Mr. SponsorPants

Just five peanuts.

Over the weekend, I got a call from a friend in AA who was in some emotional distress. 

That is the fancy way of saying he was royally pissed off -- and for good reason, in my humble opinion.  He was angry and his feelings were hurt, and to make matters worse it was around something that happened at a 12 Step meeting.

That, in and of itself, is not particularly surprising.  After all, a 12 Step meeting can be full of unbalanced, sick, emotional, mercurial, passive-aggressive, selfish and self-seeking individuals.  This mix is not unique to 12 Step meetings of course  -- the same could be said of any given country club. Or Junior High school.  Or Congress.  (Is it just me, or in another context could all of those be synonymous?  Sorry! Sorry -- outside issue.)

But at least in a 12 Step meeting there is generally a majority who seek to leave those character defects behind, and are working together on finding a common solution.  Thus I think it's fair to say we have a tendency to feel safe(er) there -- especially if you have some time in that Program and it's one of your regular meetings.  And so, if someone sort of emotionally or behaviorally sucker-punches you, not only do you feel the ordinary reaction to something like that which anyone might, but you can also feel especially hurt and betrayed, given the context of being at a meeting, and that the person sucker-punching you is ostensibly on the same path you're trying to follow.

I let my friend vent on the phone -- he was succinct, given the level of hurt and anger.  I suggested we meet for coffee, since I had some insight I wanted to share with him, and it wasn't an over-the-phone kind of thing.

Fast forward to about 20 minutes later, and there we sat, coffees(s) in hand(s).  My friend has a really great sponsor, and thus I know he's fluent in the inventory process, and we talked about how what happened, and his reaction to it, might get sorted into that four column structure to help untangle the ball of fear and rage in his gut.  I shared with him some personal insight about what might have contributed to his part, given how well I know him and the time we've spent together (that was why I wanted to meet in person, so that my face-to-face delivery of these thoughts would be softened by our being able to look each other in the eye, and he would know from my expression that I was not judging, or bashing, or condemning or criticizing -- he would know that I was merely trying to give him information that might help.)  To his great credit he sat, and listened intently, and rather than argue aloud with what I offered simply tried to take it all in.

While we were talking I got a flash of insight, and I've spent all weekend trying to sort it out so that I could express it clearly here.  Having drafted and re-drafted this a number of times, I'm not sure if I've been very successful, but here goes:

Often it is extremely useful, in writing a four column inventory, when it comes to the final column -- the "my part" of the inventory -- to take a look at the idea that sometimes my part in a situation/resentment is "unrealistic expectations of others."  (Or myself.) 

Any person can suffer from this, but in alcoholics especially, expectations are often far out of balance.  Alcoholic thinking is very prone to forgetting to take into account the history of a relationship, or the context a situation occurs within.    Determining when that's the case is an important qualification in learning how to change a behavior in the future (one of the eventual outcomes of the inventory process via the 6th and 7th Steps.)

But looking at things from a slightly different angle, it can also actually be a distraction to busily sort my expectations into "realistic" and "unrealistic."  At a more basic level, the cause of a resentment is not the fact that my expectations are unrealistic.  The cause of the resentment is the fact that I have expectations at all.

Now, it is well nigh impossible to go through life without any expectations -- unless you have the IQ of a rutabaga, or are so completely self involved as to be clinically diagnosable as totally withdrawn from reality. 

Nor do I think it serves for people in recovery to wander about, ringing our hands, bemoaning how difficult it is to be such delicate and sensitive creatures in a cold and callous world, slaves to the resentment machine of our expectations.  (Well, of course, it does serve to do that.  It serves being a big fat drama queen, and a particularly self obsessed, unrealistic and boring one at that.)

Maybe it's like being allergic to peanuts.  If you have just five peanuts or if you have three whole jars of peanuts, you're going to have an allergic reaction.  After the fact it is useful to look at the amount of peanuts you had -- a realistic serving or a quantity that virtually guarantees getting sick to your stomach, regardless of allergy -- but how much you ate is not why you had a reaction.

Just the fact that you ate, and the fact that you have a sensitivity, is why you had a reaction.

So then perhaps that's another way to consider my expectations and my resentments.  I'm not breaking any news flashes here by drawing a direct line between those two things.  Yes, of course, it's useful for me to discern when I'm being unrealistic, so I can change how I move through the world -- but it's worth remembering that virtually any level of expectation is going to birth some kind of resentment:  A wee, tiny one -- and I think we call that "disappointment" -- to a raging, profoundly childish and emotionally violent one -- and I believe the term for that kind is "untreated alcoholism."

Questions! Via Electronic Mail that travels Magically Over the Internetwork of Computers!

Dear Mr. SponsorPants:

I have a question about my 5th Step.  If I have something I need to tell my sponsor that involves someone else in my AA group, but don't want to tell their part in it, how can I get past that without being untruthful?  I don't want to "injure others" while healing myself.

 --Anonymous

       

Dear Anonymous,

Personally, Anonymous, I encourage my sponsees to tell me everything, and that whatever they tell me will absolutely always stay between us, whether I am their sponsor or not.  Trust is earned, though, so I do not expect people to be comfortable doing that with me right away.  All of which is to say that it's understandable if you have some doubts about what you can share with a sponsor.

From what you say in your email, your sponsor may "know" the person in your AA group, but they (your sponsor) are not involved directly with them I assume?  So I honestly do not think you would be "injuring" anyone else by saying to your sponsor whatever it is that you need to when doing your 5th Step.

There are a couple of things in the book "Alcoholics Anonymous" (AA's Big Book) that you might consider which could be helpful.

On pg. 80, in the chapter "Into Action" the Big Book talks about a man who had taken money from a business rival and discredited the rival by claiming he was never paid.  Now, years later, his fear was that if he made public amends he himself would be discredited, his business would fall off or fold, and thus his wife/family and his current business partner would suffer.  So he went to each of them and explained that he needed to do this for his sobriety, but only if it was alright with them.  They said yes, and so he went ahead and made the amends.  I do not know the specifics of your situation, but the point of this story is that if we're afraid we're going to injure someone else we can ask them about it first -- explain what we think we need to do and why we need to do it -- before moving forward.  Maybe the thing to do is go and speak to the person in your AA group and ask them if it's alright for you, during your 5th Step with your sponsor, to talk about this thing.  It would depend on many factors, of course -- the person you are talking about may not know that you know what you know, for example -- but that's one way to handle it.

Another thing you may try is what they suggest in the Big Book on pg. 74.  You can do your 5th Step not just with a sponsor, but with a member of the clergy instead. Most clergy would be happy to be an ear for such a process, regardless of your membership in their particular denomination.  I would suggest, if you go that route, after you share your inventory with the clergy person you then go back to your sponsor so they can walk you through how you move from Step 5 up through 6 and 7, but personally, if someone I sponsored wanted to read part-or-all of their 4th Step to a member of the clergy instead of me, I might be a bit surprised at first, but I don't think I'd have a problem with it at all.  The point is to read it to someone -- the who is secondary to the act.

Later, on that same page in the Big Book, it goes on to talk about sharing things with the family, and how we have no right to burden others in trying to save ourselves -- you have a great sense of this, or you wouldn't have written me.  But in this passage it says "... such parts of our story we tell to someone who will understand, yet be unaffected."  So perhaps there's another, third party AA you can read that particular section of your writing to, who's more removed from your group or from whatever the situation may be?  That's the general point being made there:  Find someone who "gets' what we're doing, but is removed from the dynamic, or has no history with the players, and thus is maybe a more appropriate, "safer" person to share a particular thing with.

Without specifics I can only offer this general advice -- I sincerely hope that it is of some use to you.

A few last points:

Although the AA literature isn't always all that easy to read, it is a great road map, and there is valuable direction in it on all kinds of situations we face in both working the steps and in staying sober -- look over those pages I referenced, and ask other people in your AA group in general for their experiences on sharing "sensitive" information in their 5th Steps, and see what inspiration that might give you.

And lastly, perhaps bring this whole question to your sponsor themselves.  Say to your sponsor what you have said to me.  Let them know that there is something you need to talk about, but it involves someone in your AA group, and you're not sure how to proceed, since you want to "not injure them or others," but you are committed to being truthful in the process.  Ask your sponsor how the two of you can navigate this, and see what they say.  In this way you can get your sponsor's help without initially revealing any information that you're not sure you should share.

As I know you know, your sponsor is just another alcoholic trying to stay sober; but if they're acquainted with the literature and they've worked the steps, even if they struggle a little with their own ego no doubt you'll get good advice from them.  And in asking for their direction in how to handle this you're definitely helping your sponsor too.  Believe me.

But if, after you do bring this to your sponsor and you're not clear on what they say, or not comfortable with what they suggest, then it's a good idea to ask some other AA's as well, maybe from another group, about the situation -- you can do so by roughing the problem out, you don't need to be too specific if you don't want.  If you're sponsor's direction is pretty good, and your uncomfortability with it is coming from your alcoholism in the form of fear or unwillingness, then the other AA's may be able to point that out to you.  If somehow the intimacies of your AA group are such that your sponsor is unable to be impartial -- if you fear your sponsor is too close to the situation, due to knowing the players involved, and that this closeness has colored what they suggest to you, then those other AA's might recognize that instead, and offer you some impartial input that could be helpful as well.

And of course, I'm happy to help in any way I can, so please feel free to write further if you need.

You have a terrific grasp of the spirit how AA works if this is the question you have -- congratulations on your sobriety and on working the steps -- for myself, while it hasn't always been easy, it's always been worth it.

Cheers!

Mr. SponsorPants

Willingness and How To Develop an Open Mind -- which can then help you develop willingness.

In the book "Twelve Steps and Twelve Traditions" (commonly referred to as the 12&12), it states on pg. 40, in the essay about the 3rd Step:

"... it appears that there are certain things which only the individual can do.  All by himself, and in the light of his own circumstances, he needs to develop the quality of willingness." 

A good sponsor can help motivate you, but motivation just makes being willing easier -- I would suggest that it is not actually willingness itself.

I have to say, on this point the 12&12 just sort of leaves you hanging -- so many other places in AA literature offer clear cut instructions as to not only what needs to be done (as in this particular case, the need for the individual to become willing) but also how to do it.

Involving the help of a Higher Power -- whatever that may mean to you -- is likely a critical component in this process -- and the discussion of the 3rd Step in the 12&12 is all about giving yourself over in that way.  But in reading this essay recently with someone, when we got to this paragraph they asked the very pointed question, "how, then, if I'm supposed to do it all on my own, am I supposed to 'develop the quality of willingness?'"

I started to make a flip answer along the lines of, "Well, you need to start doing things differently.  If you want different feelings you have to take different actions."  And yes, that's true -- very true, in fact.  To put it in Fischer Price terms, healthy actions bring healthy thoughts and feelings, sick actions ... you get it.

And over the years I've heard this truism expressed in a number of ways:  "Esteemable acts bring self esteem" is one of my favorites, for example.  You might even extrapolate this point out to a cornerstone of how AA itself heals me.  As I've both heard and shared in meetings, I have never been able to substantively change my thinking with other thoughts -- I've only been able to change my thinking with actions.  In fact, trying to change my problem thinking with more thinking is trying to use the problem to fix the problem -- not generally a successful strategy.

But it struck me that in some ways the willingness to do something often sort of precedes the new action.  And from what we just read in the 12&12, it sort of felt like the literature was, in this passage anyway, saying, "Ok, kid, this part is key.  Critical!  But you're on your own.  Good luck with that!"

So I gave it some thought, and sipped my coffee (ah, caffeine, boon to my inspiration!)

I think that for me, developing the quality of willingness has been predicated on developing an open mind.  I have to sort of be open to the idea that this new thing/behavior is going to work, before I become willing to give it a go.  It's not wholly a mental exercise of course, there is a "just do it" element, an "if you want what we've got, do what we did" thread running through this when we're new to AA.  But still, for me, an open mind has I think been hand-in-hand with my willingness.

Now, the good news is, developing an open mind is actually really easy.  There's only one word I've ever needed to do so, and even if I use the word grudgingly, or dripping with scorn, or laced with sarcasm, it still seems to work.

The word is:  Maybe.

If I try to embrace that word, however falteringly, it can allow a slender, needle-thin shaft of light to penetrate the tightly shuttered darkness of my closed mind.  (Oooh, how writerly!  Metaphors. Images. Fancy!)

Embarrassingly, in those times in my head, it can look like this:

Maybe I'll feel a little better if I try -- God knows, I couldn't feel much worse.

Maybe this won't completely suck.

Maybe at least one thing here can help me.

Maybe one of these people will say something useful.

(In that last one, the word "people" is not the word I probably used.)

If I can get to maybe, I have opened the door a crack.  And once I open the door a crack, I can reach through and grab hold of a tiny piece of willing.

From there, for me, that's how it builds.

My life has been transformed not with blinding white light experiences, although I believe some people have had such things.  No, for me, my life has been transformed most often by these tiny, infinitesimal, almost grudging, shifts in attitude and then eventually, consciousness.

Words shape my thoughts, my thoughts start my actions, then my actions reach back and change my feelings and my thinking.  It's a powerful process, and as with anything powerful, I can use it to help or harm.

But I don't have to be fully motivated at the outset.  When I start, I don't have to believe 100% in the power of this process to change me. 

To begin, I just have to get to "maybe."

The ultimate half measure.

"Half measures availed us nothing." -- "Alcoholics Anonymous" (AA's Big Book) Chapter 5 'How It Works' -- pg. 59

I'm not the first person to observe that this hardly seems fair.  Half measures really should avail us at least half.

The sentiment above is located in The Big Book just prior to the first time the 12 Steps are introduced to the reader.  The point being that trying to get sober is an all-or-nothing proposition.

Elsewhere in the literature is what is called the "AA Preamble" -- in my town it is always printed on the first page of the Meeting Directory.  It is a pair of brief paragraphs that give a concise description of what Alcoholics Anonymous is ("... a fellowship of men and women who share ... that they may solve their common problem ... and help others ... ) and what it is not (" ... there are no dues or fees ... not allied with any ... organization or institution ... does not ... engage ... in any controversy ...) and concludes with what is for many AA's the sum total of who we are and what we're about:

"Our primary purpose is to stay sober and help other alcoholics achieve sobriety."

I heard a speaker today identify brilliantly that if all you're doing is staying sober -- if you're not in some way also helping another alcoholic achieve sobriety -- then you are indulging in the ultimate half measure.

And I would like to go on to add that, if you are, eventually it will indeed avail you nothing.

Circuit Speakers, Conventions, Round Ups and Workshops

Generally, once you've been in AA for a little while, you come to realize that all speakers are "good," in that when someone honestly shares their experience, strength and hope there is a connection with the group and an identification for the individual, and both the speaker and the listener are helped by the process.

As with any disease, alcoholism does not discriminate -- all kinds of people make their way into Alcoholics Anonymous.  We are, as the literature puts it "people who would not ordinarily mix" (and as I've observed here before, there are times I look around a meeting room, remember that passage in the Big Book and think to myself, "Boy, that's for sure.")  From this varied mix, some people, naturally enough, for whatever reason, have the "gift of gab." Either their story itself, or the way they present it, may seem especially powerful to some people (i.e., moving, inspirational, instructional, healing, "entertaining" ... etc.).  And thus, they are perhaps asked to speak at meetings a bit more often than other folks.

(In my humble opinion this says virtually nothing about AA or alcoholics in recovery; it's really just a facet of human nature.  If you stick around long enough, it's likely a facet you try to transcend.  But we are, still, only human.)

AA has grown quite large in a number of metropolitan areas.  Some meetings have been going for years, with strong and enthusiastic attendance.  In addition to these good-sized, regular weekly meetings, sober members of Alcoholics Anonymous put on conventions, sometimes called "Round Ups," usually once a year.  These are large and often festive occasions, which include workshops, shows, dances and of course AA meetings.  Round Ups are held at hotels, usually, and it is not uncommon for people to come from quite far away to attend.  Many stay at the venue itself, making a little recovery-weekend-get-away out of it. 

The difference between a workshop and a meeting is the 12 Traditions.  To be an AA meeting -- or to be any kind of 12 Step meeting -- if you're the 'real deal' then you are bound by the 12 Traditions.  If you choose not to be, then, I'm sorry, I'm sure you're probably a lovely, well intentioned group of people, who, I suppose, can call yourselves whatever you like -- but you are not in fact a 12 Step meeting.

To enrich the recovery discussions at Round Ups, however, conventions offer workshops, which are very deliberately not a 12 Step meeting, and thus, not bound by the Traditions.  These workshops can then freely discuss topics related to recovery but not "technically" a part of AA's "singleness of purpose."  Or a workshop may have a particular requirement for attendance, which would violate not only the letter of the Traditions but AA's spirit of inclusivety as well. (A workshop only for left handed hockey players who have made cake decorating their Higher Power, for example.  No right-handers allowed!)  Although it's not common, a non-alcoholic/addict may even be the main speaker at a workshop. (The hockey players might, for example, bring a pastry chef in to address the finer points of how to ice that always troublesome middle tier on a wedding cake.)

Round Ups occur most often over a weekend, and there are usually three "big" meetings the convention is generally structured around: The "Opening" meeting on Friday night, the "Main" meeting on Saturday night, and the "Closing" meeting on Sunday morning.  These meetings are usually very large, attended by most of the people at the convention and many people from the surrounding area as well.  Generally, the people who organize the conventions, mostly out of a desire to be of service, and perhaps, if we were to be very honest here, also motivated somewhat by ego*, want the speakers at these meetings to be of that "powerful" sort.  Often there is a committee to select the three speakers, and they listen to speaker tapes CD's of different speakers from other conventions to select whom they might ask to speak at theirs.

Thus someone who is a "Circuit Speaker" is generally someone who is-or-has spoken at either some of the larger meetings in their city or at some of these "main" meetings at conventions and round ups nationally (or even internationally).

Oddly, although the phrase Circuit Speaker is common enough, I almost never hear anyone refer to a group of large meetings or conventions as "The Circuit."  The phrase really applies much more to the who rather than the where.

AA's tradition of anonymity works on a spiritual level to prevent, as much as is possible with human beings, "big shot-ism" from getting too firm a foothold in the recovering community.  We check ourselves and each other when it comes to that, and in my experience, while some people speak well and often, there are very few who allow their egos to let them think of themselves as "important" speakers or "stars."  Those that do, I suspect, are not long able to offer a substantive message of recovery, regardless of how powerful their story may have been at one time, since, as the Big Book puts it, "you cannot transmit something you haven't got."

         

*AA is made up of people -- people who's fears and flaws are bubbling to the surface as we learn to navigate life without our primary chemical coping mechanisms (that would be the fancy way of saying drinking and using).  Service commitments at these conventions, and at fundraisers for recovery houses and Round Ups, are often a challengingwonderful opportunity for people to come into conflict with each others' egos and their own, as all the petty, competitive, controlling, bullshit elements of our nature come screaming up out of the cellar when we're given just a little authority, a little responsibility and a touch of visibility in our own tiny communities.  As I have somewhat jokingly told sponsees who are about to do service in fund raisers and at conventions: "I have only 2 Rules. You can't quit the commitment before it's finished and you can't drink -- and before its over you're going to want to do both."  People want to do a good job, but people also want to shine a little.  There's nothing wrong with the latter, it's just that quite often in an alcoholic it's out of proportion to the former. 

It works, it really does. Which is too bad, actually, since now when I'm stuck in my resentments I'll have to own that it's my choice.

As I wrote about earlier, the book "Alcoholics Anonymous" (AA's Big Book) suggests that we pray for the people we resent as a way to be free of the anger(fear)/guilt(shame)/regret(remorse) that swarms us like angry bees whenever we think of the object of our resentment.

(Did you get the trick there? The feelings named in the parens above are the outside-in, self-abusive reflections of those often outwardly directed emotions.)

And so, two weeks ago I embarked on a very formal routine of doing just that.

Right now my ego is goading me to rush to establish my "spiritual practice street cred" and assure you that I have a pretty strong prayer and meditation routine already in place.  Speaking candidly, if a little uncomfortably (strange, but there it is), I will tell you that I kneel down and say the Serenity Prayer, the Third Step Prayer, and the Seventh Step Prayer pretty much twice a day.  I use the Eleventh Step prayer as my in-case-of-emergency-break-glass prayer, as I do with the prayer attributed to Mother Theresa.  I don't worry so much anymore about praying "wrong" as I used to, thus I often give God a little piece of my mind while I'm down there on my knees.  God's big enough to take it, I figure.

Except when I don't. (sigh)  The same can be said when it comes to meditation, although that's a discussion we've already had to some degree.  (Always more to say on the topic though.)

The thing is, as with many habits and routines that are healthy and make me feel great, I can be rolling along and doing them without even thinking much about it for weeks/months/years, and then one day they just sort of ... fall away for a bit, and I wake up one morning and realize, "Oh! I haven't knelt down and said my prayers in a week!"  Rarely is it some temper-tantrum in which I stamp my foot and shake my fist at God and tell God to get stuffed -- it's more like one extra-busy skipped morning becomes two, one evening where I for some strange reason (out too late, or, ahem, company over for the evening) break routine and forget can become four ... and the next thing I know it's been a bit since I did whatever it was that was so healthy and made me feel so great.  (And by that point I'm usually half crazed, and looking for some arcane and complex reason for my unquiet state -- it's always such a "Duh!" moment when I realize it's as simple as accidentally having slipped from a healthy routine.)

All of which is merely a long-winded wind-up to reporting to you about the last two weeks of treating a resentment with some very specific prayer action. 

Sadly, I must tell you that it has worked amazingly well.

It would be fun and sophisticated to be able to pour snark and sarcasm all over this -- I wouldn't have been too obvious about it of course.  There's no art to being heavy handed about that sort of thing.  But there is a very nasty part of me that is still, after everything I've experienced and felt, after all the prayer and meditation and miracles, there is a part of me still waiting to pounce and say, "Ah ha! God and prayer really is for the insipid, the weak and the foolish! Remember the Nazis!"

And also, as the title of this post suggests, the fact that this has worked as well as it has means that now I am forced to confront the fact that when I walk around really consumed with resentment it is my choice to do so.  Is there no place left in my life for me to play the victim?  Sadly, it seems not.

So, for the past two weeks, as I said I would, I knelt down and prayed for the person I resent(ed).  When I forgot, and got in bed, I would remember as I drifted off, and, cursing a poor memory and the resentment itself, get back out of bed and kneel down and pray.

(Oh, and just to be clear, in my book you can pray kneeling, squatting, jumping or somersaulting down a hill if you like.  For me, I don't kneel down to get God's attention, I kneel down to get mine.)

Some nights, too, I would have to hold myself accountable to my own "Three Times In A Row" prayer rule.  Often the first time I say a prayer I'm just rattling it off, be it aloud or in my head, but I'm not really thinking about what I'm saying.  Instead I'm thinking about the day behind me or the day ahead or if my knees hurt or where's that draft coming from or did I turn off the outside light or ... any of a thousand ridiculous distractions.  Then I must take myself in hand and say the prayer a second time, reminding myself to think about what I'm saying/praying.  The problem then becomes that while I'm telling myself to pay attention I am not actually paying attention -- I'm too busy telling myself to pay attention.  So it's usually the third time I say a prayer, starting with a deep, slow, centering breath, that I can reflect on what I'm praying, and make it as meaningful and heartfelt as I can.

As I said, it worked.  I have had a profound shift in how I feel -- the resentment is all but lifted, and I have new eyes with which to consider the person and the anger attached to the resentment.

Does it work like a shot of tequila would?  No. It doesn't.  Yet even today I sometimes have unconscious and unrealistic expectations of how prayer actually works.  I so often expect hope that I will have a kind of "lightning bolt" experience, some sort of instantaneous (read: effortless) transformation, akin to what happens when a rush of alcohol hits my brain.  I want that same "aaaah" -- and while prayer and meditation have been profound and life changing practices for me -- I daresay that with due diligence they actually have altered my brain chemistry -- it is not the "instant fix" of a chemical rush.

And that's good, in fact, since those fixes don't last.  I just need to remember that.

I must close this post with what is, for me, one of the most powerful paragraphs in the book "Alcoholics Anonymous."  Now that I've re-learned this lesson about specific prayer and freedom from resentment, these words from the Big Book both move and challenge me.  What, after all, (on some days, anyway) is harder and scarier? Being stuck with no way out of the dark, or finding a light and being responsible for using it to get up and get out?

"It is plain that a life which includes deep resentment leads only to futility and unhappiness.  To the precise extent that we permit these, do we squander the hours that might have been worth while." -- "Alcoholics Anonymous," Chapter 5, 'How it Works,' pg. 66

How obscene to have my life saved only to turn around and squander it thus.  For me sacrilege is not cursing God or profaning what others hold sacred -- sacrilege is to be freed from the tyranny of alcoholism only to move through the rest of my days blinded by resentment and deafened by ego and fear.

"I have no idea, Bob."

When I was brand new to Alcoholics Anonymous, my first sponsor was (wisely) very big on me becoming involved in lots of AA service work.  All kinds of commitments at meetings, rapidly building up to a service commitment at almost every meeting I attended on a regular basis, and an early push for me to sponsor people.  "You cannot keep it if you don't give it away!" he would intone.  He was a professional singer, so he had one of those rich speaking voices with a little ragged edge to it, and a great big toothy, sort of matinee idol smile, which always softened whatever tough feedback he might give me.  He had stage presence even when he wasn't on stage, so it was fun to listen to him say anything at all, let alone AA stuff.  Of course he was about five feet two, and I am a large man, 6'3" on a good self esteem day, so I'm sure we looked like a sight gag from a silent film, him small and certain of himself, rattling off directions, and me, earnest but unsure, leaning over and intently nodding my head.  "Uh huh.  Okay. Uh huh."  I know memory is a funny thing, but I don't believe it ever occurred to me to argue with him or not do what he suggested -- I was as motivated by my people pleasing as I was any real desire to get sober.  (And thus does God work as effectively through my character defects as via any other agency in my life.)

Among the regular service he suggested I do, probably three or even four times a week, was give people rides to meetings.  And so I would often find myself pulling up in front of the houses and apartments of people I barely knew, knocking on their doors and driving them to and from whatever that night's scheduled meeting might be.

What my sponsor, and the people I was driving, didn't know was this:  As soon as I pulled up in front of their house or apartment, but before I turned off the car, I would change whatever radio station I had playing, most likely something silly or pop, to whatever station I thought the person I was giving a ride to would think was cool.  If I thought they were smart I'd put something classical on, if they were kind of tough I'd put on rock ... you get the idea. Then after I changed the station I would turn off the car but leave the radio on, so when I started the car it would look like that was the station I'd been listening to when I pulled up.

That's ... a lot of planning.

And to be clear, this is how alcoholism works, kids.  I did not tune the station to one I thought they would enjoy -- it wasn't about their enjoyment at all -- I tuned the station to one that I thought would raise my esteem in their eyes. I was trying to control what they thought of me far beyond the normal range of "trying to make a good impression."  And I was convinced that they would notice -- or care -- or even talk about it to someone else!  Not to mention the tragedy of being so false in such a trivial area of my life.  Of being so desperate to create a persona that who I actually was -- what I actually liked or did not like -- was buried beneath layers of ice and ego.

Now why is this about alcoholism and not say ... self esteem, or arrested development?  Because the way I handled the need to please, to create a powerful impression, to control what you thought of me and thus protect myself from ... whatever I thought would happen ... was by drinking.  And now that I wasn't drinking, I had no coping mechanism other than inching along on the course laid out by AA and my sponsor, motivated less by "wanting what AA had" than I was by not wanting what I had.

This manic need to control what others thought of me, coupled with a warped ego and a self esteem so crippled it made Tiny Tim look like Gene Kelly

those references are too old

it made Britney at the VMA's look like Beyonce' at the inauguration

meant that I was a deeply compulsive exaggerator too.  If I saw a book in the window of a store while I was on the way to meet you for coffee, by the time we sat down with cups in hand I would be telling you how I ran into the author of that book just the other day.  I wouldn't plan to lie, it would just pop out.  Underneath it all, of course, was a belief that if I didn't make myself more I would be impossibly less.  Again, that's what drinking used to do for me -- it made me feel even with the world. 

Fast forward many sober days, many inventories, a thousand service commitments and a hundred sponsees ...

There I am, standing next to the Vice President of Sales, waiting for the group of new employees to settle into their chairs so he can give them a welcoming, motivational pitch.  He was a decent fellow, for an upper executive type.  We stood next to each other and, out of boredom? habit? curiosity?  he started to make small talk with me.

"Tell me, Mr. SponsorPants, how much does the mix of these new employees match the demographic of the community here?"

Wow. Good question.  Having that information was not in any way my responsibility.  But I thought for a moment to see if I had anything to offer.

I looked at him, and with complete calm said, "I have no idea, Bob."

Me.  Mr. Change-the-radio-station.  Standing and being chatted up by someone in authority over me. Asked a question I didn't have an answer to and without even thinking about it -- with no song and dance, no drama, no panic, no need to exaggerate -- just told the truth in the moment.  "I have no idea Bob."

He was fine with that.  If he had been genuinely curious he was probably just asking anyone who might have known.  Far more likely was that he was killing the five minutes we had standing next to each other with the first bit of work related chitchat that popped into his head.

To me, this is the stuff of miracles.  To have been a boy so unhappy, so unsure, so confused, so ignorant of his own mind -- to have been that poor, drunken boy -- and become a man who doesn't need a drink to feel even with anyone -- who without thinking about it just gracefully owns when he doesn't know something -- that's more than just getting older.

It's more than just growing up.

It's recovery.

 

Questions! Via electronical mail that comes over the Internetwork of Computers!

Hi Mr. SponsorPants,

Have you ever had a sponsee who has given you fulsome compliments as to your great wisdom, experience, knowledge, etc, all the while side-stepping each and every suggestion/reply/remark/comment of yours with a "Yes, but..." response?

How does one deal with this? I find myself thinking everything from, "Quit sucking up to me with these overdone bullshit smoke screens!" to "This person must feel the need to stroke my ego, in order to continue to receive whatever help I don't seem to be able to give, since it's all explained away with these yes but comments..." to "Why am I wasting my time?" to "I remember doing this with so-and-so years back, we seemed to cover the same ground for five years straight, until they at last broke through their stuckness, so I must continue, even if I am feeling irritated and manipulated somehow..." to "Why can I not muster my usual empathy and compassion with this person? What's my part in this? Why do I feel as if I'm being played?"

I really like this semi-sponsee, they’re a loving, kindhearted, intelligent, witty, endearing person, and they confuse me completely.

Any thoughts you have to offer will be gratefully received.

Love and peace in the program,

C.

    

Dear C.,

Yes, I most certainly have had sponsees like that -- as impressed with their verbal judo as I may be, I leave the situation usually feeling everything you described -- and often resentful as you say, and exhausted too.  Frankly I think you feel like you're being played because you are, in fact, being played -- but probably not with malice aforethought -- much more likely as you surmise there is some reactionary mechanism at work with this sponsee.

Simply put, to me there are two things you're dealing with here, and when it's me in a similar situation I often get them tangled up.  You've got a "how" and a "what" -- and the "how" keeps muddying the waters for you so the "what" cannot be easily addressed.

The fact is, although they’re doing it with style and panache and excruciating courtesy, this "semi"-sponsee is not availing themselves of a sponsor, that is, they’re not really taking any direction.  Or hardly any.  And while you may be very right about why they’re behaving that way, I think that's a secondary issue.

Whether they flatter or debate or stamp their little foot, it all boils down to "No. I am going to do this MY way."  That's the "what" of this whole thing, lost in the ass-kissing of their "how," that is, the way they say no. Clearly you see the whole dynamic in your email, but when you're "in it" you get pulled off point by their courtesy kung fu.

When I realize that I'm stuck in the middle of something like this, I say what I always say to any sponsee that seems unwilling to take most-or-any of my direction:

"Sponsorship is an important tool in Alcoholics Anonymous.  And everyone deserves a sponsor that calls them to action.  You deserve a sponsor that calls you to action -- but I don't seem to be that sponsor, since virtually none of my suggestions seem to be calling you to action.  While you always have great and valid reasons as to why my suggestions aren't really for you, the problem is not that your reasons aren't great and valid -- the problem is you always seem to have a reason.  What's up with that?  What are we doing here?  You know I like you but I'm frustrated that I can't be of any real help to you -- not because you don't like talking to me, or I to you, but because none of my suggestions are calling you to action.  I'm not necessarily saying I won't sponsor you anymore, I'm saying I'm worried about this.  We should take a look at this."

I've said words to this effect so often I'm afraid there are a few sponsees recently who joked, when they asked me to sponsor them, that I won't ever have to give them the "call to action" speech.  (I have GOT to get some new material it seems.)  But sincerely, that's the deal -- there's no fault to be found -- certainly I believe that a sponsee is showing as much willingness as they're capable of at any given moment -- it may not be enough willingness to keep them sober, but they must address that lack on their own.  All I can do is reverse engineer from the conclusion, the "you're not really acting on any of my suggestions to any great degree" to illuminate the problem, whatever it might be -- which is almost always some form of self will and/or lack of willingness overall.

Specifically, in your shoes I know I would begin to resent the sponsee for indeed wasting my time and beneath that I would resent myself for feeling like I "allowed" myself to be manipulated this way, and even more deadly, I would resent myself for the fact that I haven't confronted them.  None of which is really accurate or rational -- but since when have my resentments, outward or inward, ever been predicated on either of those things!

So it sounds to me like, in addition to everything else, you also have a plain old resentment now.

And as I know you know, the Big Book says, "... when dealing with resentments we set them on paper ... "

I can say that, honestly, I would write out four columns (outlined in the 4^th Step in AA’s Big Book, for the new kids) to organize my thoughts and get as much clarity as possible in this situation -- that's usually a door to developing compassion for both others and myself -- especially when I put my name in that first column, right under their name.

And although I can usually articulate what's going on in a sort of "inventory structure" sentence (that is, I can easily rattle off something like: "I resent Miss Kitty, because her milkshake brings all the boys to the yard, and it affects my personal relations and self esteem, and my part is that I have very unrealistic expectations of Miss Kitty, the boys, and myself..." or  "I resent my semi-sponsee, because I feel like they’re full of crap and they kiss my ass without doing any of the real work, and they waste my time, and they quack quack quack, and it affects my quack and quack, and my part is quack quack quack..."),

Since I can do that verbally it can make me feel sort of, "yeah, yeah, I should write about this, but I already know what my part is, etc." so I rationalize cutting the corner (now there's a dangerous habit once you have some days under your belt!) -- but there is something about writing out those DAMN four columns that occasionally reveals something new to me -- and personally, I need all the help I can get in these situations.  And the more help I avail myself of then the more help I can be to these oh so polite sponsees who deftly deflect everything I say.

Hope that is helpful, C.  By all means, please let me know what happens!

Cheers!

Mr. SponsorPants

Bet your life?

A speaker at a meeting recently spoke beautifully and eloquently about surrender -- having just gone through a deep surrender myself on an issue that has frightened me for years I felt like she was speaking directly to me.

(Funny how that always seems to work out, doesn't it?  I don't often go on as I've heard others do sometimes, gushing "I don't know how normal people out there in the world manage to do life without meetings!" I always want to respond, "Because, Dear Heart, they don't need meetings to 'do' life, and we do..." but on occasion I am truly awed at what a powerful and personal resource the 12 Step meeting can be for us all, and am grateful to the marrow of my bones for it.)

As the sharing went around the room, a man raised his hand that I've seen come in and out for maybe three? five? years now.  (I'm sorry -- really.  But sometimes it's hard to keep track of the revolving door folks, much as I want to be there for them when they come back. Again.)  He's a likable fellow, no small amount of personal charisma, and I've always admired his colorful job history -- he has some great stories, let me tell you.

In short, Mr. Colorful talked about how he just recently had to "surrender" his sponsor.  (At least he didn't say "fired" -- I understand the shorthand, but I'm no fan of that slang.)  He's back 24 days from his 4th relapse.  He's had this sponsor for 2 years or so (I don't know how many of the 4 relapses that span of time includes, other than, obviously, this most recent). Each relapse I've seen him come back from has taken him literally, visibly, closer to the grave.  During his semi-brief bouts of sobriety he's a vital mid-forties man.  When he comes dragging back in the rooms from the front lines he looks like an 80 year old with a hearse on standby.  Needless to say the collateral damage from his using has accumulated, and there are a couple of medical complications on his plate now too.  But as any of us who are addicts can tell you, those problems are not nearly enough to keep you clean and sober.

Apparently he and his sponsor are not just sponsor/sponsee but also "good friends" -- fine, fine, but that kind of thing already makes me a little nervous, personally.  Takes a special pair to be able to keep switching hats that way.  But it seems his sponsor/friend told him that should things reach this point again that it was his sponsor's direction that Mr. Colorful check himself into an in-patient, residency recovery program.  If he failed to do that then Mr. Colorful's sponsor/friend wouldn't/couldn't be his sponsor anymore.  Friend, certainly, but not his sponsor.

Mr. Colorful shared eloquently about how this just wasn't the right thing for him to do now, he felt.  (24 days sober.  4 relapses.  Near death. "Just wasn't right" for him).  He offered a compromise to sponsor/friend, some sort of out-patient deal.  His sponsor/friend, God bless him, held fast to the consequences he laid out.

Mr. Colorful, with all the considerable personal charisma at his disposal, and no small command of the language of recovery, constructed a really beautiful case as to why he wouldn't/couldn't/shouldn't enter this rehab.  How could he put his roommate in financial straits?  How could he give up his cats?  Really, that was just the heart-string-tugging beginning.  And with what I can only describe as an opening gambit in his campaign to be elected "Mr. Humble 2009" he shared with a kind of awe-shucks, abashed tone that while intellectually he understood his sponsor's decision, emotionally he felt resentful and abandoned and how-can-he-do-this-to-me-doesn't-he-understand-I'm-only-24-days-sober.  (Direct quote, that last bit.)

Nodding away like a toy dog on the back dashboard of a car, Big Guy, recently back from his own relapse (again, I'm afraid, since last he made an appearance here), sitting next to him, looked like he was just about to hold up a fist and shout "Right on!" 

Me? I think I probably looked like I was sucking on a lemon wedge.  I try really hard to school my features into a sort of neutrality when I hear something I don't agree with in a meeting -- it's not for me to editorialize, endorse or condemn, with grimaces and frowns.  But I suspect the mask slipped a little on this one.

Mr. Colorful talked about how one of his friends he called said "Well you just prove him wrong, Mr. Colorful! Prove him wrong!"  He described how he feels like his former sponsor is saying to him "you're going to relapse!" instead of "supporting him."  (I think I might actually be making the lemon face again as I type that.)

I hear my own tone.  At best it might be called unkind.  The problem is, I think this is all a load of bullshit.  To my knowledge, dead roommates are even more financially unreliable than live roommates who must move out to enter a rehab and might be able to help find a replacement for themselves.  Cats, while they can strongly bond to people, are really only strongly bonded to live people -- the emotional connection becomes more tenuous post-mortem, I hear.

Mr. Colorful finally said something that I thought was unfiltered by bullshit, ego, unwillingness and alcoholism.  He said, "I hope I'm making the right decision."

I thought, as I tried to wipe the sourpuss off my face, "I sincerely hope you are too.  I hope I'm just a crotchety old fool, too full of himself and what he thinks to listen with any compassion to a newcomer's struggle anymore."  Believe it, kids -- I know full well that this post is slanted and I understand that this could all be my ego talking.

I really do hope he's right.  He's gambling with high stakes. 

Because it doesn't come down to something as simple as his betting that he is right and his former sponsor is wrong.

It comes down to the fact that he's betting his life on it.

 

_______________________

I've reread this post a half dozen times now.  I'm sorry, I know it probably sounds mean spirited, and small, and cold and sarcastic and judgmental.  And it probably sounds that way because maybe it actually is. I don't know -- but I can tell you that underneath those things, if they're there and I'm not tripping on my own words -- is a gibbering terror of the insanity of how an addict thinks -- because I know it's how I can think too.  And it's hard, and kind of exhausting some days, to watch people in the grips of what looks a lot like insanity to me, head down the path to jails, insanity, homelessness and ugly deaths.  And there's nothing to be done.  Nothing you can do, really.  You can't make people listen who don't want to or can't listen.  You can't force people to accept help they don't want.  It is impossible to instill willingness in people who are unwilling.  If someone is "constitutionally incapable of being honest with themselves" then there is nothing I or any man or woman can do to change that.  As has been said and said, AA is not a Program for people who need it -- it is a Program for people who want it.  I'm not going to change a word of the above, because that breaks a deal I have with myself about a level of honesty here on Mr. SponsorPants -- but I was compelled to add this.  I'm sorry if it offends, if you're new to the 12 Step world and you stumble across this I assure you that many, including myself, want nothing more than to help, and have great compassion for relapse -- it's just that along with my compassion, my terror rides shotgun.

"I can't believe I'm making one of these calls..."

1:30 in the morning.  The phone rings.

Me:  Hello?

Caller:  Hey. Hello, Mr. SponsorPants.  I ... I hope it's not too late to call.

Me: No, no! Not at all.  I was up writing.  No big.  I keep crazy hours. No worries. And if I was asleep I would have slept right through it -- so it's never too late to call, don't worry about it.  But it's a funny time for you to be calling ... what's up?

Caller:  I can't believe I'm making one of these calls but ... I just ...

They trail off.  I wait a bit. In my experience I've learned that the words I jump in and offer to help someone continue speaking might not match up at all with how they're feeling or what they were going to say.  Then I either confuse them further or they become frustrated because they might feel like I'm not really listening, or not "getting" what they're saying.

The silence lays there.

Me:  You can't believe you're making one of these calls but ...

Caller:  I am standing here with my car keys in my hand.  And I want to go out.  I mean to the liquor store.  I mean, I was going to go out, but then I thought ... I don't know I'm just ... look, I'm okay now.  It's no big deal.

They laugh a little.  To be honest with you, it sounds forced.

Caller: Really.  Just calling somebody helped ... I mean, I'm good now. 

I look at the clock.  The liquor stores close at 2 a.m. where I live. At this point it's about 1:35.

Me:  Okay.  Well ... good.  I'm glad you're feeling better.  I'm ... you know, I've made calls like this.

Caller:  Yeah, but probably not when you were X years sober.

They name their sobriety, and it is by most standards a pretty good amount of time -- as we used to say, they've got some days under their belt.

Me: You'd be surprised.  On my ... I think it was my 18th sober anniversary I was standing in front of the (Famous Local Dive Bar) really, seriously considering going in and having a drink.  It was a rough night. They don't happen all that often, I'll admit, but they happen.

Caller: What did you do?

Me:  I called someone and told them where I was and what was going on.  Just like you have.  Of course, I tried to get off the phone pretty quick.  And ...

I trail off.  I wait.  I'm hoping they ask "and what?" but they remain silent.

Me: ... and I lied at one point in the call.

I wait again.  Still nothing.  I picture them in my mind's eye, standing there in their home, keys in one hand, phone to their ear with the other. They're maybe facing the front door.  Outwardly perhaps very still but inwardly probably very not.

Still nothing.  I press on.

Me:  I lied.  I said I was okay and I wasn't.  I said I was sure I wasn't going to go in the bar and I wasn't sure at all.  I just suddenly wanted to get off the phone.

Nothing.

Me:  Hey. You there?

Caller: Yeah.

Me:  Is that maybe what's happening?

Caller: What?

Me: That you're ready to jump off the phone but maybe you're not as okay as you might be telling me?  That maybe hand-in-hand with asking for help is wishing you hadn't? 

Caller:  I don't know.  Look, I'm ... I'm going to go.

I look at the clock.  1:40.

Me: Okay. No big.  I won't keep you.  Can I ask you a favor though?

Caller: Yeah. Sure. What?

Me:  I'm embarrassed to ask it.

Caller:  Go on.  What?

Me:  Well ... I'm really worked up about this thing and ... I mean, I couldn't sleep and all, that's partly why I was up, and ... I was going to pray about it but ... you know, then you called and all ... God, do you ever hear yourself say stuff like this and wonder, "Who is this freak?  'I was going to pray ...' Who am I?"

I'm stretching the bounds of rigorous honesty with the above, but that doesn't bother me one bit -- then or now, frankly.  At my observation of how strange it is to hear yourself talk about praying we both chuckle.

Me: Anyway, I was going to pray about it, but, you know, since you called and ... look, maybe ... never mind.

Caller: What?

Me: I was wondering if you would ... God, this is so lame.  You know ... would you pray with me?  Oh my God, that might be the third most embarrassing thing I've ever said out loud.

They laugh.  I join in.

Caller:  Could be.

Me:  The first two, of course, are ...

I look at the clock.  1:44.  I tell a longish story about what I fear is the most embarrassing thing I've ever said out loud.  I eat up almost five minutes with it.  We're up to about ten till two.  They laugh at the end of it.

Me: See? Humiliating.  Thank God I never saw them again.

Caller:  What's the thing you're worked up about?

Me:  What is it always with alcoholics?  Finance or romance, right?  This time it's romance -- which is a nice change for me, it's usually finance.

I tell them about my latest dating fiasco -- I admit to you here I indulged in some embellishment in the telling -- but it gets us to 1:55 a.m.

Me: So anyway, I think I'm going to retire from the dating arena for a while -- I don't know if I'm tough enough for too much more of that.

Caller: Hey, at least you're out there, doing it.  Trying it.

Me: Well, I'm trying it anyway.  There's been plenty more trying it than doing it.

They chuckle.  It's maybe two minutes till 2.

Me:  Well, I won't keep you.

Caller: Didn't you want to pray?

Me (totally covering because I had practically forgotten that I'd started with that):  Yeah. Yes.  Absolutely.  If, you know...

Caller:  Was that a ... were you... ?

Me: What? No! I'm just, you know, weirded out by my asking you and all -- it was just spur of the moment. That's all.

We talk some more, and wind up saying a prayer together on the phone, which felt as odd as it sounds, to be perfectly honest with you.  As rich as my spiritual life is, "Please pray with me on the phone" is a bit out of my usual comfort zone.  But after we pray, and after the self-judgment and weirdness of it passes, it feels kind of nice, too.

Me: Cool. Well, thanks.

Caller: Hey. Mr. SponsorPants.

Me: Yeah?

Caller: Thanks.

Me: We're in this together.  See you Xday?

Caller: Yeah. 'night.

Me: 'night