Through the Red Door Blog

In the Twelve Steps and Twelve Traditions we read: “Meditation is something which can always be further developed. It has no boundaries, either of width or height. Aided by such instruction and example as we can find, it is essentially an individual adventure, something which each one of us works out in his own way.”  I had no idea I was meditating when, as a teenager, I parked my bicycle next the church at the monastery, sat outside and listened to the monks sing. I did not know they were singing “Vespers”. All I knew was I loved the music, it lifted me to somewhere else and I felt at peace.

I entered seminary after high school and morning meditation happened before we were fully awake at 6 a.m. We stood for fifteen minutes, then knelt. There was no  music or choir to lift my spirits. I had no idea as to what I was supposed to do. Think about God, about my vocation, the missions, about Jesus. Whatever entered my head (except for those thoughts I was not supposed to think about – girls – was my morning meditation. Then there were books to enlighten us on the topic. Never did I dream or think I’d be like the folk I read about who had mystical experiences (and still don’t). Perhaps the only mystical experience came from taking what I was not supposed to take. What a trip.

On one of my earliest 12 Step calls, I went with a guy who was head and shoulders taller than I, long hair, tattooed from head to foot, and a former member of a dangerous gang. As we talked about the program, he told me that when he entered treatment some years earlier, “I couldn’t sit still for a second. Now I can sit long enough to watch the grass grow.”

I understood the words he said but I had no idea of the full meaning of them. I was in denial of my own addiction even after spending five weeks in a four-week program and committed to a year of “Aftercare.” Denial of my disease meant that I was still running my life which meant I was not meditating or asking God or anyone else for help. I didn’t need it. Oh, during this time I was quite religious. I went to my RC mass on Sunday morning and then off to “A service” at the Lutheran, Presbyterian, Episcopal or some other church. At this point I was a “Former/ex” RC priest and the custodial parent of my two-year-old daughter and interested in finding a mother for her – not a helpmate for myself. As for addiction, I had increased my nicotine, caffeine, and food intake. Of course, I was in denial of that also.

Then came (four and a half years in the program) the spiritual awakening and the admission I am an alcoholic. It would be five more years before I had my last cigarette and I am still fighting the battle of the bulge. (Those of a certain generation or history buffs will understand that last remark.)

Meditation came back into my life on more or less a few days a week and gradually became a way of life. Sometimes with coffee in the morning. Sometimes in the late afternoon. Sometimes while going for a drive.

Meditation grounds me in the moment, reflecting on the day, on a thought, on something I read. Meditation is that connection between my heart/head and the spiritual world outside of me. In meditation I can think, listen and feel the process that is going on. At those times when I can’t shut down the movie in my head, I have a meditation book nearby, a spiritual book, and a few sentences or a paragraph of that is sufficient to bring me back to focus on the here and now.

For those who do not yet believe in God or have not found a Higher Power, meditation grounds them also in the here and now -- how am I living my sobriety, how am I living this program -- how am I to live this step.

With or without God or a Higher Power, meditation is important for us (for me) as it invites me to take time away from the “rat race” of work and lets me ponder my past insanity, be grateful for my sobriety, my peace of mind, allows me to acknowledge my emotions to myself, and brings a smile to my face.

Meditation lets me know I am not alone in this world or in recovery. Meditation lets me open my mind and heart to a world that is bigger and wider and deeper than I ever imagined and increases by gratitude for the sobriety I have to see this beautiful world.

Séamus D.
New Orleans, La.

“And who is my neighbor?” —Luke 10:29.

Ken Burns’ television series on the Civil War describes a remarkable scene that takes place on the fiftieth anniversary of the Battle of Gettysburg, July 3, 1913, when what is left of the two armies stages a reenactment of Pickett’s Charge. The old Union veterans on the ridge take their places among the rocks, and the old Confederate veterans start marching toward them across the field below—and then something extraordinary happens. As the old men among the rocks rush down at the old men coming across the field, a great cry goes up—except that instead of doing battle, as they had a century earlier, this time they throw their arms around each other and embrace and openly weep.

In 1914, during World War I, German, British, Belgian, and French troops in the trenches mingled with each other along the western front during a brief Christmas truce and even sang “Silent Night” and other carols in solidarity. Recently we have observed something similar at World War II memorials such as Normandy, where German, English, French, and American soldiers have wept together and shared their stories. We have seen it also when American soldiers return to Vietnam to share stories with those they once bitterly fought against.

This repeated action of shared love and story can tell us something about war. Many of those who have fought on foreign fields can be our strongest advocates against war. They know what they themselves—and those who once were their enemies—have lost. They share a common life-altering experience that only someone who has been there can understand.

Those in recovery of any kind also know how awful their life of obsession was before their healing from addictions to alcohol, drugs, sex, food, etc. They can relate to those who remain trapped in their addiction. Most of all, they can minister to those who are still suffering and offer them hope that their life can be different. They do this by sharing their story of what their life was like in addiction, contrasted to what it is like now in recovery.

Those who have overcome mental illness can become advocates for others who suffer from this common disease as well. People who were once homeless themselves can offer a restorative hope to those on the street. Cancer survivors can encourage and pray for others recently diagnosed and give them strength and support.

This story goes on and on and on. We are healed as we reach out of ourselves and share our story and listen to sufferers in situations we know all too well. We begin to realize “who IS our neighbor.” Some call this becoming wounded healers.

Joanna. Joannaseibert.com

He came in about 5 minutes before our Serenity Prayer opening. Standing in the doorway, he paused and looked around. Our noon group included the usual recovering alcoholics and druggies, each seeking some good ol’ AA Fellowship. Looking like he was satisfied he’d be OK, he found a seat at the edge of the group, took off his top coat and, carefully folding it and his paisley scarf, putting them on the empty chair next to him. When the group was asked for any first-timers to stand and give “us your name so we can welcome you after the meeting,” he appeared startled, as though he didn’t expect to have to announce to a bunch of drunks and addicts who he was ... but, finally standing, he mumbled his name, “Ron or Jon,” something like that, and quickly sat down and in doing so, knocked his top coat on the floor. He seemed rattled by all of this as he fussed with his coat, checking to see if his car keys were still there, carefully brushing off the coat and paisley scarf.

The Chair asked for a topic for discussion and someone spoke up: “We have a new person. Let’s talk about what brought us here.” “Ron or Jon,” seemed bothered, probably suddenly thinking he would have to address the group. Folks started to talk in response to the topic, sharing their own reactions to their first meeting. Ron/ Jon seemed to be listening.

After the normal close with the Lord’s Prayer, I went over, shook his hand and welcomed him. Very quickly, he mumbled something about a sick wife at home, with that, he turned, put on his top coat, paisley scarf, and left, but he stopped and turned, saying, “Thanks, I’ll be back.”

Driving home, I did feel we might see him again. I thought back to my own “first meeting.” Scared? no, I think a better word was “anxious.” I was hurting and felt little, no that’s not right, no self-respect. My entrance that time came when I’d decided I’d had enough. I’d tried quitting by myself but failed every time. I thought back to a couple folks I had worked with—well-to-do, no loss of job or spouse, no alienation of kids, nice vacations to neat places 2 or 3 times a year. It didn’t seem that Ron/Jon had really felt pressure from those he’d hurt to do something about his drinking. But even so, something inside had invited him to attend a meeting.

Often, it seems before one enters the Program and really makes a “go” of it, he will have suffered more losses and inflicted more pain than necessary. It’s a question of “when” you quit, and in a sense, how much pain do you have to inflict on yourself, family, friends, children, parents, before you seek help. An alcoholic is a selfish person who lives to see how close he can go to the edge of the cliff and the darkness our addiction promises us. Very sad.

Jim A/ Covington, Kentucky: St. X Noon

I’m writing this on Shrove Tuesday.  Tomorrow we will pray Psalm 51 and pray the litany of penitence.  I will spend the day turning again to God, doing my best to show up, to own my faults and sins, and to open myself to God’s healing grace.  Sounds like a typical day in recovery!

This past weekend I heard a sponsee’s Fifth Step.  She shared all the things she didn’t want another to know, didn’t really want to know herself.  As she did, we noticed the patterns, the particular potholes into which she has fallen over the years.  As we moved through the list of resentments, she’d say, “Yuck. I really don’t want to talk about this one.”  But she did.  It was a moment for me of watching God’s power and love, as she walked into the places she didn’t want to go. 

When she was done, we talked a bit about Step Six.  I sent her to our literature to ponder her readiness.  Later that day she reported that she was walking on air, so filled with freedom and joy.  She had indeed found the “Broad Highway,” and she was “walking hand in hand with the Spirit of the Universe.”

Of course, life keeps coming.  The next day she began to allow herself to notice real questions and doubts about her life, things she had avoided through substances.  She’s not on a cloud anymore - but she’s not where she used to be.

This is the spiritual journey.  We begin by admitting that we need God, we can’t conquer our addictions alone.  We turn to God as best we can.  We admit our faults, and ask God to remove them.  We turn toward others, facing everything that stands in the way of our honest communion.  As we go forward, each step feels like death to the ego.  “God forbid!” Peter cries to Jesus.  “Surely I don’t have to go that far!” I cry to my sponsor.  But the answer has been given.  This is the path of life.

Lent seems like the season when the rest of Church joins those of us in the basements and parish halls (and Zoom lines and phone lines) in seeking God, cleaning our messes, and turning toward God-knows-what possibility awaits us. 

May you, may we, trudge the road of happy destiny, trusting in the promise of new life.  God bless us all.

</[object Object]>

All things seek to return to their own path, and all things rejoice in coming back to their nature. The only law over things is that the ending should be joined to the beginning making the course of itself stable.  Consolation of Philosophy, Boethius (477-524 C.E.), trans by Thomas Powers. PARABOLA Summer 2019.  90.

At age nine I was serving Mass in a village in Northern Ireland and the thought crossed my mind, “I want to be a priest.” I had no idea what a priest did then, nor did any of us have any idea as to the twists and turns social and religious life would take throughout the sixties. I attended catholic school and boarding school. Girls left me alone as the priest told them “he has a vocation.” I didn’t know he did that till much later.

I had no idea that the environment in which I was formed was unhealthy. I didn’t care for the controls but they seemed to be within the norms of other families in the community. While other boys got caught, I learned how to be perceived as “squeeky clean and upright.” I knew that the path I was creating was not the one my soul wished for me to be on and that was why confession was created. Weekly confession made all things right.

Then came college, seminary, my first drink and, simultaneously, my first blackout. Ordination to the priesthood, more blackouts. Some of my students in Religious Ed confided in me about their experiences on LSD. I began to read and learn all I could about drugs even as I kept a few fifths in a drawer “for when friends came by.”  It was my belief that alcoholic clergy drank alone. I was given opportunities to take courses in addiction and I felt sorry for those who were addicted and those who were on Methadone. While I was working with these folks, I prided myself that I did not have a problem. Meanwhile, I was in denial that I was at war with self, others and God. God was not fighting with me. God was more like a lifeguard pushing me into calm and shallow waters to get my feet under me. Thus, treatment, aftercare, continued denial and a four and a half year long dry drunk.

Were I to step outside myself and observe my behavior, I would say that I had been crying out for help all my life.  St. Augustine said, “You have made us for yourself O Lord, and our hearts are restless till they rest in you.”  There is no question, I was “Restless, Irritable, and Discontent.”

Then came the day of awakening—the experience of an awareness of sobriety. Something happened and I had a spiritual awakening. I actually felt happy. I felt a feeling that made a difference to me that some thirty -seven years later, remains as fresh in my mind as the day it happened. “All things rejoice in coming back to their nature.” All my life I was taught I was born in/with original sin. No. I was born in/with an original blessing, made in the image and likeness of God. My spiritual awakening was an awareness that I was returning to that place of blessing,

“The only law over things is that the ending should be joined to the beginning making the course of itself stable.” The end of my denial and the beginning of sobriety are joined together. I can’t have one without the other. Darkness and Light. Joy and Sorrow. 

My addiction in and my sobriety are joined together and interlocked with my birth in God’s blessings and my return to God’s blessing. With the guidance of my Higher Power I have been returned to the path of blessings and, like the psalmist I can sing, “This is the day the Lord has made, let us be glad and rejoice in it.” “All things seek to return to their own path, and all things rejoice in coming back to their nature. The only law over things is that the ending should be joined to the beginning making the course of itself stable.”

Séamus D,

New Orleans

The liturgical year is one of the things I like the most about our church. My scattery brain likes the orderly progression of the seasons, reliably anticipated and solemnly marked. Now we are in the last weeks of Epiphany, our expectations met, and we soon move on to Ash Wednesday and then forty days of Lent. We continue on life’s path, one season following another, heading once more to Easter, Pentecost, Advent, Christmas, and back to Epiphany.

So it is with our Twelve Steps…we read, study and discuss a step a week (except for Twelve, which is very long and needs two weeks) and then we start again at the beginning with Step One. We admit, come to believe, make a decision and then trudge the road of happy destiny, one day at a time--never alone and never without guidance. Recovery is sequential, predictable…ye gods, did I really just write that?

The seasons of the liturgical year might be certain, the 12 Steps might be numbered, but our progression through them seems more helical than linear or even circular. We are always ascending or descending on this corkscrew of life--spiraling up or down. As we twirl along with the seasons and steps, we notice the same markers greeting us but with different suggestions. Hello Lent, what are you asking of me this year? Hello Step One, what else am I powerless over?

This is my first year of widowhood and I’m going through the seasons and the steps with altered eyes. I’m not alone: the pandemic has made us all the bereaved--Life-as-We-Knew-It is long gone. I was feeling unsettled and very sad the other day and my daughter told me something she has learned from families who have gone through adoption. Not only are anniversaries and birthdays acknowledged, but also trauma-versaries. Our hearts, our souls, our bodies remember and record distress, separation, disruption. Emily Dickinson wrote of how “a certain slant of light” evokes despair--how profound an observation that is--ask anyone with Seasonal Affective Disorder. I was feeling unsettled and sad because my body and my heart, if not my brain, recognized that it was a year ago that my beloved became so very sick in what turned out to be his final illness. My mind knows the date of his death, my soul acknowledges the decline.

The extraordinary thing is that the liturgical calendar and the Twelve Steps are strong enough to carry us through these seasons. Our needs are anticipated before we realize we have them. There are solutions. We can get clean and sober and stay clean and sober no matter what obstacles or situations we meet because we have a strong foundation and experienced guides.

A beautiful long-timer said recently at a meeting that the thing she likes the best about sobriety is congruence: her feelings match what is going on in her life. She can live in reality: when she is happy, she laughs; when she is sad, she cries; when she is mad, she yells. She does not pretend to have no feelings. She does not ignore feelings and have them slam up against her from behind and knock her over.  She has the wherewithal to live her life in the present, acknowledging what is actually going on.

And that includes recognizing that trauma-versaries are part of reality. No wonder so many people fear “PMS”--pre-medallion slips. Recognizing and celebrating our sober anniversaries necessitate that we recognize and acknowledge that we hit bottom.

Lent comes before Good Friday comes before Easter. But Easter does come. And every Sunday is a celebration of Easter. 

-Christine H.

In an address to the General Service Conference in 1965, Bill W., said: “Yes, we drunks put A.A. together, but all of the basic components were supplied by others.”* In 1965, I was going into seminary and I was a committed member of the Pioneer Total Abstinence Association (PTAA) and my only idea of a drunk was a neighbor who drank out of a bottle in a brown bag on a wall outside the house, got sick and fell asleep. I did not know A.A. existed. God took care of that three years later as I became involved, even as I drank alcoholically and remained involved on the fringes till God kicked me into the program. The “involvement” was God’s way to prepare me for the program. I came in, reluctantly, and believing I was going to be a great resource to “these people.”

I had much to learn. In time, the one- liners made sense, spirituality began to take hold, the steps began to become a way of life as, slowly, I became “one of us.” Being “one of us”, and being an amateur historian, I began to read any and everything I could get my hands on that was directly or indirectly related to A.A. -- how it came to be, (and I was told some weird stories about that), who and what influenced it -- and, I remain grateful for the time given to me by Sam Shoemaker’s daughters.        

Shoemaker was influenced by evangelists like Frank Buchmann (The Oxford Group), who was influenced by men like John R. Mott, Samuel McComb, Dwight Moody, the “new Psychology.” In 1908 there was the Emmanuel Movement in Boston were people suffering from what was then called “Functional Nervous Disorders” were treated at Emmanuel Episcopal Church. Emmanuel Church was the headquarters of the Christian Science Movement. The clinic was run by Revs Dr. Samuel McComb (associate rector), Dr. Elwood Worcester (Rector) and Isador H. Coriat M.D. with a Four Step Program – find a higher power, confession, help others, and the power of “suggestion” (from the new Psychology). These steps found their way via Shoemaker to Bill Wilson to the Twelve Steps in terms of Step Two, Steps Four and Five, Step Twelve and” Here are the steps we took which are suggested as a program.

On my own, there is no way I could or would have had anything to do with this program. I came into the program with a lot of religious baggage, Shame and Guilt. I believed in God and was scared/angry of and at God. I wanted confession as a “quick fix” and I wanted to help others so I could look good.

When sobriety happened to me, I was fascinated by the idea that God chose an atheist to bring the concept of sobriety to a devout Christian who, in turn, offered him the ‘Absolutes’ of the Oxford Group, and, with guidance they created the greatest social experiment of their century. Someone once summed it up in this way: “The Big Book is the writing of the Ages [Sages] written in Twelve Steps so a bunch of drunks could get sober.” This was put differently by Bill at the 1953 Conference: “Well, when those Twelve Steps were presented in New York, all hell broke loose. I had committed heresy; Why did we have to have twelve steps when six were just as good…We had a big hassle over those Twelve Steps…”*

Even the symbol of our society had deep roots. Bill said: “We had to have some sort of symbol and the circle seemed to indicate the movement or the group. The triangle suggested the three principal aspects: recovery, unity, and service.’ [When they settled on it] “some student of ancient history came up with this very startling announcement: he said that, in times gone by, this identical symbol was used by medicine men, magicians, wise men, whatnot, and every time they wanted to get rid of evil spirits, they just brought up and brandished this circle containing the triangle!”*

I like to think of our program as the confluence of thousands of rivulets from various hillsides and mountains that flowed down and came together to form a river into which I could be baptized, healed, restored to life, and sent off to suggest to others that real living is in becoming vulnerable, jumping in and trusting that the past will be washed clean; that we will continue with renewed energy, and we will live in gratitude for the blessings of rains creating rivulets which created our river of life.

• ·        OUR GREAT RESPONSIBILITY A Selection of Bill General Service Conference Talks. 1951-1970. Alcoholics Anonymous World Services, Inc. 2019

Séamus D.
New Orleans

The Daily Lectionary gospel reading for January 21 included these verses from Mark: ‘With what can we compare the kingdom of God, or what parable will we use for it? It is like a mustard seed, which, when sown upon the ground, is the smallest of all the seeds on earth; yet when it is sown it grows up and becomes the greatest of all shrubs, and puts forth large branches, so that the birds of the air can make nests in its shade.’ We can also compare our Recovery to a mustard seed and this parable.

When we start attending meetings, we are small in many ways.  We are feeling fearful, less than, shameful, hopeless and helpless.  We have feelings of anger and guilt. When we stay where we’ve been planted -- right in the middle of a 12-step fellowship -- we soon start to flourish and grow.  Our circle gets larger. As we enlarge our base, our point of freedom rises. 

We not only have connections with folks in our home group, but also with our sponsorship sisters and brothers. (There is a little joke in my ‘sponsorship family’ that we are a shrub and not a tall tree because my sponsor and her sponsor, sponsor each other. So, we’re a big bushy shrub with lots or branches… another connection to this gospel reading!) We start out being of service in our group -- welcoming folks, making coffee, setting up the meeting, cleaning up afterwards.  Then we branch out and start attending the Area meeting, we hear committee meetings announced, and decide to check those out as well. 

Someone answered the helpline when we called.  We want to give back and do the same.  Someone maintained the website where we found the phone number to call.  We volunteer to help out with the website.  Someone came to the treatment center we were in and shared a message of recovery and told us about AA, NA, CA, etc. --when we had enough clean time, we wanted to do the same for others. And our branches eventually grow even more.  Maybe we ventured to other parts of the state, the region, the zone, or even on a worldwide level. 

Many of us, especially reading here, expanded our branches outside of a 12-step program, to our churches, particularly in Recovery Ministries and like me, volunteered right away to join and be a part of this wonderful ministry that blends our recovery and our Episcopal faith. 

We carry the message so that those who come after us will have a safe place, a nest if you will, a shelter from the storm that is addiction. 

January 21, 1987, was my first day free from alcohol and drugs, which makes 34 years of recovery.  34 years of growing from a tiny mustard seed, to a person with long term recovery. Someone who thrives on carrying the message of recovery far and wide.  It all started by getting to meetings early and helping to set up.  If I can make it a little easier for another hopeless, scared addict to find this life-saving program and have a safe place to grow, then I will continue to give away to others what I have learned in this program.  After all, we can’t keep what we have unless we give it away.

- Lucy O

Every year I am part of a New Year’s 12-Step retreat.  Usually, we meet from the evening of December 30 through noon on January 1.  It’s special to me because we gather people from all the “A” programs, so we get to hear wisdom from many different locations.  That retreat was where I first put together that I was eating like I used to drink.

This year was different – of course!  We couldn’t gather at the retreat house like we usually do.  We met on Zoom instead.  And that meant that people who couldn’t afford to come, or couldn’t travel, could attend.  There was a wonderful mix of familiar faces and new friends.

Each year there’s a theme, something we can all share.  This year the theme was “Going to Any Length” – appropriate for this extraordinary time in all our lives.  We traced our histories – what lengths did we go to in order to maintain our addictions?  What lengths did we go to in early recovery, or whenever times got hard?  And then we considered: what length am I willing to go to this year?  What scares me about that?  What hopes do I have for this year? 

I got some inspiration from someone who told me a slogan I hadn’t heard.  This is, again, one of the gifts I get from being with people beyond my normal range of meetings – so many slogans!  This year I got “Q-TIP”: Quit Taking It Personally.  This spoke right to me.  I take so much personally!  I assume that everyone is noticing and intending everything they do, so if the woman I live with doesn’t clean the coffee pot, she meant to leave it for me.  If any chore is left, anything “obviously” out of place, she must be expecting that I’ll take care of it.  There’s a resentment just waiting for an excuse.

Over time, I’m learning how to have conversations that clear things up.  I’ve learned that my companion honestly doesn’t see everything I do, and doesn’t particularly care about the coffee pot until the next time it’s needed.  It’s not personal.

I don’t need to “protect” myself by fostering a resentment.  I need to protect myself by noticing my reactions and assumptions, and asking God to show me a better way.

So now I have a Q-Tip on my desk, in the lap of my little stuffed lamb Agnes Day.  As I write this she’s holding it, reminding me that I am loved and I am safe – even if the kitchen is not as neat as I’d like it to be!  I don’t have to drink, or eat, or rant about it.  I can decide what to do.  Sometimes I’ll clean the pot.  Sometimes, now, I too let it sit until needed.  But if the little voice of resentment starts up, I remember: this coffee pot is not about me.  My companion’s difference in temperament and observation is not about me. 

This year one of the lengths I’m going to is to keep that Q-tip close.  I’ll call my sponsor and other recovering folks if I start to think it’s personal – whatever it is – from the coffee pot to the state of the environment.  What’s personal is my thoughts, my actions, my relationship to God.  If I pay attention to that, I will bring peace and healing to my corner of the world.

In her book, The Recovering: Intoxication and Its Aftermath, Leslie Jamison writes: “From the night of my first buzz, I didn’t understand why everyone in the world wasn’t getting drunk every night… Scientists describe addiction as a dysregulation of the neurotransmitter functions of the mesolimbic dopamine system, which basically means your reward pathways get F’d up. “It’s a “pathological usurpation of survival impulses… When my drinking passed a certain threshold… it plunged me into darkness that seemed like honesty. It was as if the bright surfaces of the world were all false and the desperate drunk space underground was where truth lived.”

It’s just over four decades since my last drink and I can still remember my first drink which became a heck of a drunk. It was like I couldn’t get enough of everything on the table. An hour and a half earlier I had been the designated barman and all I drank was Apple Cider. When I was told it contained alcohol, I read the percentage of alcohol – slight – I decided, “I might as well be killed for a sheep as a lamb” and began to drink. I tasted every bottle of alcohol on the table, got sick, blamed others for the mess in the bathroom which I proudly acknowledge I cleaned up. The following day I purchased a motorcycle, learned how to ride it, and took myself to the nearest pub to celebrate.

I didn’t drink every night, but when I did drink, I drank alcoholically. I also assumed that everyone in the establishment was enjoying alcohol in the same manner. It would be nearly twenty years before I appreciated the learning by scientists of the destructive consequences of alcohol on my brain and in my body.

From the night of that first drink/drunk, I believed I could handle it. Alcoholics go to meetings and I was helping them find new meeting rooms in the city of Dublin at the time. I went to some open meetings, listened to the stories and knew I was not like them. [Although the first meeting I attended was enough for me to leave and get a drink. They were talking about “Honesty” and I thought they were talking about me.] Alcoholics don’t have jobs. I was a full-time student with reasonably decent grades. Alcoholics, no matter what they did or didn’t do, I was not one of them. After all, I was teaching the students about the danger of drugs and alcohol. I knew what I was talking about.

The problem was I had no idea my brain had been hijacked, rewired, and in relationship to alcohol and other drugs, I was blinded to the negative impact on my thinking, behavior and values. All of this happened without my permission, and clearly, with my permission. I had been told that I was an alcoholic and I blew it off.

“It’s a pathological usurpation of survival impulses.” I would not have gotten into a car with a driver who was blindfolded or blind. And yet, I believed myself to be a safe driver even though, the next morning, I had no recall as to how I got home. I look back now and have a great appreciation for my angel guardian.

I wish I could have gotten into Recovery as suddenly as I got into Addiction. That I was not an alcoholic was so entrenched in my mind, I could not see myself as being “one of them.” Five weeks in a four-week program followed by a year of Aftercare and individual therapy barely made a dent in my denial system.

Today, I thank my Higher Power/God for those men who cared enough about me that they took me under their wing and guided me. Recovery, for me, was a slow process into accepting myself as an alcoholic. Looking back, it seems so strange to admit to inappropriate behavior while under the influence of alcohol and drugs while denying being addicted. But such is the nature of the hijacked rewired brain. Early recovery was a time of confronting memories; listening to others tell me what it was like to be with me when I was under the influence; working and reworking the steps and learning the meaning of “Living the program.” In other words, getting my brain unwired from the alcoholic thinking and rewired to healthy and appropriate thinking based on the spiritual principles of the 12 Step program.

Little did I know I would one day be amazed that the AA “promises” would become for me a reality and I would realize that God did and is doing for me what I could not and cannot do for myself.

Happy, Sober and safe New Year to all.
Séamus D.
New Orleans, La.