"Powerless"

I was at my regular step study meeting last night and we went over Step One. I confess, I am one of those who tends to say, "I love this step" a lot, regardless which step we're on. I don't think I said it last night, but I did comment on how it's always good to come back around to Step One. It's the beginning, where it all starts. I. Am. Powerless. I cannot manage my life. When I forget those two basic ingredients of the program, the addict-Zach side of me rubs his hands together and cackles with delight in anticipation of the impending chaos.

Someone at the meeting shared about how, as she continues to get more time, she finds more and more things she is powerless over. This is something I have found to be true as well. It's not just my addiction that I'm powerless over--it's people, places, and things, too. I've quoted Melody Beattie before (and will again): when we try to control the uncontrollable, our lives become unmanageable. The Program teaches us to accept what is, to trust in God, and to let go.

There was nothing I could do to prevent my former employer from laying me off, but I can do my best to find a new way to earn a living. I can't make the cute girl sitting across from me in the coffee shop ask me out, but I can be confident in myself and open to allowing women into my life who are interested. I can't make the government give me more unemployment insurance, but I can swallow my pride and take my folks up on their offer to help me out.

I can't control my addiction. What I can do is not put myself in situations where I'm at risk of relapse. I can avoid the places I used to hang out and get loaded. I can call someone else in the Program when I'm itching for a fix or wanting to get drunk. I can remember that my disease isn't just about getting loaded, either. When I'm feeling low or depressed, I can find a way to be of service and help someone else. If nothing else, I can go to a meeting, share about what I'm going through, and listen to the stories of others. There is no problem so bad that someone else out there doesn't have it worse.

I can remember, too, that I have to keep moving. The AA big book is very clear on this: "We feel a man is unthinking when he says that sobriety is enough." There is a world of difference between sobriety and Recovery, between merely being abstinent and actively working the Program. If all I cared about was just being sober, then I would be perfectly happy growing pot and selling it. I could say that it was no problem since I didn't smoke it myself. I would be like the alcoholic who goes into a bar and hangs out with all his old drinking buddies and thinks his shit don't stink because he only had an iced tea.

Thank God that I can see the insanity inherent in those two situations. Thank God that I can see the insanity of being a drug addict in Recovery and continuing to hang out with those who are still getting loaded--it's what has allowed me to change my people, places, and things. I feel a bit specious as I write that, but it is the honest truth.

So many people struggle. I was so fortunate when I came into the rooms; I was done. I was ready to make the change, to not live that way anymore. Somehow, through the fog of my detox, I was able to understand that I needed to do what was suggested to me. I haven't been perfect at it, by any means, but I was able to hear what was being said and admit to myself that my way really didn't work anymore. And that it never really did.

I know that there have been plenty of times since that day in August of 2008 where I have asserted my will, taken it back from God, and tried to make what I wanted come to pass. Some of the best (worst?) mistakes of my life have been made in Recovery. But every time I take my will back, every time I try to steer my own life, disaster strikes. People I love get hurt. I get hurt.

When I trust in God, let go, and trust that there is a better plan out there than mine, things go so much more smoothly. Good things happen. My ego gets bent out of shape sometimes because I wasn't the one to bring about the good stuff, but as time goes by I get better and better at accepting it anyway. I do my best to say 'thanks' to God, too, because I know all too well that the goodness I've been blessed with is far better than anything I ever brought about for myself.

"The Fear Will Leave Us"

Last week, I watched a friend of mine chair a meeting. It was a good experience, and I was glad that I'd brought one of my sponsees along. This particular friend of mine brings a lot of humor to the telling of his story. It wasn't the first time I'd heard him chair, but it felt like the first time I'd heard this full a version of the journey that has brought him to where he is now.

During the break, I told him how proud I was to call him my friend. When the meeting was over, we stood outside and chatted for a bit. He commented on how peaceful I was, considering what I'm going through in my life right now. Monday was my last day at work. I am now officially unemployed. The next day, I filled out my claim for unemployment insurance. The amount isn't going to be even close to what I was making at my job, but it will help a lot.

My friend's comment took me a little off-gaurd. Another friend has commented to me, too, about how well I'm handling things. She told me that I'm doing much better than she was when she lost her job. My temptation is to just shrug these off, but one of the things I have learned about myself is that I can really hard on me, especially when it comes to giving myself credit when it is due.

Part of how 'well' I'm handling things is because I've had so much time to accept it. Notice of possible layoffs at my job went around over two months ago. When the official cuts were made known, my job wasn't among them. But because I was in a union and had very little seniority, I knew that I was still very much at risk. The union contract allows for 'bumpin'--meaning that anyone else who was laid-off that had more seniority than me could take my job.

It was't long before the rumors started going around. Soon, I was hearing a specific name, and I heard the same name multiple times. I knew that I was going to be bumped. When I finally got the actual notice that I was being laid-off, it was alreayd old news to me. There was no need to spend my energy yelling at my department head. There was no need to throw a tantrum; no need to throw shit or sabotage the woman who took my position.

We accept life on life's terms.

Accepting life on life's terms means accepting the reality that I was laid-off in as graceful a way as possible. There was nothing I could do to keep my job. I didn't lose it because of poor performance, or because I was loaded at work, or that I'd taken too many days off because I was loaded. People get laid-off. It's part of life. It's what is. By the time it actually got down to my last days, I'd already been through the anger and the pain. I had already done my grieving.

Thanks to my sobriety and the Programe, I have true friends in my life now. They have all been there for mw in ways too numerous to list, and I am so grateful for and to all them. I couldn't be doing this without their love and support. They're the ones who have listened to me talk about my fears and my frustrations. They've let me know they're thinking of me, that I am on their minds, in their hearts, and in there prayers.

None of this would be possible if it weren't for my Recovery. Through working the Program, we learn how to handle life on life's terms. I'm working a strong program right now: I am in near-daily contact with my sponsor; I'm going to three or four meetings a week; I'm actively working the steps; I'm of service; I'm sponsoring other men. When my program is strong, my insanity is minimal.

It is a little hard to give myself credit for keeping such serenity going through this huge change in my life. I tend to feel that I'm doing what I have to do. I don't work the program just because I feel like it. I've learned through experience that it's what I have to do to stay sober and to stay sane. My life literally depends on it. To a certain extent, thinking about how calm and peaceful I am right now leads only to a shrug--of course I'm serene: I'm working the program. But if I were to simply shrug, then that would be a denial of the miracle that is my current state of mind.

The Promises in the Big Book of AA don't say that financial insecurity will leave us, only that the fear of it will. That is the promise that is being borne out in my life right now. I'm doing the next right thing. I'm being responsible, taking care of my business, and doing what I need to do. I'm actually looking forward to this next stage of my life. I'm going to put more focus on my music and my writing. I find myself wondering if maybe this time is actually a gift from my higher power--the chance to do what I was put on this earth to do.

“Talk About Yourself”

(This blog is first in a 4-part series, “Sharing 101”)

To a newcomer, some of the things people who have time share can seem insane. To an old-timer, the perspective of someone new who hasn’t worked the steps and hasn’t yet been restored to sanity can be downright laughable. If they’re lucky, the newcomer can hear what is said and say to themselves, “wow, I want that.” An old-timer can hear the struggles of the newcomer and remember that they, too, have been there. They might think, “thank God I don’t have to do it like that anymore.”

A share that got the “I want that” reaction from me was someone who said they no longer had bad days, only bad moments. One that caused me to shake my head was hearing someone with around a year say they “used to” be an addict. One that made me take notice was someone with about a year and a half who talked about the pace of change slowing down. Another that really got me, to the point I spent a considerable amount of time discussing it with my sponsor, was hearing someone actually lecture the newcomers, tell them all about what they needed to do and how crucial it was that they do it.

We share our experience, strength, and hope…

I don’t remember who it was that explained to me the best way to share, but it was a suggestion I received fairly early on. They told me that, when I share, I am to talk about me. Resist the temptation to use the ‘you’ word; talk in terms of myself, saying ‘I’ and ‘me’. Talk about what is going on with me, in my life, how I’ve handled it. Sometimes I’m able to see the difference between how I handle things now and how I used to handle them, and I can share that too.

This is the way the program works. We don’t tell each other what to do. We don’t talk down to each other. We don’t instruct each other. We offer our own insights, we talk about what it is that we are doing in our lives now, how we are using Recovery to guide our thoughts and our actions. When I was a newcomer, the last thing I wanted was to be told what to do. I think a lot of us feel that way when we’re new.

Instead of lecturing people who are new (or anyone else, for that matter), we simply talk about ourselves. If someone finds it useful, they can choose to apply it in their own lives. This is why working the steps is only a suggestion. Without willingness, the program can’t do anything for us. I’ve heard it said and said it myself—Recovery is not for those who need it, only those who want. Like so many others, I had to become willing, within myself, to work the steps. No one else could make me do it. It is that change, the willingness to stop doing it my way, that opened the door for all the other changes which followed.

It isn’t always easy. I want to help others, too. I see new people come in, struggling to break free of this disease. I see people come in, too, who don’t really care all that much one way or the other. Maybe they’re there because they’re court-ordered, or their loved ones have ‘made’ them. If they ask my advice, I give it. But on the whole, I do my best to just talk about myself, what’s going on in my life, and how Recovery has helped me handle it better.

“Being Present”

(This blog is second in a 4-part series, “Sharing 101”)

This past week has been full, to say the least. Good, bad, and all the spaces in between. On Saturday, I watched my sister get married. My baby sister. She’s 30 now, but in my mind she’ll always be sort-of frozen at a freshman in highschool. The ceremony was held outdoors and it was beautiful. There was a point where I found myself so grateful that I was able to be there and be sober for it. I remember when my grandmother passed away a few years back and I was stoned out of my mind for the funeral. It was a real blessing to be present for this event.

I took an old friend with me to the wedding. She lives in another city, but will still see each other pretty regularly. Last time we visited, she took the bus up to see me. I offered to go and get her this time around, seeing as she was my date and all. On the way to get her, I got pulled over by the cops because the registration on my car was expired. At first, the cop threatened to impound my car, which would have left me stranded far enough away that the chances of making the wedding would have been slim-to-none. As it turned out, he only gave me a fix-it ticket. But I wasn’t loaded and I didn’t have anything illegal in my car. There was nothing to be paranoid about.

As the possibility of my car being impounded hung in the air, I didn’t even feel the need to have an imaginary phone call with my sister telling her I would miss the wedding. When I’d seen the cop pull in behind me, lights flashing, I was calm. As I talked to him, I was courteous, even apologetic. There was no need to have hysterics. There was no need to yell at him, or explain frantically about the wedding. In the end, it may have even been that calm demeanor which helped me out. And what was there to say, really? My tags were expired. I hadn’t been responsible. Throwing a fit wasn’t going to change that, and it didn’t even occur to me to try.

When I stop and think about how different that is from the way I used to handle things, I am amazed—almost to the point of being dumbfounded. I was the guy who was always going on and on about 5-0. I played with a hip-hop band for a couple years, and we saw our share of cops being cops, and we relished in our hatred of them. I can’t claim to like the police very much, but I can admit now (however grudgingly) that they are just doing their job. And, after all, my tags *were* expired.

My friend and I had a blast at the reception. We talked, joked, and laughed. It truly was a celebration of joy. I made a point of taking my sister aside and letting her know how happy I was for her. Being able to relax, enjoy myself, and have a good time was truly a blessing. After the reception, I took my friend home, then continued my drive on down south to where I had a music commitment the next day.

I love playing music. I’ll never forget the feeling, after getting sober, of being able to still make music—and that I did it every bit as well if not better than I had when I was loaded. This gig I did on Sunday is one I do a couple times a year, usually. They’ve gotten to know me and I always get nice compliments. For me it’s another way of being of service. I get to go down there, give them a little something different, and give their regular guy a break.

I’ve played piano nearly 25 years, and doing this particular gig isn’t a struggle. But the reason it isn’t a struggle is because I go in a couple hours before I’m supposed to start and practice. I start off with my scales. I rehearse everything I’m scheduled to be playing that day. I improvise a little and see what special flavor I can bring. It’s because I have the discipline now to practice that things go well. When I was getting loaded, I’d just show up and wing it. Sometimes things would go alright, sometimes they wouldn’t. Now, they almost always go very well. Again, it’s the difference of being present, and having the presence of mind to do what I need to do in order to do the best I can. And more is my joy for a job well done.

On the way home, I stopped by my sponsor’s place and spent a few hours with him. Even though we talk on the phone almost every day, I don’t get to see him as often as I might if he lived closer. We took a hike and talked about all kinds of stuff, including the step work I’m doing. He’s been a great guide and always encourages me to work towards having balance in my life. He gives me that extra push when I need it, and helps me to remember to give myself credit when I deserve it. When I’m stuck inside myself, he’s always there with a different perspective and more often than not I’m able to see it. Asking for help, and following the advice I’m given when I do ask, can still be a struggle for me at times. But the fact that I don’t stay stuck anymore, damned and determined to do it my way even when it clearly isn’t working, is nothing short of a miracle.

“Taking Responsibility—Finally.”

(This blog is third in a 4-part series, “Sharing 101”)

Monday morning, I was all set to get things squared away with my car. I knew the registration was past due, and figured that I probably had a few unpaid parking tickets on there that I’d have to deal with before I could get things in order. I called in to work and let them know I wouldn’t be in, grabbed a jacket, double-checked my bank account, and prepared myself for a long day at the Department of Motor Vehicles. I made it exactly half a block.

As I approached my car, I could see from a distance that I wasn’t going to the DMV anytime soon: I had an orange boot locked around the front left wheel. The notice said that I’d been locked down because of unpaid parking tickets. There was a phone number to call and information that it would cost $100 to get the boot off, on top of whatever other fines & fees I owed. I surprised myself, right there in that moment. I don’t think I actually laughed, but I did find it more than a little ironic that the day I chose to finally be responsible, to handle my business, and to take care of things I needed to take care of, was the day life chose to say, “oh yeah? Well I ain’t gonna make it so easy for ya.”

It did beg the question: how am I supposed to pay off these fines and fees if I can’t get to where I need to go to pay them? But that kind of thinking doesn’t do anything to get the problem solved. I sat down in my car and called the number. The automated answer service moved me from one pre-recorded option to another which all ultimately led to being placed on hold with an annoying music clip that replayed every ten seconds. I found another number and tried that, but only ended up in the same place. I tried going to their website, but wasn’t able to pay that way because I didn’t know how many unpaid tickets I had or what the citation numbers were. Soon enough, I realized that I was going to have to just walk down to city hall, about two miles away.

Did I mention it was raining?

I figured the line at city hall would be long, so I brought a book with me. The rain really wasn’t too bad, sort of light, but steady. Once there, I took my place in line, cracked open my book, and knew they’d get to me when they did. I think I was in line about an hour, maybe a bit longer. I wasn’t really counting. That’s some amazing progress right there. But what would be the point of seething? If I got to the window and started throwing my attitude, what would that accomplish? Nothing. This level of patience was totally foreign to me before I started my Recovery.

When I got to the window, I found out I actually owed over $800. There were nine violations, going back over two years to from before I got clean and sober. For someone about to be laid-off from his job, this is pretty bad news. But I had the money. I had to go to the bank and move a few things around, but I was able to pay off all my tickets and the fine for the boot, too. The most amazing part of it all was that my temper, at one time so volatile, never even raised a hair. Two years ago, if you’d told me I would handle a situation like this with a calm serenity, I would never in a million years have believed you. The truth? I hadn’t paid the parking tickets. I did owe them the money. And so I paid them. I wasn’t happy about it, but I wasn’t unhappy either. Through it all, I was pretty close to neutral: I did what I had to do, took care of business, was responsible. Later, when I was telling my mom about it, she started to fly off the handle with all kinds of comments and I just chuckled. It wasn’t even her problem, and she was far more upset about it than I was.

The next day, I went to the DMV, waited for an obscenely long time, and got my registration paid and current tags put on my car. The worst part of all of it wasn’t the long wait at city hall, or the $800 I had to pay out to the city, but the long wait in the chairs at DMV. Yet, even through that, I endured. When I got to the window, I didn’t throw a tantrum about the line. I didn’t complain to the woman working there about how I’d never received my renewal notice. Instead, I updated my address, paid my fee with late penalties, and breathed a sigh of relief. I could rest easier, knowing that everything about my car was up to date and in the clear. Being in Recovery, I have learned more about patience than there are words to describe.

The next day was Wednesday—tax day. I had run my taxes a few months back and knew that I owed federal-side. My parents had offered at the time to help me, and I took them up on their offer. They’ve been really great, actually. They know I’ll be out of work soon and have offered to do all they can to help me. They wrote me a check for the taxes I owed, and even gave me some extra cash to help me through since I’d paid so much money out to the city. I mailed out both federal and state taxes on time.

My folks didn’t call the money a gift or a loan, and they’re the kind of people that will most likely never ask for any of it back. But I know how much they’ve given me, and I’m keeping track of it. It’s important to me to be responsible now. That’s something else Recovery has done for me: changed my attitude about being responsible. These days, I want to take care of things, I want to handle the challenges life throws me. I’m able to accept help when I need it, too. In the old days, I probably wouldn’t have accepted my folks’ help. Or if I had, I wouldn’t have given a second thought to paying them back. Nowadays, I keep a budget. There’s a box in there, wired into all my various tracking formulae, that tells me exactly how much I owe my parents. I know that, when I’m able, I will pay them back. They know it, too, because they’ve seen—thanks to my Recovery—the demonstrations of my new sense of responsibility.

“Success Breeds Self-Confidence”

(This blog is fourth in a 4-part series, “Sharing 101”)

They say the disease of addiction is a disease of the mind, body, and spirit. We talk about it as being a spiritual malady. Our lives improve when we stop feeding the disease and start treating it. The better care we take of ourselves, the better our lives become. We can treat the spiritual side by working the Program—going to meetings, being of service, working with others, etc. But I have found (as have others) that it is helpful to treat the mind and body aspects as well.

When I was a kid, I was terrible at sports. I mean really, really bad. I never worked out, never played ball with other boys in the neighborhood, and was always picked last for the team—after all the girls had been chosen. When we had to do the physical fitness tests, I barely stumbled through the mile. Chin-ups? Yeah, right. I remember the teacher trying to force me to do just one. I couldn’t.

At the beginning of the year, I got it into my head to start doing pushups. I’d had this idea before, about three or four months into my Recovery. I started off easy, just ten at a time, and did them each day. Twice a month, I’d add five more. I got up to around 30 or 35, then one day missed and stopped doing them. Starting them again, I approached it the same way, but with some important differences. I thought of it more as establishing discipline for myself, as well as building upper body strength. There was something there, too, about wanting to be able to do a hundred pushups—something I never in my wildest dreams imagined I’d be able to do.

A friend of mine who had done some weight-lifting told me about the importance of rest and giving the muscles a chance to heal so that they can build up faster. This time around I decided that I’d do two sets—one in the morning, one in the evening—and do them only on the odd-numbered days so that I’d have a day off in between. I started easy, just ten at a time, with a plan to add five to each set twice a month, as before.

Currently, I’m doing 120 pushups on the days I work-out, and the most mind-numbingly amazing part of it (to me, at least) is that since I started doing them again, I have yet to miss a single day. I haven’t kept to my just add five principle, either, and have in fact added more as time has gone on and my body has gotten stronger. There have been times when it was difficult, but I pushed through it. There have been mornings where I wake up and say to myself, “oh, HELL no,” then give myself permission to not do them that day, and yet still find myself on the floor pumping out sets of twenty. I can see the results in the mirror, and others have noticed it, too.

As for treating the mind part of the disease, this year I started going back to school. Even before it looked like my job was in jeopardy, I had done some research on my personality type and what kind of profession I was best suited for. Almost all my searches pointed towards the idea of becoming a therapist. It appeals to me a lot. I could be my own boss, help others, and volunteer my time at Recovery houses as well. I made the decision to study psychology.

When I’d gone to college before, I didn’t do all that well. I didn’t care much about it, and my disease was entirely untreated at the time. I had a chip on my shoulder so big I’m surprised I could walk straight. I didn’t put in very much effort and blamed the teachers when I didn’t succeed. Going back to school wasn’t scary so much as it was something I knew I needed to approach with caution. I didn’t know how I would do, how much I’d be willing to put into it, or how well I’d be able to keep my mouth shut. I decided to start small, with just one class.

Back in January, I started the intro class that all psych students have to take. My teacher turned out to be someone whose political ideology differs radically from my own. Somehow, I have been able to keep my mouth shut as she goes off-topic in her lectures. Even though I want more than anything to correct her as she spouts her opinions as though they were facts, I have been able to keep it to myself. I study. I read my text and my notes, and I do the homework.

We’ve had three tests so far. On the first one, I got a ‘B’. Respectable, but not as good as I wanted to do, or as good as I suspected I was capable of doing. So I stepped up my efforts. The next test, I got the ‘A’ that I’d wanted. Even better, I got a progress report on how I was doing in the class that showed my total accumulated points: 242 out of 252. That’s 96%. I don’t know if I’m setting the curve, but even if not I’m still right at the top. On Wednesday, we had our third test. I hadn’t studied as hard for it as I would have preferred, but I went in and did my best. The results came back and it was another ‘A’.

After the craziness of Monday and Tuesday, getting that ‘A’ felt like one of the biggest victories ever. The next morning was one of those days I really wasn’t going to do my pushups, but somehow dropped to the ground and did them anyway. Afterwards, I felt great all day, and I remembered something I had learned somewhere along the way about how our self-esteem is tied directly to our successes in life.

An amazing benefit of the program, for me, has been the successes it has given me and the opportunities I have been given to create success for myself. This current set of step work that I’m doing is focused a lot on my self-esteem issues. Having just those two things—the test and the pushups—happen one right after the other was a huge boost.

I can look at my clean time and feel proud of that. I haven’t done it alone, of course, but I have kept with it and done my part. I have stayed clean and sober. That’s not what’s supposed to happen. I’m a drug addict. I’m supposed to be on drugs. Doing well in school in a class that I would have failed in the past is another miracle. Working out is one thing, but being consistently disciplined so that I do it on a regular basis and push myself to do a little more each time, is another thing entirely. The fact that my recent successes come on the heels of some very difficult life stuff only underscores their significance. And I’m not just talking about the issues with my car.

Come next Tuesday, I will be officially unemployed. There are still some issues in my personal life that I am working on. But I know neither of these things is cause to get drunk or high over. I will do what I can to find work, and I’m planning to use the time to see if I can’t make a living doing the things that I love—my music and my writing. I’m working a strong Program, doing things to help build up my self-esteem, and I know that the work I do there will help in large part with the issues I’m having and have had in my personal life for so long. I’m going to continue on with school, too, of course. Next fall, I’ll step up again and see if I can’t keep holding this success pattern I seem to be creating.

Life isn’t all successes. There are challenges, failures, it’s part of the nature of this reality thing we share. The good feelings I’m having right now won’t always be there. After all, this too shall pass. But I know that if I keep on doing my part, if I keep on taking those little baby steps, keep working the Program, and keep on treating my disease on all fronts, the general trend is towards the good. Sometimes, the climb is so steep that the things that try to knock me down don’t even cause me to bat an eye.

These are the blessings of my life in Recovery. Now, here, today, right in this very moment, life is better than I ever dreamed it could be. For the first time ever, I am having success doing things I once thought were impossible for me to do. When challenges arise, I see them as challenges, as opportunities. I handle them. I handle my life as an active participant, not a whiny bystander. I do my part. I do what I can. I ask for the help I need. Then I let go and let God take care of the rest.

“No One Cares”

Stop me if you’ve heard this one before: “No one out there cares that you’re sober.” Or how about this one: “I’ll have [20 years] tomorrow and nobody outside these rooms gives a rat’s ass.” Or maybe this one: “Nobody understands what an accomplishment this is.” Heard anything like that before?

How about this: “It doesn’t matter what other people think.” Or maybe this: “I don’t give a fuck what other people think.” Or my personal favorite: “Someone else’s opinion of you ain’t none of your business.” Yeah. I like that one a lot.

The idea that what other people thought of me doesn’t matter was a foreign concept to me when I started Recovery. For most of my life, I lived according to what other people thought of me. I tried to say things, do things, so that others would like me (or sometimes to make them hate me). If they had a good opinion of me, I had a good opinion of myself. If they criticized me, told me I was worthless, that was how I felt. My self-esteem was entirely dependent on other people.

This way of living is a recipe for disaster—particularly for those of us with this disease.

If we are dependent on others’ opinions about us in order to feel good about ourselves, that leads directly to our acting in ways to affect their opinions. It means that we spend our energy trying to change them, trying to control them. To make matters worse, we can be somewhat successful when we do this. There are plenty of people out there who are willing to play along. We do nice things for people and they show gratitude and appreciation. We feel better about ourselves because of their reaction.

But they don’t always react positively. Some people resent any attempt to be controlled. Sometimes their reactions are consciously calculated to give us the exact opposite reaction of what we are trying to achieve. We do something nice, and they react with scorn. That can lead us to feel bad about ourselves. After all, we did this great, wonderful thing for someone—without even being asked! How dare they not appreciate it?! I’m thinking of an ‘R’ word… “Resentment”.

Entire books have been written on this cycle, and it has a term very familiar to many of us in Recovery: codependency. It’s a vicious cycle. You do something nice for someone, not because you want to just be helpful, but because you are expecting something in return: for them to be nice to you; for them to feel a certain way; for them to say a certain thing. We put ourselves in positions to be rescued, refusing to do something we can and need to do for ourselves in an attempt to force someone else to do it for us. That way, we can later rescue them. Sometimes it’s referred to as an unwritten or unspoken social contract.

Can I take a few seconds to call a spade a spade? This. Is. Control. It is manipulation. When we engage in this cycle, when we engage in this behavior, we are attempting to control other people. To make matters worse, there is a large portion of our culture out there that thinks this is the way things are supposed to be done. Certain religions, like Christianity, are particularly guilty of it. Women on the whole are trained to do it from a very young age. They are taught to be ‘nurturing’. True nurturing is something else entirely. More often than not, what they are really taught is codependence.

Breaking the codependent cycle is as difficult as breaking any addiction. It takes developing boundaries. It takes sticking to them, because the people around you won’t be used to it. They will test you. They will throw tantrums and hissy fits and all kinds of shit at you in an attempt to see if you’re serious, if you really mean it. But it is possible.

We can refuse to do things for people that they can and need to do for themselves. We can insist on doing the things for ourselves that we can and need to do for ourselves. We can provide help to others only when it is truly needed. We can wait until we are actually asked for help—it’s the best indicator that someone is willing to receive it. Someone who doesn’t want help may very well fight you in your attempts to provide it. Ask anyone who has tried to get a loved one to stop drinking or using before they were ready.

It is true that helping others feels good. But when we get locked into that codependent cycle, we come to depend on that giving of help to feel good about ourselves. Once that happens, we are no longer truly giving. We are now manipulating. We are doing something for someone else not for the joy it brings them, but the feeling it gives us. This form of manipulation is every bit as dangerous as any other.

If our self-esteem is dependent on what someone else feels about us, it’s not truly our own. Our own self-esteem remains low. Under-nourished. And does in fact get chipped away at bit by bit, because the good feelings we do have aren’t coming from within, but without. That diminishes our inner selves. We think lower of ourselves; we think that how we feel about us isn’t as important because other people feel good about us. We come to value someone else’s opinion of us more than we value our opinion about ourselves.

Someone else’s opinion of you is none of your business.

Other people are allowed to feel how they feel; that means you are allowed to feel how you feel. When we have low self-esteem, when we don’t like ourselves, it’s much easier to focus on how other people feel about us—especially if they have a good opinion about us. Doing the work so that we feel good about ourselves is a lot harder than manipulating someone else to feel good about us. More often than not, it’s easy to make someone feel good about us. But, if we are focused on how other people feel about us, we are distracting ourselves from the fact that we don’t like ourselves. It’s Denial all over again.

We crave external validation. We are human beings, social creatures. We want other people to like us. We want others to approve of us. It’s natural. The secret here is some of the oldest wisdom: be yourself. It’s foolish to think everyone will like you, and futile to try and make it so. You can’t control other people, only yourself. So be yourself. The people who do like you will really like you—and for who you really are.

So what do we do when we find ourselves caring what others think of us? We do our best to let go. We remember that their opinion of us isn’t as important as our opinion of ourselves. We remember that we can’t control others, only ourselves. Instead of seeking the approval and validation of others, we give it to ourselves. We look in the mirror and say ‘I love you’ to the reflection.

Someone who wasn’t in Recovery once tried to insist—and very loudly—that they could control other people. She said (in effect), “If I come up to you, spit on your face, and tell you you’re a sack of shit, wouldn’t that ruin your day? Wouldn’t that make you feel bad?! Come on, now. Honestly.”

Honestly? Only if I let it.

“The Leaky Dam”

When I was brand new, I picked up a lot of program-speak right away. Freshly sober, ego raging, and major pink cloud action happening? Yes, I was speaking the language of the program as though I actually knew what I was talking about. Never mind that I hadn’t worked through the steps. As far as I was concerned, I was an expert and already knew everything.

It’s a bit humbling to look back at that now, but I can have the same compassion towards myself that I have towards others I meet who are in the same position. There are meetings out there where, if you have less than a year, they prefer that you don’t share for these very reasons: you’re new; you haven’t worked your steps yet; you haven’t been restored to sanity; you don’t know nothin’ and even worse, you don’t yet know that you don’t know nothin’. Their message is simple: sit down, shut up, and listen; try to actually learn something; you’ve been given what just might be your last chance—grab it with both hands and hold on.

My first sponsor and I had a conversation once. I don’t remember what it was we were talking about (those early detox days are pretty hazy), but I told him about something I did and bemoaned the fact that I was engaging in ‘old behavior’. He chuckled a little, then looked at me and said, “well, if you’re still doing it, it’s not old behavior, now, is it?” Talk about putting me in my place. You can’t take a step back if you haven’t taken any forward.

It’s a miracle of the program that we are able to make any change at all. Before we start treating our disease, our lives are like rivers flowing with such force as to be seemingly beyond changing course. By working the program, by following suggestions, we dam that river and move it in a new direction. The more suggestions we follow, the better the dam and the better a new course we set ourselves on. Each suggestion we follow is like adding another brick to make the dam stronger. Each suggestion we don’t follow leaves a hole for our old patterns and behaviors to pour through, continuing our lives on their old course of insanity and destruction.

Our sponsors aren’t there to coddle us or to tell us that everything will be alright. A good sponsor will never cosign our bullshit, just as the good friends we make in the rooms won’t. Sometimes we don’t want to hear it. Sometimes we can’t bear to look in the mirror being held up because we don’t want to see what’s reflected there. Sometimes we cut off contact because we can’t bear to acknowledge the truth they are showing us. I’ve heard it said that if you aren’t pissed off at your sponsor on occasion, they’re not doing a very good job.

We are the ones who put those bricks in, who build the dam that changes our lives. We need to listen in order to learn how to build it. And we can put only a few bricks in if we want to. We can go to meetings every once in awhile, work some steps when we feel like it, and all the while the rivers of our lives continue flowing in the same direction. We can try that easier softer way for as long as we feel like, but the real change only happens when we get honest with ourselves. When we admit that our way doesn’t work. When we find the willingness to follow the principles and really truly work the program, that is when things truly change. Until then, all we have is a leaky dam.

“Who’s Got An Attitude Problem?!”

I better raise my hand, here, or else I’d be one huge hypocrite. Besides, I’m not the first person to be described as having an ‘attitude problem’. Something tells me a lot of us who come into the rooms have heard this dandy little turn-of-phrase used against us. Sometimes our attitude problem is nothing more than a description of the in-your-face way that we refuse to be anyone else’s golden boy (or girl). Sometimes it’s a dangerous insistence that we can do it ourselves. This is most dangerous to ourselves, naturally. One of the indicators that we have hit bottom is when we finally admit that we do need help; that we can’t do it alone; that our way really isn’t working.

The literature talks about a changing of our attitudes, how through working the program, our attitude changes into an ‘attitude of gratitude’. Kinda catchy. A little cheesy, too, but like so many other of the little aphorisms we encounter in the program, it has far more truth in it than its simplicity suggests. I’ve heard many people share that they make a gratitude list everyday. That’s not a bad habit to be in. It’s not something I do personally, but I admit there are plenty of times where I’ve stopped to count my blessings.

The mind is an amazingly powerful thing. What philosophers talk about—how we determine our own reality—has a lot more truth in it than we realize. There’s the old saying that if a man feels he’s going to die today, we will probably find a way to make it happen. Scientists have done studies proving that people who believe they are lucky actually are.

The cycle of depression is a damning one. When we hate ourselves and the world around us, we act with negativity. We snap at the hands of those who reach out to us, and our lives become self-fulfilling prophecies. We think everybody hates us, so we treat them in such a way as to ensure that they do. We think there are no opportunities for good things, and so we don’t look for opportunities and shun them when they do manifest. Because we are convinced that good things can’t happen, we sabotage ourselves when they do. Because we think we are unlovable, we act out in ways that prevent others from loving us.

The whole idea of gratitude is to take this vicious cycle and turn it in the other direction. By being grateful for the good things we do have, we can begin to open ourselves up to other good things coming into our lives. Counting our blessings can lead us to a place where we are happy and content, which in turn becomes its own self-fulfilling prophecy. When we can see the good things that have happened to us, we can begin to accept that, yes, good things can and do happen to us, which helps us to be open to more good things happening. A positive feedback loop is created in the place of the negative one.

We really do determine our own realities. We can be convinced that life will always be terrible, and then it will be. Or we can be convinced that life is good and that wonderful things will occur, or even just that it will get better—and then it does. It takes faith. It takes patience. Sometimes it takes a whole lot of acting as-if. But it works.

“Relationships, Inc.”

RELATIONSHIP: Really Exciting Love Affair Turns Into Outrageous Nightmare; Sobriety Hangs In Peril.

My sponsor told me about that acronym once when I was going through some severe pain. I had violated some highly-held suggestions of the program (no new relationships for a year, no thirteenth stepping, don’t date a newcomer…) and was paying the price. At the time, I couldn’t understand why I was in so much pain. I couldn’t understand what had gone wrong. I had thought, “Just because I’m in Recovery doesn’t mean I’m going to stop living my life, right? RIGHT?!”

I gravitated towards those who told me what I wanted to hear, as we tend to do when we are letting our own will run things. I clung to the people who said it was okay to date someone from the groups, that it’s what happens—we have common understandings with each other and know where the other is coming from and can best relate to each other. I listened to the people who said that it was perfectly okay for me to date a newcomer since I was one, too.

Every comment was used as a rationalization to justify my doing what I wanted to instead of following the suggestions I didn’t want to follow. Instead of letting go and trusting my higher power to give me what I needed, I had my hands firmly on the steering wheel of my life. I knew what I wanted and I was damned and determined to make sure it came to pass. I ended up every bit as insane as I was before I started my Recovery without a shred of serenity in sight. It is nothing short of a miracle that I didn’t relapse.

Having put some time between then and now, having worked through the twelve steps (some of them more than once), and having gotten a lot more Recovery under my belt, I can see the wisdom of those suggestions much better now. I can also see the folly of my own actions much better.

You don’t date a newcomer because you have no right to put someone else’s sobriety at risk. My definition of a newcomer is different now, too. It isn’t so much about how much time someone has, whether they’ve hit that magical ‘1 year’ mark or not, but more about whether or not they’ve worked their steps. Someone who hasn’t worked their steps hasn’t been restored to sanity, as we say. Their thinking is still insane. If someone is insane, they aren’t capable of being in a healthy relationship or picking a healthy partner for themselves. They haven’t yet learned to truly love themselves and are incapable of truly loving others. Of course—and perhaps more importantly—all of this applies to our own selves when we are new to the program.

The meditation I received in my email this morning was about relationships. I must confess that it is just a little bit weird for me any time the ‘Just For Today’ meditation applies so specifically to what I’m going through in my life. Sometimes I’m grateful for it; sometimes I’m pissed off by it; sometimes it’s just plain creepy. This is definitely one of the creepy times. Anyway, the JFT talked about how we can work the program on the issue of unhealthy relationships, too. As we did with our addiction, we must first admit that we have a problem. Ultimately, we apply Step Twelve: practice these principles in all our affairs.

I just happen to be working a set of twelve specifically around my relationship issues, which is why it was a little creepy to see this particular ‘Just For Today’ this morning. Doing this new work was something I came to organically. I was feeling some pain (ah, that wonderful motivator) and just started writing. Page after page came out, and it occurred to me that I was doing step work without even realizing it. I talked with my sponsor about it. Then I went back and looked again at what I had written and realized that I hadn’t actually done step work, merely prepared myself to do so. I had done what some people call ‘Step Zero’—admitting I had a problem, surrendering to that reality, and admitting that I needed help. So I cracked open my step-working guide and dove into the actual work.

It’s been hard, maybe even harder than when I worked my steps on my addiction. Going over all my relationships has been an emotional ordeal, to put it mildly. But I’ve already hit on some powerful realizations. Though I’m still in the beginning of this work, I’m already gaining wisdom and even a bit of relief. By turning the spotlight on this issue, by writing it down in black and white, it’s all laid out there for me to see. And one thing is abundantly clear: when it comes to how I have done relationships in my life, I have been completely insane.

The women I’ve chosen to be with, I’ve chosen them not because I thought they could make good partners for me, but because I was desperate to have someone in my life. I can see how I’ve let guilt, shame, and fear motivate my choices. Time after time, I chose women who couldn’t possibly be good to me, because I was acting out of a place of fear—the fear that I would never find someone, that I’d always be alone. There are other things, too, like the idea that I need to have someone in my life in order to be happy. That is straight-up insanity, and it resembles my addiction in a not-coincidental way: I used to think I needed to be loaded in order to be happy, too.

I have (and still do) struggled with self-esteem issues, feelings of low self-worth. Sometimes they were at the forefront of my mind. At other times, they were buried beneath my consciousness. I kept them there, deep in my denial, because to recognize them would have interfered with my getting what I wanted. It’s tough to remember that I am a child of the Is. It’s tough to remember that the power greater than myself loves me so deeply, so powerfully, that no matter how much love I can possibly imagine, the actual amount of love the Is has for me is far, far greater.

When I have acted out of fear of being alone, or the sense that I am not worthy of having someone good in my life, I have made errors in judgment every bit as insane as those I made to feed my active addiction. I was incapable of examining a potential mate to see if she would be good for me. I made wild stabs in the dark out of desperation, hoping and praying that someone—anyone—would say ‘yes’ to me. If a woman came along who was interested, I said ‘yes’ without even bothering to think about whether or not she could possibly be a good partner to me in my life, or if I was even actually interested. The end results were always pain. For someone like myself, with a history of suicidal thoughts and behavior, I can see how my life truly does depend on finding another way.

And so I choose to do the work. I choose to honestly admit that I do indeed have a problem and am absolutely insane. I’m finding the hope that my higher power can restore me to sanity. I am having faith in the process. And I am putting my courage to use, examining what I have done, looking at my part and not others’. I do all of this not just in the hopes of being restored to sanity and becomming able to have a healthy relationship, but also with the hope that I may find peace and comfort in the knowledge that I don't have to be in one. My goal is to have Serenity whether I am in a relationship or not, and that's a damn fine goal to have.