Answer Addiction

Tag: AA

  • My Journey from AA to NA, with Stops Along the Way

    My Journey from AA to NA, with Stops Along the Way

    While making my own transition from one fellowship to another, I interviewed people with experience in both AA and NA to find out what’s working for them, and what’s not.

    For a long time, I considered myself an alcoholic with drug addict tendencies. This is why, for the most part, I was a member of AA exclusively for the first six years of my sobriety. Besides, where I lived in Connecticut at the time, Narcotics Anonymous meetings were too far and few in between – as is often the case in more rural areas of the country.

    Also, while in AA I’d heard things about that other fellowship.

    Yes, I was fine right where I was, thank you very much. Like my mother and my uncles and my grandfather before me, AA would remain my easier, softer way til death do us part.

    And then I relapsed: a year and a half bender in which my disease had progressed to include cocaine and prescription pills and after which I was detoxing from alcohol and benzos.

    That’s when the rooms of recovery turned strangely uncomfortable.

    I can’t say it was because I was no longer welcome. No, my mutual friends of Bill were there with open arms when I came back from the relapse… As long as I didn’t share openly about the drug problem.

    “I came to an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting,” an old-timer quickly informed me, “because this is where I come to hear about alcohol – not pills!”

    This got me to thinking. (Not about the chapter in AA’s Big Book entitled Acceptance Was the Answer in which an alcoholic physician describes in painstaking detail his struggles with prescription pills. No, why would I think of that? The old-timer certainly wasn’t.) 

    No, I was thinking I ought to give Narcotics Anonymous a try for a while. Not only would I be able to share more candidly about my relapse but I’d have some time to work through the little resentment I’d suddenly copped against AA and its old timers.

    So, I began asking around. I knew the best way to transition between fellowships was to look to the rooms themselves for advice and guidance. I found four people in recovery, each of them knowledgeable about both AA and NA, who were willing to share their experience not only with me – but with you as well.

    About the Personalities:

    “I had been in AA for 11 years and just kept relapsing,” recalled Christy, 45, from the San Francisco Bay Area. Hers was a vicious cycle of diet pills and wine, always using one to offset the other. “I was sure that people were sick of hearing me talk about how I just couldn’t get it. Well I was sick of talking about it, anyway, at least to the same people again and again. It was embarrassing.”

     Taking the advice of her husband – a former amphetamine addict of 15 years – Christy decided to give NA a try.

    The kinship she felt was immediate, not only because she felt able to share more freely in a room full of new faces, but also because “NA’s a little bit ‘roughie-toughie’ and I liked that. NA had more people with missing teeth,” she joked. “There were so many people just totally out of their minds – exactly like me – and everyone seemed ok with it.”

    Three years later, Christy’s bond with NA is stronger than ever.

    “I find myself spiritually connected to that craziness,” she said. “There’s stories of abuse, there’s sharing about the prison time. It helps keep my recovery feel fresh. NA reminds me of how bad it can get out there.”

    For Johnny L., 39, from New England, the NA group in his area had a more adverse effect.

    “Well there I was, a newly clean and sober gay white man in a heavily black, heterosexual, inner city NA meeting,” he laughed. “I really gave it a shot, too, but after about three or four meetings I still wasn’t relating at all.”

    Thankfully Johnny found himself having to move for work to a more rural area within that first year of recovery and along with the change of geography came a new atmosphere within his meetings. Though he considered himself dually addicted (meth and drinking), Johnny ultimately settled into the rooms of AA, finding the comfort of a home group he’s still part of to this day.

    Back in California, Trey S., a 22-year-old addict, compared the members of fellowships like this: “NA is definitely more of a mixed crowd. There’s a lot of diversity, incorporating more experiences with much heavier drugs, and I think there could be stronger personalities in the rooms because of that. This means a lot more opportunities for conflict.”

    As is so often the case with young people with substance use disorders, Trey was introduced to Alcoholics Anonymous through a rehabilitation center at the age of 16. He eventually gravitated towards NA, identifying more strongly with those rooms, particularly young people’s meetings.

    “At the time AA felt more rigorous and less free-flowing. And I think in general NA attracts a younger recovery crowd, which makes sense because of the pill problem these days. I mean, I was on Adderall at 5 years old and I think that’s fairly common for my generation.”

    As for the old-timers, like Red from the West Coast who has been a member of AA for over three decades, it’s often their job to remind us of that tried-and-true adage, principles before personalities, regardless of the fellowship.

    “Whether it’s AA or NA, as long as you’re living your life according to a program of spiritual principles you’ll do okay,” he told me. “It doesn’t matter what gets you into the rooms, but what you do with yourself once you get here.”

    About the Literature

    Of course, changing recovery programs also means a change in the accompanying literature. After six years of study groups, sponsor assignments, and constant references to the Big Book, I had developed a deep appreciation for AA’s “bible” and was hesitant about NA’s basic text as well as the rest of the program’s literary canon. 

    “So many people claim that all the answers are in the Big Book,” said Christy. “But Living Clean – it seems like every time I pick it up, whatever I read feels like it was written just for me.”

    Living Clean is NA’s version of AA’s book, Living Sober, and both address the nitty gritty of living in recovery. Like instruction manuals for the soul and mind of an addict, both publications offer insights on topics such as relationships, aging, failure, and isolation.

    I quickly learned that my AA books had NA counterparts that were just as valuable and respected. 

    According to Trey, “Even though AA’s literature has more program history, it has more character. It actually feels more playful to me – while NA’s stuff strikes me as much more serious.”

    But when Trey does his step work, he combines the books of both fellowships, studying all the information each program has to offer. “They each bring their own material to the table and all of it is important.”

    “But the NA basic text is so much more international,” Johnny told me. “It feels all-inclusive. Through it I get an idea of what it’s like to be an addict in Iran, in Africa, all around the world. It makes the Big Book feel very old. Like an older language.”

    When it comes to step work, Johnny also works with the writings of both fellowships, first reading what the Big Book and Twelve and Twelve lay out and then hitting the NA’s Step Working Guide afterwards.

    This workbook is the most significant difference in program offerings.

    “That thing makes you feel like you’re in a Master Class for sobriety,” Johnny claimed. “It challenges you to think things through more deeply.”

    Finding that the Guide has become such a big part of his recovery, Johnny has begun searching for a new AA sponsor who would be willing to integrate the book and its myriad of intensely provoking questions into his program; a sort of AA/NA fusion.

    Christy felt just as strongly about the Step Working Guide:

    “Going through it reminds me of the kind of effort I put into my recovery at the very beginning,” she said. “My self-awareness is much higher because of it. And I’m sure my recovery is evolving more strongly as well.”

    Like Johnny, Christy found that mixing and matching materials gave her a more balanced and satisfying program. In fact, while Christy’s primary fellowship was NA, she continued to go to one weekly AA meeting.

    As for Johnny, his six meetings a week were equally split between AA and NA (Crystal Meth Anonymous, more specifically).

    Trey was the purist of those I’d talked to, attending only NA meetings.

    At this point in the conversations, I felt ready to start altering my own meeting schedule. Thoroughly advised on what to expect, I was excited to head over to NA and start sharing from the heart again.

    But first I would have to learn how to talk.

    About the Language

    “We are presented with a dilemma; when NA members identify themselves as addicts and alcoholics or talk about living clean and sober, the clarity of the NA message is blurred.”

    From NA’s Clarity Statement, read out loud at a meeting’s start. The gist of the announcement, from what I could gather, was that I was to no longer call myself an alcoholic because: “Our identification as addicts is all-inclusive.”  

    And all I could think was, Here I go again.

    “I was stopped mid-sentence at an NA meeting when I tried talking about the Promises,” said Johnny, referring to AA’s 9th step list of spiritual and material rewards. “I was disappointed in that. It was embarrassing and awkward. I wound up never going back to that particular meeting.”

    Of course, censorship within the rooms goes both ways:

    “I once saw someone completely shut down in AA when he mentioned his struggle with crystal meth,” Trey told me. “The chairperson interrupted him, saying, ‘Sorry, we don’t talk about that here.’”

    That chairperson had been acting in accordance with the Singleness of Purpose, AA’s version of the Clarity Statement: “We ask that when discussing our problems, we confine ourselves to those problems as they relate to alcohol and alcoholism.” Remember the scolding I’d received from the old-timer when talking about the pills?

    “In my first year of sobriety I was going to all the A’s – AA, NA, CA (Cocaine Anonymous),” joked old-timer Red. “I found out real quick that I couldn’t say this or I couldn’t say that, depending on where I went. In NA I couldn’t claim I was an alcoholic, and vice versa in AA and on and on and on. I don’t know about you but in the beginning I just wanted to say what I needed to say in order to get better!”

    Trey agreed. “Sometimes you can feel negativity in the air when the Clarity Statement is read. I worry it stops people from speaking from the heart. I mean, as long as they’re sharing about appropriate behaviors and it’s coming from a loving and caring place, that’s great.”

    About Recovery

    As I compiled all my notes, the quotes and information, I was relieved to find an absence of what I’d feared most. Nowhere in my talks with these four fellow people in recovery did I find any negativity or slander from one fellowship against the other.

    “I’ve always been aware of the contention between AA and NA,” Johnny had told me, “but I’ve been lucky to stay out of it. The groups I go to are small and intimate and I don’t have to hide whatever I may be struggling with, alcohol or drugs. They’re very supportive regardless.”

    Christy agrees: “I can say that both AA and NA are responsible for saving my life and I gladly still participate in both.”

    With Trey, one of the things he’d always admired most about NA is how the program openly acknowledged its roots. “Right on the first page of the introduction of the basic text, Narcotics Anonymous expresses gratitude towards AA for‘showing us the way to a new life.’”

    Yes, by the end of my inquiries it was clear that the fellowships of AA and NA can work together well, with a combined effort and goal of unity, service, and recovery.

    View the original article at thefix.com

  • Recovery Myths That Can Hurt You

    Recovery Myths That Can Hurt You

    I could be saying how well I was doing, while the psychic megaphone over my head screamed, “Can’t you see how lonely I am?” Not surprisingly, I wasn’t drawing healthy people into my world.

    When the words “feelings aren’t facts” first pierced my brain, I was hooked. My baseline was misery, so it was a huge relief to believe I was lying to myself. Over the years, I repeated this gospel, too. Until I saw it for what it was—a form of emotional abuse.

    I get it. Many of us have a tendency to dramatize that we’re unaware of, largely because our addiction made life a fuckshow. But our lives continue even after we put our substances down, and the show rolls on. When my sober boyfriend of five years died, I was 24. And five years clean. The tragedy was real.

    In truth, I’d barely learned to identify my feelings. My therapist had finally resorted to pulling out a chart with stick figure faces, each labeled with an emotion. “Pick one,” she encouraged. I needed that chart for a long time. When I tried to express myself in the real world, however, I had a very different experience. 

    “Don’t believe your feelings,” I was cheerily told as I moped around the rooms. But my emotions were the only thing that seemed solid. Even if I wasn’t great at describing them, I experienced the world through my senses. My mindscape was a constant stream of love and hate, desire and abstinence, hunger and disgust.

    I tried to act the part, fake it till I could make it past this sadness, but my actual sentiments came out despite these efforts. I sensed that I was making the people around me uncomfortable. Left alone, my mind went wild. This grieving is going on too long. He was only your boyfriend. No one will ever love you like that again.

    Trying to change my mind about how I felt wasn’t the same as changing my feelings. Yet ignoring my feelings and listening to my supposedly rational mind felt equally horrible. The only thing it did help me succeed at was questioning my every move. I must be doing this wrong, I’d think, vowing to hide better.

    The Psychic Megaphone

    There was just one problem with suppressing the truth—it didn’t work. I didn’t merely sense I was repelling people, I was. I could be saying how well I was doing, while the psychic megaphone over my head screamed, “Can’t you see how lonely I am?” Not surprisingly, I wasn’t drawing healthy people into my world. This had the added bonus of giving me something new and shiny to mull over. These people are messed up!

    My feelings, I now know, were never the issue. It was the stories I told about them that caused the problem, a habit that, like any addiction, got stronger every time I did it. I turned my unworthiness into legend.

    I was scared, too, that I’d be overwhelmed by my emotions. In some sense, I was right to be afraid. Overwhelm reeks of powerlessness, and when I’m powerless, I’m tempted to act out—smoke, spend, eat, fuck, drink.

    I had to learn to grant a healthy to respect my feelings, to pay attention to them without reacting. This is also known as self-soothing, which many people are taught, or learn. But I don’t know of any addicts who sober up with this ability intact. I didn’t get anywhere near it for a decade in sobriety. I’m slow.

    The light at the end of the tunnel is this: when we stop believing our feelings, they lose their power to stop us in our tracks.

    But How Is It Emotional Abuse?

    Telling a person not to believe their feelings is the same as saying they shouldn’t trust themselves. It’s a recipe for slavish dependence. Who are we suggesting that person trust? Why, God of course! And how do we connect with God? Through the steps. The steps lead toward accountability in our lives, and also, prayer and meditation. What happens when that reflection leads back to our emotional lives and we disbelieve ourselves? Some of us develop co-dependent relationships with sponsors, or take hostages in the form of sexual partners. In my case, I relapsed.

    I was desperate to be better already, but I was stuck in disavowing my sorrow. That loop gave me no way to address my grief. I had to believe in something, so I created stories that I could believe, stories that had little to do with the emotions that created them. When telling myself I was garbage got boring, I’d romanticize my addiction instead.

    Psychologist and meditation teacher Tara Brach says that when we disconnect from the entirety of our experience this way, we put ourselves into a trance that keeps us from living fully. This concept of an “unlived life” feels more relevant than the idea that I can’t know happiness if I don’t know sadness, because it points to a solution.

    Now, 22 years away from that relapse, I’d say that suggesting feelings aren’t facts is contrary to the core of 12-step recovery—the freedom to choose a Higher Power. The formula is spiritual. The steps are designed to awaken spirituality within us. If denouncing our needs and desires as liars is part of the program, then this places a condition on our spiritual awakening. And it’s not a condition I’m willing to accept. My spiritual life has to be big enough to encompass the full spectrum of who I am. I’m not interested in “growing up” to be without feelings, good or bad.

    I’ve spoken about this with friends in long-term recovery. “I don’t get it,” one woman said, unable to wrap her mind around the idea that her feelings were legitimate, even after more than 20 years of sobriety.

    I explained it was like being in traffic, and getting angry when someone cuts you off. “I want to run that car off the road!” I might think. It’s true, in the moment I was mad. But my thoughts told a lie. I have zero desire to use my car as a weapon. Am I hair-trigger rage-y in traffic? Maybe something else is going on. Or maybe I was just startled. Our minds exist to find danger, and so tend to be negative.

    The first thing I had to learn to do—rather than criticize myself for being angry, which leads to identifying with the idea that I’m an angry person—was to find comfort. In the car I can put my hand on my chest and remind myself everything is ok.

    Another person commented, “Facts don’t change. Feelings do!”

    I understood where she was coming from, that feelings are malleable. But that doesn’t mean I should deny their reality. Facts have been known to evolve, too. The surest way for an emotion to become fixed is by gaslighting myself. Then my thoughts get murky, and it’s hard not to identify with the thinking. Like with the car example, if I don’t allow myself to see my anger for what it is—mortal fear, or perhaps anger at my boss—I get trapped in, “There’s my anger. I am such an angry person.”

    In fact, I count on my changing emotions—it’s the exact freedom I was seeking in a bottle. By allowing my emotions to settle, I can master the thoughts that arise. If I don’t, who’s running the show? The boyfriend who rejected me? The kids who called me Stinky? My mom?

    When René Descartes made his famous declaration, he was looking for an irrefutable statement. He believed if he could doubt his existence, that was proof of it. But what’s doubt if not a feeling? My thoughts are another matter: my best thinking got me into rehab. I think, therefore I am a liar.

    View the original article at thefix.com

  • How to Stay Sober at Burning Man and Have the Best Burn of Your Life

    How to Stay Sober at Burning Man and Have the Best Burn of Your Life

    I mean, really, you’re never going to be at a meeting in the “default world” sitting between a rainbow unicorn and a naked old guy.

    Have you ever been to Burning Man, that strange, magical world where anything is possible? Where strangers become friends in under an hour? Where food, water, gifts, and substances are shared freely through the “gifting economy,” and the parties rage 24/7 for eight days straight? If so, maybe we’ve shared some common experiences on “the playa.” Have you ever woken up in a pile of dust, impossibly far away from your own camp, trying to piece together the events that led you to your blackout dust pile? Have you ever taken LSD so many nights in a row it actually stopped working? Have you come into Black Rock City with the best intentions of practicing yoga and meditating every day, only to fail once you got three PBRs deep by 10am? Have you booked it out of Burning Man to the nearest Motel 6 like a bat out of hell, driving your car feeling like it’s the most challenging video game you’ve ever played? Has coming down and getting “back to normal” after the burn felt like a torturously long, horrible process? Have you left the playa feeling like you had an incredible time but kind of wishing you could remember more of it? Me too.

    If you’ve only heard stories or seen news reports about Burning Man, the infamous “playa” is usually depicted as nothing but a mecca for party drugs, weird sex, apocalyptic art, and daytime debauchery. It’s the last place on earth a recovering alcoholic could willingly go to and stay sober. In actuality, behind all the psychedelic media-portrayed madness and in the midst of the drug-fueled frenzy, there exists a whole community of sober “Burners” who do the seemingly unfathomable. We come to this crazy place every year and let our freak flags fly, share our art and our experiences, dance until dawn, make new connections, survive in this thrilling temporary society, love it and hate it, and do it all SOBER.

    My first two burns were driven by my love for alcohol and drugs, so my Burning Man experiences reflected that. My third burn, however, came almost one year after some shit hit the fan in my life, forcing me into the reluctant journey of recovery. Despite my hesitant beginning, by the time I hit the one year sobriety mark and took off to Burning Man, I was fully in love with my new sober, sane (“saner” than I had been before but still going to Burning Man so not too sane, obviously) state of mind and my ability to be fully present and remember the adventures I was having. Thus, my third burn, which I experienced as a sober woman in recovery, while very different from my first two years on the playa, was actually the best Burning Man experience I’ve had yet! Here’s why it was so great and why I can’t wait to go back to Black Rock City—still sober—this year.

    There are endless opportunities to explore in Black Rock City: classes, workshops, lectures, parties, music, art tours, ultramarathons, you name it. When you get to Burning Man, you get a book that’s a couple hundred pages long of all the events and activities available. Before I got sober I would look through this book in wonderment, circling things and making grand plans for all the workshops I would attend and everything I would learn. In reality though, I would usually get distracted by a Blood Mary oasis on the way to whatever wellness-oriented activity I was trying to find. The self-improvement plan would end there.

    Nowadays, I can actually make it to a few of these events I pick out of the wonderful guidebook, because I have the willpower and determination to get to where I am going without “free vodka FOMO” stopping me. Well, sometimes I’ll still stop for a virgin Bloody Mary bar experience to giggle at and feel superior to all the raging hangovers around me. I’ve gotta let the misery of others remind me why I’m sober occasionally. Most of the time, I can make it to my intended destination. Having my activity options limited because of my sobriety is actually very helpful in that it forces me to focus my attention on a narrower but still huge range of the healthy “woo woo” non-booze-oriented options.

    I’m so grateful my sobriety allows me to participate in Burning Man more fully than I was ever able to when I was fucked up. Today I get to make real connections with fellow burners, give something back, and freely express myself, sober, along with all the best of Black Rock City.

    Seven tips for how to actually stay sober at Burning Man:

    1. Go to meetings, even if you don’t regularly attend them in the “default world.” Burning Man meetings are awesome, and you can even get your own Burning Man token for your 1st, 2nd, 3rd and so on sober burns. Anonymous Village is the biggest sober camp and is located at 5:30 & G, with multiple “Any-A” meetings for anyone in recovery from any addiction every day. Other sober camps—Camp Run Free and Camp Stella—also offer daily open meetings. I mean, really, you’re never going to be at a meeting in the default world sitting between a rainbow unicorn and a naked old guy.
    2. Practice good self-care and rock your boundaries. If you don’t wanna stay up all night every night, then you don’t have to! If you don’t want to be a dirty, sleep-deprived dustball all week, you don’t have to be! Go find those life-saving nail salons or hair-washing stations when you feel the need for some real TLC. And if you’re an introvert like me, don’t be afraid to lie in your tent and read a book or nap when you need some down time to recharge your batteries. Sleep is great, and can really help you enjoy your burn more. If you’re not enjoying a party or activity or person, then politely excuse yourself and go find something else, or go home. The week stretches long when you’re sober, especially if you don’t take care of yourself.
    3. Find other sober burners! They are out there. Last year one of my best friends on the playa was four months pregnant, so we both had good reasons to have lots of sober fun together and practice lots of self-care.
    4. Choose one sober activity to structure your day around, then go from there. That overwhelming little booklet of activities can help you find a mind-blowingingly awesome good time that’s not caused by mind-altering substances. So next time you find yourself jonesing for an adventure, just page through your book and choose between “Naked Fire Spinning for Complete Beginners,” “Make Your Own Tutu and Pasties Party,” watching Tuesday’s Ultramarathoners run dusty laps around the city, an appointment with a Monkey Psychiatrist, or a classical orchestra concert with homemade ice cream at an art piece in deep playa. Get excited about that one sober activity and all the awesome people you will meet, then let the rest of your day flow from there.
    5. Embrace the daytime activities and workshops that you were too hungover to enjoy in the past.  Before I got sober, I would miss out on so much of the art and yoga and educational offerings on the playa because I would start every day with those morning Bloody Marys and beers. My FOMO and addiction would take over and not let me say no to a drink or a drug. Now with those options off the table, I have some of the most fun riding my bike around the playa in the early morning while most other people are still sleeping off the party or just trudging home. Last year I made it to an aerial silks class, two Shamanic breathwork sessions, multiple yoga classes, and a few guided meditations. Thanks to all these workouts and personal development activities, I left the burn actually feeling more physically and mentally fit then when I got there.
    6. Be of service. Be available to be of service to other burners. Participate in the gifting economy by bringing something to share, no matter how small. It could be fruit, coffee, cookies, hula hoops or Chapstick to give away. Or you could teach something, or set up a table of art supplies for passersby to stop and get creative. I’ve found that most burners really appreciate heartfelt, healthy offerings, because they’re rare in a popup city crowded with bars and clubs. You can also take on a temporary sponsee from one of the many meetings in the city.
    7. Enjoy being fully present.  Whatever happens on the playa, you get to notice it all, feel it all, and remember it all. Take the bad with the good and always look for opportunities to be of service. Remember, sobriety is a gift that lets us go anywhere and do anything! So enjoy it!

    Burning Man is from August 26-September 3. More info here about experiencing the playa clean and sober.

    2016 Burning Man Festival in Black Rock City, Nevada, USA

    View the original article at thefix.com

  • Microaggressions: How Subconscious Biases Affect Recovery

    Microaggressions: How Subconscious Biases Affect Recovery

    An example of a microaggression in the recovery universe: someone from NA asks someone who’s considering Suboxone: “Are you in denial? A drug is a drug is a drug.” No malicious intent is involved, but the fellow member is left feeling disparaged.

    Politics and Religion: we’re encouraged to avoid these conversations, socially. Conviction can escalate to hostility, hurt feelings and polarization, turning a fun-loving conversation into… “Awkward.”

    Has anyone noticed polarization-creep migrating from political intercourse into our addiction/recovery discussion? A diversifying recovery community means different tribes and subcultures with differing views on recovery and addiction. Many Fix readers are members of a mutual-aid group that gives a sense of identity and belonging. Being tribal is human nature; so, what’s the problem? Maybe it’s a hangover from the current political climate but I’m feeling a little microaggression-fatigue. It’s great to cheer hard for the home-team; but does that mean diminishing the other(s)?

    “We tribal humans have a ‘dark side,’ ironically also related to our social relationships: We are as belligerent and brutal as any other animal species,” says author and UC San Diego Professor Emeritus Saul Levine, MD, in “Belonging Is Our Blessing, Tribalism Is Our Burden.” “Our species, homo sapiens, is indeed creative and loving, but it is also destructive and hostile.”

    Levine cautions that for all the psychological good that belonging offers us, “Dangers lurk when there is an absence of Benevolence. Excessive group cohesiveness and feelings of superiority breed mistrust and dislike of others and can prevent or destroy caring relationships. Estrangement can easily beget prejudice, nativism, and extremism. These are the very hallmarks of zealous tribalism which has fueled bloodshed and wars over the millennia.”

    How does “zealous tribalism” present in the recovery community? Abstinence-focused tribes have dearly held views that differ from our harm-reduction fellows. Inside the abstinence-model tribe, it’s not all Kum Ba Yah, either. Refuge Recovery clans, SMART Recovery, Women for Recovery and the 12-step advocates may feel a superiority/inferiority thing that comes out in how we talk about each other. SMART followers may look down on 12-stepping as stubbornly old-fashioned. 12-steppers might see Life Ring or other new tribes as acting overtly precious with their dismissal of tried-and-true methods. Focusing in even more, we see NAs, CAs and AAs each rolling their eyes at each other’s rituals or slogans. In AA, secular members and “our more religious members” finger point at each other about who’s being too rigid and who’s watering down the message. These are examples of what Levine calls “belonging without the benevolence.” Finding “our people” is great. Part of what makes us feel included might also over-emphasize the narcissism of small differences.

    “Meeting makers make it!”
    “That’s not sober; that’s dry. The solution is clearly laid out in the 12 steps—not meetings!”
    “AA’s a cult that harms more people than it helps!”

    These are tribal battle cries—sincerely held feeling based in part on our unique lived experience and in part on an ignorance we’re not conscious of.

    If you love the fight and you don’t care what others think of you, this article might not hold your attention. We’re going to talk about how to get along better. On the other hand, if you see yourself as empathetic and regret falling prey to us vs. them conflicts, let’s talk about cause and corrective measures.

    Recovery professionals curb their own biases through professional practices; we can borrow their best practices to avoid getting defensive or dismissive with people who hold divergent worldviews. If our goal is to connect with others, an increasingly diverse world of others presents challenges.

    “In my early career, I was adamant about abstinence as the only viable solution to alcohol and other drug problems,” recalls William White, author of Recovery Rising: A Retrospective of Addiction Treatment and Recovery. As a historian and treatment mentor, White learned from lived-experience, clinical practice, study and research. His 2017 book advocates for treatment professionals to exercise “professional humility and holding all of our opinions on probation pending new discoveries in the field and new learning experiences. Many parties can be harmed when we mistake a part of the truth for the whole truth.”

    If 100% of my knowledge about harm reduction is from harm reduction failures who tell their story of decline in a 12-step meeting, I could “mistake a part of the truth for the whole truth.” What would I know about harm reduction success stories if I only go to 12-step rooms?

    Treatment professionals are adapting to cultural diversity in their practices. Bound by a Code of Ethics, NAADAC (the Association for Addiction Professionals) has embraced the concept of “cultural humility.” Cultural humility is a fiduciary duty for professionals to be sensitive to client race, creed, sexual orientation, gender identity and physical/mental characteristics when providing healthcare.

    “Cultural humility is other-oriented. Cultural humility is to maintain a willingness to suspend what you know or what you think you know based on generalizations about the client’s culture. Power imbalance between counselor and client have no place in cultural humility. There is an expectation that you understand the population you’re serving and that you take the time to understand them better,” explains Mita Johnson, the Ethics Chair for NAADAC, who teaches cultural humility to addiction/treatment professionals. Dr. Johnson says, “Addiction professionals and providers, bound by ethical practice standards, shall develop an understanding of their own personal, professional and cultural values and beliefs. Providers shall seek supervision and/or consultation to decrease bias, judgement and microaggressions. Microaggressions are often below our level of awareness. We don’t always know we are doing it.”

    Microaggression—today’s buzzword—google it. In The Atlantic’s “Microaggression Matters,” Simba Runyowa elaborates on the insidiousness of this behavior: “Microaggressions are behaviors or statements that do not necessarily reflect malicious intent, but which nevertheless can inflict insult or injury. … microaggressions point out cultural difference in ways that put the recipient’s non-conformity into sharp relief, often causing anxiety and crises of belonging on the part of minorities.”

    Here’s how that might look in our recovery universe: someone from NA, a complete abstinence-based fellowship, asks someone who’s thinking about medication-assisted treatment with Suboxone: “Are you in denial? A drug is a drug is a drug.” No malicious intent is involved but the fellow member is left feeling disparaged. Maybe the well-intended NA had a negative experience with medically assisted treatment (MAT) and has a visceral feeling about it, “Taking drugs to stop drugs isn’t clean.” But NA doesn’t work for everyone. Yours or my anecdotal experience will bias us. Maybe expressing my own personal experience, or just listening without commenting, would be more culturally humble.

    The same is true of the MAT fan who says, “12-steppers are deluded by a faith-healing 80-year-old modality; only five-percent of people get helped from the 12 steps.” These types of arguments are not other-oriented. This is tribalism. 

    A simplistic solution to avoiding lane-drift is to listen more and share in first person. Prescriptive communicating—as opposed to a descriptive narrative—will, inadvertently, engage us in microaggression.

    Just when “Why can’t we all just get along” seemed hard enough, there’s more than one subconscious microaggression we need to be aware of. Derald W. Sue, Ph.D., a psychology professor at Columbia University, describes three microaggressions: micro–assaults, micro–insults and micro–invalidations.

    Micro–assaults are most akin to conventional discrimination. They are explicit derogatory actions, intended to hurt. Here’s an AA example: disparaging a humanist AA in a meeting by quoting Dr. Bob’s 1930s view, “If you think you are an atheist, an agnostic, a skeptic, or have any other form of intellectual pride which keeps you from accepting what is in this book, I feel sorry for you.” No one feels “sorry for” their equal. Inferiority is implied.

    “A micro–insult is an unconscious communication that demeans a person from a minority group,” Dr. Sue reports. Using another 12-step creed-based example, “CA includes everyone; it’s ‘God as you understand Him.” Who is likely to feel demeaned by Judeo/Christian-normative language?

    We could rightfully credit 1930s middle-America Alcoholics Anonymous founders for their progressive—always inclusive, never exclusive—posture; “everybody” in 1939 America meant Protestants, Catholics and Jews. The AA of the 1930s was culturally humble. Today, inadvertently, this same language is less effective at gateway-widening. Today, just 33% of earthlings embrace this interventionist higher power of the early 12-step narrative. According to the Washington Times, globally, 16% of people have no religion and 51% have a non-theistic, polytheistic faith. Sikhs or Muslims may share monotheism, but they worship a genderless deity; no room for “Him” of any understanding. Cultural humility accommodates all worldviews, without asking others to speak in the language of the majority.

    “Minimizing or disregarding the thoughts, feelings or experiences of a person of color is referred to as micro–invalidation.” This is how the American Psychiatric Association rounds out Dr. Sue’s three types of microaggression. “A white person asserting to minorities that ‘They don’t see color’ or that ‘We are all human beings’ are examples.”

    Disregarding or minimizing in our community might be telling someone: “You can participate in your online groups if you like but don’t treat InTheRooms.com like real meetings. Face-to-face is the only way to connect with real people.” If expressed in first person, instead of disregarding the other, the message could relate a personal experience and an informed belief. Have we learned everything about the person we’re talking to? Social anxiety disorder or a dependent partner, parent or child at home could be reasons why the online meeting is the superior option for them.

    To William White’s point, what do I really know about the comparative benefits of online community vs. traditional meetings? Maybe I could consider his informed advice of “holding all of our opinions on probation pending new discoveries in the field and new learning experiences.”

    Mita Johnson identifies a challenge with microaggression—it’s subconscious. How do we correct subconscious behaviors? Dr. Sue authored a couple of books to help combat microaggression at an individual, institutional and societal level: Microaggressions in Everyday Life: Race, Gender and Sexual Orientation and Microaggressions and Marginality. Sue offers five steps to help connect us with more varieties of addicts/alcoholics. “Microaggressions are unconscious manifestations of a worldview of inclusion, exclusion, superiority, inferiority; thus, our main task is to make the invisible, visible.” Here are Dr. Sue’s five practices:

    1. Learn from constant vigilance of your own biases and fears.
    2. Experiential reality is important in interacting with people who differ from you in terms of race, culture, ethnicity.
    3. Don’t be defensive.
    4. Be open to discussing your own attitudes and biases and how they might have hurt others or revealed bias on your part.
    5. Be an ally. Stand personally against all forms of bias and discrimination.

    I gave it a try. Taking inventory—in these five ways—of my prejudices and preconceived ideas helps identify my insensitivities. It helps thinking/acting more other-oriented. Secondly, more than ever, it’s a good time for more active listening and less instruction. Getting defensive, even to microaggression coming my way, escalates the divides. Admitting my assumptions and the faulty conclusions is a version of “promptly admit it” that is so familiar. Finally, how can I “Be an ally?” It’s not hard, today, to stand up for myself when I’m being disrespected. Now will I say something when someone else is being invalidated, insulted or dismissed? Yes, there’s a time to mind my own business but if I’m committed to “be an ally,” can I stay silent when another is being ganged up on by the tyranny of the majority?

    When I’m tempted to be tribal when confronted with other individuals or recovery groups, I try to remember that all people who suffer from process or substance use disorder have been subjected to microaggressions. William White identifies a few of the more cliché slights we all face:

    • “Portrayals of the cause of substance use disorders as personal culpability (bad character) rather than biological, psychological, or environmental vulnerability.
    • Imposed shame, e.g., being explicitly prohibited by one’s supervisor from disclosing one’s recovery status out of the fear it would harm the reputation of the company.
    • Misinterpretation of normal stress responses as signs of impending relapse.”

    In this regard there is no us vs. them. Just “us.”

    Not everyone believes that shining a light on microaggression will solve hostilities towards each other. “There are many problems with studies of microaggressions, technical and conceptual. To start, its advocates are informed by the academic tradition of critical theory,” Althea Nagai argues in “The Pseudo-Science of Microaggressions.” Nagai identifies confirmation bias found in almost all focus groups and the problem of unintended consequences when institutionalizing anti-microaggression policy.

    Nagai’s National Association of Scholars article continues, “There is nothing in the current research to show that such programs work. I suspect most fail to create greater feelings of inclusion. Research suggests they create more alienation and sense of apartness. The recent large-scale quantitative studies suggest that increased focus on ethnic/racial identity exacerbates the problems they are supposed to address. In other words, ‘social justice’ and diversity programs may actually backfire, creating less inclusion, more polarization.”

    Dr. Sue cautions us about weaponizing microaggression; other-oriented cultural humility is to take inventory of my microaggressions—not to fault-find other’s behaviors. Social psychologist Lee Jussim in Psychology Today says keep it personal—not global: “To understand how we can all unintentionally give offense through our own ignorance or insensitivity—thereby increasing our ability to make the same points without being hurtful.”

    “I’d rather step on your toes than walk on your grave,” is a rationalization we hear in the rooms. How do I neither pussy-foot around and avoid being a dick? Beyond intellectualizing, cultural humility is introspective. In “Cultural Humility versus Cultural Competence: A Critical Distinction in Defining Physician Training Outcomes,” cues from professionals show me how to re-frame how I interact with others: “Cultural humility incorporates a lifelong commitment to self-evaluation and self-critique to redressing the power imbalance in the patient-physician dynamic and to developing mutually beneficial and non-paternalistic clinical and advocacy partnerships with communities on behalf of individuals and the defined population.”

    For me, this nails how to stay other-focused: Professionals (or anyone who wants to relate to others better) should “relinquish the role of expert and become the student of the patient with a conviction and explicit expression of the patient’s potential to be a capable and full partner in the therapeutic alliance.”

    I don’t need a course or a degree to “become the student” of others. Instead of acting like I know what’s best for others, I can be a fellow traveler; think about other-focused approaches globally; but act locally.

    View the original article at thefix.com

  • No Vacation from Recovery: A Packing List

    No Vacation from Recovery: A Packing List

    Recovery cannot be left to chance but requires planning, even—and maybe especially—on vacation with its temptations: tropical drinks, laissez-faire schedule, swim-up bars, and late nights.

    For a long time, when my bipolar disorder, alcoholism, and eating disorder were out of control, I believed that the geographic cure, specifically travel, was the antidote to all my ills, as if I could take a vacation from addiction and mental illness. I would pack my bags and land in some exotic port of call, a Greek island, for instance, certain that I would find happiness in the reliable sunshine, the deep blue water, the daily swims, the Mediterranean food, and in a self somehow suddenly better—better in illness and better in soul.

    “Surely, surely the less frenetic island pace will slow me down,” I would tell myself. “I’m always happy there, lying on the beach, eating ripe peaches, hiking through the olive groves, and snorkeling in search of sea urchin shells.” Within days of arrival, I’d be miserable, again, flat out suicidal, wanting to swim out into the blue sea, going and going, or wanting to hurl myself off a steep cliff. No vacation from addiction and mental illness.

    What I have learned in my eight years of stability and sobriety is that there is no vacation from recovery, either.

    My first sober vacation with my now-ex-husband was to Jamaica. Hubris testing those waters, which was a paradise for my ex with its endless supply of Red Stripe and ganja but treacherous for me, only a few months sober. My then-husband had been travelling to Negril for twenty years chasing that perfect beach buzz while I was trying to stay steady, surrounded by all these happy (seeming) vacationers, and trying to remember why I did not want to drink, why I could not ever drink again. Naively, I packed without a contingency plan, bringing just a bikini, sunscreen, and a dress. Nothing to support my recovery. Thankfully, my Higher Power had a contingency plan. 

    The first day while we were lazing in the sun, another couple, Amy and Rich*, sat in the lounge chairs beside us. We made small talk and my then-husband said, “I’m heading up to the bar for a Red Stripe. Anybody want anything?”

    “Coke for me,” I said.

    “I’ll take a coke,” Rich said. “Thanks.”

    “Me, too,” Amy said.

    My antennae attuned, I said, “Are you guys in the club, too?”

    They knew what I meant and from then on, we were inseparable. Amy and Rich, sober for decades, prepared in advance for the trip. With a little online research, they’d found a 12-step meeting off the beach in a tiny church and we went together, in flipflop solidarity. Lesson learned? Recovery cannot be left to chance but requires planning, even—and maybe especially—on vacation with its temptations: tropical drinks, laissez-faire schedule, swim-up bars, and late nights. What happens in Vegas or London or New York City or Rome or Kathmandu doesn’t stay there, but stays with you, a permanent souvenir. In recovery, we don’t get a free pass.

    I now have a packing list that I stick to for all my travels, the practical essentials and spiritual necessities that support my recovery and stability. When we leave home for the unknown, we can get lost, even with the precision of GPS, even with years of sobriety or stability, even if we are confident in our now reliable happiness.

    My Recovery Packing List:

    1. Proper Running Shoes: Know whether you are running away from your life or running towards a bigger life. I have used travel as an escape from myself, from the circumstances of my life that felt out of control (my drinking, my starving, my depression). Every time I tried to run away to some other place, I wound up desperate, without family or friends, without a support system, and hit a new bottom each time. But when I am running on stable ground towards a joyful life? A few years ago, I stayed at a yoga ashram in the Bahamas. One morning, I took a sunrise walk down the beach and felt utterly content breathing in the sun and sea, at ease with myself in my solitude. 
    1. A Map: Know where you came from, where you are now, and where you are going. On a three-week solo trip to Morocco, I meticulously planned the route between the Atlas Mountains and Marrakech and Ouarzazate and Essaouria—unfamiliar terrain without a co-pilot. But more, I needed to remember how far I had come in sobriety so that I could travel alone, out into the world, without family and friends worrying that I might hit bottom, and to know that my journey forward was now one filled with adventure rather than danger. So, I wrote myself a note that I kept inside my wallet: I was once at the bottom of the well; I am now on dry land; I am heading for the horizon!
    1. Carry On (Not Checked Luggage): That is pack light. Don’t carry the weight of the past, only your sober and stable self. What use are sandals and sneakers and snorkels and sunscreen and travel guides and a Kindle downloaded with beach reads if you don’t have room for The Big Book or a journal to record 12-step work? And what use are these essentials for continued recovery if they get lost in checked baggage? If books are too heavy, download 12-step apps and The Big Book to your phone. And why bring them along if you don’t read them? Begin the day reading whatever you might find that anchors you to recovery. Me? It is usually the poem “Late Fragment” by Raymond Carver:

    And did you get what
    you wanted from this life, even so?
    I did.
    And what did you want?
    To call myself beloved, to feel myself
    beloved on the earth. 

    1. Emergency Contacts: Not just family and friends, but sponsors, therapists, and doctors. Too expensive to call overseas? Download an app (such as WhatsApp) so it is free to call people who will remind you who you are becoming, to hear a familiar voice when you’re out there wandering the world and veer off map. In the middle of the Sahara, just off a camel ride through a sandstorm, I Skyped with my sponsor. “Hellooooo,” I said. “I’m calling from the middle of nowhere though I am somewhere beautiful and not at all lost!”
    1. Local Hangouts: Once upon a time, you might have researched bars and nightspots. Now, as I learned from Amy and Rich, I research local 12-step meetings and make it a traveling priority to attend the meetings. Fellowship exists across this world and all we have to do is walk through the door to find our tribe. And if no meeting exists? Keep our antennae attuned to those around us who aren’t ordering booze. On a recent trip to Ireland, I met a local over dinner who I noticed wasn’t drinking. I mentioned to him that I didn’t drink either. “Are you a friend of Bill W.?” he asked, then invited me to go with him to a 12-step meeting later that night. Home on the road.

    Of course, make sure your passport—proof of citizenship and of far-flung travel—is up-to-date. A passport is a dream journal: where have I been and where do I want to go? And in recovery, a passport is a record of courage (those stamps) and of hope (those blank pages) that says: I want to risk myself in the world and am ready for the journey. Necessities packed. Never alone on the road.

     *Not their real names

    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

  • Re-Balancing Act: How to Restore Marital Equilibrium in Recovery

    Re-Balancing Act: How to Restore Marital Equilibrium in Recovery

    Was I really at an AA meeting as I claimed, or was this the night that I—and all hope for our marriage—would vanish anew?

    For my wife Patricia and me, it’s been a long road to even. Ish.

    My wife said “I do” in April 2007 to a man who, despite depression and anxiety issues, did not suffer from addiction. The honeymoon period didn’t last long: By 2009, I was a full-blown alcoholic. A year later I became unemployed and, as substances other than alcohol steepened my spiral, unemployable.

    After a semi-successful rehab stint in early 2011, I began stringing together sober weeks instead of days, disappearing once a fortnight while my wife waited hopelessly. Finally, with one of Patty’s feet firmly out the door, I started my current and only stretch of significant sobriety in October 2011.

    We’d been wed just 4½ years, and the rollercoaster marriage dynamic was about to take its third sharp turn. Patty had gone from a warm wife to a cold caretaker – from a blushing bride to blushing with anger and embarrassment as her husband descended into addiction and all its indignities. She was fed up and worn down.

    And now she would be asked to transition yet again, to cede the necessary high ground she’d claimed so that someday, hopefully, we could once again stand on even footing.

    Our journey together has been imperfect, but has taught us both about how addiction warps the dynamics of a marriage – and how that damage can be repaired in recovery. For couples committed to staying together in addiction’s aftermath, let’s explore likely marital dynamics at three stages of single-spouse alcoholism: active addiction, fledgling sobriety and long-term recovery.

    Active Addiction

    Ironically, perhaps the least complicated dynamic any marriage can have is when one partner is mired in active addiction. One spouse has lost all credibility and the capability to make mutually beneficial contributions, while the other has, onerously, had the scales of responsibility tilt completely into her lap – or, more accurately, fall on her head. The addict has been stripped of all rightful respect and authority; he is a nuptial nonentity, because adulthood is a prerequisite for marital influence.

    Simply put, my wife signed up for a husband and got a child instead.

    The logistical stress my wife shouldered—scraping by on one income, coming home to a drunk husband in a smoke-filled apartment, the transparent excuses and laughable lies—should be familiar to most spouses of alcoholics.

    Throughout this stage, the marital power dynamic is non-negotiated and unsustainable. It is also deeply scarring, for both parties. My guilt and shame, her resentment and disappointment. My elaborate schemes and emphatic denials, her eroding ability to give me the benefit of the doubt. For us both, a creeping sense of confusion, hopelessness and doom.

    All of this creates a silo effect. The deeper my bottom fell, the higher the wall between us rose. For the marriage to once again become… well, a marriage—a union of two equal halves—the walls would need to crumble. But they had to crack first.

    And then, after one last humiliation comprised of a drunken hit-and-run and handcuffs, I was finally done.

    A marriage stumbling on a high wire now had a chance to regain some balance. But for couples, one spouse’s early recovery can shake like an earthquake, causing seismic shifts to a power dynamic that, though broken, proves nonetheless stubborn.

    Fledgling Sobriety

    However simple (albeit awful) the marital dynamic during active alcoholism, the relationship during nascent sobriety becomes, conversely, exceedingly complex. This timeframe is crucial to the marriage’s long-term survival, as both parties simultaneously try to heal fresh wounds, regain some semblance of normalcy and find a workable path forward together.

    For Patty and me, my fledgling sobriety was, at the same time, emergency and opportunity. This might not have been my last chance at recovery, but it was likely our marriage’s last chance at enduring.

    In those vital first months, the power dynamic shifted dramatically, despite my wife’s understandable reluctance to budge an inch lest I take several yards. After being on the receiving end of years of lying about our actions and whereabouts, our spouses struggle to believe we’ll come home at all, let alone come home sober. Was I really at an AA meeting as I claimed, or was this the night that I—and all hope for our marriage—would vanish anew? The PTSD of a waiting wife, burned too many times to trust, is an excruciatingly slow-mending injury.

    That injury is soon joined by insult. Because my wife watched as perfect strangers did something her most fervent efforts could not: get and keep her husband sober.

    She felt suspicious, and scornful… and guilty for feeling either. Her downsized role in my recovery seemed unfair given the years wasted playing lead actor in a conjugal tragedy.

    For alcoholics, swallowing pride is a life-and-death prospect pounded into our heads by program literature, AA meetings and sponsors. For their spouses, though, this ego deflation is just as necessary to the survival of their marriage, and generally comes without guidance or reassurances. Considering this, my wife’s humility-driven leap of faith was far more impressive than my own.

    And throughout this, she was forced to cede more and more marital power to a man who, mere months ago, deserved all the trust afforded an asylum patient. I was gaining friends, gaining confidence and, sometimes, even gaining the moral high ground.

    When your spouse has been so wrong for so long, the first time he’s right is jarring. Somewhere in my wife’s psyche was the understandable yet unhealthy notion that the one-sided wreckage of our past absolved her of all future wrongdoing. Fights ensued as I argued for the respect I was earning while she clung to a righteousness never requested but reluctantly relinquished. Unilateral disarmament—intramarital or otherwise—is counterintuitive and, given my history, potentially unwise.

    The harsh truth was that the marriage had to become big enough for two adults again, and the only way that could happen was for one partner to make room. This is patently unfair and, I believe, a key reason many marriages end in early recovery. That my wife and I navigated this turbulent period is among the most gratifying achievements in each of our lives.

    Long-term Recovery

    Our road became considerably less rocky when my wife, for the first time, became more certain than not that her husband’s sober foundation was solid enough to support a future. For us, that unspoken sigh of relief came about 18 months into my recovery, though this timeframe can vary widely.

    For couples, an invaluable asset ushered in by long-term recovery is the ability to openly address not only each individual’s feelings, but the likely influencers behind those feelings – especially those concerning the disparate, often difficult-to-pinpoint damage one spouse’s alcoholism inflicted upon both partners’ psyches. My wife and I each have our own semi-healed, often subconscious wounds that, still frequently, reopen in the form of a visceral repulsion, reflexive resentment or other knee-jerk reaction.

    At times, then, there remains residual weirdness between us. But the reassurance of my reliable recovery provides safe harbor to explore these issues as our marriage’s power dynamic draws ever closer to even.

    Many of these mini-problems are a blend of individual personalities and lingering, addiction-related trauma. My wife and I both have foibles that, we agree, are part intrinsic and part PTSD; fully parsing the two is impossible, even when examining ourselves rather than each other.

    An example: My wife is markedly introverted, and I certainly know her better than anyone. But even for her closest comrade—me—praise and positive acknowledgement come sporadically at best. At least some of this, she admits, is not simply her quiet nature but rather a prolonged hangover from years of my alcoholic drinking. Perhaps seven years is too little time for proactive cheerleading; check back with us in another seven.

    There are also times when my 12-step recovery delivers on its promise of making me, as the saying goes, “weller than well.” For my wife, who’s been consistently well enough her whole life—insomuch as she’s never sideswiped a taxi blind drunk and then tried to outrun a cop car—sometimes this growth is mildly threatening, especially in terms of our still-tightening power dynamic. Her character defects were never so dangerous that they required emergency repair. Still, as my demeanor has become less volatile, there has been a softening of her own character. Whether this is her absorbing some of my progress or simply letting her guard down another notch is anyone’s guess – including hers.

    No matter the progress, we will both always be damaged, however minimally, by my addiction – a permanent weight that makes truly equal marital balance unlikely, if not impossible. We will always be better at forgiving than forgetting, and the inability to accomplish the latter carries a weight that tips scales, slightly but surely.

    We have, we believe, as much balance as possible considering where we were and where we are now. For couples with a spouse in long-term recovery, appreciation for that tremendous leap forward in fortune can more than make up for the inherent inequality addiction inflicts on a marriage – a gap that shrinks substantially but never completely closes.

    View the original article at thefix.com

  • Marijuana Anonymous Sparking More Interest In Canada

    Marijuana Anonymous Sparking More Interest In Canada

    Marijuana Anonymous uses an adaptation of the 12 steps from Narcotics Anonymous and Alcoholics Anonymous.

    For some marijuana users, Alcoholics Anonymous or Narcotics Anonymous don’t quite feel like a good fit. 

    That’s why in some areas, Marijuana Anonymous is being introduced as an alternative. According to Vice, the group follows similar routines and readings as Alcoholics Anonymous and Narcotics Anonymous. But it was created especially for marijuana users, as some felt that they did not identify with those individuals at AA meetings, while others who’d attended NA felt their marijuana use was dismissed as not being serious enough.

    In Simcoe, Ontario, Marijuana Anonymous meetings began in March 2018. Typically attendance hovers around five members. The Simcoe meeting is one of about 12 in the country, while there are hundreds of AA and NA meetings in comparison.

    One member, David, tells Vice he discovered the meeting online. Prior to attending, he had tried other recovery groups, as he also struggles with alcohol use. But for David, those groups weren’t effective when it came to addressing marijuana.

    “I knew I had a problem,” David told the group at the meeting. “My life had become totally unmanageable. I had become totally isolated… smoked a lot of joints.” 

    Marijuana Anonymous roughly follows the same 12 steps as NA and AA. However, the group celebrates milestones with a token of their own—small rocks painted with an M and A to represent the group’s name.

    “They’re called Stones for Stoners,” David said during the meeting. “I should probably collect because I’m 21 days away from nine months without weed.”

    According to Vice, Marijuana Anonymous members are to try and stay removed from providing thoughts about topics such as legalization of recreational marijuana. But outside these groups, the conversations are happening.

    David Juurlink, an addictions expert and head of clinical pharmacology and toxicology at Sunnybrook Health Sciences Centre in Toronto, tells Vice that marijuana use disorder is legitimate, but that the withdrawal symptoms of marijuana are much less severe so people tend to view it as safer.

    “Alcohol withdrawal kills people,” he said. “Once people drinking 40 ounces of alcohol a day stop, they can go into withdrawal and they can die. Opioid withdrawal is a big deal. Someone who is a heavy user of cannabis who stops is not going to die. They are going to have trouble sleeping, they’re going to be irritable, they might have weird dreams, they might have anxiety. And all of these things might get better when they resume their cannabis again.”

    According to the MA public information trustee, Josh, interest in the group is growing. He tells Vice that there has been a 51% increase in calls to the organization’s phone line over the past year.

    Soon, Canada may become an important destination for Marijuana Anonymous members, as the country is hosting the 2019 world convention and conference in Toronto and Vancouver, Vice notes. The conference just happens to fall around seven months after Canada will implement the legalization of recreational marijuana, which members say is a coincidence. 

    “As legalization happens and becomes more ingrained in our culture, we probably will see a rise in attendance but at the same time, we’re an anonymous corporation,” MA member Lori told Vice.

    “I was miserable and I was lonely, so eventually I ran out of excuses as to why my life was a mess,” she added. “There’s all these conjectures and this thinking that pot’s not addictive, so as an addict I latched onto that. Then I get to MA and I hear the stories and I see the recovery and I say OK, I will give this a shot. And things went much better.”

    View the original article at thefix.com

  • I’m Open and Willing, Dear Sponsor, but Wait a Minute!

    I’m Open and Willing, Dear Sponsor, but Wait a Minute!

    We know “our best thinking got us here,” but that doesn’t mean we need to be open and willing to take abuse or be manipulated.

    When you first came into the program, you might have heard your “best thinking got you here.”

    You’re told since your way hasn’t been working, maybe it’s time to try something else.

    You’re told you need to surrender.

    You’re told you need to start listening and follow directions.

    Well, if you were like me (gung ho!), and made the decision to be “open and willing,” I’ll bet you gave the program your best shot: you took the suggestions readily; you went to 90 meetings in 90 days; you read the Big Book daily; you got a sponsor; you did the steps. And hopefully, you started to see some progress. Your life began to improve. You cleaned up the wreckage of your past, mended relationships, got involved in service work, and really started to feel better about yourself.

    If the “your best thinking got you here” aphorism played like an endless loop in your brain, you might have felt that you’d lost the ability to think rationally for yourself and that you needed guidance. Should I break up with my addict boyfriend who just happens to be violent?  Well, um, yea . . . but you might have been so enmeshed in codependence while simultaneously combatting your addiction that you honestly didn’t know what to do.

    If you were like me—with some crazy, delusional thinking going on—and you were put on a six-month waiting list by your insurance to see a therapist, you’d need some help, and fast, and that help might have come by way of a sponsor. And if she was a good one, she’d listen, be empathetic, and gently suggest healthier ways of coping with your problems.

    Some people will say that a sponsor’s job is solely to lead a newcomer through the steps—not be a counselor, therapist or life coach. And while some sponsors may stick to this definition, most of the ones I’ve met take a much more involved role. My peers in recovery say they call their sponsors when they want to drink, when their ass is falling off, when they need help! The many times I discussed a problem with a fellow member after the meeting, I invariably heard, “Have you run this by your sponsor?” Or “Call your sponsor, that what she’s there for.”

    Sponsors can be unquestionable lifesavers. Through the years, I’ve had sponsors who have really saved my ass. One time, I was dealing with a relative who had a meth addiction and bipolar disorder. She was delusional but also cruel and selfish. But because she was “blood,” I enabled her. After one particularly trying event with her, I remember calling my sponsor and telling her I didn’t know what to do. She told me to do nothing—walk away. And not feel guilty. It ended up being the smartest thing: my relative got much better learning how to cope and take care of her problems herself instead of manipulating me into doing her bidding.

    But be careful. Not all sponsors should be sponsors. They may only recruit potential sponsees because their sponsor told them it was their turn to get one, not because they are qualified. And if you get with one who isn’t right for you, she could cause you some damage. As a newcomer, you’re incredibly, nakedly vulnerable—and impressionable. So can you see the conundrum here? You want to be open and willing, you want to start following suggestions and take direction—but you still have to listen to your gut and not confuse vulnerability with gullibility.

    When I first met this particular sponsor, I was blown away by her enthusiasm for the program. She was very bright, seemed very together, articulate, funny, educated, empathetic, kind, the whole enchilada. She told me she had tried myriad ways to recover because she’d always been searching for that thing that would fill her up that wasn’t drink drugs food men money or status, and after searching far and wide, she finally surrendered to AA. She claimed it was the best decision she’d ever made. Since she seemed to have what I wanted, I asked her to be my sponsor. I was sure she’d say she was way too busy, because at the time she had six sponsees and was working. But to my delighted surprise, she said “Oh, my of course I can.”

    I was wildly excited and hopeful. I was not working at the time and was willing to do just about anything asked of me. She could see I was clearly broken, my life practically in ruins, and assured me she would help me get through these very trying times of early sobriety.

    We dived right into the steps. She also instructed me to do 90 meetings in 90 days and get a coffee commitment. But gradually—almost imperceptibly—I discovered something else: She wanted to mold me. At first there were mild corrections of my speech or attitude, but it got to the point that I felt oppressively censored. If I ever said “should” or “have to” she’d immediately correct me and say, “not ‘should,’ not ‘have to’” it’s “I ‘get to’” do blah blah blah. In hindsight, I would have told her “Look, ‘should’ is an intrinsic word of the English language, it means something needs to be done. I think I know the difference of when I ‘get to’ do something and when I ‘should’ do something.”

    Another thing she’d do when I told her of a problem I was having with someone, was immediately cut me offbefore I could even finish. She’d interrupt and say, “I want you to think of three good things about this person. Remember, they are doing the best they know how. Find your compassion.” Which is good spiritual advice, but when the shoe was on the other foot and she was pissed at someone, she’d get downright eviscerating, nary mentioning three good qualities of the victim of her rant.

    But her all time fave platitude was: “If you spot it you got it!” said immediately to moi every time I complained to her about a person I felt was being unfair, selfish or mean. And she did have a point: sometimes, when we see something we don’t like in a person it’s because we recognize it in ourselves. But not always! For example, do we renounce the bully because we are bullies ourselves? Maybe, but usually not. Then she’d get into mystical stuff and go on about karma and say, “Everybody gets what they deserve because it’s all karma.” When I asked, “So the old lady that gets raped by a stranger, how did her karma cause that?” Her reply, “Well maybe she did something to deserve it. Now, personally, I’ve never been raped.” Whaaatt?

    But what put me over the edge was something she said that I knew, even with my broken brain, was incontestably wrong. I didn’t have to chide myself this time for thinking that I wasn’t being open and willing enough to learn, or was being controlled by my ego.

    While we were taking a walk, I confided in her about a doctor who had sexually assaulted me when I went in for a pelvic exam.

    She responded: “Well, you aren’t going to like this, but can I say something to you?”

    “Well, sure, I guess.”

    She took a dramatic big breath, squared her shoulders and said, “Okay here goes. I think, that maybe you asked for it.”

    I was dumbfounded. At the time, I explained to her, I was 19 and alone in New York City. I’d gotten my first bladder infection, couldn’t pee and could barely walk straight I was in so much pain. All I wanted was some antibiotics.

    “What do you mean I was asking for it?” I asked, frightfully confused.

    “Well, I didn’t want to bring this up, but now is as good of time as any. I see the way you talk to the men in the meetings. You’re very sexual, you know.”

    “What?” I boomed. “Are you fucking kidding me? I try to treat everyone, men and women alike, with respect, and hopefully, kindness.”

    “Well that is not how it is being perceived. People talk you know. I’m hearing all kinds of things, like ‘God, I can’t believe Margaret is married! The way she talks to the guys.’”

    Now I was pissed. I am an incredibly happily married woman. I adore my husband dearly. I would never, ever, go out on him. I am not even remotely attracted to other men.

    I realized then that her thinking was irrevocably off and I had to cut bait. I finally got the courage to fire her but it took time; she wielded a lot of power at the meetings and she intimidated me. It was an incredibly painful experience. I was already so vulnerable and sensitive, and totally confused. To have my sponsor, the one I’d done my steps with, the one who knew my deepest darkest secrets, become something slightly resembling, well, delusional, was demoralizing to say the least!

    It took me a while to get back to my homegroup. I was so shattered. I really thought of everyone as family there: they were so nice and kind, it was easy to be friendly back. But . . . but, what if my sponsor was right? Could I have been so wrong, so delusional? Was I flirting and were dudes coming on to me and I just didn’t see it? Eventually I went back and shared what she told me to a couple of trusted AA pals. They told me they’d never heard or seen any of the behavior she was reporting about me. 

    The reason I’m sharing this story is not to criticize AA, or gossip about members, or diss sponsors. I’m sharing my story because I don’t want the same thing to happen to another vulnerable newcomer, a newcomer who knows her thinking is off and is willing and open to change, but may be confused about the accuracy and validity of some of her sponsor’s suggestions, opinions, or directions.

    Listen to your intuitions, and your higher power. If you’re having problems with your sponsor, share your experiences—without using names—with other trusted members in order to get some perspective. Because we are scared and alone when we come into the rooms. We know “our best thinking got us here,” but that doesn’t mean we need to be open and willing to take abuse or be manipulated.

    Most of the time, sponsorship is a wonderful example of people helping other people. Sponsors can help talk you out of a drink, and because they’re drunks like you, they usually get where you’re coming from. But just because someone is a sponsor or old-timer doesn’t mean they are perfect.

    Face it, we are all deeply flawed in some way. But sponsors have a very serious job to do, and they should be doing it out of altruism, not as way to assuage their own ego by lording over vulnerable newcomers who they can control, manipulate or abuse. So be careful. Be open and willing but keep your boundaries firmly in place. And if things get creepy, don’t spend too much time being resentful (like I did!). Instead, break it off with him/her before you develop another codependent, dysfunctional relationship, and chalk it up as an invaluable learning experience.

    View the original article at thefix.com