Mr. SponsorPants

Questions via Email: Trust

Good morning Mr. SponsorPants,

I hope you can help me with a little dilemma I have.  I recently came back after a run of several years.  Before that I had several years in the rooms before I went out.  Now that I am back in the rooms I am actually in a different state than I lived in when I got sober.  My issue now is trusting people in the rooms.  The first time I was in the rooms I trusted everyone because I didn't realize that some are sicker than others.  Now I find myself on the other extreme.  I don't share at all in meetings because I don't know who is safe.  I call my sponsor but I find myself holding back.  I haven't outright lied yet but I just leave things out... and yes, I know, omission is a form of deception.

I know it takes time to open up and trust people, but I am afraid that my lack of trust will take me back out.  Right now my sponsor gave me some step work to do and I have no issue writing it all out.  I think knowing these things and having them in black and white in front of me will get me to learn a lot about myself and the patterns that lead me to drink.  However, if I am to do this properly, a lot will be revealed and I am afraid to tell it to my sponsor, or anyone for that matter.  I know I need to do this, but I don't know how willing I am to share it.  I'm stuck right now.

Any insight would be greatly appreciated.

Thank you.

Stuck Untrusting and Nervous I'll Relapse

Dear SUNIR,

The first thing I want to say to you is welcome back!

A relapse of several years has to include some real darkness, and many people seem to find coming back to Alcoholics Anonymous strangely harder than the first time they came into the rooms.  Please, please, be gentle with yourself, and rely on the fact that nothing in Alcoholics Anonymous is theory based -- it has evolved through the practical experience of many thousands of clean and sober alcoholics, and if it worked for them it WILL work for you.

Willing but unsure of those around you, afraid of relapse, wanting to trust but unable to do so ... oh, SUNIR, I am sorry, that is a dreadful place to be.  It's a terrible tangle of emotions -- let's try and sort some of this out and break it down into some actions you can try, okay?

You are right -- it takes time to open up and trust people.  To reflect back to you what you're describing, it is like some nightmarish race you find yourself in: Will you be able to develop the ability to open yourself to people in AA before your alcoholism sneaks up behind you and grabs you by the throat and drags you back down to hell?

Here's what I think:  Yes, you will be able to.

And here's how:

Start talking about this fear and trust challenge with just a few people in AA.  Yes, some are sicker than others -- so find a few of the others, and skip the some.  That may be easier than initially broaching the trust issue with your sponsor.  Sometimes we unconsciously bring a lot of baggage to the sponsor relationship (I'm not saying you have, I'm just saying it is not uncommon) and that can make it difficult to open up in that relationship at first.  So find a few people in the rooms -- maybe someone who has experience with relapse -- and just say this to them:  "Since I came back to AA I am having trouble with trust."  That's all.  You don't have to elaborate, or give any specifics, and if pressed for more information you can just say "That's all I'm comfortable saying for now, but I'm trying to reach out."  Or something like that.  You can play 'broken record' if people -- often with good intention -- encourage you to share more before you're ready. 

The point is to start to open up.  And you don't have to -- ever, if you don't want to -- share anything that makes you feel too vulnerable or unsafe -- but you can start to talk about the problem you're having opening up (and it will not only be helpful to you, but to others as well).  Part of what's keeping you silent is this perhaps unconscious assumption you're making that to open up equals getting immediately into the toughest stuff you're afraid to share -- but you don't have to start there -- and you never have to go there till you're ready -- all you have to do is start talking about the problem of talking.

My experience with my own fears -- when alcoholism has my perceptions warped and my vision twisted -- is that all my fears feel huge, and they spill over onto each other and feed each other and my alcoholism, which then feeds them -- no wonder we can't do this alone! 

When trying to untangle my fears it helps me to sort them this way:  Ego fears and Survival fears. 

Ego fears I must (eventually) smash, Survival fears I must pay attention to, but modulate.  (To illustrate the difference somewhat, it is Ego fear if I am afraid that taping money to my face and walking naked through Central Park at 3am will make me look foolish.  It is Survival fear if I am afraid doing that will get me killed.  Sometimes they overlap, which can make things even more confusing.)

This all may sound obvious, but what I've found is that when alcoholism has my head spinning my Ego fears feel like Survival fears -- thus it can seem like if I raise my hand in a group to share then I will be destroyed. 

Of course, that's not a thought I literally have -- "If I share I will be destroyed!" -- it's an intensity of feeling -- my level of anxiety over what people think of me -- or what will happen if I tell my secrets -- is like my life was at stake

So don't try to tackle that all at once.  Start with the manageable, and begin to say to some few individuals that you are having a problem with trust and with sharing.   Work up to saying to your sponsor that you are struggling with trusting everyone -- including your sponsor.

And here's another thought:  How about breaking the action of your suggested First Step writing in half, like it's the Eighth Step ("... made a list ... and became willing ...").  In other words, first do the writing and then work on becoming willing to share it.  Even though you have "no issue writing it all out" right now you're scaring yourself with the sharing part.  You frame writing as something you're "going to do" -- but haven't done yet.  You can get into some immediate action without being fully willing to take on the second part -- the reading it to your sponsor.  In fact, I might suggest that you share that with your sponsor -- "I'm writing, but I'm not ready to read it yet."  One way or another, I cannot think or feel my way into different thinking and feelings -- it is through action that I change those.  So if the problem is the feeling of fear -- a lack of trust -- the first action you can take is the writing.  Get busy and see what happens, feeling-wise.

You are very wise to extrapolate out that eventually this paralysis puts you at some risk for relapse.  So again (because I think it is very important, and also because in my experience alcoholics are great ones for saying we have no problem doing something -- but still not doing it):  Getting into action will shore up your sobriety -- a lot, I wager -- and you can do that without immediately tackling the larger fears about trust.

Finally, I suggest you bring a Higher Power -- as you understand a Higher Power -- into this equation.  You don't even have to understand your Higher Power to ask for help.  You can even believe that asking an HP for help is stupid or weak or foolish or insane or lame or it didn't work before or it won't work this time or ... or ... or... .  Just get quiet for a few minutes regularly (morning and night?  Shower and sitting in the car at lunch?) and ask for Divine Guidance, and for help in setting aside fear and mistrust.

If you get to have an HP as you understand them, then you can have one that is so delighted to hear from you that it doesn't matter if you're kneeling at the foot of your bed or jumping around in the back row of an aerobics class wearing your old leg warmers and going "Woo!" when your favorite song comes on.  That is a completely hypothetical example, of course.  (What -- why are you all looking at me like that?)  My experience has been that if I regularly ask HP to help me become willing the door starts to open a little bit.  And that's all it takes.  You don't have to become 100% willing.  You just have to get to 51%.  That's always enough to get me started.

Listen to the part of you that wants to live, SUNIR.  And remember, you've already done the hard part -- you came back from a real and tough relapse.  Keep that in perspective -- the toughest part is behind you, so the level of fear you have now (i.e. lack of trust) is your alcoholism working on you.

Fear is a part of the human experience -- it's the amount of it and where it comes from and whether or not I let it drive me or paralyze me that I think marks me as an alcoholic. 

The good news is that you and I have spiritual tools to use to deal with that fear and keep our alcoholism from using it against us.

To quote the Big Book, "It works -- it really does."

Welcome back, keep coming back, and know that everyone who read this today is rooting for you to make it -- especially me.  With all that in your corner your alcoholism doesn't stand a chance.

Love,

Mr. SP

the lonely man

He is not an alcoholic.  Barely had a drop of alcohol and never done any drugs (any!) in his whole life.

He had been married for 28 years.  Five children, ranging in age from early 20's to early teens.  A devout man of faith, his life guided by the Torah and the faith of his fathers.

Nearly fifty years old and suddenly divorced (married young), it is a turn in his story that is strangely both sad and joyous.  An ending and a beginning.  He embarks on a new way to be true to himself -- a new life.  To say more is to share details which are not mine to tell, and really not the point of this story.  I am compelled to add, though, that while divorce is always a sad thing (well, almost always I suppose), the responsibility for his marriage ending can be shared with his ex-wife -- there are not really any villains to the piece.  Wreckage, to be sure, but no bad guys, and little blame.

Still and all, from a home full of life and wife and children and memories he finds himself living alone, in a small studio apartment, in many ways starting from scratch.

We met casually.  Socially.  I had no idea when I started making small talk that I would be presented with a confused and broken heart, a man who felt somewhat abandoned by the faith of his fathers, who could talk himself into feeling brave by day, but alone, in his little studio apartment, was lost and lonely each night.

I did what AA taught me to do.  When I realized he needed to talk, that this was not some casual chit-chat, but a person in pain -- maybe more pain than they even realized themselves -- I listened.  I wasn't uncomfortable with the deeply personal nature of what he started to tell me.  I didn't feel any judgment of his story, or fear when he tentatively revealed how lost and needy he had become.  I knew I didn't have to really do anything, just witness for him, and from being listened to he would find some measure of comfort, maybe begin some healing even if only for a while.  I have seen that -- and felt it -- enough to know it is true.  That knowledge -- and that gift -- is mine by way of Alcoholics Anonymous.

"It's like you spend your whole life inventing yourself, first as a student, then a worker, then a husband, then a father ... "  I nodded, and just looked at him calmly, comfortable with letting him find his own words, another AA gift I've learned, from all the hours I've sat and listened to sponsees -- and all the hours sponsors have sat and listened to me.

"... and after a lifetime of inventing myself, I find out I'm a schmuck, and I've been kidding myself, and so was my ex-wife ... and ... and now I guess I have to re-invent myself."

I smiled, but as sometimes happens when people are raw, they are also guarded, and ready to take offense when none is intended.

"What?  You think that's funny?  My pain should be your punchline?"  he asked.

"No!  No no no... it's just that... well, I guess I have some little bit of experience with re-inventing yourself." 

Mollified, he went on, and as I said, mostly I listened, letting some measure of his hurt and confusion hopefully bleed out through the words, offering only a nod or "uh huh" as seemed appropriate.

"But the hardest part in a way," he said "is how do I make friends now?"  He was a grown man, father to five children, with advanced degrees and no small amount of business acumen, from what I could tell.  But none of that could hide the kind of naked plea inside such a thing, when it is said with the honest bewilderment I saw in him.  I suggested that in reinventing himself it seemed he would have to relearn how to connect with people, too.

We talked more, I said that he was perhaps being hasty in thinking he was abandoned by his faith, and that these things took time.  I was grateful that my frame of reference is based on AA's tolerance of any path, spiritually speaking.  I didn't have to side with him against "them" -- or with "them" against him -- in the question of his, or any, religion.  Only share my own experience that maybe God isn't too worried about some of the things which some people suggest God might be worried about, and that no one owns prayer and meditation -- and that maybe there is not one right way to practice it.  He was an intelligent man, these were not light bulb sparking ideas I was suggesting, but sometimes we need to hear people say the things we hope are true.

Eventually I disengaged (I was happy to listen, happy to share, but as with many lonely people there is a well of Need that can swallow you whole, if after a couple of hours you don't gently, firmly step back) but I made sure to exchange emails and we're set to have coffee later this week.

On the way home I thought about that one plaintive question he asked:  "... how do I make friends?"

And I thought about how AA offers that in such an embarrassment of riches.  Whole roomfuls of people ready to greet you, to hear you out, to take that most valuable of commodities, their time, and spend it on you. 

What's that line from the Doors song?  "People are strange, when you're a stranger..."  I know not every town, not every meeting, may offer what I have found in Alcoholics Anonymous.  Though I have been to meetings in hundreds of cities in dozens of states (and a couple of countries) over the years, and always found that bit of magic I first encountered (sometimes a blaze, sometimes a spark, but always there) I suppose it is naive to claim it can be found in all meetings... but I'll lay odds that it can be found in most.  I've heard many, many more stories about welcome and acceptance than I have of anything else in AA.

AA doesn't own a friendly and inclusive philosophy, but certainly offers it with little or no requirement, and practices it in earnest.  (And if reading that makes you angry, or doubtful, I can only shrug and say that has been my overwhelming experience of Alcoholics Anonymous, for many years now.)

AA has offered me an avalanche of love and support, a tidal wave of warm, clumsy, often awkward, sometimes infuriating, messy and wonderful human contact:  True friends.

Even those of us who show up too damaged to embrace it can at least stand next to it, and know that it is there, and maybe somehow eventually learn to take it in.

This morning, sitting in a meeting I love and feel loved in, against the backdrop of my conversation with the lonely man it was so clear how much AA has offered me in so many ways -- but most especially in the gift of friends.

It was only when I sat down to write this that, as is often the way, the point of something I'm thinking about is revealed to me.

The real healing gift from AA in this regard is not the having of true friends.

It's the learning how to be one.

... but only if we keep coming back.

Towards the end of the meeting he raised his hand and shared.

He spoke quietly.  He was deeply honest, talking about issues from his life and how it seemed his alcoholism had taken them and used them as fuel for especially dark and self destructive things.  It was getting harder for him to believe it was worth staying sober if this emotional hell were to continue for too much longer.

In this meeting we sit in a circle, so I could see not only him, but many of the people listening to him as well.

As he opened up I watched the faces around him painted with sincere compassion, deep empathy and a real sadness for what he had been through before and what he was facing today.

No kind of writing, no television show, no play or scene in a movie will ever adequately capture what really happens in those moments in an AA meeting, when an alcoholic shares the dark truth of their struggle with people who have lived and felt it themselves.  There is an attentive stillness in the listeners, and I believe that it is in those moments that Something enters the room.  Healing happens, or at the very least, great pain is lessened for a time, and made more bearable so that someone can carry on.  I would even say that in those moments it is possible to feel God in the room, palpable and powerful.

Alcoholics Anonymous does not own this experience -- the power of sharing honestly with people who understand and do not judge is an ancient healing tool, probably in many ways almost as old as humanity itself.

But for it to work, people must speak their truth, and others must listen.

That's what AA owns.  Through a spiritual process -- the 12 Steps -- and the example of others who have walked the path ahead, it takes alcoholics, who's "moral compass" has been ruthlessly subverted by fear and ego and alcoholism until lying is as easy as breathing, and shows us that the truth will actually heal us.  AA meetings show us how to find our truth and speak it.

I know how New Agey faux Native American that sounds -- but it is literally true.

And it teaches us how to listen -- not just listen, but hear.  The very people who's self obsession was so intense that we were deaf to others, in conversations merely waiting for our turn to talk again, completely absent from an honest exchange, can now sit, still and attentive, as someone in pain brings it to a meeting to share and take the power out of it -- and perhaps leave not only a little lighter, but with practical solutions and real tools to help them cope.

Not every meeting is quite so intense.  Sometimes in an AA meeting I'm just sitting there, and it's seems pretty mundane, and I think to myself that I'm actually just sitting there waiting for the next person I'm supposed to help to come through the door.

But other times I am privileged to be a part of something else, something bigger than myself, and I am witness to real recovery and subtle miracles and I look at the people listening and I feel how we are all connected, and I think that there is hope for us all, no matter what we face there is hope and healing for us all -- but only if we keep coming back.

on my own I can't always tell them apart

When I hear you say it, in an AA meeting, or over coffee, I can clearly recognize the sound of alcoholism talking -- but when I hear that same thing in my own head, it sounds ... right. 

Logical.

It sounds like the most sensible thing in the world.

That's why I need to share what I'm thinking with other people, be it a sponsor, or sober friends, or in meetings.

Maybe not every single thought is riddled with alcoholism -- but some certainly are -- and on my own I can't always tell them apart.

Wormtongue strikes again

SPONSEE:  Do you know Wormtongue?

MR. SPONSORPANTS: <carefully neutral>  Yes.

SPONSEE:  I was talking with them the other day.

MR. SP:  Oh?

SPONSEE:  Yes.  You know I've been feeling disconnected from AA these past couple of weeks.  Just ... I don't know, a lot of questions again, about if it's right for me after all these years, if it's still right for me today even if it was right for me before... all that.

MR. SP:  I understand.  You have more than fifteen years sober and a lot of AA under your belt.  I've had my share of those times myself over the years.  I think they're fair questions to ask along the way -- but when I did, I found it pretty fruitful to consider how and why they were comin' up.

SPONSEE:  I was talking to Wormtongue about it.

<silence for several minutes.  Mr. SponsorPants sips his coffee and focuses on his breathing>

SPONSEE:  Don't you want to know what they said?

MR. SP:  <carefully neutral>  Sure.

SPONSEE:  Well, you know Wormtongue's more than 20 years sober.

MR. SP:  <thinks to himself:  How can I not know.  How can anyone not know.  They mention it every single time they freakin' share.>  Yes.  I know.

SPONSEE:  I was talking to them about all my stuff lately, and they said that maybe what I'm finally seeing is that most people in meetings only focus on the problems.  All that talk about being sick.  Lots of negative reinforcement.

MR. SP:  'What you're finally seeing.'  Interesting turn of phrase...  <takes deep calming breath>  I can't speak for the meetings Wormtongue goes to, we're not really in the same orbit.  For myself, I have to remember what my dead sponsor told me a long time ago.

SPONSEE:  Are you just going to tell me, or do I have to ask?

MR. SP:  <laughs> I'll tell.  He said if you don't hear what you need to hear in a meeting, then raise your damn hand and say it.  After about 90 days there's not a person in the room who can't at least begin to share some solutions.

SPONSEE:  When did he die?

MR. SP:  Oh God, years ago now.  You know I ...

SPONSEE: ... miss his wise counsel every single day.  Yes, you've mentioned that. 

MR. SP:  What is this "negative reinforcement" Wormtongue was talking about?

SPONSEE:  Oh, well, like if you get up and say at a meeting that you're having a really hard time, and things are all messed up in your life, you get lots of attention for that, but if you get up and say you're doing pretty well now, and you have fairly healthy relationships with your family or your partner or whoever, you don't really get any response.  They suggested I try it and see for myself.

MR. SP:  Did they now.

SPONSEE: Yeah. That's what they suggested.

MR. SP:  That's not a suggestion, that's a set up.  Telling you what something might mean if it happens is setting you up to look for it -- maybe even create it, somewhat.  It gives you a filter...

<Mr. SponsorPants takes a long moment to make sure he doesn't start losing his cool>

MR. SP:  I have some thoughts on their comments I'd like to share with you.

SPONSEE:  That's why I'm here.  It's not for your coffee.

MR. SP:  I make excellent coffee -- I just happen to like it strong.

SPONSEE:  Strong?  That's not strong, that's practically an amphetamine in six counties.  Anyway, your thoughts on Wormtongue's comments, oh Sponsorial One?

MR. SP:  You go into an Emergency Room with a big lump on your head and bleeding, and you say, "I just drove into a tree!"  people will -- hopefully -- jump up and help you.  You go into an ER all fine and you say, "I was driving along, and I missed hitting that tree, I finally figured out how to negotiate that treacherous turn."  A few people may give you congratulatory smiles or something, but you don't need them to jump up and help you, since you're okay.  So of course the response is different when people are troubled in meetings -- that's what we're there for:  To help.  Sure, it also helps to affirm and congratulate, but why would we make a big show of that? 

SPONSEE:  Hmmm. Okay.

MR. SP:  <beginning to get a little heated>  And what is going on with that anyway?  There is a point where you do not go to the meeting for your pat on the head.  It's a purely selfish stance to go to the meeting and share something and then decide that not enough people congratulated you for whatever you had to say.  And you know what else?  <voice rising>

SPONSEE:  <calmly>  What else?

MR. SP:  Could it possibly BE more alcoholic to expect a reward for doing something right or being healthy?  I mean, my god!  It's like, if you show up at work on time all week, you don't deserve a trophy, you're supposed to show up on time all week!  If you don't have a lot of sickness in your life or unhealthy relationships that's a testament to working the 12 Steps and trying to live the principles in your life, not some kind of 'Hey look how healthy I am!' moment for you to crow about and then get stroked for in meetings!  And another thing! I hear people offer solutions, and speak about the promises coming true, and recovery and ... and ... positive healthy things all the time!  You would think after 20 years sober someone might ...

<at this point sponsee can barely contain their mirth and starts laughing outright>

MR. SP:  Oh my god, you ... you ... you set me up!

SPONSEE:  <laughing>  Absolutely.  But you did really well there for a while, Mr. SponsorPants.  I commend you.

MR. SP:  Oh. You are SO dead.

<sponsee laughs long and hard>

MR. SP:  Happy now?

SPONSEE:  Oh yes.  That was thoroughly enjoyable.  But you didn't turn red this time.  I must be losing my touch.

MR. SP:  Out!  You are banished from the Kingdom of SponsorPants for the rest of the day.  Out!

<sponsee sticks out tongue and sails out the door laughing>

when I have a problem with what I'm hearing in an AA Meeting

I was struck, at my regular meeting the other morning, how many solutions were offered as people shared.

Suggestions for how to handle fear, practical ideas for incorporating faith into your work day, healthy talk about the challenge in letting go of resentments.  Solution after solution after solution.

It was a veritable solutionpalooza.

And at the end of the meeting, after almost an hour of this brilliance, it struck me that if you had recorded the meeting, and played it back to me when I was spiritually unfit, all I would have heard people talking about was their problems, not their solutions.

All of which is to say that, when I have a problem with what I'm hearing in an AA Meeting, it is likely that the actual problem has nothing to do with their sharing.

The problem is very (very) likely entirely to do with my hearing.

Then ... later that very same afternoon: H.A.L.T. (Shining a flashlight under the rocks in my head.)

Morning:
Did some work, did some housework, answered some emails, returned some phone calls.

Afternoon:
Sponsee came over and we read the beginning of Chapter 5, 'How it Works' in the book "Alcoholics Anonymous" (AA's Big Book, for the new kids).  Did the 3rd Step with him and got him started on the resentment portion of his 4th Step inventory.  A wonderful time together, he is a bright and eager member of AA, and taking him through the 12 Steps has been a terrific and illuminating process for us both.

Then ... later that very same afternoon:
BOOM! I was in serious H.A.L.T. -- I was Hungry, Angry, Lonely and Tired.
The hungry and tired fed the lonely, and after listening to one really rather harmless voice mail message, it just ... went south, and I got angry.  Really angry.  (For no good reason, and I knew it, but that didn't stop it).  I hated myself, I hated everyone else and I hated A.A.  As quick as the flip of a switch, I went from sunshine to thunderheads.  Regular readers of this blog know that I have often posted here of days filled with gratitude, of time spent working with other alcoholics as the high point of my life ... and those words were true when I wrote them and are as true and heartfelt right this moment ... but earlier today, in H.A.L.T. it was ugly.  I was ugly.  And those other times and feelings were obscured or out of reach.

Okay, so that was how I felt.  But what did I do?

I prayed for help, then I ate, then I prayed again.
I kept writing texts to people I knew who would be at the meeting I regularly attend on Tuesday nights with requests to cover my service commitment because I didn't want to go to the meeting (in my head it was a virtual snarl, "I'm not going to that [expletive deleted] AA meeting tonight!  I've already [long self-pitying laundry list of service] this week and it's only Tuesday.  Screw that meeting, and screw AA!"  Kids, I don't want to scare ya, but that's with 20+ years of sobriety and active in AA under my belt.)
After I would write the texts I would delete them rather than send them.

I prayed some more, and I felt a teeny bit better.  Wrote and deleted another "will you cover my commitment tonight" text.

I wrote a quick four column inventory and looked at my part in a few things that had set me off, and I felt another teeny bit better.

Wrote and deleted yet another text about covering my commitment at the meeting.

Said to myself, "I'm not going to the meeting" all during my getting ready to go to the meeting.

Said to myself, "I'm not going to the meeting" as I opened the door and went to the meeting.

Got to the meeting, and within five minutes the thunder clouds blew out to sea and I was fine.

What's the point?  Well, there are several:

• 20+ years sober and active in AA does not mean that I can't get mugged by alcoholic thinking, self pity, fear, etc.  Nor does it exempt me from the simple basics of brain chemistry maintenance.  I am vulnerable to self destructive impulses when I let my brain chemistry get out of whack from hunger, fatigue, etc.  Sometimes the reason you're angry is not some deep, esoteric issue -- it's because you've had one lousy protein bar six hours ago and consumed an entire pot of coffee in the meantime.  And the cautionary part of this is also that once the switch flips from light to dark sometimes it doesn't unflip quite so easily.

• Contrary action is the most important and life saving habit AA has given me.  Like a spoiled brat I will throw a mental tantrum about doing what AA asks of me, but even during the tantrum I'm in forward motion to do what AA suggests I do.  The power of the contrary action habit is enormous:  I form and take seriously my sober routine when I'm not having a temper tantrum so that when I am there's momentum enough to carry me through.

• It would have been comfortably face-saving to dash off a witty little post about something from the Big Book tonight, and hide my ugly afternoon behind an intellectual knowledge of what AA talks about in the literature.  But a part of that contrary action is to, whenever I want to save my face, opt to save my ass instead -- because it seems to be one or the other, for alcoholics of my type.  No one is helped when I pretend I'm fine when I'm decidedly not fine.  I help myself, and potentially others, when I share my mess and my ugly, should-be-better-than-that-but-there-it-is alcoholic thinking, and how I got through it. 

• Service is the key, and honest sharing is service.  In my experience, sharing in AA, whatever form the sharing takes, is next to useless unless I regularly smash through my ego-based fear of what people will think of me, and instead open my mouth (or pound away on the keyboard) and let you see what's really going on in my head -- regardless of how it may look -- or, more accurately, what I fear it may look like.

That's the challenge, kids:  We have to keep sharing -- keep picking up that metaphorical flashlight and shining it under the rocks in our heads.  No matter how much time sober you have, be it 20+ days or 20+ years.

And sometimes -- thankfully it's only sometimes -- when H.A.L.T. has you on the ropes and your alcoholism is coming in for the kill, that flashlight you're trying to pick up and shine around suddenly has all the weight of your ego and vanity trying to hold it down.

You can do it though -- after all, your life depends on it. 

An amazing resource

THIS is an amazing resource.

Many thanks to those who put it together.

This is not a story about loyalty. Part 2

Apparently he solicited an undercover cop.

I'm not sure of the gorey details much beyond that.  Whether, he offered, shall we say, an exchange of goods for services, or was attempting to have sexual intercourse rather than social, in a setting designed for the latter and not the former... whatever it was, he got popped by the cops.

And he was in a committed relationship.

And he had to call his partner to get him out of jail.

Imagine that call.

"Hi honey.  It's me.  I'm going to be just a little late coming home.  In fact, I need you to come get me.  Hmmm?  Oh, uh ... downtown.  And honey?  Bring your checkbook."

Eeesh.

The partner came down, bailed him out, and they are still together as of this writing, more than sixteen years later.

But this is still not a story about loyalty.

_________________________

AA literature warns about "when boy meets girl on AA campus" in the context of being careful that romantic interests do not complicate spiritual ones.  When new, our fledgling recovery is pretty easily overwhelmed by the crush groove, and if you're more interested in who your obsession sweetheart is sitting next to at the meeting than what the speaker is saying, that's a problem.

My very first sponsor used to quote his sponsor to me all the time on this:  "You don't shop for a wife at Bellevue Mental Hospital; so why would you date in AA?" was his little joke.  Good point, in general.

Yet to have the language of recovery in common, to be pursuing the same spiritual path, to have the resources and tools from the 12 Steps and the Fellowship available to build a romantic partnership with someone ... I have seen it work, and work beautifully.

My Sarcastic Sponsor who got arrested for lewd conduct was part of such a relationship.  They were both 12 Steppers, so the whole "affair" (too significant a word for what he was likely engaged in) was, I'm afraid to say, somewhat unavoidably brought into the meetings.  People are people, AA'ers no less so -- and some people love to gossip.

I feel compelled to add that not all discussion is gossip, however.  I have talked "about" people with sponsors or friends over the years in a sincere effort to puzzle something out, or untangle the mess from the message.  We maintain anonymity as a great equalizing force in AA, and "what we hear there stays there" to paraphrase a commonly held 12 Step tenent -- primarily so that meetings remain a safe place to bring problems and hear solutions -- but not all discussion of others is malicious.

Just sometimes.

_________________________

Sarcastic Sponsor called me a day or two after he'd been arrested.

Him:  Hello.

Me (surprised he called, he was a good call return-er, but never initiated a call to me):  Oh!  Hello. What's ... I mean, how are you?

Him:  Have you heard that I was arrested?

He was always direct.  Never liked to beat around the bush.

Oh. Perhaps that's a poor choice of phrase here.

Me:  Arrested?  No! Are you okay?

Him:  Are you lying?

Silence.

Me:  Yes.  I heard yesterday.

Silence again.  I imagine he was taking a moment to put on his sponsorial crash helmet.  I wear sponsor pants, but I fear that the men and women who worked with me in early sobriety likely needed some form of protective gear.

Him:  Why did you lie?

He was always catching me in these little lies, and asking me why I did them.  It was something both excruciating and very valuable to me about his sponsorship.  From his repeatedly asking if I was lying I had lost any sense of offense at the question, and in answering him began to see patterns in the little people-pleasing social lies that still permeated much of my life at the time.  In this fashion I was getting amazing insight into what drove me.  Or paralyzed me, depending.

Me:  I didn't know what to say.  Or, I guess I didn't want to hurt your feelings, too.  Or, I ... I was just uncomfortable.

Him:  Okay.

Me:  So, are you okay?

Him:  Yes. 

We chatted a bit more, but I don't remember the specifics.  Confirmed our standing coffee date before the big Friday night meeting and ended the call.

When I told him that I'd heard about his arrest, and some of the circumstances surrounding it, I did not mention that I had gotten a call from one of the funniest -- and most twisted -- members of my sober posse.

Mr. Twister:  Pants!  Your sponsor got arrested!

Me:  What are you talking about?  Is this like the time you tried to convince me that your mother had multiple personality disorder, and when I met her I needed to call her Stan?

Mr. Twister:  Better!  It's true!  Your sponsor got arrested for Lewd Conduct.

The way he said it you could hear the capital letters.

Me:  What are you talking about, he's in a ...

Mr. Twister didn't even let me finish.  He jumped in and passed along, in the most unflattering terms possible -- which was the stock in trade for his humor -- what little he knew about the arrest and my sponsor being bailed out by his partner.

Mr. Twister:  So, are you going to get a new sponsor?

This caught me totally off guard.

Me:  I ... no.  I mean ... why would I ... ?  No.  I don't know. 

Mr. Twister:  Why would you ... ?  For a guy who thinks so much about his sobriety you sure don't think much of your sobriety.

Me:  Shut up, Twist, that doesn't even make sense.  I don't even know what that means.

Mr. Twister was always saying those kind of things, jokes with barbs in them, expert-sounding statements and judgments that were little more than posturing.  It was like his Act.  I both enjoyed his humor and felt kind of lousy after hanging out with him.  A few years after this story takes place he began to nurse a huge resentment for the secretary of a meeting ... then for that whole meeting ... then for all the meetings, until at last he cursed me out and told me that he was "sick of all this AA bullshit."  As you can imagine we sort of lost touch after that.  I don't mean I shunned him, but ... without AA we had almost nothing in common.

A few years later I got a call from his mother (who I fortunately had never called Stan) asking me to write Mr. Twister in prison.  Drunk Driving - Vehicular Homicide.  I imagined that Mr. Twister's Act might not be going over so well in Cell Block 7, or wherever.

What makes me sad about that is not what happened to Mr. Twister so much -- it's that it is such a cliche.

He hated cliches.

_________________________

The "big" Friday night meeting was a speaker/sharing meeting.  Someone would speak, select a topic, and then people would step up to the lectern at the front of the room and share.

My sponsor and I had coffee before hand as per usual, and although I expected to be uncomfortable he was just his normal self for the most part, equally stern and direct with me about my working the 12 Steps.  If I recall correctly I was back to wrestling the 3rd Step to the ground, as this was my second pass through all 12 Steps.  I must have been doing somewhat better with the whole thing, since I think I only got one eyebrow raise out of him the entire time.

I had to get to the meeting early to make the coffee, and so we took separate cars.  He usually showed up a little later. 

The parking lot for the meeting was at the bottom of a little rise.  In other words you could stand outside the meeting room, in the back, and look down on the parking lot below.  I made the coffee and greeted people as they started to show up for the meeting.  This was a tough group for me, and I was grateful for the stage business of fussing with the coffee urns and cups and creamers and three kinds of sweeteners -- it gave me a bit of a purpose and helped me not feel like such a freak.  Looking at me straightening cups you would have no idea that inside my head was a constant drumbeat: You're a Freak. Loser. Freak. Loser.   I could tell the drummer to lay off, but in early sobriety he often ignored me and kept right on drumming.  The things I have said to myself in my head are far worse than the cruelest cut I've ever heard spoken to my face.  AA eventually silenced that drum, one day at a time.

I stepped out the back to have a cigarette -- trying to savor it as I knew those were probably going to be sacrificed to the 12 Step Gods soon enough ... unfortunately the savoring was often lost in the self loathing of "still" being a smoker.  As my first sponsor had said, "Smoke, if you like it.  If you don't like it and you still smoke, then there's your problem -- but if that's the case, it's not a problem it's an addiction -- and you have tools for that."

My Sarcastic Sponsor had put it a bit differently:  "Oh no, by all means, keep smoking.  Somebody's got to 12th Step the other smokers in the cancer ward, might as well be you."

I looked down the rise and saw him, my Sarcastic Sponsor, sitting in his car.  The engine was off, the headlights dark ... he was just sitting.  (Remember, kids, this is years before cell phones, so today while you might assume someone was making a call, or breathlessly updating their Twitter: "I'm sitting! In my car!" back then there was not much to do alone in a parked car with the engine off but sit.)  Some people wandered out from the meeting room behind me, I chatted with them, and tried to practice really listening to what they said, rather than being all trapped in my mind, plotting the next thing I was going to say and waiting for my turn to talk again -- just like Sarcastic Sponsor had been suggesting I do.

The meeting started and I looked down.  He was still sitting in his car.  I was torn.  Should I go see if he's okay?  Would he be mad if I didn't go into the meeting? 

You know what my ego said?  (God, this is so embarrassing.)

My ego said, "Go down, and then maybe he'll share in front of the whole meeting how you came and talked to him when he was lonely and afraid."  At least by then in my sobriety I could recognize my ego's voice, and tell it to shut its sick, out-of-proportion mouth.  Today I know that it's less the motive and more the action that matters, but it is still a terrible, disgusting thing, to find your ego reducing someone else's pain to nothing more than an opportunity for petty personal glory.

I turned and went into the meeting.

About five minutes later Sarcastic Sponsor came in and took a chair in the back.

I couldn't tell you about what the speaker said.  I was too busy watching my sponsor out of the corner of my eye, to see if he was okay, or what was going on with him.

The speaker concluded, and the floor was open for sharing.  My sponsor raised his hand.  High.  I remember that very clearly.  He raised his hand as if the question the speaker asked was not "Who would like to begin the sharing?" as it said in the format, but rather "Who here is convinced they're going to die if they don't share right away?"

Most of the people had heard about his arrest by then, I'm sure.  With Mr. Twister and his ilk on the case, how could they not have?  But this was AA, and although we are skewered and slow roasted on the spit of our character defects as often as not, there is something special that happens in meetings.  Thus, there was no whisper, no nervous titter, as my sponsor came to the front of the room and stepped to the lectern.

_________________________

I started this whole story with an observation about when and why, over the years, I've changed sponsors.

People bring an extraordinary amount of baggage to the sponsor relationship -- from both sides.  And in sorting through that it is not surprising that there are all kinds of expectations of what a sponsor "should" be.  After all, we tell people that are new to find someone in the 12 Step world who "has what you want."  (Though we mean that in spiritual terms, it has certainly on occasion been misinterpreted.)

And although Mr. Twister put it unkindly, it was a question I asked myself after news of my sponsor's arrest had eventually sunk in:  Is that the kind of guy I want sponsoring me?  Does he, "have what I want?"  I don't think it would be too much to suggest that based on this mess, no, maybe he doesn't.

And then my sponsor shared at the Friday night meeting.

I told you this is not a story about loyalty.  I didn't stay with my sponsor at that time out of some inappropriate sense of obligation, or a fear of confrontation, or rampant people pleasing.  (I saved all that for when I started dating, later in sobriety.)

This is a story about the power of honesty, and humility, and surrender and sharing.  This is a story about walking the talk, and how that saves lives.  This is a story about how not only can you not save your ass and your face at the same time, when you stop trying to you inspire others to do the same.

_________________________

He stood at the lectern and shared what happened.  He was specific, but not salacious.  He was calm and honest.  The man, while sarcastic one-on-one, could be wickedly funny when speaking to a group, but he didn't "go there" that night, in that share.  He didn't hide behind his ability to turn a phrase, or bluff his way through with attitude.

If I tried to recreate here exactly what he said I would barely do him justice.  But I remember sitting transfixed by the experience of listening to an alcoholic with some good years sober talk about this fresh, deep pain and dysfunction.  About his guilt and how it was trying to take him to shame (two different things -- I got that from him).  About his powerlessness in this new area of his life, and his terror at how this occurred in his sobriety.  And he talked about his ego, and how it was screaming at him to be quiet.  About how this experience shattered his personal mythology of trying to be this "very" sober man in front of everyone, rather than the reality of being this messy sober man -- in front of everyone.

And he talked about the solution.  He talked about doing the footwork, about going to an additional 12 Step Program rather than hiding behind his "time" in Alcoholics Anonymous, and his fear about being new all over again.

And he shared that he knew in his gut that if he didn't address this it had the power to make him drink again.

In some ways what he did was take his ego out and smash it in front of us.

And rather than that being a violent act what I learned that night is that it is a miraculous one.

And I wanted what he had.

The echo of my own ego's sick whisper was still fresh in my mind.  "... he'll share in front of the whole meeting how you ..."

I wanted what he had because I knew that with his help I could learn to do the same thing when I eventually needed to.  And at a few years sober I had no doubt at all that eventually, down the line, by my own hand most likely, I would most definitely need to.

And believe me, I have.

_________________________

Later -- much later -- I asked him about when he was sitting down in his car before the meeting.

"I was praying."  He said.  "Praying for God to help me take my hand off the key in the ignition and not turn the car back on and drive away.  Praying for the strength to come up the stairs and share."

And for some reason I asked him about when he raised his hand.

"Oh, Mr. SponsorPants," he said, "this," and he raised his hand low, about even with his head, "is drying your nails."  Then he gave me one of his rare smiles, "And this" he raised his hand high, high above his head, "is I need to share!"

It works better with the visual -- I use that example with my sponsees to this day.

"Whoever gossips to you will gossip about you" -- Spanish Proverb

Frankly, I think fear of gossip is much worse than gossip itself -- the fear that people will judge, be unkind, violate trust, is much more painful than the actual "being talked about."

And what alcoholic, even the most sensitive or fearful, isn't secretly just a little pleased to be the center of attention?  More often than not, even when it's negative, our alcoholism lights up like a Christmas Tree when it looks like the focus is on us.

Of course, the actual attention can be excruciating, but that doesn't stem an alcoholic ego's deep need to seek attention.  We are, even after some sobriety and serenity, sometimes conflicted creatures.  (Want proof?  Conduct an informal survey among the alcoholics you know.  Ask them whether they get bored easily.  Then ask if they are uncomfortable with change.  Do the math.)

My first three or four years sober I was in a kind of "small town" AA environment.  And like clockwork, about every three months, someone would get up to the lectern during the sharing portion of the big Friday night meeting and throw a hissy fit.  "You're all talking about me!"

"You wish" I would uncharitably mutter under my breath. 

(I learned in that very meeting the danger of funny/mean, and how slippery a slope that is for me.  Once, when someone who was, to be honest, a bit of a bore, got up to share, he spoke about the fact that fully half his family was hearing impaired.  Without missing a beat, I whispered to my seat mates, "And the other half wishes they were."  Oh, I am quick.  And funny, right?  The friends around me thought it was hilarious.  And just at that moment, while they were snickering, and I was feeling especially witty, and flush with the kind of poisonous power which comes from being pretty good at being very mean, I looked to the lectern and wound up staring straight into the eyes of the guy sharing.  He didn't know exactly what I said -- but he didn't have to.  That I had said something cutting, that I'd used what he was sharing as a punchline, was in my eyes.  And I could see the awareness of it in his.  To this day, when I think back on that moment I feel the same shame wash over me.  Why does it seem like some important lessons are learned only at the expense of others rather than ourselves?  For what it's worth, that lesson stuck.)

But I know when people were melting down in the meeting over someone saying something about them, probably more than half the time it wasn't at all true.

Which means that sometimes it likely was.

AA is full of wonderful, challenging, often spiritual people -- but they're people.  We have the same mixed bag of bad behaviors as any group.  It's easy to hold each other up to a level of unrealistic expectation, a sort of, "Hey! I thought you were supposed to be well-er than that!"  Personally, I've not encountered a lot of serious gossips in my AA adventures.  (And not every exchange of information is gossip, either.  I should be able to say anything to my sponsor, for example.  Or letting someone know that a friend is in trouble, or hurting, is, imho, not gossip.  Intent has a lot to do with it.  Are you sincerely trying to help, or are you getting a rush out of being the one with the breaking news story?)  Many meetings, somewhere in the format, include the phrase "What you hear here stays here" and I would say the overwhelming majority of the people in Alcoholics Anonymous work hard to respect that.

For those that don't, the problem, the saddest part, with gossips (or with the funny/mean's out there) is not that they're making AA unsafe for others.

It's that they're making AA unsafe for themselves.

And, at the risk of sounding fanciful, that's exactly what their alcoholism wants them to do.