Category: Lifeline

The main theme of Step Seven is the continued progression of Humility, which allows us to move closer to God by moving away from ourselves and the bondage of self.  Attaining greater humility is the foundation principle of each of A.A.’s Twelve Steps, and the key to happiness in our recovery. We have already become willing to develop humility when we did the first steps of admitting we were powerless over alcohol, and believing in and asking a Power greater than ourselves to restore us to sanity. If the humility required to do this worked to rid us of the obsession to drink, then it makes sense that there must be hope for the removal of any other problem, or defect, that we have.

I have found this experience of a Higher Power relieving character defects to be true in recovery.  My understanding of the impact of this step took time. It is interesting that many alcoholics, including myself, miraculously relieved of the devastating obsession to drink, one day at a time still find it hard to believe or understand that the same Higher Power will relieve us of our character defects, such as self-pity. It is difficult at times to be open-minded and willing enough to recognize these defects in ourselves. Even harder, is coming to realize that these defects are flaws which made problem drinkers of us in the first place and must be removed in order to preserve the sobriety we have been given. Thankfully, the prior steps (4,5,6) lead us to this enlightenment. And once we understand that some type of Fear is at the core of our defects, it often becomes easier to ask for help to have this fear removed.

As I saw myself change in ways I had never realized I could or perhaps, should, gratitude to my Higher Power grew. Spiritual peace and release became a beautiful gift, enhancing sobriety and giving newfound freedom. Total belief that one day at a time our Higher Power will help with defects and problems, if we are humble enough to ask, is a precious gift of beauty and depth, always ultimately preserving our daily sobriety.

—Anonymous, Salt Lake City

“Every group ought to be fully self-supporting, declining outside contributions.”

This tradition may be one of the best examples of the miraculous change that can occur when alcoholics are relieved of the obsession to drink and begin to grow spiritually, letting go of self-centeredness and fear. Self-centered and dependent, often looking for a hand-out, the alcoholic had to change. The idea that recovering alcoholics did not necessarily deserve monetary support just because they were trying to stay sober, was possibly painful, but true. It was time for alcoholics to pay their own way, no matter how difficult.

At first, it was believed lots of money was needed to support the society. Then fear caused members to think that no money should be involved. As the society grew and members realized that a certain amount of financial support would be needed to ensure the message being carried, whether by meetings, literature or phone, alcoholics cautiously learned that spiritual growth was not negatively affected by minimal material support. The principle of corporate poverty was established as a tradition. In other words, A.A. must always remain poor. The society would have to support itself, no matter how poor the group might be. Trust in a Higher Power was needed.

The story of the impact of Jack Alexander’s 1941 Saturday Evening Post publication is a well-known example of the foundation of this tradition. Thousands of letters from distraught alcoholics and their families arrived at the mailbox in New York after people read the story. The 2-person staff were overwhelmed as they tried to respond to the inquiries. It became clear more help was needed, and that would require money. AA groups were asked to send voluntary contributions of a dollar a member a year. Bill relates that initially the response to this request was slow. But eventually donations began to add up, and requests for information were answered. Understanding that Alcoholics Anonymous needed funds to function grew. Small offices, phone lines and meeting places cost money but were necessary, or the help alcoholics needed would not be there. The integrity of Alcoholics Anonymous was established through this tradition, and exists to this day.

—Anonymous, Salt Lake City

I was three weeks sober when I traveled to Colorado to visit my family for Thanksgiving. I was excited, but scared. I was going back to a town filled with old drinking buddies and favorite watering holes.

I drove over with my dad, whose company helped keep me out of my head. We talked about my drinking a bit, but mostly we talked about life as we watched the mountains go by. Every once in a while I would pull out my big book and read a few pages.
We pulled up to my aunt’s house and went inside. Aunts, uncles, cousins, and friends greeted us with laughter and hugs. After a hug and high five, my uncle said, “Beer’s in the fridge, Pat.” I went to the kitchen, grabbed a glass from the cupboard, and poured myself some water. I was off to a good start!

While sipping my water, I heard someone say, “Just get a couple drinks in Karen, and she’ll sing karaoke all night!” I didn’t know who Karen was, but I know what “a couple drinks” does to me – and it usually doesn’t end with boisterous karaoke.

I got more anxious as the day went on. I went outside and called my “temporary” sponsor. He shared some stories and encouragement. I made it through the rest of the day, and went to bed sober. Another success!

On Thanksgiving morning, I showered and joined my family for breakfast. My uncle handed me a small bottle of vodka for my orange juice. I read the label, and passed it to my cousin. He looked at me funny, but didn’t say anything.

We talked and played board games for the next few hours. Several people had a beer or glass of wine here and there. I clung to my glass of water, refilling it every 10 minutes.

I started feeling anxious again. I couldn’t put my finger on why, other than that I was three weeks sober and trying to make it through one more day. I told my dad I needed to go to a meeting. He objected, saying, “It’s Thanksgiving! You should spend time with your family.” I looked at him and didn’t say anything. He handed me the keys to his car.

I had written down the addresses and times of a few meetings before I left SLC, so I knew exactly where to go. I parked and went inside. About a dozen people talked quietly, waiting for the meeting to begin. The chairperson welcomed us, and asked someone to read How It Works. I felt a bit calmer.

We went around the room, reading a paragraph or two from the big book. I told the group I was visiting from Salt Lake City. They gave me a sheet of paper with phone numbers I could call if I needed.

I went back to my aunt’s house feeling much freer. I had needed to talk with people who understood my problem, and the AA group was there for me. I had used the tools I learned in AA – I called my sponsor, went to a meeting, and read the big book. I prayed, giving thanks for the opportunity to be with my family, and asking for strength to make it through one more day sober.

My dad and I headed back to Salt Lake City the day after Thanksgiving. I had managed to stay sober for the entire trip. We talked about life as we watched the mountains go by. I knew that this is the life that I want for myself.

—by Patrick M

My favorite part of Tradition Six is the idea of devotion to a primary purpose.  In Tradition Five, we’re told that our primary purpose is to stay sober and carry the message.  Tradition Six reminds us to protect that purpose above everything else.  This speaks to me because, when drinking, I had no direction to my life.  I just drifted from situation to situation.  I was a person who stood for nothing, and would fall for anything.  Alcoholics Anonymous taught me what it meant to have a purpose I believed in.  Now, my life is shaped around the importance of my own sobriety, and my duty to pass on the message that saved my life.  Having a purpose started me down the road of filling the emptiness inside that made me want the first drink.  For that reason, I believe in the importance of protecting our primary purpose.

These days, it may not seem on the surface like A.A. tries to build hospitals or take sides in debates surrounding alcohol and public health.  However, there are still insidious opportunities for us to step away from the heart of A.A. – helping other alcoholics for fun and for free.  Quite a bit of money changes hands in residential alcohol treatment programs, and the extent to which members of Alcoholics Anonymous should participate in these speaks to the heart of Tradition Six.  We each have to be guided by our own experience and our interpretation of the traditions, but it is important to remember the traditions are there, and remain willing to seek their input.

I remember hearing A.A. gossip about a large group in a big city that couldn’t quite keep up with constantly raising rent.  Seats at this meeting were in demand every Saturday night, and the only way to be guaranteed one was to arrive about an hour early.  A nearby treatment center wanted to bring their clients – how about they “help out” with the high rent, in exchange for a couple of rows of guaranteed seats each night?

The problems with such an arrangement are glaring.  What about the newcomer that walks in and can’t find a seat?  It could be a long time before they return.  What about the dedicated member, looking to carry the message, who needs a seat and is willing to come early?  The temptations to ignore Tradition Six are still around, and it is the responsibility of each group to remember our primary purpose.

-Annabel C. Salt Lake City

I was asked to share my experience, strength and hope concerning Step 6.  We all arrive in Alcoholics Anonymous from different experiences so I’ll let you know a bit about my past as it led to my experience with Step 6.

When I was young I often felt different, alone. I remember alcohol giving me the power to be social – all of the sudden I fit in, felt part of. I grew to need that feeling. Over the years the consequences were consistent and grew more severe. When I finally opened the door to enter an AA meeting and honestly asked for help I was aware that I had lost all power over alcohol, I had allowed much of the things I valued greatly in life slip away. I was in true fear that I could hurt someone close to me, I often blacked out and people would tell me stories about things I did with intense fear in their eyes.  I had experienced incomprehensible demoralization over and over expecting different results from the same actions.

What was important for me was that when I came into the rooms I was ready to throw my hands in the air and beg for mercy, for any help. I was someone I did not want to be and was unable to change.

So this sentiment was helpful when step 6 came up for me. I was ready to change, I could see my very best efforts in life had landed me in jails, institutions and situations where I felt insane and out of control. I remain eager to make an honest effort to improve. This where step six lives with me, the honest yearning to be the best person I can be.

When I first worked step 6 I thought of only the most outrageous behaviors I had grown used to; for example when I would drink heavily and was confronted I would blame those around me for putting stress or pressure on me, I would try to make them guilty for not excepting me for who I was. In early sobriety I was really ready to get rid of a habit, which I listened to myself, say things I disagreed with.

Now, after revisiting the step many times I pray to have the defects of character removed that get in the way of me being the best person I can be. Sometimes that has me on my knees multiple times throughout day. I often bite my lip and let God’s grace give me the space between my thoughts and my words. I have learned to breathe and exhale when listening, rather then interrupting and directing.

-James K, Salt Lake City

29th Recovery Birthday Facebook Post (7.15.2015)—Anne L

On July 7, 1986, 29 years ago, I woke up sick, shamed, hungover, and in deep animal confusion. I woke up this way most mornings. Why couldn’t I stop after 6 or 7 drinks? Why didn’t I have an “off” switch when I had that first drink every day?

Well, “Why?” is not a useful question.

I thought about having a cool refreshing beer, just to get all the flies going in one direction.

I was 32, with three published books, and the huge local love of my family and life-long friends. I was loved out of all sense of proportion. I gave talks and readings that hundreds of people came to. I had won a Guggenheim Fellowship, although, like many fabulous writers, I was drunk as a skunk every day. I was penniless and bulimic, but adorable, and cherished.

But there was one tiny problem. I was dying. Oh, also, my soul was rotted out from mental illness and physical abuse. My insides felt like Swiss cheese, until I had that first cool, refreshing drink.

So, not ideal. The elevator was going. It ONLY goes down; until you finally get off. As a clean, sober junkie told me weeks later, “At the end, I was deteriorating faster than I could lower my standards.”

And against all odds, I picked up the 200 pound phone, and called the same sober alkie that my older brother had called two years earlier, when he had hit his coked-out bottom. The man, a Jack Lemmon type, said, “I will come get you at 11:30. Take a shower, and try not to drink till then. The shower is optional.”

I didn’t; when all else fails, follow Instructions. I couldn’t imagine there was a way out of all that sickness and self-will, all those lies and secrets, but God always makes a way out of No Way.

So I showed up. Before I turned on Woody Allen, he said that 80% of life is just showing up. And I did. There were all these other women who had what I had, who’d thought what I’d thought, who’d done what I’d done, who had betrayed their families and deepest values, who sat with me that day, and said “Guess what? Me, too! I have that too. Let me get you a glass of water.” Those are the words of salvation: Guess what? Me, too.”

Then I blinked, and today is my 29th recovery birthday. I hope someday it will be yours, too, or at least your 1st. Don’t give up on yourself. In recovery, we never EVER give up on anyone, no matter what it looks like, no matter how long it takes.

Because Grace bats last. That spiritual WD-40, those water wings, that second wind–it bats last. That is my promise to you.

Happy birthday to me, and maybe to you. As my beloved ee Cummings wrote, “(I who have died am alive again today, and this is the sun’s birthday; this is the birthday of life and love and wings.)”

Don’t. Give. Up. Because guess what? Me too.

-Anne L.

https://www.facebook.com/AnneLamott/posts/699854196810893

God, please help me to complete my housecleaning by admitting to another human being the exact nature of my wrongs. Please remove any fears I have about this step and show me how completion of it will remove my egotism and fear. Help me to see how this step builds my character through humility, fearlessness and honesty. Direct me to the right person who will keep my confidence and fully understand and approve what I am driving at. Then help me to pocket my pride and go to it, illuminating every twist of character, every dark cranny of the past so I may complete this step and begin to feel near to you.” (72:1, 72:2, 73:0, 74:2, 75:2)*

*The numbers in parenthesis at the end of each prayer indicate the page and paragraph where the wording was used from the Big Book of Alcoholics Anonymous to create the prayer.

http://friendsofbillw.net/twelve_step_prayers

No Tourists Allowed: Seeking Inner Peace and Sobriety in War-Torn Sudan (Excerpt) by Shannon E.

As I sit here soaking in lavender oil and the ease of Sunday morning, I reflect fondly on the irreverent way I left war-torn Sudan.  I was, in every sense, a heartbroken girl fleeing in a panic, and due to my PTSD I was headed for the super-nova of downward spirals. According to Hollywood—and its promise of a cookie cutter ending—I had failed the quest.

It wasn’t until rewriting this story after I had nearly four years of consecutive recovery time under my belt that I saw the beauty in the true story, the one about struggle and darkness, the story that told of a real person on a real mission to find inner peace.          This type of expedition is mainly foul and insufferable, but at least it gets your blood pumping and heart racing. Today I know that asking questions and not fitting in doesn’t make me rebellious or a bad person; it makes me a soul who was born to break the mold and to challenge what is. Sudan, with all its harrowing experiences, helped mold me into a talented and strategic writer, and now I utilize this skill to spread the message of hope to those seeking for recovery from addiction, too.

But I only obtained this clarity after immense suffering. When I first landed a contract for this book I was still a punk kid, a real royal egomaniac. The first draft of the story, as my agent, Carolyn, told me, was filled with anecdotes, but lacked depth of character. Carolyn was, in her roundabout way, saying that in my current state of active addiction, I lacked depth of character. Of course, as an alcoholic, I was sure she was wrong and I was right, and so I pressed on writing and drinking the night away. What happened afterward—the multiple DUIs, the loss of my dream job and book contract, the four years of court-ordered probation—led to experiences of incredible humiliation, rejection, and despair. At rock bottom, I nearly lost my life several nights while drunk driving (and could’ve harmed another). Fewer than five years ago, I was in a maroon jumpsuit in the Salt Lake County Jail with very little hope of ever making it this far.

At the time I couldn’t see it, but my fall from grace was a gift. Ultimately, the suffering led to the obliteration of my ego, that mask we all wear to appear tough and unbreakable but really serves to hide our insecurities and suffocate the budding potential within.

Suffering was the conduit that led to the inner peace I’d been searching for all my life.

I’m still Indy—intent on taking out the bad guy—but instead of focusing my efforts on the hoodlums of the external world, I focus on the only one I’m responsible for: my ego. The good news is that the hooligan within is less lethal, and knowing that my dark side is the catalyst to unleashing my great potential allows me to enjoy the experience of being an imperfect human in this rowdy, haphazard world. Hostility and peace-making—these are the contrasts inside all of us. The true battle of good versus evil does indeed lie within. As warriors on Earth we’re here only to conquer our own perceptions so that they are beacons of love and compassion for everyone. In our own way we are all ships battling the harsh and lonely waters of life, desperate for a space to rest our weary heads and experience peace. By transforming our perceptions from judgement to love we transcend ourselves and heal the planet. This is our great work.

And so, my friends, let us heed the call.

—Shannon E.

Editor’s note: Shannon E lives in Salt Lake City and is an author, international freelance journalist, and advocate for addiction recovery. Despite training as a writer on humanitarian issues for the United Nations, Shannon prefers sharing her personal stories of addiction and recovery to infuse hope in those still struggling.