Being a Mom in Recovery

 

This particular blog is for moms in recovery. I think that often the job of parenting can be an enormous threat to one’s level of serenity. I know its true for me.

BEING A MOM IN RECOVERY

I wish I could write for both the dad and the mom in recovery, but I can only write what I know about. And what I know is this- its hard. Its exactly what they say- the toughest job you’ll ever love. My identity, first and foremost, is that of Mom. Even in my using days, I would have said this was true- but it wouldn’t have been as true as I thought. That is one of the scariest things about being an addict or alcoholic parent; we think we are doing a good job.

Apparently I said and did some weird things when I was drinking around my kids. I had somehow fooled myself into thinking that I didn’t actually drink around them- I would never keep a glass or bottle handy, but would keep it in the kitchen and nip in there for sips. (I use the term ‘sips’ loosely here) I thought they didn’t know, and i didn’t realize how odd I would behave. Mind you, I kept my epic drinking to nights when they were at their dad’s, or at least if their dad was around so I wouldn’t be the only responsible adult and could therefore drink with impunity. When it was only me and the kids, I kept it to wine, or champagne at the holidays. And because of this logic, I felt mindful and responsible, not really seeing there was a problem.

My kids now tell me of episodes in the last year of my drinking of them fighting over the remote and me taking it and throwing it off our third floor balcony. Or, yet another occasion I don’t recall, my daughter (7 at the time) asked if I loved her, and I said, “No, I only love black people.” Well I do love people of all color, but I love she and her sister most of all, and for years she really thought that I preferred all black people to her.  Or the time I told them I wanted to kill myself, and they were to scared to stay with me, and too scared to leave. I fell down the stairs that night, and they chose to go with their dad, who conveniently lived in the same apartment building, completely distraught that they might not be there to stop me if I chose to hurt myself.

It was the night that I was watching Running With Scissors that I heard the voice that told me to go to a meeting. In the movie, Annette Benning’s character thinks she is an amazing and attentive mom because she is able to say Mom appropriate things, even in the midst of a glassy eyed drug stupor, things like “did you do your homework?” or, “Are you eating? I worry about you, you know.” Upon satisfying her motherly duties she shrank back into her drug trance, smugly feeling that was a sufficient display of Motherly interest.

I was aware enough at that moment (in spite of xanax and vodka earlier in the evening) to be both appalled and scared. I put on my shoes to run to the liquor store, and a voice told me to take them off and sit down. It said I was going to wake up in the morning and go to that AA meeting at the church up the street. It wasn’t the voice I usually hear in my head, the one that is my inside voice, but one i had never heard before. I listened to it, and did exactly what it said to do.  That voice saved my life. I have been sober ever since.

It took a while to see the veil of uncertainty leave the eyes of my kids. I was not a violent or mean drunk, but I was weird and unpredictable and frightening, and they had learned to expect the unexpected. But I remember when their eyes cleared and I could see that they had chosen to trust that I was really on a different path and that they could count on it; and more importantly, count on ME. Now, the greatest gift I could give my kids is not only my sobriety, but being able to give them an example of how a woman lives by principles. I am their blueprint- they have been witness to me hitting a serious bottom on many levels, but they also have witnessed the transformation back into a useful member of society. There are enough bad examples in the media of how women behave these days; the best thing I can do is to show them is how to be strong, loving, independent, kind, attentive, capable, and sober.

If you are a mom in recovery, my hat is off to you. You have chosen a path that will alter the lives of your children in ways you will never be able to quantify. If you ever feel yourself faltering, just remember that parenting is truly, as they say, ‘the toughest job you’ll ever love.” Some days you won’t love it. Some days you will question yourself and want to slam your head into a wall. I understand this. Parenting can be a real threat to your serenity, as much as it can be the most complete joy you’ve ever experienced. Find other sober moms to talk to, to talk you through it, to talk you off the ledge, and for whom you can do the same. It is what has saved me and continues to do so- just one other sober mom saying, “I get it. I totally do. Now say the acceptance prayer!” We save lives around here- our own, our children’s, and each other. Its a beautiful, beautiful thing.

The Poetry of Sobriety

 

Today I sat in on a Poetry Group at the treatment center where I work.

I noticed clients who really did not want to participate, who came in with arms folded. That's to be expected- as alcoholics, we typically do not want to touch any emotional buttons without having a handy escape route. Not that poetry is necessarily an emotional event- but it does seem to sneak in there and pull your guts out when you least expect it. Those same reluctant people wrote some of the most soulful poetry, which might explain their reticence to participate.

 

This is the poem we read today. I didn’t much like it, but I had to concede that I could relate to it. When I was drinking and using, my poetry was equally dark, chaotic, and resigned.

THE BROKEN FIELD
by: Sara Teasdale (1884-1933)

• Y soul is a dark ploughed field

  In the cold rain;

  My soul is a broken field

  Ploughed by pain.

  Where windy grass and flowers

  Were growing,

  The field lies broken now

  For another sowing.

  Great Sower, when you tread

  My field again,

  Scatter the furrows there

  With better grain.

   

So, I didn’t much like it- it was dark and foreboding and rhymed in a way that reminded me of Dr Seuss.  However, its sort of like when they say- look for the similarities, not the differences. I needed to get over my sticking points and hear what this woman in 1930 was trying to convey- that her life was a dark, ploughed field and that if it were ever to be sown again, could it please be sown with better seeds. A lot of people feel that way. I don’t now, but I did then, and honestly she sounded a lot like one of us,  before we find out way into recovery. (Or don’t. We don’t all make it to safe harbor.) Like I said, I wrote very dark stuff when I was active in my disease. I get it.

 

After we read it, we wrote poems with this one in mind. Here is mine-

 

My soul is not a dark, ploughed field

It might be rain, but not cold

It might be dirt, but not broken

possibly electric, unpredictable

My soul takes shapes

and shifts to serve

Each passing moment

Here, then gone

My soul does not bear marks

of living recklessly, or well

It is plush always

and of its own accord

It can not be touched

but touches,

and reaches

and above all things

lets go.

 

In this, I sort of played with the bleak words of the poem, and wrote as if that writer had found the joy of recovery, instead of her dark, ploughed fields and seemingly blighted soul. 5 years ago, I could only see through the same sad lens as she. I could not have written a positive word if my life depended on it. It is only in recovery that I have learned to articulate the joy of living, the feeling of having tremendous weight lifted off my shoulders, almost like I could float away at any time from the ‘unbearable lightness of being.’ Even when times are seemingly ‘tough’, the operative word is not tough, its ‘seemingly.’ Life is a matter of what it ‘seems’ to be. A shift in perspective, and it can ‘seem’ to be something else. Like this poem, which is culled from a very sad and grey and resigned point of view. It simply a matter of how we look at it.

 

If we understand deeply that every moment we have a choice, to feel empowered, or disempowered, then we would understand that so much of how our world shows up is how we look at it, what choice we make in each moment. It requires a commitment to living life fully, giving up the victim mode, and staying aware of our part in things- but its completely and totally the essence of the art of living well in sobriety.

 

I loved the poetry exercise as it reminded me of how disempowered I was when I wrote poems in my disease. The poem I wrote in the poetry group is who I am now- my soul is not altered by life’s vicissitudes. It is plush and verdant and electric, no matter what, and stays present even when I don’t or can’t,  and wants to reach out to others to promote peace. I remember feeling that the world was killing my soul. I was the ultimate victim. But now I choose to be empowered by life, and life does not get to hammer me anymore.

 

So how are you looking at your world today? Are you seeing your challenges as great gifts, tailor made for your soul’s growth? Are you seeing ‘the universe full of magical things, patiently waiting for your wits to grow sharper?’  Its your choice. Choose wisely.

Atonement in Sobriety/ How I Woke Up In Bali (after 42 years)

 

In the 12 step process, there is an amends step that is pivotal to sustainable sobriety. An amends means to correct the error of our ways, meaning people we have wronged, lied to, stolen from, or hurt. There is a lot of talk about this step, and about what its like to make them, or to be on the receiving end of them.

ATONEMENT IN SOBRIETY           

There was someone I needed to make amends to that I had hurt ,and hurt badly.  I had been abusive, intolerant, judgmental, condescending, manipulative and insensitive.  I pretty much tried to kill this person for years. I hadn’t really even given her much thought when I was making amends; I committed these abuses against this person without giving it that much thought, either. That person is me.

Two weeks ago when I went to Bali, I only partly understood that it was an amends to myself. I understood it abstractly, intellectually, but it wasn’t until I got there that I truly could grasp the importance of this particular amends. I also couldn’t comprehend Bali itself; it lived for me only in pictures on the internet, and it wasn’t until my third day there that Bali began to be a real and living thing, like a mysterious beating heart dropped in the ocean on the outskirts of the world. It was on the third morning, when I had woken up at 4:30am (which I did every morning, like clockwork), before the roosters, sitting on the balcony watching the day wake up. In the pitch black, I could barely see the bats winging through the sky, making little ‘nit nit’ sounds. Geckos were making their strange call, “Ge-ckoooo, Ge-ckooo’. The river was flowing right below, cascading down a waterfall and into the jungle. As the sun slowly crept into the world, the roosters woke up- layers of them, some of them near, some far, some in between, and the monkeys in the jungle started woo-hooing, singing birds replaced the bats, and the constant hum of crickets and cicadas was like a Hammond organ in the background of it all- a gorgeous, impressive, cacophony. The rice workers in the paddies right across the river got busy with their rice crops, boys came out to fish in the river, and monkeys starting climbing on rooftops. The air was thick with oxygen from the abundant vegetation; I almost felt a buzz just breathing it in, and it was fragrant with frangipani from the trees, and the constant incense of the devoted. Bali came alive for me, and so did I.

I developed almost instantly a profound gratitude for all of this, and for the very fact that I was THERE, nearly an entire world away from home, observing it all. It was gratitude on a cellular level, so deep I was humbled by it, and brought to tears many times as a result. I began to feel myself wake up on levels I hadn’t been aware of.

Nearly a week later, as I floated in the Indian Ocean (warm as a bath) after many days of walking in this world with my heart wide open, and my eyes wide open, and smiling bigger than I can remember smiling, feeling the miracle of every little thing, I felt a new thing happen. I felt my amends to myself happen.

I almost didn’t go on this trip. Why? Well, we humans are sabateurs, and alcoholics and addicts especially so. I had created a life that felt like I was double parked at all times. Everything was urgent, bordering on code red. I was taking things personally when I knew better. Mind you, I was happy before I left, but I was happy in spite of the conditions of the world I’d created for myself. I had a story going about the hardships of being a single mom of two teenagers who works full time and gets no child support. I had really identified with that story, with the idea that if I slipped up, it would all fall apart. That's a lot of pressure. Without calling it suffering, I embraced suffering and called that happiness. I just thought “that's life. Embrace it.” So I thought I shouldn’t go, I shouldn’t spend money I don’t have, I can’t leave my kids with friends and moreover can’t impose on said friends, if I leave work for two weeks, they will see they can live without me and let me go, or my house might burn down. Its not the right time. I can go later. Who do I think I am to take two weeks and go? And mostly, who am I to deserve this?

Its worth saying here that I haven’t had a vacation in 16 years. And I’ve never left the country. I had painted myself into a corner and then decorated that corner with globes and maps. We do this. We shrink to fit.  So it was a compelling conversation that I was running in my head about not going.
I asked for signs, indisputable ones. And I got them. My ticket cost $1600. I was concerned about the money but I kept reminding myself that God always, ALWAYS, takes care of me. And he did- I got a request to write an article for $1000, and my storage discovered a deposit they owed me for $600. Then my landlady gave me $500 off my rent- for no real reason, just because I have been here a long time. And to top it off, when I was told to get a rolling backpack for the trip, I found one in a box  of free stuff from a neighbor who had moved. It was all covered, and I couldn’t really argue with that.

So, I am floating in the ocean, realizing the spiritual work it took just to get myself here, the stories and things I had to let go of, the negative voice in my head I had to ignore, and the fears that nearly crippled and immobilized me. I was floating in the Indian Ocean, In Indonesia, as the sun was setting behind holy Mt Agung, with the Muslim prayer being sung over the loudspeaker in town and Hindu incense being carried in the silky ocean breeze- little ol’ me who didn’t think she deserved this.  Suddenly I felt all the little fragments and pieces of me that splintered off during the course of my life come back together, like the film of a glass shattering on the floor in reverse. For the first time I felt entirely complete- ONE. Another word for this is Atonement. At-one-ment.  I also felt united with all things, with everything,  and I experienced the full force of my amends to myself. This moment, now, is for all the abuse, the neglect, the harm I caused. For isolating you and lying to you and for not taking care of you. Atonement. Amends. I never have to live like that again.

When people ask me how my trip to Bali was, I smile, and say, “It was awesome.” There really isn’t any way to convey the spiritual shift that happened there, that the spirit of the land and the people with their smiles and devotion and gratitude broke the remaining guard down and opened my heart entirely to the light of living. I tell them I snorkeled and played with monkeys and went to ancient temples and got massages everyday. But as I say it, I am smiling deeper than I used to, and having more meaningful eye contact than previously, and feeling like I have tentacles in my heart, reaching out to them, trying to give them some of warmth and love that Bali gave to me.

There is no way, NO WAY, I would have had this experience without sobriety. I can’t wait to see what’s next. This is an exciting way to live, to know that life is a grand adventure and we don’t really have anything to fear. We make up most of what we think our lives are then suffer as we live inside the boxes we create and the terms we set for ourselves. It doesn’t have to be like that. And its only gets better. Stay sober, or get sober, but wherever you are on your journey, KEEP GOING. Stay open and willing to do something different. We aren’t here for long, so make it count.

Did I really almost hold myself hostage again?!?

 

There is a certain point in sobriety where you really have to take a hard look at yourself. I thought I already had done all of that, but right now I am experiencing a different level of  delightfully grueling self examination. It comes as a result of a recent shift in my own reality, one that has left me feeling whole, complete, integrated, and not lacking in any way. (See previous blog, Atonement, about that amazing experience…)

After returning from Indonesia with this self unifying and connective experience under my belt, I was suddenly able to identify certain ways of being that are no longer aligned with who I am. For example, after a recent family crisis involving one of my kids, I found that I wasn’t shaken up or frantic. I had not hit a panic button, or lost my shit, which under the circumstances was not only warranted, but expected. The few people I communicated this crisis to were very sweet, and asked, with a great deal of concern, “But how are you? Are you okay?” I was nonplussed. I felt that I was supposed to say I was devastated, to comment on how hard it is, but I wasn’t devastated. I was fine. The situation had not compromised my serenity in any way, and now I almost felt bad about it.
It was a great opportunity for me to pause and look at why I would feel bad about maintaining a state of serenity in calamity. At the moment my caring friends asked me how I was, I felt how their sympathy offered my recently laid to rest martyr/victim space to unfurl. It was compelling to say, “Its hard, yeah,” and take their consoling words and basically wallow in them, feeding the ‘bad wolf’ of my ego in the most insidious of ways. To even have to own that this is what I have done for years was an ugly truth to face, and its little consolation that I wasn’t aware of what I was doing. I unwittingly disempowered my own self with the kindness of others.

Now there is the feeling bad about being fine- what’s up with that? There is the old ego again, worrying about how I look to others. Will they think I am not concerned enough about my daughter? Will they think me too cavalier, or perhaps even disconnected from reality? Why oh why do I care?
I care because I am a human, subject to all the frailties that crave approval. Its the human condition, and being an alcoholic is the human condition on steroids. I could feel that urge to play into the assigned role and cave in for all the wrong reasons, but the difference now is that instead of acting on it, I watched it and casually bypassed the whole mess by saying, “Thank you much for asking. I am really good. I am sincerely okay.”

Did I possibly see a shadow cross their faces, as if I perhaps was wildly inappropriate to be fine at a time like this? Who knows. I thought I saw it, but its this kind of thing that is one of the greatest tools of my ego, and my disease. Maybe it was there, and maybe it wasn’t. But the nice thing is this- once I watched this whole subtle and yet intense scenario play out, I realized it truly doesn’t matter what people think. It doesn’t matter if they approve, or if they disapprove. I know where I stand, at long last, and I don’t need to justify it or shrink to fit or do anything but just be exactly what I am committed to. This may mean some people fade out of my life; some are there because I played the game with them, the mutual cosigning and commiserating. Those relationships won’t have enough air to breath. And some relationships will become stronger. And better yet, new ones will form that will be built on honesty and lack of emotional manipulation and self gratification.

We get to stop holding ourselves hostage by identifying with conditioned responses. And we get to stop holding others hostage as well. We get to live authentically in each moment, responding with our truth, relaxed in knowing that everything is happening exactly the way it is supposed to. When we resolve our inner conflicts, we get to love ourselves unconditionally, and then we no longer need anyone else to. People in our lives are then free to be exactly who and what they are, and we are able to embrace them unconditionally with love and respect as well.
What does this have to do with sobriety?   Everything.

Taking It to the Next Level

I think there is a lot of vagueness when it comes to the idea of a Higher Power. As an alcoholic, we do a lot of taking about this, but for many it is incredibly abstract. I know there are people who resist the idea of God, often coming from childhood experiences with religion. I had that; for years the word God made me cringe. Having grown up in a Southern Baptist church, I ran from anything resembling religion. I was always interested in reading about other religions, and spirituality, but I had to leave the word God out of it.
I had attached a lot of negativity to that word. But really, it is what we want it to be. When they say, in Alcoholic literature, to ‘get a God of your understanding’, I chose a God that I could not understand. I chose to perceive and receive this experience as The Ultimate Mystery, the cohesive energy of love that holds everything together, playfully tossing miracles around like confetti. What I have learned, for myself, is that if I am looking for this, then I am seeing this.  There are no more or less miracles now than there were before I changed my thinking, but I can see them now, and they are everywhere- and they always were, I just couldn’t see them. I now see proof of God because I am looking for proof- I am not looking to disprove, and I know that if I were looking to disprove I would find plenty of proof against God. At that point, I would be more than happy to drink AT God, who isn’t there- all because I chose to not see him. One thing a friend said to me really had an impact. He said, “Hey, if you want astern and punishing God, then thats your choice. God will show up however you are ready to receive him.” That really cooked my goose when I heard that.

Nowadays, I have quite a relationship with whatever it is you choose to call it. I used to read the Sufi poets, Rumi and Hafiz, for example….

Laughing At the Word Two

Only

That Illumined

One

Who keeps

Seducing the formless into form

Had the charm to win my

Heart.

Only a Perfect One

Who is always

Laughing at the word

Two

Can make you know

Of

Love.

From: ‘The Gift’

Translated by Daniel Ladinsky

I always loved it, but I didn’t understand. Often in their poetry, they refer to God as The Beloved. They sing praises as if they were talking about, or to, a lover.  I get it now; being in a constant relationship with God, with this Unifying Principle, is a lot like being in love. There are moments of goosebumps, of intense gratitude, of not being able to believe how lucky I am to have this connection. Its a great adventure to see how God shows up, in me, in others, in events, in seeming challenges that give birth to new realities, the likes of which I wouldn’t ever have dared dream. I don’t need to question what is happening or why- life is unfolding the way it is meant to. I might not like it sometimes, but I love it all the same, because it is all part of a bigger picture that is tailor made for my soul’s growth.

When I was caught up in the life of the ego- drinking, popping pills, shopping, going from one obsessive love relationship to another, always looking to create intense scenarios to hide inside of- I wouldn’t have been very interested in anything like soul growth. But what I have found is that, interestingly enough, I was running from the very thing I wanted most of all. I wanted it at a level I couldn’t listen to, because my ego/disease was the loudest voice in my head.  I would go so far as to say that Predator that lives inside of us is the same Opponent of God that we have all heard about in all the religions and mythologies.  It is very powerful, and cunning, and only has one job, which is to keep us from growing, and realizing our own Divine Nature. It does this by telling us we really don’t want it, and we listen to that because it is a compelling voice- the voice we have come to know, which lives in our head. We have learned to follow it even as it leads us astray. But just behind that voice is the voice of the other, The Beloved of Rumi and Hafiz. That voice wants you to let it guide you, it wants you to have an ecstatic participation in a Divinely Animated Universe, it wants you to revel in The Mystery, which is the Next Level, and the natural progression of recovery. First, you surrender. Then you adjust to abstinence. Then you quiet the Voice of the Ego by putting the principles of the 12 steps into your life. This is enough for many. But if you want the Next Level of spirituality in recovery, I suggest really exploring the 11th step. Get quiet so you can hear that voice. The voice that has been quietly telling you that you are loved all along.

Some of this may be controversial, depending on one’s belief system and what they are willing to tolerate in others. Certain religions have little tolerance for other ways of thinking. I am mostly speaking, here, to those who are struggling with a belief system and do not already have one in place.  I am also speaking to anyone who is interested in someone else’s experience in recovery, and to those who are kindred in spirit as well.  This area of my life keeps me aware, awake, and open to the rest of my life- from service work to my employment, my relationship to myself and others- everything. I notice that when a person’s program begins to wane, this is often an area that is being overlooked.

Some of the places where I have found a lot of spiritual guidance and support are the following:

Kabbalah

Course in Miracles

Landmark Forum

Dr Wayne Dyer

Abraham/ Hicks

Science of Mind

Agape

Rumi and Hafiz

The 4th Way

The Bible

What the Bleep do We know (the movie)

Dr Masaru Emoto’s water crystals

Women Who Run With Wolves- Clarissa Pinkola Estes

Harry Tiebout

Emmet Fox

Carl Jung

Howard Thurman

Krishnamurti

Joseph Campbell- Power of Myth (dvd) or any of his books

If you are seeking, if you need more, I would suggest you google any of the above and start reading. Order some of the books, get the movies, watch documentaries, and immerse yourself in something of a higher order of thought. It will start to have a profound effect. Let it.

Miracles Happen When We Let Go of Drugs and Alcohol

A miracle is an organic thing. It has to be allowed to evolve, much like a seed. In my experience, it also requires that one hits the pause button frequently. As alcoholics and addicts, we are prone to being reactionary- like puppets. Something happens and it jerks our strings, and then we are flailing into some course of action that has not been thought through. Often we lack deliberateness in our lives, and constantly run from one fire to another. Its good to pause, to breath, and allow ourselves to calm down and come from a neutral place before acting. Once we let go of drugs and alcohol, the pause mechanism is critical to maintaining sobriety.

 In learning to do this, I learned to listen. In March of 2009, when I was laid off from my job, I was doing pretty good at not freaking out and going into panic mode. I was trusting the process, but it wasn’t easy. At one point in that space of pausing, I recall walking from my kitchen to my bedroom and hearing a little lie that my head likes to tell me- “I always have money and no time, or time and no money.” I would go around saying that to people, and there it was embedded in my head. And I lived it like it was true. Right at that moment, I chose to banish that thought. I didn’t want that to be my truth, so I had to come up with a new truth to live by to replace it.

Almost immediately after that, I had the idea for a patent. I won’t go into what that was, but it was rather brilliant and simple. A good friend introduced me to a patent consultant, who walked me through the process of getting a patent, which I did. I had visions of lots of money AND lots of time. That patent consultant became a very dear friend. Life happened, and I didn’t do anything with it. Fast forward to a year later, when I was able to connect that friend, the patent consultant, with another dear friend. This became very lucrative for me, and for the first time in my life, I experienced what it was like to not be in survival mode.

The point of the story is that, by hearing that little lie I was living my life by, and choosing to let it go, an idea was able to come to the fore of my mind. Because I was quiet in my mind, even as my life was falling apart. It wasn’t that idea that brought in the financial relief, but then again, it was- without that idea, I wouldn’t have met my friend, and wouldn’t have connected him to a very big Fortune 100 company, his first client for his new business.

Here is what I could have done instead- I could have panicked at the lack of income  when I was laid off, and gone to a local strip club to make immediate money. My old way of thinking always kept that in my back pocket, in times of desperation, there is always that option. If I had done that, I can tell you now that I wouldn’t have been able to do it sober.  I would have lost everything.

I didn’t know the life beyond my wildest dreams was taking shape;  I didn’t see it coming. In between that idea and the fruition of the other deal was the hardest year of my life. I was only able to find odd jobs; thank God for food stamps. My cat died in my arms, a friend passed away as I held her hand, my house caught on fire, I was constantly in court as the father of my children stopped paying child support. This is just the tip of the iceberg, but believe me, I didn’t know a miracle was coming. But its true what they say, its always darkest before the dawn. Trusting in the process as your life is falling apart is having an understanding that sometimes parts of one’s life have to be burned down to the ground before the new life can be built in its place- otherwise the old foundation remains. To be willing to do everything different means to be willing to give up old, negative belief systems. We tend to have a hard time doing that- we don’t let go of things easily, especially our own shit. But magical things happen when we simply become willing to LET IT ALL GO. All of it, if necessary. Life gets shorter every day. Letting go of drugs and alcohol was just the first step in a miraculous life- not just a sober life, but an epic one.

100% Surrender

100% Surrender

Recently, I attended a meeting in Beverly Hills, which has become my favorite meeting of the week. There was a share that was very poignant to me, in which a person said that they did their inventory three times- the first was a total gloss over, the second was a little more honest, and the third was the whole truth.  Until he read the third and honest one, he was suffering. And once he read that third one, he felt a freedom that he had never known before. He said he “finally died to himself.”

I love that. Truly, when we alcoholics fully surrender, we do die. We become willing to let go of everything we have come to identify as ourselves. And for those of us who are filled with self loathing and regret (and I have yet to meet any alcoholics and drug addicts who aren’t), this brings a great sense of relief and liberation. We don’t have to be that way ever again. Moreover, what struck me when that guy said that is that we can’t die ‘part of the way,’  we don’t die ‘a little.’ We can’t die just ’80 percent’. We have to die completely. So when any of us try to hold a little back, just in case, we are not surrendered. Half measures avail us nothing. I’ve seen it hundreds of times, where alcoholics and drug addicts show up and do the work, go to meetings, and do almost everything they are supposed to do- but they keep a reserve of self. They keep a nickel in their back pocket. They won’t give something up.

There is a lot of surrendering to do in sobriety- like little deaths, killing the ego. And, as they say, “a hero dies a thousand deaths”. This couldn’t be more true. Sobriety IS heroic. And there are opportunities for surrender nearly every day.

In that dying to self, there is a rebirth. I felt that, I absolutely did. When I gave up myself as I knew myself to be, I was able to be reborn. Having grown up on Holy Roller Southern Baptism, the word ‘reborn’ has some frightening references for me. But there is no other word for it. Its like the old city had to burn down to the ground before I could start construction on the new one. What I also came to understand is that the self is then sort of like the Undead- it keeps trying to climb up out of its crypt. It takes vigilance to keep that sucker underground, where it belongs. Like a vampire, it is allergic to the Sunlight of the Spirit. When we get dark in our heads and in our hearts, we give power to the Undead in us, to the old ways of being that will surely be our doom. We are just one drink away from the Final Curtain. So our job is to shine.

For alcoholics and drug addicts, the choice between happy, joyous, and free or jails, institutions, and death boils down to exactly this. Keep shining.