George W. Bush and Barack Obama did often — and basing your entire public life around encouraging others to indulge in what Step Six calls “self-righteous anger,” of the sort that “brings a comfortable feeling of superiority.” The 12 steps take as a given that we have a higher nature that our addiction obscures. How can we then express admiration or support for someone who proudly parades his lack of that higher nature, and asks others to follow his lead?

    Some readers might be puzzled as to how Trump’s rhetoric could appeal to allegedly spiritually aware people, and while it seems odd, but it isn’t. All things considered, if Trump’s public persona is attractive to these AAs — or even if they fail to see the damage his verbal assaults inflict on the psyches of individuals and the nation as a whole — they are simply not sober. They have egocentrically taken back their will at a massive cost to those around them. They are dry, maybe, but they are not sober. And as we all know, the rooms of Alcoholics Anonymous are filled with people of various levels of spiritual sobriety.

    I don’t think so-called “normies” like Trump (and yes, it is weird to think of him as normal) should be held to the standards we hold ourselves to as recovering addicts. But at the same time, we recovering addicts are supposed to recognize the problems with a celebration of ego, selfishness, and most importantly, proud and unapologetic resentment. We wallowed in that for years, and it landed us in the rooms of Alcoholics Anonymous where we ostensibly hoped to redirect our energies to our better natures. Let’s practice what we preach in sobriety. Let’s earn the respect of our sober peers, our sponsors and sponsees, and the people who around us who remember us at our worst.

    There are members of the groups Trump singles out in AA rooms across the country. There are transgender people — the administration’s recent target — in the LGBT meetings I attend here in New York. There are Mexicans recovering from alcohol addiction, including undocumented ones. They don’t have the option of leaving their “politics” at the church basement door. Under this administration, neither do we.

    Trump himself has infamously never had a drink. Maybe that’s the biggest lesson here — we don’t need to be actively drunk to be spiritually wasted.

    View the original article at thefix.com

  • Russell Brand On Rock Bottom, Importance Of 12-Step Fellowship

    Russell Brand On Rock Bottom, Importance Of 12-Step Fellowship

    “Sharing your story with another addict, as I did in my recovery, proved vital. Nothing I said to this person was too boring or terrible or trivial to him.”

    Russell Brand never shies from talking about his experience with addiction and recovery.

    Ahead of attending Wellspring, the three-day “wellness festival” happening in Palm Springs Oct. 26-28, where he’ll be the keynote speaker, Brand spoke with the Los Angeles Times about hitting rock bottom, living mindfully, and the importance of fellowship.

    “I hit rock bottom in 2003 with an addiction to heroin, which had cost me a job at MTV, a radio show, friends and girlfriends,” said Brand, who began using drugs at age 19.

    He used heroin for four years before his manager and friend Chip Sommers put things in perspective, telling him “I’d wind up either in a prison, lunatic asylum or graveyard.”

    He started going to a 12-step program, which he benefits from to this day. By accessing the support of others, he learned the importance of having a sense of community that the 12-step program provided.

    “Inevitably, when reason wanes, when the spiritual experience wanes, being part of a community lets you remind one another. Addicts yearn for some sense of connection that makes them feel more healed, more whole, more happy,” he said. “Sharing your story with another addict, as I did in my recovery, proved vital. Nothing I said to this person was too boring or terrible or trivial to him. He related to me—and the disconnectedness that I had always felt lifted. And so did the need to take drugs.”

    Brand also relies on a daily regimen of meditation—“a shower for the brain”—and exercise.

    “You have to design your own program, what’s right for your body and your mind,” he said. “For me meditation is not nearly enough. I need exercise too. And community.”

    In his 2017 book Recovery: Freedom From Our Addictions, Brand chronicles his path to recovery and shares wisdom accumulated from over a decade sober.

    In the book, the comedian, actor, activist and advocate for addiction recovery and mental health adapts the 12 steps of Alcoholics Anonymous in his own expletive-laced words.

    “[Now] I don’t struggle with [addictive] urges because the program I live by helps me remain serene and prevents those urges from arriving,” he said. “If I feel those urges—even though I don’t feel them so often because I’m working the program—I talk to other people and I do stuff for other people and I meditate and pray. There’s a whole sort of series put in place for when I feel those urges.”

    View the original article at thefix.com

  • AA Meetings Are Thriving In A Country Where Alcohol Is Illegal

    AA Meetings Are Thriving In A Country Where Alcohol Is Illegal

    A new episode of PBS’s “Frontline” offers a glimpse inside Alcoholics Anonymous meetings in Iran. 

    Alcohol is banned in the Islamic Republic of Iran, but the fellowship of Alcoholics Anonymous is alive and well in a country where the consequences for drinking are severe.

    Many Iranians are starting to believe the true cost of alcohol—everything from brutal lashings to the death penalty—is worth it. At least, that’s the message suggested in an eye-opening new episode of the PBS documentary series Frontline.

    “I was arrested [with alcohol] and got 77 lashes,” an AA member said in the episode. “They use leather whips, just like with a horse. That’ll hurt, yeah. My skin was all torn apart.” He’s not alone, Frontline reveals, as the episode explores how AA has increasingly taken root in the country.

    The country’s Ministry of Information has allowed the AA Big Book (in which co-founder Bill Wilson outlined the 12-step program) to be printed and shared, with meeting groups rising all over Tehran, Iran’s capital. The results are telling, as one AA group member says he’s celebrated eight years of sobriety while another has another four under his belt. 

    Alcohol may be highly illegal, but it’s clearly not impossible to find. “You call someone who sells it and they come and deliver it to you,” an AA member explained to Frontline. “They bring it in a paper bag, you pay them, and they’re off again.”

    The simplicity of that transaction belies many other stories about Iran’s hidden drinking subculture, which is almost as hidden as the country’s burgeoning AA fellowship.

    Despite Iran’s alcohol ban and frequent police raids, “drinking in Iran is widespread, especially among the wealthy,” the Independent reported.

    There aren’t any nightclubs, so all of the illegal imbibing occurs behind closed doors. Some of the booze is smuggled in, but much of the wine and beer is made right under the noses of Iranian law enforcement, who are all too eager to mete out punishment.

    And while AA meetings reveal that some Iranians are seeking help they desperately need, Iran itself remains a country in denial about its larger alcohol problem.

    The Daily Beast published a feature that considered why “cruel penalties [have] not managed to reduce the popularity of drinking alcohol, particularly among young people, or its dramatic abuse by a stunning number of alcoholics.”

    Put into context, Iran ranks 166 in alcohol consumption per capita, but that statistic isn’t telling the whole story. If you look at World Health Organization estimates for people who consume 35 liters or more of alcohol over a year, the country actually ranks 19th in the entire world.

    “In other words, the number of alcoholics per capita puts Iran ahead of Russia (ranked 30), Germany (83), Britain (95), the United States (104) and Saudi Arabia (184),” The Daily Beast reported.

    Still, the Islamic Republic refuses to address its problem, beyond some scattered public ad campaigns that depict the dangers of drinking and driving. 

    View the original article at thefix.com

  • Kelly Osbourne Discusses Relapse, Celebrating One Year Sober

    Kelly Osbourne Discusses Relapse, Celebrating One Year Sober

    “To cut a long story short things got really dark. I gave up on everything in my life but most of all I gave up on myself.”

    When Demi Lovato ended up hospitalized last month for an apparent overdose, one celebrity to speak out and support her was Kelly Osbourne. 

    Osbourne has been public in the past about her own battles with substance use, but she only recently spoke out about her own relapse and celebrating one year of sobriety in a post on Instagram.

    “To cut a long story short things got really dark,” she wrote. “I gave up on everything in my life but most of all I gave up on myself. Life on life’s terms became too much for me to handle. The only way I knew how to function was to self-medicate and go from project to project so I never had to focus on what was really going on with me.”

    Osbourne thanked her family for the role they have played in the past year of her sobriety. 

    “I want to take this time to thank my brother @jackosbourne who answered the phone to me one year ago today and picked me up from where I had fallen yet again without judgment,” she wrote. “He has held my hand throughout this whole process. Thank you to my Mum and Dad for never giving up on me.” 

    In 2009, Osbourne spoke to People about her battles, beginning at the age of 13. 

    “I had my tonsils taken out, and they gave me liquid Vicodin,” she told People. “I found, when I take this, people like me. I’m having fun, I’m not getting picked on. It became a confidence thing.” 

    In the next few years, Osbourne says she started seeking out pills from friends and doctors. In 2002, during filming of The Osbournes, she says she was self-medicating every day to manage her anxiety and “not be me.”

    In 2004, People reports, Osbourne’s parents sent her to Promises Treatment Center in Malibu. Then, in 2005, she went to treatment again. For the following three years she lived in London, with what she tells People were high and low points. 

    When she returned to Los Angeles in 2008, Osbourne says she hit an ultimate low and an intense relapse. When her friends and family stepped in and demanded she get help, she says she was relieved. 

    “I knew if I didn’t go, I would die,” she told People. “I thought, ‘Thank God someone’s going to make this pain go away.’”

    While it isn’t clear how long of a stretch of sobriety Osbourne had previous to this relapse, she says she is now content with where she is and where her sobriety stands.

    “I still don’t know who the fuck I am or what the fuck I want but I can wholeheartedly confess that I’m finally at peace with myself and truly starting to understand what true happiness is,” she concluded in her Instagram post. 

    View the original article at thefix.com

  • Do AA's Promises Come True?

    Do AA's Promises Come True?

    After completing the 12 steps, a long-time member of AA shares his experience of the 9th step promises.

    Russell Brand recently released his own creative interpretation of AA’s Twelve Steps. As a recovering alcoholic myself (since 12/30/1983), I admire how he captures the essence of the program, while still more or less respecting its tradition of anonymity. I’ve decided to respond to Brand’s piece by writing a bit about the Twelve Promises—which are less known outside of AA than the Twelve Steps or Twelve Traditions. We call these the Ninth Step Promises, because they’re linked with the Ninth Step on page 83 of the Big Book. They’re the pot of gold awaiting us—trite as that might seem—and we read them aloud at the ends of meetings. On the eve of 34 years of continuous sobriety, I’m in a good position to comment on these Promises . . . Do they actually come true?

    1. If we are painstaking about this phase of our development, we will be amazed before we are halfway through.

    I sobered up in my home town of Columbia, Missouri. I followed suggestions, and spent much of my first year on working with a sponsor. I was poorer then than I’d ever been, living in a halfway house, but it was a happy time. Working on the Eighth and Ninth Steps, I acknowledged the harm I’d done to others, and prepared to make amends. The first one I owed was to Jerry, my former employer, co-owner of a traditional pool hall that still serves the finest cheeseburgers I’ve ever eaten. I’d worked there for two years, during my heaviest drinking. Because of my increasingly disheveled behavior, Jerry had let me go, and we hadn’t spoken since. I still owed him a considerable debt, mostly for booze and food. After writing down all of this, to the best of my recollection, I called Jerry for an appointment. One afternoon, in early 1984, we sat down together over coffee in the back of Booche’s. I took a deep breath, then began to lay my cards on the table. I explained what I thought I owed, apologized for my dishonesty, and asked how I could make restitution. There was a long silence. Something within him—caution or suspicion—visibly melted at my offer. Then he shook his head.

    “I don’t want your money,” he said.

    “I know,” I said. “But I’d like to pay my debt.”

    Jerry left for a moment, and went and spoke quietly with a co-owner in the front. After a minute, he returned and said firmly: “Just your business. We just want your business, Mike.”

    I nodded. Jerry had made his decision. We looked each other straight in the eye and shook on it. And I still eat at Booche’s when I’m back in Missouri, and have through all these years. Jerry and I are still friends to this day. And each amend since then has only brought relief and freedom.

    1. We are going to know a new freedom and a new happiness.

    Early recovery is a little like those movies in which an angel or alien falls to earth, then falls in love with it. Sensations are intense, especially the strange, new feeling of belonging in the rooms. As a result of “our common bond,” AA is like Switzerland: it’s the one place where the differences between people don’t pertain. Some use the word “God”; some don’t. Meetings veer from tears to sidesplitting laughter. There’s a characteristic zaniness (not unlike Russell Brand’s), along with immediate connection. AA is virtually everywhere, and I usually take in a meeting whenever I’m away. As soon as I am settled in my seat, the self’s deceptions drift away like dandelion floaties—along with whatever weight I carried with me into the room.

    1. We will not regret the past nor wish to shut the door on it.

    Many of us call ourselves “grateful alcoholics”—which might not be an easy concept to grasp unless you are one. We’re grateful for life itself, for sobriety’s staggering, unexpected gifts, and for every step of the path that has led us here. Shutting the door on the past is not what we’re about. For one thing, it’s our experience, strength, and hope—rather than wisdom or knowledge—that makes us valuable to newcomers.

    1. We will comprehend the word serenity, and we will know peace.

    AA is a plan for creating integration out of disintegration. Serenity is simply a by-product. I didn’t know this when I came in, and frankly, I couldn’t have cared less. I just wanted the pain to stop. But once I was actually sober—and trying to face the character issues I’d chronically masked with alcohol—I craved it. I said the Serenity Prayer to myself 50 times a day. Sometimes I still do. The Fourth Promise doesn’t claim we will have peace; only that we will know it.

    1. No matter how far down the scale we have gone, we will see how our experience can benefit others.

    Straight out of treatment in Missouri, I lucked into finding a solid, hard-core sponsor. I did most of my step work sitting in Gene’s Chevy pickup, and everything went as well as could be hoped. But when I got to my Fourth Step inventories, I couldn’t figure out why he seemed so unimpressed with my writing. I was a creative writing major, after all!

    But an AA sponsor is not a writing professor, and a sponsor is also nothing like the judges and shrinks and counselors I’d been bullshitting for years. Gene scanned my first inventory with a leathery grimace, then abruptly turned and spat a long stream of tobacco juice through the open window.

    At first, it cut me to the quick how easily he saw through me. That night I thought: fine. I’ll show you, and I’ll show AA! I wrote out my darkest secrets (except for one, which I’d carry for 30 years), in rough list form. A couple of days later, at our regular meeting, I showed him my list. By then, my anger had given way to anxiety, and I expected the worst. I sat in silence and tried not to watch as he was reading.

    Gene showed no emotion. Not one flicker. After a minute, he rolled down the window, spat, and then drawled: “that it?” Then he just smiled through his ravaged face. Suddenly, I saw that neither of us was better nor worse than the other. In all the years since then, whenever I serve as a sponsor, Gene is my template.

    1. That feeling of uselessness and self-pity will disappear.
    2. We will lose interest in selfish things and gain interest in our fellows.
    3. Self-seeking will slip away.

    Here are some suggestions: 90 meetings in 90 days; find a sponsor; join a home group; get a service position; read and meditate and pray; work the steps; and help others. Here are some results: we stay sober; character defects lose their hold; self-centeredness no longer defines us; we don’t feel useless anymore, because we aren’t; and the Promises come true.

    1. Our whole attitude and outlook upon life will change.
    2. Fear of people and of economic insecurity will leave us.

    One of Gene’s favorite sayings was: “sober up a horse thief, and what have you got? A sober horse thief!” Then he’d guffaw. I loved him for that, even though I didn’t really get his humor at the time . . . But it does seem impossible at first for an alcoholic to change enough, through such simple and wholesome means, to make much of a difference in our lives. What practicing alcoholics need—not only to survive but to flourish—is a complete and profound psychic transformation. Lucky for us, that’s exactly what the Twelve Steps are designed to do for us, and not only once but every day, as long as we live in the solution.

    1. We will intuitively know how to handle situations which used to baffle us.
    2. We will suddenly realize that God is doing for us what we could not do for ourselves.

    We typically finish upbeat, but I’m ending with two tragic losses. The first was that of Tom McAfee, my undergraduate poetry professor at the University of Missouri. Tom was a brilliant, charismatic writer—and late-stage alcoholic—who died in 1982, at the age of 54. I’d been Tom’s bartender and best friend at the old downtown hotel where he lived much of his life, and also later at Booche’s. Tom was always shaky and frail, but overnight, his health tanked. It took weeks before a couple of us were able to move him to the hospital, and then it was revealed that he had lung cancer. I looked after Tom as best I could through this whole period. But his terror and delirium at the end—as he lay dying of cancer while going through alcoholic seizures—was more than I could bear. One afternoon on a three-day bender, I stumbled into the hotel bar. Someone remarked to me that Tom had died. When had I last seen him? I couldn’t quite remember. That’s when my drinking began in earnest. I’d failed my friend when he needed me most. I couldn’t forgive myself.

    The second loss was that of Jackie, my first wife. (Although we didn’t formally marry for many years.) In 1988, Jackie and I were both midway through our PhD’s at the University of Utah, when she discovered the lump. We both took leave, and went back to Missouri for surgeries, reconstruction, and many rounds of chemotherapy and radiotherapy. We kept our hopes up, and after a year the cancer seemed to be in remission. I went back to resume my studies at Utah. Jackie, slightly ahead of me, was back at it, and managed to land a great job at the University of Texas. She was happily teaching there the following year when the cancer came back. I took leave again, and moved to Austin. Shortly afterward, I proposed—and a few days later, we got married at the courthouse. It was exquisite. And through the next year and a half, I never left her side. Jackie endured treatments first in Austin, and then back home in Missouri, where our strategy shifted from cure to comfort. Paradoxically, in the weeks leading to her final struggle in 1991, there were many hours of intense joy. Spontaneous, childish, connected-at-the-hip gleefulness . . . Often, the exact same thought appeared simultaneously in both minds. It was the deepest intimacy I’ve ever known.

    Jackie’s last words were: “I love you.”

    As devastating as it was to see such a beautiful soul taken before she’d hit her stride, her death was triumphant, too. Even through her worst days, death never got the best of her.

    I went back to Utah, finished my PhD in 1993, and started my professional life—steady then, resolved.

    Just after the founding of AA in 1939, many sober alcoholics were sent into battle in WW2. As related in the Big Book, this was AA’s “first major test.” Would they stay sober far from their meetings? Against all expectations, they did. They had fewer lapses “than A.A.’s safe at home did . . . Whether in Alaska or on the Salerno beachhead, their dependence upon a Higher Power worked.” I had a related revelation after Jackie died. I realized that I could go through anything sober. That now I was spiritually fit enough to show up for “life on life’s terms.”

    Along with the Promises, there’s a playful call-and-response that we include. It seems to be a rhetorical question: “Are these extravagant promises?”

    And the entire group answers: “We think not!”

    And on that note, the reading concludes: “They are being fulfilled among us—sometimes quickly, sometimes slowly. They will always materialize if we work for them.”

    There’s usually then a closing prayer. And after that, we fold our chairs, and return to the lives that AA has given us.

    View the original article at thefix.com

  • Sober Joe Supports Recovery, One Cup Of Coffee At A Time

    Sober Joe Supports Recovery, One Cup Of Coffee At A Time

    The national coffee brand raises money for non-profits offering recovery services and funds monthly sober living scholarships.

    Coffee and recovery go hand-in-hand, whether the beverage is being served at 12-step meetings, or just helping someone start their day in the morning. Now, a small-batch, craft coffee company is working to support recovery efforts, one cup at a time.  

    Frank Kerker worked in the beverage industry for 25 years, doing sales and marketing for national brands. However, when Kerker started working a recovery program in 2005 after realizing he was drinking too much, he realized that there was a natural opportunity to use coffee as a fundraiser for recovery. 

    “This was the perfect intersection for me: beverages and recovery,” Kerker told The Fix in a recent interview. 

    Not only was it a good fit given Kerker’s professional past, but there was also a well-established connection between coffee and recovery. 

    “I don’t know why there is that connection, but there is,” Kerker said. “Coffee is mentioned a half a dozen times in The Big Book and 12 & 12. It’s the beverage of choice for 12-step meetings everywhere. It’s ubiquitous, part of the culture. Making coffee is even suggested as a way to perform service work.”

    Last September, Kerker began to use coffee as part of his service work, although he went far beyond making a pot for friends. He launched Sober Joe, a coffee brand that raises money for non-profits offering recovery services. 

    Initially, Kerker was planning to just test the concept, but the positive response was overwhelming. 

    “Virtually everyone is touched directly by addiction and people want to help but don’t know how,” Kerker said. “Buying a product that you use everyday is an easy way to help. Plus, it’s really good coffee.”

    Each month since September, Sober Joe has funded a scholarship to Courage to Change Sober Living, a local halfway house in Bloomington, Indiana, where Sober Joe is headquartered. Kerker estimates the scholarships totaled about $3,000. 

    More recently, Sober Joe partnered with Compassion4Addiction, an organization that aims to change the perception of addiction through compassion and science. Sober Joe is now launching nationally, and proceeds from national sales will be donated to Compassion4Addiction.

    “Shame and stigma can’t coexist with compassion,” said Vicky Dulai, the cofounder of Compassion4Addiction. “If you create a place for compassion, then you can create a space where people can actually heal.”

    Kerker agrees that cutting down on stigma is essential to advancing treatment for addiction.

    “Accurately understanding the problem is the first step in solving the problem and loosening the stigma that stands in the way of effective treatment,” Kerker said. 

    View the original article at thefix.com