...And then Actually Made that Amend!

Not all amends can be made without causing more harm than would make the amend worthwhile or helpful.  Some amends wouldn't mend anything: they would only serve to rip off a scab and reharm the other person or cause "fallout" harms on other innocent people.

In the case of the amend that I was facing (I almost wrote "confronted by" but as with most things in this recovery process, it wasn't something outside of me that was my problem: it was within me!) the other day, I ended up deciding that I could make an amend without causing more harm to my son's ex-girlfriend or to my son or to anyone else.  Even me.

Contrary to the advice given me by An Irish Friend of Bill (one of my all time favorite recovery bloggers!) I decided against making any sort of humorous approach with this amends.  While such an approach might work in a situation where the amend was being made by a woman to a woman, my sense (male as it is...) is that humor doesn't go in my favor when making an amends to a woman.  It never has worked that well when I've tried it with my wife, the object of most of my living amends, and I suspect it wouldn't have gone with with this woman either.

My amends was done as a response to her last unanswered text to me, in which she had apologized for any confusion she might have caused through the last couple of texts between us.  I'd never responded because I was just digging myself deeper and deeper with each text I made and I decided it best to just put down the shovel.  But on this last Saturday, I felt that I could simply respond to that text of hers and let her know that I needed to make a really big amends to her for what I had said in my earlier text to her.    I had struggled with remorse over my text for several days and it finally became clear to me that the statement I made was probably untruthful and certainly unnecessary and unkind.  I finally realized too that the source of my anger and saddness (which was the source of my stupid and ill-advised statement to her) was my emotional reactions to her and my son breaking up.  I hadn't dealt with these feelings head on, I'd pushed them down and negated them---and instead focused on her as the cause of my feelings. 

In time, I realized that my feelings had nothing to do with her or my son or their breakup.  They had to do with my own issues: anger over someone hurting my son, helplessness at being able to make my son's hurt vanish in an instant, saddness over her decision to break up not so much with my son, but with our entire family and, I suppose, with me.  She'd become another daughter to me and I hurt badly as a result of her decision.

I explained that to her briefly and told her to let me know if there was anything I could do to make this right.  I was going to try and avoid such statements in the future and I was going to try and be as helpful to both her and my son as they worked through this separation.

It worked I think.  We've had several text and email exchanges since then and no hard feelings or tension has been evident in them.  And I feel much lighter.

I love this process.  Much better than a bottomless bunch of drinks!

Take care!

Mike L.

And Became Willing to Make Amends

Several days ago, I really screwed up.  I received two text messages from my son's recently ex-girlfriend.  Over the last three years she'd become a real part of our family and her decision to break up with my son hit all of us hard.  As my wife and daughters banded around my son, I suppose we all pretty much disconnected from his ex-girlfriend.  When I received these text messages, something got triggered in me and I was angry.  Instead of pausing when agitated, I responded with a long text message that contained one sentence that was technically not completely true.  And even had it been completely true, it was not kind.  And it certainly wasn't necessary.

The comment hurt her.  And rather than strike back at me, she struck out at my son.  That hurt my son.  He and I talked the day following, and I admitted to my stupidity and told him I was sorry.  I asked him what I could do to make things right and at the time we decided that anything I might do in terms of reaching out to her would only cause more harm.  I tried to let it go.

Over the last couple of days I've felt a growing sense of depression and unease.  The other night my wife sensed something was amiss with me and she asked me the dreaded "What's wrong?" question.  It's dreaded for two reasons: (1) I usually don't know what's wrong and (2) I know by the very fact that she's asking that there is something wrong and she really really wants to know what "it" is.   But the truth is, I don't know what's wrong.  So I get stuck and then we go through a "dance" for some period where she tries to get me to talk about something I don't know....  For some reason, that night the dance was short and sweet.  No harsh words or threats.  I think we were both feeling tired.  We are getting to old for that dance anymore.

The next day on the way to work I was going through my routine of reciting various things that I've memorized over the years.  Many of the things that I recite have become something of an inventory process for me.  One of those inventory type passages is a poem by Rumi called "The Guest House."  I've included that poem in a fairly recent post, so I won't put it here again.  What happened yesterday morning though was that while I was reciting this poem, I became aware of the saddness and depression that I had been feeling the last couple of days.  And I decided to take Rumi's advice and "welcome them at the door laughing" -- "Be grateful for whoever comes, because each has been sent as a guide from beyond."  I then repeated that same closing line again, except I changed it to "Be grateful for whoever comes, because each has been sent as a guide from within."

I then listened to my guide from within and realized that all this saddness and depression is related to the harm I had caused this young woman by judging her and questioning her decisions.  In addition, these same feelings were expressions of grief over having lost someone who had come close to being another daughter to me and a member of my family.  I hurt.

I knew that I was not yet done with making my amends with her.  And I realized that I had become "willing" to make an amends.  An 8th step process was complete.  My 9th step task now is to determine, with my son's help I believe, how best I can make such an amends without causing even more harm.

The saddness and depression lifted yesterday with this coming to greater awareness of myself.  What a gift this recovery process has become for me.
 
Take care!
 
Mike L.

The Amends Process: Consequences, Not Promises

I'm pretty sure I've written this before, but I'll repeat just for clarity: I don't like calling The Promises "The Promises".  Makes it sounds like God is a arcade dealer who will hand me a prize if I knock over all the bowling pins.  So I prefer calling them "The Consequences."  These sorts of things seem to happen when you go through this process, not just the 9th step itself, but all of the steps preceeding and following the 9th step.  They are quite natural consequences to the process: assuming we are painstaking (pains taking, not pains avoiding) in the process.  I realized that ever more powerfully today as I've been able to be available to my son recently as he's going through a very rough spot in his life.  And that's a consequence.  Not a promise.

To place the recent events in context: when I got sober almost 8 years ago, I had gotten to the point where I was truly disconnected from every human being who meant something to me in my life, especially my wife of 20 years and my three children, ages 14, 16 and 19.  True, we were still technically a "family" -- I was married and I was a father -- but it seemed to be more of a technical qualification than one borne out by having actual and meaningful relationships with any one of those people.  Looking back with sober eyes, I see that I really wasn't there for them because I'd found another solution that replaced the need for other people: alcohol.  When I woke up sober on 10/21/01, the obsession left me and I accepted that I had a disease and that I needed to do what my son had done in order to deal with this disease and get my life back.  And I had no idea what that would entail or how long it would take.  I just had an inkling that it would work based on what had happened with my son: he was 5 months and 10 days clean when I woke up sober.

Contrary to contemporary AA wisdom, I very quickly began working on making my amends with my family, especially my wife.   Contemporary AA wisdom seems to stress doing the steps "in order" --- but that's not really doing it by the book you see.  Check out the 12x12, the chapter on the 9th step, and you'll discover that it acknowledges and even tacitly encourages the newcomer to begin the amends process early on in their recovery---true, there are some well chosen caveats to that effort to keep these amends efforts from causing additional injury/harm to that which we've already caused in the past.  But it seems to say that this need to try and repair or heal some of the damage that we've done in our relationships with others is a normal human need and that we needn't avoid doing what we can toward reconciliation even though we may not have even contemplated doing some of the earlier steps.

Two of these early efforts at mending involved my using the words, "I'm sorry...." and looking back, I think those were the only amends I ever made which included the phrase, "I'm sorry...".   In my first couple of months, there were several discussions with my wife where I would attempt to repair the damage of my actions and words with "I'm sorry..." and I truly meant that when I said it --- but it never seemed to have any positive impact on my wife.  It did have negative impacts in that much of what I was saying "sorry" for were things that hurt her deeply and challenged her capacity to trust, to forgive, to tolerate, to understand or to have compassion toward... me.

The other "I'm sorry" occurred around Christmas time, two months sober.  My oldest daughter had returned home from a year abroad studying.  Being away in Ireland, she'd missed being here when her younger brother had gotten clean and sober.  And she'd missed the last ten months of my drinking in secret and the last two months of my sobriety.  She returned home with a huge bag of resentment slung invisibly over her shoulder:  my son had, in her view, destroyed her childhood; her father had, in her view, never really been there for her.

One afternoon, my wife, daughter and I were sitting in the living room.  I was minding my own business, as I recall, probably reading a book.  They were chatting back and forth, watching TV.  Eventually their "chat" turned into a full fledged argument and at some point, my daughter said something extremely rude and somewhat vulgar to her month.  I stupidly stepped in to the fray and told my daughter, "Katie, you can't talk to your mother like that!".  She looked directly at me and snapped, "We weren't talking to you." and she paused as her resentments surfaced from the dark deep hole within and then she added, "And you never have been there for me.  Ever."  I don't remember the context of the whole discussion/argument or why that last comment was relevant to what was going on, but regardless, they struck me to my core.  And I started crying.   All I had every really wanted to be was a good father.  And it was clear as mud that I'd failed miserably in doing that.

My wife then came to my defense and jumped down Katie's throat, disputing the truth of Katie's hate-filled words to her father.  "That's not true!  Your dad has always been there for you.  He coached your basketball team, he's been to all of your plays, he's worked hard to provide home and shelter to you!"  I interrupted her though and held up my hand, "Nancy, stop.  Katie's right.  I haven't really been there for her in many many ways during her life.  I wasn't there for her emotionally because I was so wrapped up in my own problems that I didn't let anyone close to me and I couldn't get close to anyone, including all of you."  I was crying through all of that.  Barely able to talk.  At the end, I just looked at Katie and told her that I was sorry for not being there for her when she was growing up.  And that I was trying to deal with my problems, not just the drinking, but the living problems.  I was trying.   Katie didn't really say anything, but the moment was over.  I'd begun the amends process with my oldest daughter. 

That process took a long time.  Years.  It didn't involve any more "I'm sorry" statements from me.  It did involve my being there for my daughter.  Most recently, I was there for her when she got married.  I stayed out of most of the planning details (I'm not stupid!) but I did everything I was asked to do, without complaint.  Willingly.  Excitedly.  Gratefully.  I was available to her and her fiance when they struggled with the inevitable ups and downs of relationship and growing up.  I shared my experience and my hope.  Our house gradually became a home again.  Arguments and blowups gradually faded away; laughter, joking and compassion returned.  She asked me to dance with her at her wedding and asked me to protect her from anyone else from dancing with her (other than her husband) -- she hates dancing as much as her father! -- and I was there with her on the dance floor.  Being dad.  When we were done, my son and wife came dancing up next to us.  Nancy asked Katie if she wanted to switch partners and she said OK.  I then moved over to dance with my son, my wife awkwardly and laughing from her deepest self, began dancing with her daughter.  Being mom.   Being family.  Again. 

As the wedding reception was coming to a close, I saw my youngest daughter dancing, glowing with what can only be described as pure joy and happiness.  Rachel had lived through my son and my "dark years" and had survived and flourished.   She has a compassion and kindness and sensitivity that exceeds that of any saint that I've ever read about---and none of that would have been there were it not for both the "dark years" and the recovery accomplished by my son and me.  And so, I got up and went on to the dreaded dance floor one more time: and danced.  I even did my best at doing my daughter's "signature move" -- which is indescribable in written word and barely capturable on camera.  Someone did try their best though and that blurry image of me and Rae, still resides on my daughter's cell phone and shared with anyone and everyone as one of the most glorious moments in my life.

These consequences are truly beyond my wildest imagination or hope.  There is no justice in them.  That's why when someone asks me "how's life treating you?" my response is always: "Unfairly!  If it were treating me fairly, I'd be dead."   I think I'm ready for November to come now.  I'm ready for Gratitude.

Take care!

Mike L.

If We Are Painstaking....

For me, the most important words of the so-called "AA Promises" are the first four: "If we are painstaking during this phase of our development...". Sometimes I think this "being painstaking" is prerequisite to the Promises and is either ignored or given too little weight by me. A deadly or critical error to be sure.

Painstaking is an unusual word, not often seen or heard elsewhere. One definition I found helpful is "The act of taking pains...". In the broad context of recovery, I take that to mean that to the extent I am able "to take" the actual and inevitable pains in my life and my body, I can move through and beyond suffering.
Other ways of saying the same thing would be:

To the extent I am able to "embrace" the actual and inevitable pains in my life and my body, I can move through and beyond suffering.

To the extent I am able to "accept" the actual and inevitable pains in my life and my body, I can move through and beyond suffering.

To the extent I am able to "feel" the actual and inevitable pains in my life and my body, I can move through and beyond suffering.

To the extent I am able to "acknowledge without judgment" the actual and inevitable pains in my life and my body, I can move through and beyond suffering.

"Taking" can be done so many different ways though and I'm not sure all of them have the same level of effectiveness in terms of dealing with pain and suffering. I doubt that a "begrudging acceptance" that one is an alcoholic will have the same effect as someone who "fully concedes to their innermost selves" that they are an alcoholic.

I think there's a difference between "pain" and "suffering". Pain seems to be more of the objective reality that we're experiencing. Suffering is more our subjective or personal response to that experience of pain. I can (and will!) experience pain. I may or may not experience suffering as a result of this particular experience of pain.

All this means a great deal to me in the context of my ongoing recovery from alcoholism. Before I got sober, pain was bad and to be avoided at all costs. Alcohol, among other things and techniques, was a means of escaping and/or avoiding pain. And for a long, long time: it worked wonderfully! And then, it didn't. In between the time when it worked and the time it didn't, alcohol never really worked. All it did was anesthetize: it prevented my mind from knowing that the body and soul was hurting. But the hurting or injury continued even though I wasn't "feeling" it.

Anesthesia is good in limited situations where the use of anesthesia permits a doctor to perform work that's necessary (even though it causes pain) and would be impossible if the patient was actually feeling the pain. But self-prescribed anethesia via alcohol/drugs is ultimately a disaster for those addicted to alcohol/drugs. The medicine (alcohol) both medicates the pain and causes the pain. In the beginning, alcohol causes a smaller percentage of the pain, while it medicates a much larger percentage of the pain. In the end, the alcohol is unable to medicate or relieve any of the pain. In the end, it's almost "pure" cause of the person's pain.

The process of learning the skill or tool of "painstaking" does not begin when someone starts working the 9th step and making their amends for past harms done others. It begins with the first step where we experience (yet another synonym for "take") the physical pains caused by "withdrawing" from the use of alcohol. It continues though the 2nd step where we begin looking beyond the pains of withdrawal and begin looking toward the possibility of life without alcohol by means of some thing ("higher power" if you like) other than pure willpower/effort. And through the 3rd step where we let go of our death grip on trying to be other than who we are (alcoholics). And through the 4th step where we began a self-inventory, without fear, judgment or condemnation (all of which cause needless pain). And through the 5th step where we share with our most trusted "others" (those being: ourselves, God as we understand God and another human being...) the exact nature of our wrongs (that is, that there's absolutely NOTHING wrong but our long standing attempts to not be who we really were!). And through the 6th step where we began loosening our grip on the mistaken idea that we were "bad people" and becoming more aware of the fact that we were and are "sick people trying to become weller". And through the 7th step where we asked for help letting go of all the (painful) false images of who we were/are. And through the 8th step where we, finally, began to list (to see...) the inevitable reality that all of our attempts to hide from who we were (alcoholics) hurt not only ourselves, but those around and about us: especially those close enough to love us, the real us.

So, by the time where we began the active process of mending the damages left in our wake, it was not the beginning of "painstaking." It's the culmination of a long and gentle process, begun at the beginning. And it's certainly not the end of the process.... The remaining three "maintenance" steps each keep the importance of painstaking "front and center" of our living life on life's terms.

Take care!

Mike L.