Mr. SponsorPants

a moment sublime

She shares pretty much every week.

Every.  Single.  Week.

Now, let me state right at the outset that I think people should share as often as they feel the need to, and to hell with what anyone else thinks.  For me a meeting of Alcoholics Anonymous is medicine, and sometimes to get my full dose I need to raise my hand and speak to the topic, or share something that's going on with me, or in general open up and smash through my ego-fears of what other people will think of me.  And I support fully, totally, any alcoholic's right to do so, within whatever format a group has decided upon.

But passionately believing that doesn't mean I always enjoy it.

We're only human after all, and on any given day those pernicious defects of character which dog every step of our spiritual growth are in full bloom.

And such was the case with me this last time she raised her hand to share.

You see, it's always the same thing.  There's a lengthy wind up, in which every identifiable group in the room is praised,  "You know, I really love X people," -- not praised in a condescending way I hasten to add, but week after week after week it starts to become a little twee -- and then pretty much one of two stories gets told, ending with a last little stroke for the people in the room.  

Listening to this a dozen or more times has awakened the worst of my qualities.  I am intolerant and judgmental and impatient.  I have barely been able to keep myself from tossing off a few withering comments at her expense to a few friends at the meeting. 

So this past week, up goes her hand, and the speaker, who had never been to the meeting before, called on her.  There was that almost imperceptible rustle in the room, people shifting in their chairs or catching someone's eye -- I fear much of the group is in the same place I am.

I kept my eyes down as she spoke, listening without really hearing, and feeling that awful/comfortable/toxic/pleasurable judgmental thinking wheeze into life in my head.  I was afraid if I looked at one of my friends my poker face would break or my eyes would give me away, and that is wrong, to editorialize in such a way when someone else is sharing -- well, wrong for me anyway.

She was working towards the end of her roster of groups of people she liked, (we'd been through the heritage of the speaker, the dominant demographic in the room, and were taking a quick lap around people raised in a certain religion, "And you know, I just love the X's.  It's just so special to spend time with...")  and as sometimes happens to me -- though I'm hard pressed to believe I deserve it -- I get a sudden, subtle gift:  A better thought, something from a what I suspect is a much better place, comes into my mind like a clean breeze through the open window of a sick room.

"What happened to her, that before she can speak her mind she is driven to do this placating behavior?  How old was she when she got Taught A Lesson that it's not safe to open up until you mollify everyone around you?  What a hard thing to have inside you.  What a fearful way to be, in a room that is supposed to be so safe.  Who did that to her, and when?  And how?"

Just like *that* I felt a moment of sublime compassion for her.  This pattern she is in -- which she likely isn't very aware of -- driving her to do this verbal curtsy to everyone around her before she dares to speak up.  How hard and sad.  That's a tough thing to carry, I thought.  It will probably be difficult to break through for her, if she even perceives it...

Is it too much to say that suddenly I was able to look at her with love?  Roll your eyes, it's the kind of statement which deserves it, even though it feels like the truth.  Certainly compassion is love, and it swept up through me, sitting in my dinky folding metal chair, having just moments before been a bitter, judgmental little pig, roasting on the slow turning spit of my resentment.

Such a profound shift inside leads to talk of God, and quiet miracles, and the healing power of staying in 12 Step rooms and letting that message wash over you day after day...

Grace can come in an instant.  One moment I can feel nothing but contempt, the next... I am full of compassion.

I've been at this too long to predict how I will feel the next time she raises her hand and gets called on, but I suspect I was given a gift that will stick, and pay dividends I'm still yet unaware of.

To be clear:  She is right and fine.  I hope she keeps raising her hand and doing what she needs to do to get her dose of medicine.  It didn't -- and it still doesn't -- matter a flying fig what I or anyone else in the group thinks of that.

I just know that one more time I got something unexpected and somewhat miraculous from simply sitting in a meeting and listening.

if you don't share...

 

 

if you don't share, how can people identify?

how can people help?

how can you help other people?

let go of that tired fear about what other people will think of you and speak up.

share your experience and your truth -- you're the only you we've got, and it may be the way you put something that finally helps someone "get it."

(not to mention the way you put something when you share might help you finally "get" a few things too.)

share your scars

if all your inside scars were on your outsides, how do you think you would look?

freakish?  hideous?

I bet you would look amazing.

and glorious

and heroic.

Because every scar means you lived.

you survived.

you healed.

And a scar means it wasn't easy -- it was no light thing you lived through.

abuse -- sometimes profound abuse

heartbreak, injustice, betrayal and

(in some ways the most pitiable and horrific wounds of all)

your own twisted

attempts at

self destruction.

if all your inside scars were on the outsides, people would know what you had been through.  it would be plain you were a survivor they might come to for help or hope.

But since they can't see that,

(and looking at you now there might be no way they could guess)

I'm afraid you'll have to open your mouth and

tell them.

Do not listen to your ego and your fear, those sweet persuasive lovers who call you to come back to bed.

Share your scars.

You will save lives

and be transformed,

amazing and glorious.

it is true.

I have seen this thing many times.

Certainly not my last lesson ever -- but perhaps the last one for me from this particular Great Spiritual Teacher

Half way into the meeting, sitting in the back, he raised his hand and got called on to share. 

I'd seen him at lots of meetings over the past months.

Nice fellow I thought, but quiet. 

He began to speak, and it was a wrenching thing to listen to.  The facts as he laid them out were tough.  He was no kid, and he was trying like hell to stay sober, but the work wasn't there and he was living in his truck, pretty much hanging onto sobriety, self respect and faith by a thread.  He didn't even have the change to do laundry anymore.  It wasn't laid out with any expectation or angle (there's nothing like a group of AA's listening to a share to pick up on those... after all, we've pretty much played 'em all ourselves).  It was just a guy trying to stay sober, having a damned hard time of it literally and spiritually.

He finished saying his piece, and the meeting went on, as AA meetings do, and much good was said overall.

Afterwords, standing in line to thank the speaker, by chance I found myself behind my Great Spiritual Teacher, he whom I've written about before, and who has occasioned me so many, many, many wonderful chances to pray and grow.

And in line in front of my GST was the fellow of the wrenching share.

This is a crowded meeting, and though we were in line there were a lot of people milling about, talking, putting away folding chairs... all the activity made it so that no one was paying any particular attention to us.  Standing there quietly I watched as, without fanfare, my Great Spiritual Teacher removed several bills of a good denomination from his wallet, rolled them up and slipped them into the pocket of the guy who was having such a terrible time.

With a start GST realized I was behind him, and that I had seen him do this.  He gave me what I can only describe as a sour frown.  The line moved forward and the moment passed.

It's okay.  I don't think I'll ever need to pray for him again.  I believe that lesson is now, in the best sense of the word, complete.

A Field Guide to AA Shares

It is important to say, at the outset, that, for me, there is no "wrong" sharing in an AA meeting.

In the beginning of my AA journey I had to tell myself that or else I would never have been able to raise my hand and open my mouth.  Over the years I learned, for me, some sharing is more productive than other sharing, but every share has some value, even if it is as a horrible warning to others rather than an inspiration or panacea.  (No, seriously, the person who is consumed with self pity or resentment, who wraps up their share with "... and although I've been sober for three years, this is my first meeting in a month or so ..." is carrying a valuable message, even if they don't always see it.)

Thus, having logged thousands of chair miles in AA meetings across the country, I offer, with gratitude and wry affection for all those who both listened to me share, and been brave enough to raise their own hands and speak at group level, this, the first ever,

Mr. SponsorPants' Field Guide to AA Shares.

The "I'm Gonna Get it Together" Share

Lots of talk about what you're going to do.  Great plans and commitments and promises about how you're going to start working on your inventory, or go to more meetings, or call your sponsor, or generally "really start working your program."

This is great.  Laudable.  Inspiring... to yourself.  The best thing about talking a good game like this is that you get to feel bold and committed to action for a little while.  Sadly, experience shows that talking about doing something is not the same as actually doing it -- if it were, then I'd be sitting here on a much trimmer fanny, what with all my talk of exercise.

If you catch yourself doing this, how about committing to yourself that you come back to the same meeting next week and report the results of your grand pledges -- own whether you actually walked your talk or not.  Hold yourself to that and your fear and vanity might actually kick your ass into action.

The "Incredibly General 'Sharing in a General Way'" Share

AA suggests we share "in a general way what it used to be like, what happened, and what it's like now."  Sometimes, some folks feel the need to be a little too general:

"There's this thing, with these people, and it's impacting this other thing, and this other guy, and it's making something in my life really ... different."

I'm there for you, buddy.  I have absolutely no idea where that might be, but I'm there.

The "Toastmaster to the Speaker" Share

"Oh, so-and-so, I just love it when you speak.  You're so smart/funny/wise/interesting.  You always tell it like it is/make it real/carry a message.  I like the way you..."

Half the share is spent complimenting the speaker on what a sterling individual and tower of spiritual growth they are.  Though your words are kind, and I'm sure well intended, perhaps you should take the speaker out for coffee and tell them face-to-face, rather than play at being the charming host/hostess at the AA cocktail party.  Really, it's probably best to share for yourself and about yourself.

The "Movie Review of the Speaker's Share" Share

"Well, I liked it when you talked about _______, but I didn't like _______.  The thing with _______ was good, I enjoyed that, but the other thing, the _______, didn't really do it for me."

You might not be aware, but when people speak at an AA meeting, they're actually not asking for your opinion of what they said.  Again, really, it's probably best to share for yourself and about yourself.  (Certainly, what the speaker said can serve as a jumping off point for discussion -- in some meetings its supposed to -- but save your movie reviews for the parking garage after the movie.)

The "Rebuttal Share" Share

Without actually cross-talking or arguing, this is the "other viewpoint" or "other take on something" share.  It can be wonderful and helpful and bring different, important viewpoints about sobriety or working the AA Program to the group.  It can also just be an exercise in contrarianism and one-upsmanship.  Proceed with caution, and check for ego.

The "Dog Whistle" Share

You heard something no one else in the room heard, and you're going to speak to it.  You might actually have heard something that no one else in the room heard, or you might be totally misreading what someone said.  If you're moved, or feel strongly ... go for it.  But don't take it personally if people look at you a little quizzically during or after.

Sharing in AA is not group therapy -- at heart it is each person offering their own experience, either as they face a challenge or offer a solution, in their sobriety.  It is a powerful healing tool, and I have been witness to some amazing things along those lines.  This Field Guide is just my tongue in cheek observation of some silliness which can take us a bit off track -- sharing which any of us -- and I most definitely include myself in this -- might fall into on occasion.

As I said at the beginning, for me, there is no "wrong" sharing -- but some sharing is more productive (healing and helping) than others.

Don't hamstring yourself in a meeting -- participate.  Raise your hand and smash through your ego and fear of what people might think and put it out there.  In so doing, as the old expression goes, the life you save may be your own.

We make ourselves real...

And for an addict, when you speak the truth, you bring yourself out of the world in your head.  The world of self involvement.  The world of projection and judgment, sadness and madness.  The world of endlessly dwelling in the past or tripping on the future.

When we speak the truth, we begin to smash the ego and quell the fear.

Don't judge your truth.  Don't waste time worrying about whether you speak it well or not.

Just speak your truth -- in a journal, to your sponsor, at a meeting -- as best you can, share honestly -- speak your truth.

Even if your voice shakes.

When we speak the truth, we make ourselves real.

And that's when the healing begins.

______________________________

I spoke with someone I used to sponsor today.  They came up to me after a meeting, eleven days sober.  A year out drinking and using and they look ten years older, to me.  Not the face.  The eyes.  I've said it before, sometimes blackouts are a kindness.  I remember so clearly, in those early days, sitting in a meeting, and someone would share something and suddenly some terrible memory would come swimming up out of the dark, like the way words appear in the little window on the bottom of a Magic 8 Ball.

(No, not that kind, the toy, you junkie.)

He had a hard time telling the truth.  I understand that -- it took me two years to get fully honest in Alcoholics Anonymous.  A lifetime defense mechanism is usually not set aside over night.

We spoke only briefly.  I was running late, I had to go, so I urged him to call me.  I feel like my dance card is really full, as a sponsor ... but ... I feel very strongly that after only ten days back "sorry, you lost your spot with me" isn't what someone should hear.  He hasn't asked, I'm projecting -- borrowing trouble (and ... what's that?   Do I smell a whiff of ego there, somewhere?  Perhaps.)

To paraphrase what the book "Alcoholics Anonymous" (AA's Big Book) says in the beginning of Chapter 5, "How it works":

You can be a batspit loon, completely off your rocker, totally infantile -- a profound example of arrested development -- you can be all that, but if you have the capacity to be honest ... if you can find a way to begin to tell the truth, you can get sober.

As I said, a broad paraphrase -- but I think the spirit of what the book says is reflected there.

I hope for his sake that this time around he can find a way to be honest with himself and eventually others.

If not, whether he asks me to sponsor him again or not, I don't think there's any way I can help him.

On the other hand, it's not for me to judge.  It's for me to try -- that's how I stay sober.  That's how I tell my truth, get out of the world in my head -- regardless of what happens with him.

Driving Miss Bobbie

A great, grand, bawdy broad.

She was the first person I got to know well in AA who had come from a violent, criminal background.

When I was new she had probably 8 or 9 years sober, and when she told her story it was riveting -- hilarious and terrifying by turns.  Miss Bobbie loved AA and had earned her seat in spades.  Alcohol, heroin, mental institutions -- when she took a birthday cake she used to crow "No more paper slippers!" and laugh and laugh.  (Someone had to explain to me that paper slippers were what they wore at the mental hospital where she used to stay.  Hmmm ... "stay" makes it sound like a Bed and Breakfast.  How about ... "reside."  Though "be incarcerated" is actually the most accurate I suppose.)

When she spoke about the depths to which alcoholism dragged her, living practically like an animal, actually looking forward to stints in prison so she could get a little rest, she would go on to talk about how the 12 Steps and sobriety had given her dignity, (it sounded italicized when she said it) and her head would come up a little, and you never saw a woman more grand, in the best sense of the word.  Later in my first year, when a man got up to share, his face covered in Kaposi's Sarcoma sores (this was the mid '80's, when it was very bad, and about to get worse), he talked about having to take the bus back and forth to his doctor's appointments, and how he would remember Bobbie speaking of having dignity, when he walked down the aisle of the bus, and people shied away, understandably afraid, and how thinking of her share gave him the courage to get on the bus every day, head high.  It was one of the first times I witnessed how honestly sharing what it was like, what happened, and what it's like now can connect us in a vast network of healing and inspiration found in no other place I know of.

When I was new, Bobbie didn't have a car, and my sponsor was very big on me getting into service right away (smart man) and so I wound up giving Bobbie rides to AA meetings.

The first time I pulled up in front of her apartment, I sat and considered what kind of music I should tune the radio to so that I could impress her.  That was a regular shtick of mine -- before turning the car off I would change the station to something I thought would make you think better of me, so when we got back in the car and I started the engine it sounded as though that's what I had been listening to when I pulled up.  Such a sad, frightened fraud of a boy I was...  sometimes I think having untreated alcoholism is like being a bonsai tree -- sure, you still grow -- life happens, after all --  but you grow with terrible, implacable things binding you, so that your growth is twisted and dwarfed.  At the time falsehood and subterfuge was my best thinking on how to make a good impression.

At first, driving Miss Bobbie was terrifying.  Literally larger than life (she was a woman of healthy appetites, in every regard.  She liked to share that she loved men with, as she put it, "Great. Big. Belt buckles!" and out would come that enormous laugh, so tickled by herself she was) here was a woman who regularly stood up and told the truth!  In front of a room full of people!  And then usually shared some kind of solution from what AA suggested!  I didn't even know what was going on with me half the time, let alone have the ability to articulate it ... and share a solution?  Beyond beyond me.

So I was nervous and intimidated by this sober Force of Nature sitting in the car next to me (it dipped a little when she got in -- healthy appetites).  Naturally, because of my nerves and my newness, I filled the air with chatter, and of course, it was all chatter about myself:

"Oh, Miss Bobbie, I just love when you share, you know, I've heard you talk about some food stuff, maybe I should go to OA, and, you know, that book 'Co-Dependant No More' just came out, and maybe, you know, I should check that out, and then, you know, I have stuff with ... and then there's ... but I also ..."

She was kind, and let me go on for quite a bit.  Finally, though she must have had enough, and cut through all my nattering with advice that may well have saved my life.

AA is not founded on advice, but on the sharing of experience.  At the same time, every so often I have found the Universe gives you your cue, and that night, in that car, Miss Bobbie must have heard hers, and I'll always be grateful she took it.

"HONEY," she said, quite forcefully, to stem the flood of my babble, "Honey ... let me ask you," and she moved her hair up and away from her face, like she always did, "what Program aren't you qualified for?"

Well that was a bit of a shocker, I didn't have an answer to that one.  She went on.

"Why don't you get through all 12 Steps of Alcoholics Anonymous -- you make AA your number one and only -- and then, when you're through all 12 Steps, with one foot firmly planted in AA you can go off and explore all these other programs and issues and get whatever other help you might need -- but all that other stuff won't do spit for you if you're drunk."

Sometimes, you just need someone to give a hard yank on the rope, ya know?

We became close, over the years, and I marveled at her journey and her recovery, as many pitfalls as any of us, some by her own hand, some just a rough toss of the dice.

And she remained sober, and lived with dignity, till the end of her days, and I will always be grateful for that strong, smart simple direction she gave me on the way to the meeting that night.

A great, grand, bawdy, sober broad.

 

escapes

"My first addiction was ...

reading."

fantasy."

afternoon television."

On a semi-regular basis I hear people in meetings describe some early coping mechanism as an addiction.

Far be it from me to pick a nit, but when I was new in AA this used to trouble me, and now ... well, it still troubles me, but in a different way.

In my early sobriety, sitting in meetings and literally drinking in what was said, when people described these other, somewhat benign things as "addictions" it actually used to frighten me a little.  Although I couldn't have expressed it at the time, looking back I see what troubled me was that it seemed as though calling these other things addictions softened the whole concept of being an addict.  Like it undermined the gravity of what I called myself (and of course I must pause and point out that it is the consummate alcoholic reaction to think that what those kind souls described about themselves was in any way a comment on me.  In fact, I can remember bristling when people would identify from the lectern, "I'm so-and-so, and I'm a real alcoholic."  From my gut I would react, "Oh, what, and you're saying I'm not?"  NO, Mr. SponsorPants, they're not saying anything about you, they're talking about themselves.  Ego ego ego).

Now when I hear people speak in these terms, I'm troubled for a different reason:  Clarity.

I understand the spirit of what people are saying, when they describe (for example) their childhood fantasy life as "an addiction," but I think they would be better served -- and be more accurate -- to call it a coping mechanism.  An escape.

I do not presume to know what their truth is now or was then, but from what most people describe I think I'm not far off the mark.

For me, the reason it's important to be clear is because when I call myself an alcoholic, or when someone describes an addiction they are suffering from, it is not an idea so much as it is a diagnosis.

That's the point, right?  Every time I say "I'm Mr. SponsorPants and I'm an alcoholic" I am reminding myself that I have a disease (and letting other people in meetings know that I have traveled the same road they have).  I am stating my diagnosis.  And the reason it's important to remind myself of that is not some twisted "look how badly damaged I am" way, but because a chief symptom of the disease is the patient's ability to forget/deny that they have it.

Again, I don't think this is about playing a word game, or people not using the "right" words so much as it is keeping ourselves on point in terms of what we face, and presenting AA's idea about what alcoholism is as clearly as possible to the newcomer.

If people call every escape or habit they have an addiction then I believe it dilutes the important truth that, while I may use some things as an escape more than I should, or some habits become deeply ingrained and require a hard fight to break, addiction is something that I alone, cannot resolve.  I might (for example) have a very hard time stopping biting my nails -- it may be a real challenge to quit, but on my own I can do it.  But a (self) diagnosis of addiction is the admission of powerlessness (on my own) and is the final surrender to the idea that there is no possible way I can stop using/drinking/whatevering without some outside help.  I need medicine for my sickness (disease/addiction).  In this case, I need spiritual medicine for what the book "Alcoholics Anonymous" (AA's Big Book) calls a "spiritual malady."

The first time I make that self diagnosis -- and fully believe it -- is the beginning of being able to hear someone else's suggestions as to how to treat my disease, in the important -- life saving -- progression of admission to surrender to willingness to recovery.

I guess for me it comes down to this:

All addictions are certainly a form of escape, but not all escapes are also an addiction.  Being clear about what is what helps people new to the 12 Step world identify -- or not.  (After all, we're not selling anything.)

That's been rolling around in my head all week -- just needed to get that out.  For the Big Book's discussion of some of these ideas -- basically I'm just riffing on the whole 'real alcoholic' thing -- read around page 21 in Chapter 2, "There Is A Solution."

Cheers!

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.