Tag: AA

11 Ways to Heal a Broken Heart in Recovery

When your broken heart goes into cardiac arrest and your old “coping mechanisms” are more likely to lead you to flatline than recovery, try these 11 resuscitative tips and heal yourself.

Heartbreak. At 14 or 54, we’ve all been there, but today we push through the pain, one-day-at-a-time, cold brew sober. And here’s what’s helping me now, because, despite what still feels like an endless volley of water balloons hitting concrete beneath my breastbone, the fibrillation is in my mind, not my chest cavity, and that scrappy muscle thumps on, still propping me upright each morning to face my new reality.

1. Find that God of Your Understanding and Glom On

When I reached Step 3 with my sponsor, I got an assignment: flesh out your concept of a higher power, in writing. Lisa M. wanted detail, a God I could see and talk to, and grab by the elbow. And because I’m neither original nor progressive, I came up with a male God in human form — a cross between Santa Claus and Mr. T. to be exact. With a twinkle in his eye and a glint off his gold tooth, my HP is jolly and generous, strong and sexy, and funny as hell.

And at this moment, when I’m finding myself on the sucky side of one-sided love, it’s not bad to have a real hunk who loves me for an HP. After an especially vicious salvo, when the heartbreak balloons start to leak out the eye sockets, I can HALT, remember the in-breath, and picture HP (and yes, predictably, I’m looking heavenward). Funny, his response is always the same: with bronzed torso and silver beard, forearms flexed and crossed over a white undershirt, the big man in the sky stares down at me, then starts nodding reassuringly. Suddenly, he flashes that easy smile and I know I’m good.

2. Slam the Slogans

H.A.L.T., Easy Does It, Turn It Over, Just for Today, Live and Let Live, This Too Shall Pass, When One Door Shuts Another Opens, Fear Is the Absence of Faith, The Elevator Is Broken – You’ll Have to Use the Steps. I’ve become something of a short-order chef when it comes to using a few well-chosen words to support my sobriety. Day and night, I sling slogans, flip affirmations, and call out quotes from famous dead people. I’ve scotched them to the inside of my kitchen cabinets, along with the 3rd, 6th, 7th and 11th step prayers. They are the comfort food my soul craves now. “Success is moving from failure to failure with no lack of enthusiasm.” – Winston Churchill. “If you want to be loved, love and do loving things.” – Ben Franklin. Words that nourish, as I’m waiting for the kettle to boil. Having well-chosen words highly visible in the kitchen (or as a screensaver) can be a real lifesaver!

3. Phone Therapy

And here’s a slogan I’m slamming hard today: “We drank alone, but we don’t stay sober alone.” The old timers carried quarters, and I make sure I leave home with my phone fully-charged. I listen to a morning meditation walking to the train, text three newcomers on the platform, compose a longer text to my sponsor in transit, then dial my best sober gal pal as I push through the turnstile on the final leg to work. I send silly GIFs to lift spirits, including mine, and add a trail of emoji butterflies, praying hands, and peace signs. By 8:00 a.m., the lonely in me already feels not so alone.

4. Explore Podcasts

Recovery Radio Network, Joe and Charlie, and the Alcoholics Anonymous Radio Show are three in my queue. On my lunch hour or driving upstate, I take 30-60 minutes to laugh, cry, and identify…

5. Make a Gratitude List

My first sober Christmas, going through a divorce with two kids still believing in Santa, the above-mentioned sober gal pal suggested I find ten things for which I was grateful, save them to my phone, and recite them like a mantra through the Twelve Days of Christmas. I did:

1. My sobriety
2. My sons
3. AA program of recovery
4. AA fellowship
5. Food in my stomach
6. Roof over my head
7. Colombian coffee
8. My dog
9. My extended family
10. God (HP has since moved up to the #1 slot)

It worked. I said no to nog that first Yuletide, and made merry for my sons instead. And counting off my blessings still works today, when I’m a shallow-breathing shell just going through the motions.

6. Make an Extended Gratitude List

When the restless, irritable and discontent in me keeps spilling the glass half-full and this positive punch list isn’t getting me over the hump, I pour out ten more things to celebrate, like: my pre-war bathtub, which holds upwards of 60 gallons of bubble bath and the fact that I live within easy walking distance of two subway lines so I can always get into the city on weekends.

7. Make Meetings

“Meeting Makers Make It,” “Get Sober Feet,” “Carry the Body, the Mind Will Follow.” These three slogans in particular encouraged me as a newcomer, and I’m calling upon them now, in cardiac arrest, when my heart needs serious heartening. So I’m hitting my home group, and getting hugs from retirees with double-digit sobriety who pass fresh Kleenex and envelop in equanimous smiles. I’m also checking out other meetings across town, then going out for…

8. Fellowship Afterwards

I’ve started tucking my Boggle into my handbag when I head out to my Friday night meeting. At the secretary’s report, I pull out the box, shake it, and invite anyone interested to a nearby diner for passable pie a la mode and a few rounds of a three-minute word game. Sometimes it’s Yahtzee. We roll the dice and down bottomless cups of bad coffee. Last week someone brought cards, and I lost badly at hearts (ha!). It’s good, wholesome fun, and by the time I hit my pillow, I’ve significantly pared down the number of waking hours I could have spent obsessing over-ahem-HIM.

9. Self-Care

Self-care is somewhat self-defined. These days, after I’ve covered the basics—eat, sleep, bathe—I’m noodling what more I can do to support my mental, physical, and spiritual self. Prone to self-pity and self-indulgence just now, self-care is really urgent-care. So I ask: am I under-meditating and over-caffeinating? Am I speeding up at speed bumps? Am I four months behind in balancing my bank statement? Am I using money to buy what money can’t buy and damn the consequences? Am I treating every Monday like Cyber Monday and abusing the free delivery feature of Amazon Prime? Have I forgotten yoga and found red velvet cake in Costco’s freezer? Are my spot checks spotty lately because I just don’t want to cop to this alcoholic acting out, and instead keep blunting the full force of feeling??? Yes to all of the above. And this leads me back to Step 2: turn to top management for a takeover.

Working Steps 2 and 3 is probably the most caring thing I’m doing for myself today: seeing the unmanageable, then seeing the way out. And also forgiving myself for these self-indulgent splurges. So what that I’ve added three pounds to my midline and three pairs of silver sandals to my shoe rack? The rent is paid, and my latchkey kids still let themselves in after school and seem content to eat my crockpot soup and call this home.

10. Get on your Hobby Horse

When was the last time you read “Chapter 6: Getting Active” in Living Sober, that handy paperback that’s not just for newcomers? This month I’ve been making good use of subsection 6B: “Activity not related to A.A.”

The anonymous authors suggest “trying a new hobby” or “revisiting an old pastime, except you-know-what” (Yea, Amstel Light). Fat chance I’ll pick up cabinetmaking, leathercraft or macramé, but I am baking granola and simmering bone broths.

I’m also revisiting my adolescence with amateur YouTube ballet routines by hammy-thighed figure skaters and dancing to Heavy D. music videos late into a Saturday night. I’m choosing happy music over sad, and tuning in to The Messiah, not Blue Christmas.

I’m even considering “Starting on long neglected chores” like editing my nearly obsolete recipe binder, now that I’ve found Pinterest. And while I can’t claim to be going out of my way “Volunteering to do some useful service,” I am trying to be more useful on my job. And just as helping a newcomer find a meeting helps me, helping a kid graph algebraic equations makes me feel purposeful (when otherwise I feel like a mess).

11. Become a card-carrying member of the “No Matter What Club”

For God’s sake, whatever skillful or unskillful actions you end up taking during this time of triage, please don’t drink over him or her. They are not worth it. (And I’d put money down—money that I don’t have—on a bet that they’d agree with me.)

Voila! My top eleven tips to help you over the hump of heartbreak! Take what you like and leave the rest.

Have you had your heart broken in recovery? How did you heal? Let us know in the comments.

View the original article at thefix.com

21 January 2019
Rage Bender: Addicted to Anger

Anger can be an addiction: it’s energizing and makes you feel powerful. When I was using and even afterwards, I used my rage to control, bully, and manipulate people.

“Anger is a short madness.”
– Horace

I just got off a rage bender. Two full weeks of terrifying my friends and family. Days of driving around and like some deranged queen in Game of Thrones ordering (to absolutely no one): “Destroy her.”

“I’ve never heard or seen you like this,” I kept hearing. Yep. Because this was an old part of me I thought I’d gotten rid of, or at the very least, tamed. Boy was I wrong.

At first I thought it was a bout of agitated mania from a little med fiddling. “This definitely feels chemical,” I kept saying to everyone as I continued to engage in behavior that fueled my rage: talking about my archenemy, reading about her personal and legal problems, feeling righteous indignation and then, more divinely, vindication as her fall escalated.

That’s where my old buddy Dr. Wetsman caught me. “Do you think you’re using your ex-colleague’s demise as a drug?” he asked.

Long pause. “Yes,” I answered sheepishly.

“Okay. Well every time you get a dopamine spike from your schadenfreude, guess what happens after?”

“A crash.”

“And then,” he concluded, “you’re left scrambling to find more dopamine.”

Ahhh, so that’s why I was craving cocaine, sex and cigarettes. Cocaine, really? At almost six years sober, having become some fucking pseudo-icon of sobriety that I never asked to be thanks to my book, I was shocked that getting loaded was still on the table. But there it was: romantic imaginings of bags of crystalline white powder and syringes with clean steel tips twinkling in the twilight.

Here’s the thing about anger: it’s energizing. Anger can make you feel powerful. When I was using and unfortunately even afterwards, I used my rage to control, bully, and manipulate people. And once I’m this angry, it just bleeds over. First I’m pissed at her, then him, and now all of them and you. The storm has been unleashed and my mind can come up with evidence that anybody has fucked me over. Isn’t that our superpower as addicts?

“Anger is energizing,” agrees Amy Alkon, science writer and author of the “science-help” book, Unf*ckology: A Field Guide to Living with Guts and Confidence.

“Your amygdala mobilizes the bodily forces you’d need to run or win a physical fight with someone. So, your adrenaline courses and blood flows away from your reasoning center of your brain, the prefrontal cortex, and to your arms and legs, which makes you better equipped to punch or run.”

We all love a nice dose of adrenaline, right? It’s like shitty coke. So I’m getting high off my anger and the drug dealer is right inside of me. Anytime I wanted another hit I could dredge up some old scenario where an ex-colleague (or anyone, really) viciously screwed me over, and boom! Out came another surge. But aside from stomping around and spitting fire, there’s a real downside to this “drug.”

According to Alkon, when the amygdala is activated, a chemical reaction takes place that releases cortisol which helps to mobilize the aforementioned physical response so you can fight back. “However, there’s a problem if there’s no need for any sort of physical response from you, which would burn off the cortisol. If you’re just standing there fuming, the cortisol simply pools. So, effectively, you’re being poisoned by your anger. Over time, this is associated with very detrimental physical effects, including lowered immune function and heart disease.”

So resentment really is the poison you drink expecting the other person to die. Here was the science. And I realized something weird: the more I talked about it, the angrier I got. I didn’t “get it out.” There was no catharsis. Why?

“It’s a myth that ‘venting’ your anger is a way to diminish it,” Alkon told me. “The more anger you vent, the angrier you get. Darwin was the first to observe that the expression of an emotion acts to amplify the emotion, and modern research has confirmed this.”

Great! So I was on some rage loop, fucking up my immune system and giving myself heart disease. But how to stop? I knew the anger was just the top layer, the mask of something deeper and more painful that I was trying to avoid.

Liz Palmer writes “Angry is just sad’s bodyguard.” And of course she’s right. Underneath the rage was hurt and ultimately sadness. But who wants to feel that way? Who wants to listen to LP’s “Lost on You” and scrawl heartbreaking poems in blood? Not I. I’d much rather do weighted squats and listen to Tool and talk about how I will “fucking bury you.” You might think 115 pounds of desert Jew isn’t that frightening. But I learned early on in my childhood how to be verbally brutal. I’m sure growing up watching Scorsese movies and idolizing mobsters didn’t help either. But I assure you crazy and angry is a terrifying combination, even if you are a featherweight.

My sponsor urged me to find compassion for my ex-colleague. Nice dream, dude. That was NOT going to happen right now.

So then I decided to attack this emotional monster via the body. I called Nathaniel Dust, my breathwork wizard, and booked a private session. Waiting for our time, I caved and bought a pack of cigarettes after almost eight months off of vaping. Well done, fuckhead. I smoked one and it felt–I’m not going to lie–great. I immediately felt calmer. Oh sweet dopamine, there you are! I walked into Nathaniel’s place smelling like an ashtray with palpable anger radiating off me.

“Where are those cigarettes?” he demanded. “They’re going in the trash.”

“Purse,” I answered petulantly. $10 down the tubes….ugh.

I knew I was in trouble. If I let myself cross the line back into smoking, what was next? Tinder? A drink? Sober border patrol was obviously asleep on the job.

There are those few lines in the Big Book which I always thought were bullshit: “If we were to live, we had to be free of anger. The grouch and the brainstorm were not for us. They may be the dubious luxury of normal men, but for alcoholics these things are poison.” It was true and I was living it.

“My former colleague and friend fucked me over,“ I said, “and she should pay.”

Nathaniel laughed. “Are you really going to be a victim your whole life?”

And then my tears came.

“There’s the real shit,“ he said. He hugged me while I howled in his arms like a small child. “Now get on the table, lady, and let’s do some breathing.”

I cried and screamed and cried and shook and then it was over. I felt some relief. I vowed to stop talking about my enemy or reading about her. In the end it was none of my business. Whatever payoff I thought I was getting was costing me dearly.

So I guess my point is this: we shouldn’t prevent ourselves from getting worked up just because it’s not the “spiritual” thing to do. Whatever with that. Scientifically we want to stay calm so we don’t jack up our adrenaline and cortisol or, for those of us who get high off anger, we don’t want to chase that big dopamine spike that always ends with us crashing down.

So embrace the AA platitude of “let it go,” if only for the sake of your physical and mental health, serenity, and…oh yeah, your sobriety.

View the original article at thefix.com

7 January 2019
What 8 Days of Silent Meditation in Sri Lanka Taught Me About Myself

I wanted to get something out of this week of mindfulness meditation. I wanted to live mindfully, feel spiritually connected, to be less of a disconnected, frenzied entrepreneur run by self-will and ego.

When we arrived at the meditation center in the middle of the Sri Lankan jungle during a downpour, we were greeted by leeches. The first victim, a tall German girl, started screaming and flailing when she noticed the mini monster stuck to her hand. Truth be told, I would have reacted the same way had I been the first victim, but she got it out of the way so I could steel myself.

“Oh, you will definitely get zem,” the white-haired German meditation instructor informed us in his grandfatherly accent. “You just pluck zem up and put zem back into zee nature.” He demonstrated this, gently removing the leech and lovingly transferring it to a leafy plant, more compassionate towards the creature and more amused by its human victim.

“What have I gotten myself into?” I wondered.

After filling out paperwork, we were shown to our rooms. They were closet-sized, blank, and crumbly, with two tiny, thinly mattressed beds and a couple nightstands. Of course, Leechy Screamer was my roommate. That would be okay, I thought, because this was a silent retreat and we wouldn’t have to talk to each other. Except, she didn’t seem to get that memo…

She was “Chatty Cathy” as we unpacked our things. I let it slide, responding in just one or two word answers, hoping she’d get the point about this being a SILENT meditation retreat after our meditation sessions began that evening. As an introvert, the lack of social pressure to talk to new people, even when sharing a closet-sized room with them, was refreshing. But it was weird not talking to my husband, who was staying in the men’s section on the other side of the retreat center. Throughout the week, we’d pass each other entering the Meditation Hall or the Dining Hall; he usually piously avoided eye contact, while I jumped to conclusions about how he was obviously “doing so much better than me” at this, as my brain likes to make even meditation retreats into a competition.

After the initial shock of the first day wore off, what did I realize on day two? Eight days is a long time. Eight days are a lot of days. Why did I think I would breeze through this eight-day-long experience like an ultra-zen fairy princess? By day two, I started questioning: “Is this really necessary for my life?” Obviously, I had deemed it so when I had signed up a couple months before. Just over two years sober and a newbie yoga teacher, I thought this intense meditation training seemed like the next right step. Disconnecting from technology and the demands of our constantly-connected world, diving deeper into my meditation practice to silence my chaotic thoughts, doing nothing but 100% spiritual personal development work for a week? This sounded thrilling and important and like something I was ready for, but that was before I actually tried to do it.

Struggling to Stay in the Moment

The sitting was the hardest part. Five hours a day of seated meditation (although broken into five separate chunks) was enough to drive my “go go go” ego into full-on rebellion mode. I’d be sitting on my meditation cushion, trying to do nothing but observe my breath as instructed, when I’d realize I’d been chasing the craziness of my random thoughts around my head as if I was watching a pinball machine for the last 15 minutes! Why, at 5 a.m. during morning meditation, does my brain need to start spontaneously planning how I’m going to hike the Pacific Crest Trail to celebrate my 40th birthday? I’m 31 so it’s not like it’s around the corner. My obsession with planning and controlling every detail of my life was ridiculous. Why was it so hard for me to stay in the moment? The harder I tried to silence my brain and meditate, the more I felt like my thoughts had their own individual thoughts and my brain was capable of splitting itself into infinitesimally small segments all at once, each thought wave following its own path of distraction.

And that is why I sorely needed this retreat. The disconnection from the outside world, lack of external stimuli, and plodding routine of each day forced me to turn inward and reckon with the darker parts of my ego. I’ve heard some say that addiction is the “disease of more,” and I realized that the objects of my addictive personality had switched from substances and codependency to adventure and overthinking. Just as I had always wanted more alcohol, now I wanted more stimulation, more work, more travel, and more excitement. I usually don’t want more of the things that really serve my growth and bring me balance. More meditation and quiet? No thank you.

Sitting on those cushions hour after hour, I realized just how much of my mental capacity I was spending “creating suffering” as our Buddhist instructor taught. By not accepting the true nature of reality, I create mental anguish for myself. I’m a specialist at avoiding the present moment, either living in past memories or projecting myself into the future — obsessing about the next meal, the next time I’d get to check my phone, my next trip home to see my family, etc. Even when I’m thinking about happy times, I’m removing myself from the present moment and denying myself the gift of seeing things for how they really are. Meditation trains us in non-attachment and non-identification with our thoughts. Being cloistered away from “the real world” on this retreat, with no phone or laptop or work or even anyone to talk to, struggling with the leeches jumping onto my feet and the rain and the other Sri Lankan insects constantly invading our space, and not being able to talk about it with anyone? My struggle with mindfulness emerged in all its large and ugly reality.

The retreat also helped me realize just how judgmental I am. There’s really nothing like being alone in silence with my own thoughts to expose me for the Judgey Mcjudgerson that I truly am. When faced with limited entertainment options? “OMG, why is she putting so much sugar in her tea?” I’d catch myself thinking as I noticed someone in the breakfast line. Or, “Really, he’s wearing the SAME SHIRT AGAIN????” I even wrote these judgements into my journal sometimes. On Day 3 I wrote, “My roommate just asked me for a pen. She is so unprepared. I am so judgmental!” Well, at least I caught myself. “Loving kindness!” I next wrote, as if writing it in bold with an exclamation point would make me practice the spiritual qualities our instructor had been teaching us about.

Finding Clarity and Learning to Detach

Throughout the week we were taught lessons about Buddhism and meditation twice a day. I started to see many similarities between the Buddhist “dharma” (teaching) and the 12 Steps of AA. Non-attachment, non-reactivity, and non-indulgence in every craving or story my brain starts to tell me are basic tenets of Buddhism. These are in essence the same lessons I had to learn in my initial trudge through the steps with my sponsor. But now, two years later, living in Sri Lanka, and many months removed from my last AA meeting, the universe was handing me the same lesson in a different context more relevant to my life now. I found this pretty cool, yet still pretty hard to grapple with.

One of my favorite parts of each day was our closing mantra, which echoed the “nightly review” concept of Step 10:

“I do admit all my failures on this day
And promise to learn from them
Should I have hurt somebody through thoughts, words, or actions
I ask for forgiveness.”

On the third full day, I started to get space, little glimpses of a clear mind in between thoughts, as if my brain had finally dropped down to a lower gear. The walking meditation was also becoming easier than the sitting meditation. Walking through the meditation garden, every plant and flower seemed more vibrant and enthralling each day; bird sounds seemed louder and more distinct, as if all my senses were heightened. Rather than getting bored with the walk, every pass through the same garden revealed more natural wonders in intricate detail. It was as if by finally shutting off all the external stimuli, I was waking up to the free beauty the universe surrounds us with every day.

The rigorous meditation schedule still stayed hard though. My husband and I started passing each other notes like middle school kids, “I’m struggling today, urgh!” he said, to which I responded “If you want to call it quits, I’m down. Just kidding!…maybe….?” Neither one of us wanted to crack first, so we stuck with it. Our next notes shared the nicknames we’d come up with for our fellow meditators — his descriptive names such as “Gentle Walker” and “Sings in Shower” and my 7 Dwarves variations such as Sneezy, Twitchy, Chatty, and so on. Like I said, I’m judgmental.

I realized that my obsessive tendency towards multi-tasking and overthinking probably began at a young age. In high school I would only half-listen in most classes while doing as much of my homework as possible during class time so I could have after-school hours free for a myriad of extra-curricular activities. This efficiency was praised and rewarded so I just continued. My nickname should be Queen of Doing Too Many Things at Once and Inefficient Future Over-Planning. Thus what should have been so easy, to follow a strict timetable from 4:45am-8:45pm, was challenging because the content of each activity — meditative mindfulness — was too simple. “You’ll never get this week of your life back,” I heard myself think multiple times. “STOP TRYING TO SPEED UP YOUR LIFE!” I’d argue back at myself, every time I caught my ego wishfully counting the days left on the retreat.

Acceptance

Eventually, faced with no other option, I started to accept the fact that maybe I couldn’t kill my cravings and silence my thoughts in only eight days. But, perhaps everything I was craving would still be there when I got back from my week in the jungle: work, people, the busy world. I suspected all of it would be waiting for me, largely unchanged. My To Do list would still be never-ending and my goals still large and vast. I wanted to be a person who could do this week of silent meditation. I wanted to get something out of it. I wanted to live mindfully, feel spiritually connected, to be less of a disconnected, frenzied entrepreneur run by self-will and ego. And yes, by the end of the week I did realize that all of those “wants” were indicative of the problem itself: my desire-filled ego. But at least now the things I wanted were good things?

The end of the retreat came, and I was right, the “real world” was more or less the same when I got back to it. My roommate and I finally got to have a real conversation (about how much of a struggle the week was for both of us, of course) and became good friends. Although I don’t think I made a miraculous transformation on this retreat, I made progress. By the end of the week, in a squirmy, uncomfortable way, I started to accept a little more easily the cyclical nature of life. I had to allow the rain and the leeches to lead to the sunshine and birdcalls. I had to be a drunk for years in order to be sober. I had to take this week of quiet introspection in order to be ready for the thrills and opportunities I know will come to me when the time is right. What is the point of rushing it all? Especially if, as Buddhism teaches, all is one. As our nightly mantra ended each evening: “We are all flowers in the same soil in the same garden.” Now take a deep breath and love the cycle.

View the original article at thefix.com

4 January 2019
7 Reasons Not to Bring Your 12-Step Program Home for the Holidays

Shouldn’t you help your sister address her character defects? Isn’t it time to take your father’s inventory? And wouldn’t it be perfect to make amends to your mom at a family dinner?

Regardless of whether you are newly sober or have many years of sustainable sobriety under your belt in 12-step programs, what is true for practically everyone else in the world is true for you as well: Your family of origin holds the keys to your most primal emotional and behavioral triggers. Nothing compares to that cutting look from your sister or that sarcastic undertone in your father’s voice. Although they love us– or maybe because they love us–our families can get under our skin and into our bones like no one else.

Since the prospect of being with family holds that much tension, many people in 12-step programs decide it makes sense to work the steps with their family members over the holidays. After all, only the first step is about drugs and alcohol. The other 11 are about changing behavioral patterns and rehabbing the disease of perception. If we apply them wisely and gently to the members of our family of origin, we think, we will be able to help them. Shouldn’t your sister be shown how character defects are defining her life? Isn’t it time to take your father’s inventory? And, given the importance of the holidays, wouldn’t it be perfect to make amends to your mom at a family gathering?

Actually, it’s not such a good idea. Forcing stepwork on your family goes against the spiritual nature of the program by crossing boundaries at the wrong time and putting your own wants and needs ahead of everyone else’s. But instead of just looking at the big picture, let’s delve into seven specific reasons why it’s not the best plan to do your stepwork with your family over the holidays.

1. Your Family Is Not Part of Your Program

Yes, many people in 12-step programs have family members who are also in 12-step programs, but that’s beside the point. If you want to discuss step work with a family member who’s in the program, then either go to a meeting or do so privately. Your family as a unit is not in a program. More importantly, most family members know very little about 12-step programs. They don’t want to do “work”—emotional or otherwise– during the holidays, they simply want to enjoy the holiday season.

Ultimately, this is a question of proper boundaries. If you are a newly sober person, maintaining boundaries might not be your strong suit. When I was newly sober, I took everything personally. I didn’t understand the difference between what was about me and what was not about me. In truth, I was inclined to think everything was about me and I had to prove how well I was working the steps to everyone; I often felt entitled and superior. I had to be reminded by my sponsor that working steps should be kept within the context of my 12-step program.

2. A Program of Attraction and Not Promotion

In many families over the holiday season, there is that one family member who drinks too much and doesn’t know when to stop. Often, we were that family member until we embraced the path of sobriety. When we return to our families of origin over the holidays, we do not have to point out that Uncle Jack is drinking too much. We don’t need to preach the program to family members because that is not our role.

Tradition 11 of Alcoholics Anonymous reads: “Our public relations policy is based on attraction rather than promotion; we need always maintain personal anonymity at the level of press, radio, and films.” The principle of attraction rather than promotion can be applied to the individual, as well. It is not my job to promote recovery and tell other people that they need to get sober. Instead, by being of service to my family over the holidays, I can attract others just by being a better person. It’s really not that hard. Take the family dog for a walk, pick up the milk from the corner grocery store, or play with your nieces and nephews so your sister and brother-in-law can have a break. See how they respond, you might be surprised.

3. You Are Not Your Family’s New Guru

When a newly-sober person finds a higher power that works for them and embraces a spiritual path, it can be a wonder to behold the light in their eyes. However, like any other powerful experience in this world, finding faith when you’re newly sober can be spiritually intoxicating. When combined with meditation and prayer, it can become a profound experience that you want to share with your family.

It’s not your role over the holidays to become your family’s new guru and point out their lack of a higher power. When your father gets upset when carving the turkey, try not to tell him to let it go and turn his anger over to a higher power. Sometimes the best way to be spiritual is to be quiet and modest. Be spiritual by doing the dishes and carrying the grocery bags. Such an approach works much better than trying to be the head cheerleader for your totally amazing higher power.

4. It’s Not Your Job to Take Your Family’s Inventory

If you have successfully completed Steps 4 and 5 in a 12-step program, then you have first “Made a searching and fearless moral inventory of ourselves.” Next, you “Admitted to God, to ourselves and to another human being the exact nature of our wrongs.” Congratulations! It takes courage to work these steps and you’re making good progress. However, completing these steps does not mean that you now must help your family by taking their inventories. It’s not kind and loving to point out others’ resentments or “issues.”

Even if your family member is in the program, you are not their sponsor. And even if you were their sponsor, you wouldn’t be pointing out their resentments, they would be doing the inventory work themselves. Family gatherings over the holidays should be about fun and relaxation. Don’t spoil the vacation by pointing out lingering resentments.

5. Holidays Are Not About Highlighting Character Defects

If you have completed Step 6 and 7 in a 12-step program, then first you “Were entirely ready to have God remove all these defects of character.” Next, you “Humbly asked Him to remove our shortcomings.” Again, just because you faced this difficult process yourself does not mean you have the right to point out character defects in other people. This kind of criticism of family members, even under the guise of help, is a recipe for disaster. It’s not your job to shine a light on negative traits. Your family members may be far from grateful.

6. Amends Are Not About What You Want

The holidays are not all about you, and family gatherings during this season are not the right time for you to make dramatic amends to family members. First, the process of making amends should not be selfish; while you will get relief from making them and may be eager to finish this step, the actual amends are not about you, they’re about the other person. Often, by trying to make amends for past wrongs during the holiday season, you are doing more harm than good. Reminders of your previous misdeeds may be the last thing your family wants to hear from you at this time.

Amends should be private and on the other person’s timeline. You can bring up the idea of making amends to family members, but let them know that you want to do it at a time that makes sense for them. Amends are not about what you want, but rather about learning how to clean up your side of the street.

7. How About Having a Little Fun?

On page 132 of the Big Book of Alcoholics Anonymous, Bill Wilson made it crystal clear when he wrote, “But we aren’t a glum lot.” The holidays are about having a little fun and enjoying yourself while being with loved ones. If you try to work your 12-step program with your family, you will not be adding to the good cheer.

Why not be of service to the holiday season by adding smiles, laughter, and gratitude to your family gatherings? Doesn’t such a positive approach ultimately make a lot more sense? Make it your goal to enjoy this holiday season, and you will feel rejuvenated and ready to continue on your positive path of sobriety in the new year. Your family and your recovery will thank you.

View the original article at thefix.com

24 December 2018
Charlie Sheen Is One Year Sober

Charlie Sheen announced his sober milestone on Twitter this week.

After one of the most well-publicized relapses in history, actor Charlie Sheen revealed this week that he has been sober for one year.

Sheen, 53, posted a picture of his one-year AA chip on Twitter, writing, “so, THIS happened yesterday! a fabulous moment, in my renewed journey. #TotallyFocused.”

It’s an important step for Sheen, who has a long and complicated history with both substance abuse and recovery. In 2016, Sheen spoke with Dr. Mehmet Oz, who asked how many times the actor has tried to stop drinking.

“About 2,000,” Sheen said, according to People. “There was a stretch where I didn’t drink for 11 years. No cocaine, no booze for 11 years. So I know that I have that in me.”

Sheen said he initially relapsed after receiving an HIV diagnosis in 2012.

“It was to suffocate the anxiety and what my life was going to become with this condition and getting so numb I didn’t think about it,” Sheen said. “It was the only tool I had at the time, so I believed that would quell a lot of that angst. A lot of that fear. And it only made it worse.”

Sheen told Oz then that he is committed to helping find a cure for HIV and wants his children to see that he inspired others, despite his demons.

“They’re going to see that dad is a true hero. That he helped a lot of people and continues to help people who can’t help themselves,” Sheen said.

He added that when he was using he was “hammered, fractured, crazy,” but in recovery he is “focused, sober, hopeful.”

Sheen’s father, Martin Sheen, who is in long-term recovery himself, has spoken about supporting his son through the tough times but also knowing when there is nothing left to do.

“What he was going through, we were powerless to do much, except to pray for him and lift him up,” Martin said in 2015.

However, once Sheen was ready for help, his father was able to draw on his recovery and AA experience to help his son.

“The best way to heal is to help healing someone else, and it takes one to know one, so you can appreciate what someone’s going through if you’ve gone there yourself,” Martin said in September of this year.

He added that getting sober in the spotlight adds another challenge to an already fraught situation.

“The bigger your celebrity, the more difficult it is to lead an honest life, because your past is always present,” Martin said. “I think today makes it that much harder for people because there’s no privacy. I think that the idea of anonymity is very important to the [recovery] program, and it has an energy all its own.”

View the original article at thefix.com

14 December 2018
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

13 December 2018
Homeless in Sobriety

One friend found my homeless sober alcoholic life fascinating. She wanted to know if I smelled, where I went to the bathroom, and what I did all day. Once she even asked if I had a Big Book.

From approximately 1 p.m. on June 5th, 2018 until around 11 a.m. September 5th, 2018, my three pit bulls and I lived in my Ford Explorer. Not only was I homeless with three dogs, but I also had over eight years of sobriety.

My car was packed. While most of my belongings were in a local storage unit, my dogs and I had to have the basic necessities. Inside my SUV were two doggy blankets, an ice cooler full of bottled water, ice, and hazelnut coffee creamer, along with a duffel bag crammed with clothing, doggy food and five gallons of water for my dogs.

Being homeless is expensive. I gave up on storing perishable food in the ice cooler because not only did I have to purchase ice every day, but the food spoiled because the ice melted rapidly in the 99 degree daytime heat. Every day, I went to a local campsite and filled up the gallons of water for the dogs at a fish cleaning station, and every evening I bought a dollar burrito from Taco Bell or a veggie burger meal from Burger King. Somehow I was able to afford cigarettes and I smoked like a fiend. I felt insane.

For the first month, we lived under three trees by a lake; by the second month, we’d found a campsite by the Kern River owned by the Bureau of Land Management. While most people camped by the river, I discovered an isolated site that had several trees, boulders, a few makeshift fire pits, and a picnic table. The catch was that we could only stay there for two weeks, leave for ten days, and then return for a final two weeks. But naturally, I stretched our stay. The rangers liked me: I had my dogs on tie outs and kept the campsite clean because I had a lot of time on my hands.

While there was a porta-potty close by, there was nowhere to bathe. Luckily I found a bathroom at another campsite that had a shower. For $1.00 in quarters, I could shower for two minutes. For seven quarters, I could shower for four minutes.

AA and Homelessness

Despite the sheer lunacy that was my life, I did not drink nor did I want to drink, even though I was not attending 12-step meetings. What was my excuse? The temperature was about 82 degrees during the evenings and I could not leave my dogs in a hot car while I was inside a meeting hall. Besides that, I didn’t want to go to AA meetings; while I was homeless, I realized that AA was not my cup of tea.

And to top it off, talking with several of my AA friends made me feel worse than I already did.

“Life is hard. Look at me. Most of the time I struggle to pay my bills,” said Dorothy, with 25 years of sobriety. “I have to take it one day at a time or I will go crazy.”

Before I could say a word, she said, “I could be homeless, too. We are all one step away from being homeless.”

“Dorothy, you are not homeless,” I said.

“I know,” she said.

And then there was Stephanie who had almost 40 years of years of sobriety. While we used to be good friends, now I felt like I was an amoeba under a microscope, a fascinating specimen. She wanted to know if I smelled, where I went to the bathroom, and what I did all day. Once she even asked if I had a Big Book. I didn’t. Before we lost our home, one of my dogs chewed it up and I threw it in the trash. I started crying (and not because of the Big Book). She said: “I am at the 8 pm. Gotta go,” and hung up. Another time she called just as I was trying to light a citronella candle because there were bugs buzzing around the cheap lantern that I had bought from the dollar store.

“So how was your day?” she asked brightly, as if I was on vacation.

“I can’t remember,” I said. That was a lie. I remembered every single detail of a day that felt excruciatingly long. I remembered getting up at seven a.m. because the sun was blasting through my windshield. I remembered my dogs barking because there was some guy on a dune buggy driving in circles on the trails close by. I remembered charging up my Mac on an electric socket that was behind the post office. I remembered walking my dogs for an hour, which we did every day because it kept me sane, plus it was good exercise.

“My house is a mess,” she said.

“Okay,” I said, half listening. I could not light the damn candle because the wick was buried deep in the wax, and the flame from the butane lighter kept blowing out.

“The rats chewed up the cord behind the stove,” she said.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“I was so depressed today. But you know what? I have a roof over my head and you don’t. It’s all about perspective.”

After I quickly hung up, I lit the candle.

When I realized that my support system was a bunch of sober weirdos from AA whose noses were so buried in their Big Books that they could not see the world around them, I snapped out of my misery. One night when there was a full moon, I suddenly felt that there was a God and that He was watching over me.

Why Do Homeless People Turn to Alcohol and Drugs?

While I had no desire to drink, I understood why many homeless people use drugs and/or alcohol. According to my friend, Tony, who actively helps the homeless in Kern County, most of them use drugs or alcohol as coping mechanisms. Some smoke pot for anxiety. Others use meth. Homeless veterans often drink. “When you are homeless and have nothing to look forward to, you self-medicate. I would do something in a second to let the day go better,” he said.

That’s the sad truth. And I learned firsthand how people judge you when you are homeless. When I was at the lake and wanted to believe that my dogs and I were invisible under those trees, people gaped at me. I encountered a woman on horseback who threatened to call animal control. Luckily, I also met some good people. Kathy, a woman who often walked her pit bull, talked to me on a frequent basis. Sometimes she would drive by and bring dog food, bottled water, and treats. We exchanged phone numbers.

I instant messaged another old-timer friend, a fellow dog lover whom I had not talked to in years. Out of sheer desperation, I told him my situation. He told me that my life would get more comfortable if I went to meetings.

One day, I got a call from Kathy. Apparently, her friend Faith wanted to meet my dogs and me. When Faith and I met, we hit it off, even though one of my pit bulls freaked her out because he would not stop barking. The homelessness had not only worn me out, but had also traumatized my dogs. After three months of living in my car, we moved into Faith’s large house. I have my own room here, along with a bathroom. My dogs are happy. While Faith takes medication for her sometimes debilitating seizure disorder, pot also helps her. Sometimes she drinks. The pot and alcohol do not bother me for a second. I am happy. I can plug my computer into an electric socket in a wall. I have a roof over my head. I pay rent. And finally, I have let go of my friends in AA. I suppose it doesn’t bother them because they are too busy going to meetings.

And I am sober.

View the original article at thefix.com

7 December 2018
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
16 November 2018
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

15 November 2018
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

9 November 2018