“A Different Perspective”

At a recent book study meeting, we went back to the beginning: the first step & tradition. Powerless. Unmanageable. Some good things were shared. A number of folks talked about their last days, the last time they got loaded, and the welcome they felt their first time in one of the rooms. I heard someone speak about how the traditions can be applied to your daily life every bit as much as the steps can, and that was a great thing to have shared.

For me, the first step stopped being about powerlessness over just my addiction a long time ago. What it’s like for me now, is I am powerless over everything I have no control over. This is one of the most basic aspects to those of us who deal with this disease: an inability to let go of the things we can’t control; the extreme difficulty we have sometimes in accepting the things we cannot change. Thanks to my Recovery, I have gained some skill in this area and continue to learn and grow and to let the Program shape my thinking. I understand now that it is my attempts to control the uncontrollable that creates unmanageability in my life.

Working my program, doing my steps, seeking the guidance of my sponsor, have all been powerful experiences in my life and have helped me to gain a new perspective and peace over things I never thought I would be able to. This gift continues to show up in sometimes unexpected ways. The tools of the program continue to work for me, and each time they do, I am filled with gratitude.

I’ve recently learned some pretty upsetting news. My job, which I had always thought of as safe and stable, might be in jeopardy. The announcement came not from within the company, but by reading about it in the local newspaper. It’s been hard, definitely, but not hard to deal with. All kinds of feelings have come up from this: anger and fear, to name a couple. Uncle Steve has discovered a new channel on his TV where management types are assaulted, have their homes broken into, etc., and I have been shaking my head at him just a little bit, understanding completely why he’s watching that show and at the same time grateful that all he’s doing is watching the TV.

Seeing myself deal with this news, though, has been an amazing illustration to me that the Program really does work. I can feel my feelings, accept what I’m going through, and know that—whatever happens—it will all be alright. Or, as one of my favorite Recovery authors, Melody Beattie, writes, “It’s okay now.” When I was new to sobriety, Just For Today was about not getting loaded. Now, Just For Today is a powerful tool that applies to my current situation: I don’t know the future; for today I have a job, and just for today I will do it as best I can.

I’m not positive how the old Zach would handle this situation, but I have some suspicions. I’m guessing he would at the very least be complaining about how upper management is always shitting on the employees lower down the ladder; he would probably be making lots of snide remarks; and I know he would definitely be figuring out all kinds of ways to get retribution, along with a healthy dose of whining about how life is so unfair.

My Recovery has given me an entirely new perspective. I might lose my job, true, but even if I do, it won’t be the end of the world. To make an understatement, times are tough. There are many people out of work right now. The city I live in has an official unemployment rate of 15%. Who knows how high the actual rate is. There is unemployment assistance. I have a loving family who could help me if the need arose. Worse comes to worse, I could move back in with my parents. No matter what happens, I won’t be homeless; I won’t starve. There are millions who are; there are millions that do.

It’s odd, actually. The thing that has bothered me the most (so far) is the people telling me that it will be alright. Granted, when we’re in a bad mood, that can be the last thing we want to hear. In the darkness, the world can seem like it’s coming to an end. For me, being told ‘everything will be fine’ smells like denial, a place I do my best not to go to. After all those years of suppressing and repressing my feelings, it’s a blessing now to be able to feel what I feel—good and bad. If I’m angry, I’m allowed to be angry. If I’m sad, I’m allowed to be sad. Thanks to the tools I’ve learned working my Recovery, I don’t have to stay stuck in those emotions. I call my other friends in the program and share with them about what I’m going through. I call my sponsor. I don’t keep things bottled up, I feel my emotions now and express them in healthy ways. I remember that this, too, shall pass.

And I remember that, no matter what, I don’t have to get loaded—ever. No. Matter. What.