I've had two experiences dealing with friends relapsing this weekend, one was a sponsee who had worked hard and well to achieve 18 or 19 days before he drank today and the other was a guy who I'd known for awhile at one of my meetings--I'm not sure how much time he actually had as he rarely talked in meetings and I only knew him in passing--but he began drinking a few days ago and called me Saturday morning asking for help.
My sponsee called me tonight after he'd had a few beers---not enough to be really drunk, but enough to begin feeling a horrible on rush of shame over what he'd done. For some reason, he called me before taking his next drink or before going out to buy more alcohol. I took that as something of a miracle---the more expected/normal thing for someone to do after relapsing would be to go ahead and give themselves the go ahead and get really fucked up because they'd already broken the "first drink" barrier. But he called me instead.
The other guy had been drinking for two days and by 10am Saturday, he was already quite well on his way for a third day of drinking. Again, the miracle: he began reaching out to people he knew and had phone numbers for. When I took his call, I was at my daughter's house begin a long day of planting flowers and getting her house ready for a family party next weekend for my other daughter (the recent graduate). Not something I could walk away from. But when he called, I walked off to the side of the house and talked to him for about 10-15 minutes. He was at home and it appeared to be a safe place. His wife was on the way there to be with him as was someone else from AA who was taking off from work to be with him. I asked him to try to help them find all of his alcohol (or anything else) and get it removed from the house. I suggested that he avoid beating himself up for what he'd done, try to not put more alcohol in his body and once he'd sobered up enough, to get himself to a meeting. That's when he told me that he was terrified to raise his hand. He was embarrassed and felt he had let us down. He didn't think he could raise his hand again.
That was the same fear that was going through my sponsee: he was fearing tomorrow's noon meeting and raising his hand. He'd been feeling so good the last two weeks! He'd not been able to string 1 or 2 days before this recent run of almost three weeks. He was so close to being able to "not have to raise his hand anymore!".
I'm not sure either one of these guys understood what I tried to share with them: either because they were still somewhat drunk or because I think this is a hard concept for even sober alcoholics to understand:
I'm not most afraid of drinking again. I suspect that that may very well happen to me at some point in my life, maybe even multiple times. Who knows. I certainly don't want that to happen. I can't even imagine how it would happen. But I know that it could happen. And while I'm afraid of that happening, there's one thing that scares the shit out of me far more than the possibility of me drinking again: and that's that were I to drink again, I fear that I would be too ashamed to come back into a meeting of AA and raise my hand as a newcomer---or more accurately---as someone in my first meeting after my last drink. That's what I fear most.
The fear that I might drink is a real fear because I don't really know for sure what will happen as a result of that first drink. I suspect all sorts of bad stuff, but I don't know for sure. The fear that I would be too ashamed to come back into AA and begin the process again: that's a more dreaded fear because I do know the result of that: all sorts of bad stuff and no real hope of getting sober or staying alive.
For me, I've found it worthwhile to work through both of these fears so that they are not so frightful. I've accepted that alcoholics, even recovering ones who work good programs, will sometimes drink. I'm not shocked when that happens. I'm actually more shocked that it doesn't happen more often!
I've also come to the awareness that the night on October 23, 2001, when I walked into my first meeting after my last drink and raised my hand and said, "My name is Mike and I'm an alcoholic." that that was the best night of my entire life. And now, seven and a half wonderful years later, that same night is still the best night of my entire life. Were it not for that night, nothing that followed could have happened and nothing that came before it could have come to provide the foundation for so much growth and healing.
So, were I ever to drink again, I'd pray and hope that I would be able to get a second chance to raise my hand and give this life of sobriety another shot.
I hope my two friends come to understand this strange fact of recovery. I suspect their life may depend on it.
Take care!
Mike L.
Sunday, May 31, 2009
Friday, May 29, 2009
A few weeks ago, a friend of mine died...
A few weeks ago, a close friend of mine died of cardio/renal failure. He'd been a Jesuit priest for many years and was loved and respected by many people, particularly for his ability to listen and to love.
By the time I learned how sick he was, he'd already lost conscious contact with this world and it was too late for me to talk with him about some things that I'd always wanted to share with him, but never seemed to find the right time to do that. When I attended his vigil this last Sunday night and then again at the funeral mass on Monday morning, I was holding on to a rather painful burden coming from my not having taken the time to reach out to Frank before he died. For a variety of reasons, I'd always sensed that he had some sort of struggle related to alcohol and I always felt that I was listening and watching for the right time to reach out to him to help him if I could. It appears that I waited too long.
But as a result of watching another priest, Fr. John, perform most all of the responsibilities in terms of leading the community in the various rites Catholics have for going through all the various aspects of grieving a loved one's death, as well as celebrating one's life, I think I have been able to process this whole burden in a much healthier way. Part of my doing that though was drafting a letter to Fr. John and using that letter to bring some sort of closure to my relationship with this wonderful man, Fr. Frank. A man that I didn't really know, but that I loved nonetheless. And a man that loved me, even though he really didn't know me.
I haven't sent this letter yet, but wanted to post a draft here.
Fr. John-
I'm sure you don't remember me, but I'm a former member to St P. parish and friend of Fr. Frank Houdek. Frank had been a close part of our family for many years.
I attended both the vigil (you kindly asked my wife, Nancy, to read one of the readings) and the funeral mass on Monday.
I can't tell you how touched and moved by both ceremonies and, in particular, your kindness and compassion expressed in countless words and actions. Thank you.
The main reason for this communication though is to try and bring some closure to my relationship with Frank. Something you said on Monday at the funeral mass struck me to the core. It hit me where I was most troubled and pained since hearing of Frank's turn for the worse: a time when I realised I'd simply waited too long to have a heart to heart, face to face conversation with this man I now know "I didn't know---but that I loved."
I've known Frank for many years---we met sometime around the time when he joined St. P's staff and as a result of his friendship with a friend of Nancy's. What connected Frank and me at first was our Jesuit past (I joined the California province in 1976 but left after about 3 1/2 years). Not long after leaving the Jesuits, Nancy and I fell in love and were married (at St P's) in 1980.
More than our Jesuit connection though, I was was always drawn to the kindness and love that I saw in Frank---it exemplified the best of what I cherished in the Jesuit tradition and way of life. It mirrored the best that I had seen in a few Jesuit mentors I had come close to in my short time with them. It came out from Frank most often when Frank talked with me about my young son Pat.
Pat has always been a most loving and sensitive child, but at a very young age he began confronting some dark personal demons and ultimately began using drugs and other things to escape from the intolerable pains associated with just living. His drug use started when he was about 9 years old (then a student at St P's...). His life and our family became an ever increasing living hell over the next 5-6 years. The hell extended beyond our family in various ways and certainly into St. P's School and parish community. No one, including Pat, my wife or myself, had any real clue that drugs had become the primary solution for Pat and his problems with life. That awareness only started to surface in each of us as the drugs stopped being a solution and became an all encompassing problem all in themselves.
Before we became aware of Pat's problem, we all did and said many things that displayed anger, fear, resentment, frustration, despair and hopelessness. Looking back, it's clear to me that all these words and actions were based in a flickering love and an overwhelming fear. All were based in ignorance about the dis-ease of addiction. Ultimately, through the kindness and wisdom of many strangers, including Frank's, Pat began a process of recovery that included almost as many failures as successes. Pat celebrated 8 years clean on May 10, 2009. In a few weeks, he'll turn 24 years old. Quite a miracle story.
Back to Frank: all during Pat's "dark years" Frank was always a source of kindness and love to me and each member of my family. Never did I see Frank without him asking me, "How's Pat doing?" No judgment. No frustration toward Pat. Just love. Then when Pat got clean just before his 16th birthday, Frank became Pat's most ardent cheerleader. He and Pat became close --- connected --- although I know little of the extent of their friendship.
Back to me and why I'm writing you now: when Pat began his recovery process in January 2001, I began to hit my own "bottom" in terms of my own drug (alcohol) use. Until that time in my life, I'd always been able to "prove" to myself and others, that I wasn't an alcoholic like my dad. He couldn't stop (he died of alcoholism about the time Pat began using drugs). I could!
In fact, I repeatedly "stopped" drinking hundreds of times between the ages of 18 and 48. But always, as soon as I became convinced that I was "stopped" and therefore not an alcoholic, I would start drinking again. The cycle of stopping and starting continued until the day Pat completed an intake interview with a counselor at a local hospital's "adolescent chemical dependency program" -- Pat had voluntarily agreed to begin that program at the suggestion of one of those "strangers" who'd miraculously crossed our path and the perfect moment in time.
But after the counselor had met with Pat for about an hour, he asked my wife and I to join them in his office. He informed us that Pat qualified for their program, but that before he admitted him into this outpatient program, my wife and I needed to agree to a couple of conditions: (1) we needed to remove all alcohol and drugs from our home (my wife and I both answered "Yes!" to this request, although I must admit that she said it a little faster than I did! -- you see, she's not an alcoholic. I had to think something to myself before saying Yes out loud and that was "Well, I guess I can drink somewhere else!") and (2) we need to stop all use of alcohol or any other drug while Pat was in this treatment program which was going to last somewhere around 6 months.
Well, that was my personal and dark bottom: that was the first time in my life when I knew without question that I couldn't stop drinking. And I couldn't tell them that I couldn't stop drinking! because if I told them that truth, they'd naturally start expecting me to stop! Well! I just realized for the first time in my life that I couldn't stop! And when I realized I couldn't stop: I realized it to my core. I simply couldn't go one day without some amount of alcohol in me to relieve the stress and pain that filled my life.
What's happened since is that I eventually woke up one morning and realized, once again, that I couldn't stop drinking. But that morning, October 20, 2001, I then became aware of the fact that the inability to stop drinking was called "alcoholism" and that I just happened to have this disease. All of a sudden, everything I had done up to that point, especially in terms of my drinking, became perfectly clear. It all made sense. What used to only bring feelings of shame and guilt, now brought only compassion and understanding.
I've been actively involved in AA for the last seven and a half years. I never broadcast to those outside of the program that I was a recovering alcoholic: it's really a personal matter for me. But whenever I sensed that someone was struggling with issues related to alcohol or other drugs, I would never hesitate to reach out to them by telling them my own story with this issue. It took me five years before I shared my story with Frank. We were sitting in our backyard for some family celebration and late in the afternoon Frank and I found ourselves sitting alone at one of the tables. He asked me how Pat was doing in his recovery and we talked about that for a little while, but then I felt the time was right to disclose my own recovery with this friend of mine. I did that in part because he was a close friend, but to be honest, I also did it because I had some sense that Frank himself had struggled with this perplexing and subtle disease over the years. And I thought that if I told him my story, he might feel comfortable sharing his with me.
He was clearly touched as he listened to me tell him what I have essentially just told you. He shared that over the years of his priestly life, he'd had quite a few brother Jesuits and priests come to him with their own struggles with alcoholism and how he'd tried to help them. He made only a slight reference to his own personal struggles with this issue, but our quiet time alone came to an end and we never again talked together at this level.
When Frank's recent illness became known to me, I knew that I had waited too long. His illness was such that he was losing consciousness of who people were and where he was. It seemed wrong for me to try and barge into this difficult transition time with my own need to unburden my soul.
At the memorial a few weeks ago, you ended your homily with a wonderful story about an elderly couple who had been married for many years. Toward the end, the husband began suffering from severe dementia and was hospitalized. As the wife went to visit him, she would suffer greatly because this husband of hers would not be able to remember who she was or remember her name. One day, toward the end, she was standing beside his bed holding his hand and she knew once again that this was a day where he did not know who was standing there holding his hand. She broke down and said to him, "You don't know who I am, do you?". The husband then looked into her eyes with tremendous compassion and replied, "No, I don't know you, but I love you."
That story cut into my core. It gave me a truth beyond my own understanding in terms of what had happened between me and my friend Frank. I didn't know him, but I love him. He didn't know me, but he loved me.
John, this long winded story is my way of saying thanks to you for your service and compassion toward Frank and all who loved him. Most especially, thanks for telling this story. Someone once said that the shortest distance between me and the Truth is the Story.
Take care!
Mike L.
By the time I learned how sick he was, he'd already lost conscious contact with this world and it was too late for me to talk with him about some things that I'd always wanted to share with him, but never seemed to find the right time to do that. When I attended his vigil this last Sunday night and then again at the funeral mass on Monday morning, I was holding on to a rather painful burden coming from my not having taken the time to reach out to Frank before he died. For a variety of reasons, I'd always sensed that he had some sort of struggle related to alcohol and I always felt that I was listening and watching for the right time to reach out to him to help him if I could. It appears that I waited too long.
But as a result of watching another priest, Fr. John, perform most all of the responsibilities in terms of leading the community in the various rites Catholics have for going through all the various aspects of grieving a loved one's death, as well as celebrating one's life, I think I have been able to process this whole burden in a much healthier way. Part of my doing that though was drafting a letter to Fr. John and using that letter to bring some sort of closure to my relationship with this wonderful man, Fr. Frank. A man that I didn't really know, but that I loved nonetheless. And a man that loved me, even though he really didn't know me.
I haven't sent this letter yet, but wanted to post a draft here.
Fr. John-
I'm sure you don't remember me, but I'm a former member to St P. parish and friend of Fr. Frank Houdek. Frank had been a close part of our family for many years.
I attended both the vigil (you kindly asked my wife, Nancy, to read one of the readings) and the funeral mass on Monday.
I can't tell you how touched and moved by both ceremonies and, in particular, your kindness and compassion expressed in countless words and actions. Thank you.
The main reason for this communication though is to try and bring some closure to my relationship with Frank. Something you said on Monday at the funeral mass struck me to the core. It hit me where I was most troubled and pained since hearing of Frank's turn for the worse: a time when I realised I'd simply waited too long to have a heart to heart, face to face conversation with this man I now know "I didn't know---but that I loved."
I've known Frank for many years---we met sometime around the time when he joined St. P's staff and as a result of his friendship with a friend of Nancy's. What connected Frank and me at first was our Jesuit past (I joined the California province in 1976 but left after about 3 1/2 years). Not long after leaving the Jesuits, Nancy and I fell in love and were married (at St P's) in 1980.
More than our Jesuit connection though, I was was always drawn to the kindness and love that I saw in Frank---it exemplified the best of what I cherished in the Jesuit tradition and way of life. It mirrored the best that I had seen in a few Jesuit mentors I had come close to in my short time with them. It came out from Frank most often when Frank talked with me about my young son Pat.
Pat has always been a most loving and sensitive child, but at a very young age he began confronting some dark personal demons and ultimately began using drugs and other things to escape from the intolerable pains associated with just living. His drug use started when he was about 9 years old (then a student at St P's...). His life and our family became an ever increasing living hell over the next 5-6 years. The hell extended beyond our family in various ways and certainly into St. P's School and parish community. No one, including Pat, my wife or myself, had any real clue that drugs had become the primary solution for Pat and his problems with life. That awareness only started to surface in each of us as the drugs stopped being a solution and became an all encompassing problem all in themselves.
Before we became aware of Pat's problem, we all did and said many things that displayed anger, fear, resentment, frustration, despair and hopelessness. Looking back, it's clear to me that all these words and actions were based in a flickering love and an overwhelming fear. All were based in ignorance about the dis-ease of addiction. Ultimately, through the kindness and wisdom of many strangers, including Frank's, Pat began a process of recovery that included almost as many failures as successes. Pat celebrated 8 years clean on May 10, 2009. In a few weeks, he'll turn 24 years old. Quite a miracle story.
Back to Frank: all during Pat's "dark years" Frank was always a source of kindness and love to me and each member of my family. Never did I see Frank without him asking me, "How's Pat doing?" No judgment. No frustration toward Pat. Just love. Then when Pat got clean just before his 16th birthday, Frank became Pat's most ardent cheerleader. He and Pat became close --- connected --- although I know little of the extent of their friendship.
Back to me and why I'm writing you now: when Pat began his recovery process in January 2001, I began to hit my own "bottom" in terms of my own drug (alcohol) use. Until that time in my life, I'd always been able to "prove" to myself and others, that I wasn't an alcoholic like my dad. He couldn't stop (he died of alcoholism about the time Pat began using drugs). I could!
In fact, I repeatedly "stopped" drinking hundreds of times between the ages of 18 and 48. But always, as soon as I became convinced that I was "stopped" and therefore not an alcoholic, I would start drinking again. The cycle of stopping and starting continued until the day Pat completed an intake interview with a counselor at a local hospital's "adolescent chemical dependency program" -- Pat had voluntarily agreed to begin that program at the suggestion of one of those "strangers" who'd miraculously crossed our path and the perfect moment in time.
But after the counselor had met with Pat for about an hour, he asked my wife and I to join them in his office. He informed us that Pat qualified for their program, but that before he admitted him into this outpatient program, my wife and I needed to agree to a couple of conditions: (1) we needed to remove all alcohol and drugs from our home (my wife and I both answered "Yes!" to this request, although I must admit that she said it a little faster than I did! -- you see, she's not an alcoholic. I had to think something to myself before saying Yes out loud and that was "Well, I guess I can drink somewhere else!") and (2) we need to stop all use of alcohol or any other drug while Pat was in this treatment program which was going to last somewhere around 6 months.
Well, that was my personal and dark bottom: that was the first time in my life when I knew without question that I couldn't stop drinking. And I couldn't tell them that I couldn't stop drinking! because if I told them that truth, they'd naturally start expecting me to stop! Well! I just realized for the first time in my life that I couldn't stop! And when I realized I couldn't stop: I realized it to my core. I simply couldn't go one day without some amount of alcohol in me to relieve the stress and pain that filled my life.
What's happened since is that I eventually woke up one morning and realized, once again, that I couldn't stop drinking. But that morning, October 20, 2001, I then became aware of the fact that the inability to stop drinking was called "alcoholism" and that I just happened to have this disease. All of a sudden, everything I had done up to that point, especially in terms of my drinking, became perfectly clear. It all made sense. What used to only bring feelings of shame and guilt, now brought only compassion and understanding.
I've been actively involved in AA for the last seven and a half years. I never broadcast to those outside of the program that I was a recovering alcoholic: it's really a personal matter for me. But whenever I sensed that someone was struggling with issues related to alcohol or other drugs, I would never hesitate to reach out to them by telling them my own story with this issue. It took me five years before I shared my story with Frank. We were sitting in our backyard for some family celebration and late in the afternoon Frank and I found ourselves sitting alone at one of the tables. He asked me how Pat was doing in his recovery and we talked about that for a little while, but then I felt the time was right to disclose my own recovery with this friend of mine. I did that in part because he was a close friend, but to be honest, I also did it because I had some sense that Frank himself had struggled with this perplexing and subtle disease over the years. And I thought that if I told him my story, he might feel comfortable sharing his with me.
He was clearly touched as he listened to me tell him what I have essentially just told you. He shared that over the years of his priestly life, he'd had quite a few brother Jesuits and priests come to him with their own struggles with alcoholism and how he'd tried to help them. He made only a slight reference to his own personal struggles with this issue, but our quiet time alone came to an end and we never again talked together at this level.
When Frank's recent illness became known to me, I knew that I had waited too long. His illness was such that he was losing consciousness of who people were and where he was. It seemed wrong for me to try and barge into this difficult transition time with my own need to unburden my soul.
At the memorial a few weeks ago, you ended your homily with a wonderful story about an elderly couple who had been married for many years. Toward the end, the husband began suffering from severe dementia and was hospitalized. As the wife went to visit him, she would suffer greatly because this husband of hers would not be able to remember who she was or remember her name. One day, toward the end, she was standing beside his bed holding his hand and she knew once again that this was a day where he did not know who was standing there holding his hand. She broke down and said to him, "You don't know who I am, do you?". The husband then looked into her eyes with tremendous compassion and replied, "No, I don't know you, but I love you."
That story cut into my core. It gave me a truth beyond my own understanding in terms of what had happened between me and my friend Frank. I didn't know him, but I love him. He didn't know me, but he loved me.
John, this long winded story is my way of saying thanks to you for your service and compassion toward Frank and all who loved him. Most especially, thanks for telling this story. Someone once said that the shortest distance between me and the Truth is the Story.
Take care!
Mike L.
Thursday, May 28, 2009
Serenity: Highly Overrated
I often hear people in meetings and elsewhere talking as though they crave Serenity as some sort of drug. I certainly hear this craving when others are praying the Serenity Prayer in meetings (as you know, I don't participate in this practice of communal prayer in AA meetings....but don't me get me started!): Grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change... And I hear it when some people begin advocating rigorous efforts at prayer and meditation: do it and you will find serenity!
I personally believe Serenity to be highly overrated. Looking back over what I remember of the last 55 years, I can't remember one important or substantial thing that I have learned from a moment of serenity, no matter how long that moment. Nothing. Nada. Zip. Zero.
Instead, I see that I've learned most important insights into life by means of pain, sorrow, grief, anxiety, depression, anger, shame, fear, jealousy, discomfort and so-called character defects. That's an abbreviated list to be sure. But in this list of mine, you will not find the blessed experience of Serenity.
I think we are confused when we think that we need serenity in order to do anything, including the ability to accept the things we cannot change. Personally, I've never found the ability to accept something that I cannot change as a result or consequence of first experiencing a sense of serenity and/or peace. Rather, I tried as best I could to change something that I thought needed to be changed...and tried and tried and tried to change it...all to no avail. And if you know me, you'll know that I didn't give up then. I tried and tried and tried again and again and again.
The clearest and most obvious example of this doomed attempt to change something that I could not change was my long term attempt to "not be an alcoholic like my father." Every single time when my alcoholism would pop out like a jack-in-the-box into my life, I would reel back in shame and humiliation and then devote Herculean amounts of energy to push that fact back down and cover the lid on it. By God, I was not going to become an alcoholic!
Did God or anyone else grant me serenity before I finally accepted what I could not change (the fact that I was indeedy an alcoholic!)? No. No way. What happened is that I ran out of energy and willpower. I finally gave up the fight. I fully accepted who I was: alcoholic. When I did that, everything in my life, past and present, all came together into a comprehensible whole. Everything made sense. Every drink, every drunk, every shame-filled aspect of my diseased life.
I think that's what people call an experience of serenity.
And it happened to me that morning of October 20, 2001. And it's happened many times since. Not for long periods. Just brief moments when things all seem to be what they are without any desire or longing on my part for them to be anything other than what they are.
I said that serenity was overrated. I didn't say that serenity didn't exist or that it wasn't an amazing experience. It does and it is. But if I begin the day "seeking it" I never find it. It's not the prerequisite to my being able to accept what I cannot change: it's the consequence of my full and unreserved acceptance of that which I cannot change: Me. The mysterious ever changing Me.
Take care!
Mike L.
I personally believe Serenity to be highly overrated. Looking back over what I remember of the last 55 years, I can't remember one important or substantial thing that I have learned from a moment of serenity, no matter how long that moment. Nothing. Nada. Zip. Zero.
Instead, I see that I've learned most important insights into life by means of pain, sorrow, grief, anxiety, depression, anger, shame, fear, jealousy, discomfort and so-called character defects. That's an abbreviated list to be sure. But in this list of mine, you will not find the blessed experience of Serenity.
I think we are confused when we think that we need serenity in order to do anything, including the ability to accept the things we cannot change. Personally, I've never found the ability to accept something that I cannot change as a result or consequence of first experiencing a sense of serenity and/or peace. Rather, I tried as best I could to change something that I thought needed to be changed...and tried and tried and tried to change it...all to no avail. And if you know me, you'll know that I didn't give up then. I tried and tried and tried again and again and again.
The clearest and most obvious example of this doomed attempt to change something that I could not change was my long term attempt to "not be an alcoholic like my father." Every single time when my alcoholism would pop out like a jack-in-the-box into my life, I would reel back in shame and humiliation and then devote Herculean amounts of energy to push that fact back down and cover the lid on it. By God, I was not going to become an alcoholic!
Did God or anyone else grant me serenity before I finally accepted what I could not change (the fact that I was indeedy an alcoholic!)? No. No way. What happened is that I ran out of energy and willpower. I finally gave up the fight. I fully accepted who I was: alcoholic. When I did that, everything in my life, past and present, all came together into a comprehensible whole. Everything made sense. Every drink, every drunk, every shame-filled aspect of my diseased life.
I think that's what people call an experience of serenity.
And it happened to me that morning of October 20, 2001. And it's happened many times since. Not for long periods. Just brief moments when things all seem to be what they are without any desire or longing on my part for them to be anything other than what they are.
I said that serenity was overrated. I didn't say that serenity didn't exist or that it wasn't an amazing experience. It does and it is. But if I begin the day "seeking it" I never find it. It's not the prerequisite to my being able to accept what I cannot change: it's the consequence of my full and unreserved acceptance of that which I cannot change: Me. The mysterious ever changing Me.
Take care!
Mike L.
Sunday, May 24, 2009
Anthropomorphizing Alcohol/Alcoholism
"Remember that we deal with alcohol: cunning, baffling, powerful."
"I've been sober for "x" years, but I know that the disease is out there waiting for me to let down my guard. If I do, it will come at me with a vengeance..."
"My alcoholism is still in me....waiting. Lying in wait."
"My alcoholism is still there in me, even when I'm sober: it's like a sleeping tiger. One drink and the tiger will wake up and take back everything that I've gained during my sobriety."
"We admitted that we were powerless over alcohol."
All of these are just a few examples of how we often "anthropomorphize" --ascribe human qualities or characteristics to inanimate objects or other things that are not human -- the chemical "alcohol" and the disease of alcoholism. While I've nodded my head in apparent agreement with those who do this, I truly wonder if it's really helpful to portray alcohol or alcoholism as things they are not. In fact, I am beginning to think that such fantasy can actually become quite dangerous for the recovering alcoholic.
I say that because I think that the end result is that we ultimately begin to think, consciously or not, that our problem is "out there" or "not us." We mistakenly think that our recovery needs to be defensive in nature as though there's something out there that has the ability to trick us into taking a first drink or use some other mind-altering drug. That there's something in us that's really not part of "us" that has somehow invaded our body and who's there whether we consent to it being there or not. Something "foreign." All this leads us to expending large amounts of energy building up our defenses and other walls to this supposed outside problem.
And when do that, we ignore the fact that part of the essence of who we are is "alcoholic" --- there's nothing, not even alcohol itself, that can attack us or get us drunk.
Alcohol itself is not cunning, baffling or powerful. It's a fluid with certain physical characteristics. It doesn't smile, wink or smirk at us from behind the bar, the bottle or the glass. What's cunning, baffling and powerful is our mind which can look at alcohol or other drugs (or anything else "out there") and can see something that can fix our inside problems. That's what's cunning, baffling, powerful! Our mind. Our body. Our memory (or lack thereof).
Alcohol didn't "stop doing something" to or with me on October 20, 2001. What happened on that morning is I had a moment of clarity where, for the first time in my life, I understood that I simply couldn't stop drinking and the reason for that was the fact that I was an alcoholic. That understanding gave me a clear understanding, albeit brief and fleeting and shallow, of my entire life up to that point: everything thing I had done in terms of my drinking and my attempts to control it and use it --- all without becoming an alcoholic like my dad --- became perfectly clear to me. Ahhhh, that's why I did that! And that! And that! etc.
The only thing that alcohol was "doing" in my body at that moment of time the morning of October 20th was continue to dissipate. The physical chemicals making up alcohol continued to dissipate over the next few days, maybe weeks. They went away naturally because they are not me. For me, they are a type of poison or allergen. If I don't put them in me, I'm not bothered by them. From that point on, my struggles in recovery haven't been with the chemical alcohol, they've been with my thinking, my habits, my memories, my feelings, my character, etc. My struggles have been in and with "me!"
When I admitted that I was powerless over alcohol, for me, it wasn't a powerlessness over something "out there." Alcohol can't attack or rape me or make me drink. It's an inanimate object. It doesn't have life or the capabilities of living beings. My powerlessness is that I can't change my reaction to alcohol once it's in my body. My body is allergic to alcohol and once it's in me, I start having an allergic reaction. I start thinking that I can control how much and when I will drink. I start thinking that I will be able to stop when I'm ready. I start thinking that I can get sober tomorrow, or even better, the day/week/month/year/decade after. I start thinking that I will able to get sober before I die. Once I start, I don't seem to have the ability to choose when or where I'm going to stop.
I heard once that we alcoholics, maybe like all human beings, have a tendency to want to find outside solutions to inside problems. What I've been learning during the last 7+ years of recovery is that the solutions to my inside "problems" are to be found within. There's no threat out there that I need to be concerned about. I need to look within. And the paradoxical truth, for me, is that the only way I can find the solution within, is to reconnect also with those who are without: others. Other people. Other alcoholics, drunk, dry or sober. Maybe even an "other" that's beyond all understanding.
Take care!
Mike L.
"I've been sober for "x" years, but I know that the disease is out there waiting for me to let down my guard. If I do, it will come at me with a vengeance..."
"My alcoholism is still in me....waiting. Lying in wait."
"My alcoholism is still there in me, even when I'm sober: it's like a sleeping tiger. One drink and the tiger will wake up and take back everything that I've gained during my sobriety."
"We admitted that we were powerless over alcohol."
All of these are just a few examples of how we often "anthropomorphize" --ascribe human qualities or characteristics to inanimate objects or other things that are not human -- the chemical "alcohol" and the disease of alcoholism. While I've nodded my head in apparent agreement with those who do this, I truly wonder if it's really helpful to portray alcohol or alcoholism as things they are not. In fact, I am beginning to think that such fantasy can actually become quite dangerous for the recovering alcoholic.
I say that because I think that the end result is that we ultimately begin to think, consciously or not, that our problem is "out there" or "not us." We mistakenly think that our recovery needs to be defensive in nature as though there's something out there that has the ability to trick us into taking a first drink or use some other mind-altering drug. That there's something in us that's really not part of "us" that has somehow invaded our body and who's there whether we consent to it being there or not. Something "foreign." All this leads us to expending large amounts of energy building up our defenses and other walls to this supposed outside problem.
And when do that, we ignore the fact that part of the essence of who we are is "alcoholic" --- there's nothing, not even alcohol itself, that can attack us or get us drunk.
Alcohol itself is not cunning, baffling or powerful. It's a fluid with certain physical characteristics. It doesn't smile, wink or smirk at us from behind the bar, the bottle or the glass. What's cunning, baffling and powerful is our mind which can look at alcohol or other drugs (or anything else "out there") and can see something that can fix our inside problems. That's what's cunning, baffling, powerful! Our mind. Our body. Our memory (or lack thereof).
Alcohol didn't "stop doing something" to or with me on October 20, 2001. What happened on that morning is I had a moment of clarity where, for the first time in my life, I understood that I simply couldn't stop drinking and the reason for that was the fact that I was an alcoholic. That understanding gave me a clear understanding, albeit brief and fleeting and shallow, of my entire life up to that point: everything thing I had done in terms of my drinking and my attempts to control it and use it --- all without becoming an alcoholic like my dad --- became perfectly clear to me. Ahhhh, that's why I did that! And that! And that! etc.
The only thing that alcohol was "doing" in my body at that moment of time the morning of October 20th was continue to dissipate. The physical chemicals making up alcohol continued to dissipate over the next few days, maybe weeks. They went away naturally because they are not me. For me, they are a type of poison or allergen. If I don't put them in me, I'm not bothered by them. From that point on, my struggles in recovery haven't been with the chemical alcohol, they've been with my thinking, my habits, my memories, my feelings, my character, etc. My struggles have been in and with "me!"
When I admitted that I was powerless over alcohol, for me, it wasn't a powerlessness over something "out there." Alcohol can't attack or rape me or make me drink. It's an inanimate object. It doesn't have life or the capabilities of living beings. My powerlessness is that I can't change my reaction to alcohol once it's in my body. My body is allergic to alcohol and once it's in me, I start having an allergic reaction. I start thinking that I can control how much and when I will drink. I start thinking that I will be able to stop when I'm ready. I start thinking that I can get sober tomorrow, or even better, the day/week/month/year/decade after. I start thinking that I will able to get sober before I die. Once I start, I don't seem to have the ability to choose when or where I'm going to stop.
I heard once that we alcoholics, maybe like all human beings, have a tendency to want to find outside solutions to inside problems. What I've been learning during the last 7+ years of recovery is that the solutions to my inside "problems" are to be found within. There's no threat out there that I need to be concerned about. I need to look within. And the paradoxical truth, for me, is that the only way I can find the solution within, is to reconnect also with those who are without: others. Other people. Other alcoholics, drunk, dry or sober. Maybe even an "other" that's beyond all understanding.
Take care!
Mike L.
Saturday, May 16, 2009
Counting Days
Counting days can be helpful in terms of keeping ourselves grounded in reality. I got into the habit early on of making sure to let people know how much time I had when I talked in meetings. You see, I have always been great talker and "look-gooder" in my life -- but when I came into AA, it was important to me to let people know that while I might sound good and/or wise, I wanted them to know that this was more appearance than substance. I was 15 or 20 days sober....not 99 years. It helped me to keep my sharing "temporally" linked to my sober time. Most important though, the counting of days was something that got me focused on today, not yesterday or yesteryear, not tomorrow or infinity and beyond. Today.
Counting days can also be quite depressing, especially early on in the recovery process, when we seem totally unsure and/or incapable to stringing many of them together in a continuous line of days. I remember seeing people's names followed by numbers up on the Sobriety Birthday board at the Lafayette Hut shortly after I got sober: at first glance, I thought all of the numbers represented days, 6, 30, 48.... It wasn't too long before I realized that while some of those numbers represented days and some months, most represented years! Early in the process, I didn't really believe people who had years, especially lots of years. I only believed and trusted those who had days and months. They were like me. It didn't take me much longer to realize that all of these folks were like me and that they all had a first day, a first 30 days, etc. Some, but not all, had only one first day, one first 30 days, etc. But we all shared that we had some number of days and weren't ashamed or fearful of letting people know how many days we had sober. We let them know so that they could get to know us better and could be more helpful.
I heard someone say (or maybe this is my own original thought, who knows...plagiarism has become quite a habit in this program) that it's best to count days backwards. That is, instead of saying that I have 7 years, 6 months and 27 days.... It's better to count them backwards, starting with now.
I'm sober today, 26 days, 6 months and 7 years. And while I'm proud of the months and years --- today is the only one that really matters to me.
I'm sober today. Start off with that. Always!
Take care!
Mike L.
Counting days can also be quite depressing, especially early on in the recovery process, when we seem totally unsure and/or incapable to stringing many of them together in a continuous line of days. I remember seeing people's names followed by numbers up on the Sobriety Birthday board at the Lafayette Hut shortly after I got sober: at first glance, I thought all of the numbers represented days, 6, 30, 48.... It wasn't too long before I realized that while some of those numbers represented days and some months, most represented years! Early in the process, I didn't really believe people who had years, especially lots of years. I only believed and trusted those who had days and months. They were like me. It didn't take me much longer to realize that all of these folks were like me and that they all had a first day, a first 30 days, etc. Some, but not all, had only one first day, one first 30 days, etc. But we all shared that we had some number of days and weren't ashamed or fearful of letting people know how many days we had sober. We let them know so that they could get to know us better and could be more helpful.
I heard someone say (or maybe this is my own original thought, who knows...plagiarism has become quite a habit in this program) that it's best to count days backwards. That is, instead of saying that I have 7 years, 6 months and 27 days.... It's better to count them backwards, starting with now.
I'm sober today, 26 days, 6 months and 7 years. And while I'm proud of the months and years --- today is the only one that really matters to me.
I'm sober today. Start off with that. Always!
Take care!
Mike L.
Friday, May 15, 2009
Character Trait Building
I've been feeling particularly grateful in recent days for the fact that none of my sponsors saw fit to over-emphasize the importance of dedicating lots of effort toward 'removing one's character defects.'
Earle told me very early in my recovery process that he strongly believed that many people rush too quickly into the 4th step process. He said that most of us come into these rooms pretty well beaten up, demoralized, ashamed and guilty beyond comprehension. In his less than humble opinion (that's normal I suppose for someone with 48 years sober...), people would be better off waiting about a year before beginning the 4th step process. Of course, if there was something heavy troubling you, don't hesitate to talk that out with someone....but other than that just focus on staying sober, connecting with others in this fellowship and working the first 3 steps. I took that advice, and ran with it! (Didn't really begin focusing on the 4th step until just before Earle's death, 14 months after I got sober.)
After that advice was given, whenever the topic of character defects would come up though, I got the clear impression that Earle was not much into what seemed to be the AA character removal bandwagon. That isn't to say that he didn't see great healing power in the process of self-knowledge and understanding, or the process of honest self-disclosure to another human being---he certainly did. He was a psychiatrist for Christ's sake!
I think what troubled him (and me) about all the emphasis and emotional effort being placed into character defects was the almost gleeful way people talked about how bad they were and had been in the past. "You think you were bad? Listen to this badder story about me!" And also on how formalistic or legalistic the 4th step process had become---people were so busy thinking in terms of 'form' (where's your fourth column? did you write it all down? did you include all the sexual stuff?) that they paid little attention to the substance of self-reflection and remorse....
No, Earle didn't spend much time on defects of character. In some sense, he didn't even believe in their existence. "Mike," he would often say, "you are perfect just the way you are. You don't need to change anything at all. Don't even waste your time trying."
Looking back now, I see that I haven't spent much time at all in the last seven years worrying about getting rid of those pesky defects of character. So you might wonder, whatever happened to those defects? Or as Dr. Phil would say, "So, how's that working for you Mike?". Well, it's working fine -- thank you for asking.
The defects which were grabbing most of my (and my wife's!) attention are still there, alive and well.... But they appear to be less harmful to me and others, less glaring, less annoying, less fearful, less shameful, less burdensome.
They seem to be melting. Dying from a lack of attention. Instead, I am learning to be more kind, compassionate, passionate, gentle, forgiving, humble, funny, light-hearted....loving and loved.
Character trait building has been very good for me. I think i'll keep going down this path.
Take care!
Mike L.
Earle told me very early in my recovery process that he strongly believed that many people rush too quickly into the 4th step process. He said that most of us come into these rooms pretty well beaten up, demoralized, ashamed and guilty beyond comprehension. In his less than humble opinion (that's normal I suppose for someone with 48 years sober...), people would be better off waiting about a year before beginning the 4th step process. Of course, if there was something heavy troubling you, don't hesitate to talk that out with someone....but other than that just focus on staying sober, connecting with others in this fellowship and working the first 3 steps. I took that advice, and ran with it! (Didn't really begin focusing on the 4th step until just before Earle's death, 14 months after I got sober.)
After that advice was given, whenever the topic of character defects would come up though, I got the clear impression that Earle was not much into what seemed to be the AA character removal bandwagon. That isn't to say that he didn't see great healing power in the process of self-knowledge and understanding, or the process of honest self-disclosure to another human being---he certainly did. He was a psychiatrist for Christ's sake!
I think what troubled him (and me) about all the emphasis and emotional effort being placed into character defects was the almost gleeful way people talked about how bad they were and had been in the past. "You think you were bad? Listen to this badder story about me!" And also on how formalistic or legalistic the 4th step process had become---people were so busy thinking in terms of 'form' (where's your fourth column? did you write it all down? did you include all the sexual stuff?) that they paid little attention to the substance of self-reflection and remorse....
No, Earle didn't spend much time on defects of character. In some sense, he didn't even believe in their existence. "Mike," he would often say, "you are perfect just the way you are. You don't need to change anything at all. Don't even waste your time trying."
Looking back now, I see that I haven't spent much time at all in the last seven years worrying about getting rid of those pesky defects of character. So you might wonder, whatever happened to those defects? Or as Dr. Phil would say, "So, how's that working for you Mike?". Well, it's working fine -- thank you for asking.
The defects which were grabbing most of my (and my wife's!) attention are still there, alive and well.... But they appear to be less harmful to me and others, less glaring, less annoying, less fearful, less shameful, less burdensome.
They seem to be melting. Dying from a lack of attention. Instead, I am learning to be more kind, compassionate, passionate, gentle, forgiving, humble, funny, light-hearted....loving and loved.
Character trait building has been very good for me. I think i'll keep going down this path.
Take care!
Mike L.
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
Humility vs Humiliation
Humility happens during those brief moments when we become willing to learn, when we are open to the truth about who we are. Humiliation is when our truth is prematurely disclosed to us in front of others.
A friend of mine in the program came up to me before a meeting last week and asked if he could talk to me outside for a minute. He is a little over a year sober and he had a problem and didn't know what to do. For some reason, he thought I was someone who, in addition to his sponsor, might have some good counsel. He'd heard me chair for the first time a couple of weeks ago and he told the group that he'd heard me talk in meetings before but had never heard my story. After hearing my story, he shared, in front of God and everyone, that if he ever needed a new sponsor, I would be on the short list. I was deeply honored. And to be honest, a little embarrassed.
Anyway, his problem was involving someone he considers a friend in recovery: apparently, this other person has been doing some things in meetings that my friend is finding very troubling. I'm not going to go into the details here as some people who read this blog know me and my meetings. There's a thousand ways to trample on other people's privacy. I know, I think I've trampled in at least 999 ways....unwittingly. But an unwitting trample is just as harmful as a witting one.
After listening to the basics of this problematic situation, I had several ideas for how he could proceed: First, he might want to talk about this with his sponsor before doing anything. He might want to try taking the time to think/pray about this. [This problem has some urgency in that it appears the friend he's dealing with is "escalating" in their problematic behaviors...and it seems to me that if something isn't done relatively soon, that friend might very well drink or worse.]
In addition, I suggested that I were in his shoes, I would first want to look into myself to see where this type of behavior (stealing) exists and has existed in his own life. How is/has he dealt with his own dishonesty?
Ultimately, he should ponder: What can I do that would be helpful to this other person? What responsibilities do I have to the people being harmed by this behavior?
He could ask to talk to this person and tell her that he was concerned about her and wanted to know if she was ok. And then, if it felt right, to tell her what he'd seen. The main thing, in my view, was to try and be as kind as possible. Do this without judgment. Whatever's going on, I subscribe to the belief that "we did then what we knew how to do, when we knew better--we did better". Obviously then, she's in a situation in her life where the only thing she knows how to do is take what she's taking/stealing. There's no need to create shame or guilt in her---trust me, it's already there in spades.
The meeting was then beginning, so I told him that I still wanted to think about this and get back to him. I thought it was a difficult position for him to be in with only a year sober. He then decided to tell me who it was that he was talking about and the floor went out from under me. The person he was talking about was a close friend of mine in the program. I was absolutely shocked. I went into the meeting stunned and my mind was reeling. I didn't hear much of the chair (I'd heard this guy's story many times...) --- but as my mind wandered, all sorts of things started to fall into place and the reality of this situation started "ringing true." All sorts of little things started connecting together in my mind, all indicating that this friend was in serious trouble emotionally and that if something isn't done soon, it could easily take a severe turn for the worse.
During the meeting, I did share on the topic of Humility and the distinction I've learned in these rooms between Humility and Humiliation. That humility is a moment when you're willing to learn truth and that humiliation is where truth is prematurely disclosed to you...in front of God and everyone. I shared that I was presented with a very challenging problem just before the meeting and that I was feeling very very humbled by this problem: I simply did not really know what to do. And I was afraid of causing harm to another person I loved. And that I was equally afraid that were I to do nothing, the same or worse harm would come to that same person. And then I shared with them that this is such a difficult problem, I might just break down and actually talk about this with my sponsors. They laughed. They know me.
For the last several days, I've continued to ponder about this problem. Have talked to a few close friends in the program and am going to see my sponsor shortly... I even talked about this situation with my son on the day he completed 8 years clean. He was very helpful. He's a tremendously kind person and very serious about his program.
This morning, as I was driving to work, I imagined several scenarios for my talking with this friend. The scenario that felt most right was to sit her down for a serious talk where we won't be interrupted and we have some privacy (a public park...). I want to tell her that I've been hearing some things being said about her, from people I trust and respect. That I'm very concerned about her and want to convey one thing to her right now: I love her with all my heart and soul. Not in any bullshit romantic/sexual way, but as a fellow human being in recovery. And that this love is such that there is NOTHING, ABSOLUTELY NOTHING that she could ever do or say that would lessen or harm or extinguish that love. I have absolute trust and confidence that she is doing the best she can in the circumstances in which she finds herself...and that if she knew of better things to do, she'd do them. I know from my own past and present that there are times when I do things that break some or all of my moral codes and my sense of right and wrong --- I do them oftentimes out of fear and hopelessness and despair. And often, there are some behaviors which seem to get worse and worse through a never ending series of bad actions followed by guilt/remorse/shame, followed by the very same (or worse) bad actions, followed by guilt/remorse/shame, etc. etc. etc.
And depending on her reaction, I might just very well end it there and tell her that if she ever wants to talk about anything that's troubling her, I'd be willing to listen. I don't really think I need to go into the details of what people are saying, that's really none of her or my business. But if she pushes on that issue, I might very well disclose the basic concerns people are having and what they think they've seen her doing...
That seems right to me now. I'll run it by one of my sponsors (maybe even all three! I really wish Earle was here so I could get his take on this!) before doing anything.
Take care!
Mike
A friend of mine in the program came up to me before a meeting last week and asked if he could talk to me outside for a minute. He is a little over a year sober and he had a problem and didn't know what to do. For some reason, he thought I was someone who, in addition to his sponsor, might have some good counsel. He'd heard me chair for the first time a couple of weeks ago and he told the group that he'd heard me talk in meetings before but had never heard my story. After hearing my story, he shared, in front of God and everyone, that if he ever needed a new sponsor, I would be on the short list. I was deeply honored. And to be honest, a little embarrassed.
Anyway, his problem was involving someone he considers a friend in recovery: apparently, this other person has been doing some things in meetings that my friend is finding very troubling. I'm not going to go into the details here as some people who read this blog know me and my meetings. There's a thousand ways to trample on other people's privacy. I know, I think I've trampled in at least 999 ways....unwittingly. But an unwitting trample is just as harmful as a witting one.
After listening to the basics of this problematic situation, I had several ideas for how he could proceed: First, he might want to talk about this with his sponsor before doing anything. He might want to try taking the time to think/pray about this. [This problem has some urgency in that it appears the friend he's dealing with is "escalating" in their problematic behaviors...and it seems to me that if something isn't done relatively soon, that friend might very well drink or worse.]
In addition, I suggested that I were in his shoes, I would first want to look into myself to see where this type of behavior (stealing) exists and has existed in his own life. How is/has he dealt with his own dishonesty?
Ultimately, he should ponder: What can I do that would be helpful to this other person? What responsibilities do I have to the people being harmed by this behavior?
He could ask to talk to this person and tell her that he was concerned about her and wanted to know if she was ok. And then, if it felt right, to tell her what he'd seen. The main thing, in my view, was to try and be as kind as possible. Do this without judgment. Whatever's going on, I subscribe to the belief that "we did then what we knew how to do, when we knew better--we did better". Obviously then, she's in a situation in her life where the only thing she knows how to do is take what she's taking/stealing. There's no need to create shame or guilt in her---trust me, it's already there in spades.
The meeting was then beginning, so I told him that I still wanted to think about this and get back to him. I thought it was a difficult position for him to be in with only a year sober. He then decided to tell me who it was that he was talking about and the floor went out from under me. The person he was talking about was a close friend of mine in the program. I was absolutely shocked. I went into the meeting stunned and my mind was reeling. I didn't hear much of the chair (I'd heard this guy's story many times...) --- but as my mind wandered, all sorts of things started to fall into place and the reality of this situation started "ringing true." All sorts of little things started connecting together in my mind, all indicating that this friend was in serious trouble emotionally and that if something isn't done soon, it could easily take a severe turn for the worse.
During the meeting, I did share on the topic of Humility and the distinction I've learned in these rooms between Humility and Humiliation. That humility is a moment when you're willing to learn truth and that humiliation is where truth is prematurely disclosed to you...in front of God and everyone. I shared that I was presented with a very challenging problem just before the meeting and that I was feeling very very humbled by this problem: I simply did not really know what to do. And I was afraid of causing harm to another person I loved. And that I was equally afraid that were I to do nothing, the same or worse harm would come to that same person. And then I shared with them that this is such a difficult problem, I might just break down and actually talk about this with my sponsors. They laughed. They know me.
For the last several days, I've continued to ponder about this problem. Have talked to a few close friends in the program and am going to see my sponsor shortly... I even talked about this situation with my son on the day he completed 8 years clean. He was very helpful. He's a tremendously kind person and very serious about his program.
This morning, as I was driving to work, I imagined several scenarios for my talking with this friend. The scenario that felt most right was to sit her down for a serious talk where we won't be interrupted and we have some privacy (a public park...). I want to tell her that I've been hearing some things being said about her, from people I trust and respect. That I'm very concerned about her and want to convey one thing to her right now: I love her with all my heart and soul. Not in any bullshit romantic/sexual way, but as a fellow human being in recovery. And that this love is such that there is NOTHING, ABSOLUTELY NOTHING that she could ever do or say that would lessen or harm or extinguish that love. I have absolute trust and confidence that she is doing the best she can in the circumstances in which she finds herself...and that if she knew of better things to do, she'd do them. I know from my own past and present that there are times when I do things that break some or all of my moral codes and my sense of right and wrong --- I do them oftentimes out of fear and hopelessness and despair. And often, there are some behaviors which seem to get worse and worse through a never ending series of bad actions followed by guilt/remorse/shame, followed by the very same (or worse) bad actions, followed by guilt/remorse/shame, etc. etc. etc.
And depending on her reaction, I might just very well end it there and tell her that if she ever wants to talk about anything that's troubling her, I'd be willing to listen. I don't really think I need to go into the details of what people are saying, that's really none of her or my business. But if she pushes on that issue, I might very well disclose the basic concerns people are having and what they think they've seen her doing...
That seems right to me now. I'll run it by one of my sponsors (maybe even all three! I really wish Earle was here so I could get his take on this!) before doing anything.
Take care!
Mike
Sunday, May 3, 2009
Separate Lives: Life and Recovery?
Yesterday I attended a rare-for me-NA meeting. It was what's called a "dreamcatcher" meeting that they have whenever someone in that fellowship dies. The format is fairly typical for an NA meeting with all the normal readings, the differences are: (1) the chairs are setup in a big circle and in the middle of the circle sits an empty chair and (2) all of the sharing is centered on people's memories and thoughts and feelings about the person who died. The empty chair helps people remember why we're meeting: someone we love is no longer going to be sitting in one of our chairs. Yesterday's dreamcatcher meeting was for a man, Jerry B., who died a few weeks ago after a long battle with cancer. Jerry was my son's "grand-sponsor" and based on what I heard yesterday, was a man deeply involved in the NA fellowship and recovery.
The meeting yesterday also had one other difference from regular NA meetings: the meeting was recorded for the benefit of Jerry's wife. Jerry's wife had asked my son's sponsor if she would record what was said at Jerry's dreamcatcher meeting so that she could learn something about Jerry's life in recovery. She told Sabrina that Jerry kept his recovery life separate and apart from their marriage and family life. She knew that he was very involved in NA, both in service and in sponsoring people. But she really didn't know much about Jerry's recovery life. So before the meeting began, Sabrina explained the request and that the recording would be given only to Jerry's wife for her use only. It would not be shared with anyone else. It was one of those few business issues that I ever saw resolved with absolute unanimity: no one objected to this rather unusual request.
I wanted to speak yesterday, not so much to those present in the room---but to Marie, Jerry's wife. Given that I too have chosen to keep my recovery life pretty much separate and apart from my life with my wife and family, this whole thing with Jerry and his wife really struck a chord with me. While there are parts of me that yearn for a "full transparency" between my wife and I in terms of what I do in the context of my recovery, that has not happened yet and I'm not really sure it ever will.
And one of my biggest concerns about this dual life that I've chosen is that my life will eventually come to an end and should my wife survive me (and this is certainly my hope!) she may come to know much about me and my secret life that might cause her to wonder why I kept all this "secret" and "hidden" from her. Did I not trust her? Was I closer to these recovery folks than to her? How much time did I devote to my recovery and wasn't all that time "taken away" from my ability to have time with her? What would happen were they to have a dreamcatcher meeting for me and my wife was able to sit and listen to what people shared about their memories of me and what I may have done to help them at some point or to bring a smile or laugh or tear.
So yesterday I wanted to speak so badly that I almost went up to talk, but by the time I did, the meeting was over. I was glad that Pat was able to go up to the microphone to talk (only at the gentle pushing of his sponsor...) and share with others why Jerry meant so much to him. Jerry made the room "safe" for Pat. He learned quickly that Jerry had no expectation for Pat to do anything --- if Pat had a desire to get or remain clean -- Jerry had his back. For a variety of reasons, Pat has not always felt "safe" in the world or in NA meetings. But Pat always felt safe when Jerry was there. You see, Jerry was a Vietnam Vet and he loved to "blow things up". And not fire crackers. But he loved NA and the NA fellowship and helped many many people during his recovery life.
What I wanted to say to Marie is that I have no doubt that Jerry loved her and her family with all his heart and soul. He didn't love them "less" or NA "more." But for whatever reason, Jerry made a choice to keep his life separated or compartmentalized: his family life and his recovery life. I have done the same.
The reasons are complex and I haven't got them all sorted out yet, but the basic reason I've gone down this path is related to the fact that I am basically insecure with myself and don't have the ability to see things as black or white, right or wrong. Every thing's a shade of gray for me. My wife's the exact opposite in many ways. Everything seems clear to her. She knows what's right and what's wrong. She tends to state things as though they are fact, whereas I tend to give you my opinion and tell you not to worry, my opinion will probably be different next time we talk.
So once I got sober and started feeling my way through the ins and outs of AA life, I was very insecure and frightened. There were more than a few AAs who had very strong opinions about the "right way to do AA" and they all scared the shit out of me. The more I listened to them, the more I began to think that I'd somehow gotten hooked into some sort of cult. Within a month or two, I began to wonder seriously if I was going to be able to stay a part of this organization without having to betray my own sense of self and beliefs. Then I met Dr. Earle and everything changed for me. I was given permission to be me. Told that I didn't have to do or believe anything that I wasn't comfortable with. And that AA would be less than what it could be if I were to back away from being who I was and from saying what I believed.
I think the main reason that I've kept these two lives separate is that I needed a safe place to grow up as a man and as a human being. I'd gotten off track in the process well back into my early years and then I began drinking, I lost all sense of who I was and what was right or wrong. My recovery life is that safe place where I've been trying to grow up as a man. That isn't to say that there is no "cross-over" traffic between the two lives: there most certainly is.
I know that my life in recovery is somewhat "artificial and unreal". It's no more than an hour or two each day, either in meetings or working with a sponsee or reading/writing as I am now. My life with my wife and children, my work, that's my real life. And if I want to know how well my recovery is or isn't working, I don't look into my recovery life to answer that question: I look to my relationship with my wife, my children and those with whom I work. That's where the fruit of my recovery work will exist or be absent.
If you want to know how well my recovery work is doing, don't ask me or my sponsees, or my sponsor and certainly don't ask all those people who hear me talking in meetings! No, those are not the people to ask. The person to ask is my wife. How's Mike's program working? That's who knows. She knows me better than anyone in the entire world. She knows me more than any one of my three sponsors or any of my sponsees. When I'm bullshitting everyone else in the world, including myself, she'll know the truth of the matter. And I doubt she'll be all that shy about telling you.
That said, I'll never forget the time when Nancy came home from a night out with a group of women that she regularly met with for several years on Tuesday nights. She came home and she told me that all these women thought that I was the perfect husband. She was looking at me for some response, so I laughed, "Well, did you explain to them the truth about me?" She nodded and said that she did and they still thought I was perfect. And then she blew me away by saying, "And they are right: you are the perfect husband!" I thanked her but couldn't help but wonder aloud that "If I really was the perfect husband, then why was she always seeming to bug me about all my flaws: not picking up my socks, not putting down the lid after going to the bathroom, not putting my dishes in the dishwasher, etc."
She laughed and said that while I was perfect, there was no reason why she couldn't try to tweak me into a little bit more perfect of a husband. I decided not to argue the faulty math of that philosophy and just accept the wonderful admiration of a woman that I loved with all my heart and soul. I was about 5 years sober that night and there is no question in my mind that had I not done every single thing I had been doing in my recovery life, that my wife would not have been holding me in such high regard. I know too that if I want to continue having such a wonderful "real" life, that I need to continue being vigilant about my recovery and all that that life entails.
Take care!
Mike L.
The meeting yesterday also had one other difference from regular NA meetings: the meeting was recorded for the benefit of Jerry's wife. Jerry's wife had asked my son's sponsor if she would record what was said at Jerry's dreamcatcher meeting so that she could learn something about Jerry's life in recovery. She told Sabrina that Jerry kept his recovery life separate and apart from their marriage and family life. She knew that he was very involved in NA, both in service and in sponsoring people. But she really didn't know much about Jerry's recovery life. So before the meeting began, Sabrina explained the request and that the recording would be given only to Jerry's wife for her use only. It would not be shared with anyone else. It was one of those few business issues that I ever saw resolved with absolute unanimity: no one objected to this rather unusual request.
I wanted to speak yesterday, not so much to those present in the room---but to Marie, Jerry's wife. Given that I too have chosen to keep my recovery life pretty much separate and apart from my life with my wife and family, this whole thing with Jerry and his wife really struck a chord with me. While there are parts of me that yearn for a "full transparency" between my wife and I in terms of what I do in the context of my recovery, that has not happened yet and I'm not really sure it ever will.
And one of my biggest concerns about this dual life that I've chosen is that my life will eventually come to an end and should my wife survive me (and this is certainly my hope!) she may come to know much about me and my secret life that might cause her to wonder why I kept all this "secret" and "hidden" from her. Did I not trust her? Was I closer to these recovery folks than to her? How much time did I devote to my recovery and wasn't all that time "taken away" from my ability to have time with her? What would happen were they to have a dreamcatcher meeting for me and my wife was able to sit and listen to what people shared about their memories of me and what I may have done to help them at some point or to bring a smile or laugh or tear.
So yesterday I wanted to speak so badly that I almost went up to talk, but by the time I did, the meeting was over. I was glad that Pat was able to go up to the microphone to talk (only at the gentle pushing of his sponsor...) and share with others why Jerry meant so much to him. Jerry made the room "safe" for Pat. He learned quickly that Jerry had no expectation for Pat to do anything --- if Pat had a desire to get or remain clean -- Jerry had his back. For a variety of reasons, Pat has not always felt "safe" in the world or in NA meetings. But Pat always felt safe when Jerry was there. You see, Jerry was a Vietnam Vet and he loved to "blow things up". And not fire crackers. But he loved NA and the NA fellowship and helped many many people during his recovery life.
What I wanted to say to Marie is that I have no doubt that Jerry loved her and her family with all his heart and soul. He didn't love them "less" or NA "more." But for whatever reason, Jerry made a choice to keep his life separated or compartmentalized: his family life and his recovery life. I have done the same.
The reasons are complex and I haven't got them all sorted out yet, but the basic reason I've gone down this path is related to the fact that I am basically insecure with myself and don't have the ability to see things as black or white, right or wrong. Every thing's a shade of gray for me. My wife's the exact opposite in many ways. Everything seems clear to her. She knows what's right and what's wrong. She tends to state things as though they are fact, whereas I tend to give you my opinion and tell you not to worry, my opinion will probably be different next time we talk.
So once I got sober and started feeling my way through the ins and outs of AA life, I was very insecure and frightened. There were more than a few AAs who had very strong opinions about the "right way to do AA" and they all scared the shit out of me. The more I listened to them, the more I began to think that I'd somehow gotten hooked into some sort of cult. Within a month or two, I began to wonder seriously if I was going to be able to stay a part of this organization without having to betray my own sense of self and beliefs. Then I met Dr. Earle and everything changed for me. I was given permission to be me. Told that I didn't have to do or believe anything that I wasn't comfortable with. And that AA would be less than what it could be if I were to back away from being who I was and from saying what I believed.
I think the main reason that I've kept these two lives separate is that I needed a safe place to grow up as a man and as a human being. I'd gotten off track in the process well back into my early years and then I began drinking, I lost all sense of who I was and what was right or wrong. My recovery life is that safe place where I've been trying to grow up as a man. That isn't to say that there is no "cross-over" traffic between the two lives: there most certainly is.
I know that my life in recovery is somewhat "artificial and unreal". It's no more than an hour or two each day, either in meetings or working with a sponsee or reading/writing as I am now. My life with my wife and children, my work, that's my real life. And if I want to know how well my recovery is or isn't working, I don't look into my recovery life to answer that question: I look to my relationship with my wife, my children and those with whom I work. That's where the fruit of my recovery work will exist or be absent.
If you want to know how well my recovery work is doing, don't ask me or my sponsees, or my sponsor and certainly don't ask all those people who hear me talking in meetings! No, those are not the people to ask. The person to ask is my wife. How's Mike's program working? That's who knows. She knows me better than anyone in the entire world. She knows me more than any one of my three sponsors or any of my sponsees. When I'm bullshitting everyone else in the world, including myself, she'll know the truth of the matter. And I doubt she'll be all that shy about telling you.
That said, I'll never forget the time when Nancy came home from a night out with a group of women that she regularly met with for several years on Tuesday nights. She came home and she told me that all these women thought that I was the perfect husband. She was looking at me for some response, so I laughed, "Well, did you explain to them the truth about me?" She nodded and said that she did and they still thought I was perfect. And then she blew me away by saying, "And they are right: you are the perfect husband!" I thanked her but couldn't help but wonder aloud that "If I really was the perfect husband, then why was she always seeming to bug me about all my flaws: not picking up my socks, not putting down the lid after going to the bathroom, not putting my dishes in the dishwasher, etc."
She laughed and said that while I was perfect, there was no reason why she couldn't try to tweak me into a little bit more perfect of a husband. I decided not to argue the faulty math of that philosophy and just accept the wonderful admiration of a woman that I loved with all my heart and soul. I was about 5 years sober that night and there is no question in my mind that had I not done every single thing I had been doing in my recovery life, that my wife would not have been holding me in such high regard. I know too that if I want to continue having such a wonderful "real" life, that I need to continue being vigilant about my recovery and all that that life entails.
Take care!
Mike L.
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