The first time I spoke to anyone about not drinking was at a conference on alcoholism. I was there not because I personally had a problem with alcohol, but because I, a high school English teacher, was concerned about the effects of alcohol on my students.

A few months before that conference, through will power and a desire to prove that I was not an alcoholic, I had put down the drink. I was slogging along in an unfamiliar world. It had been gin-and-tonic that had made me a great singer, a fabulous dancer, an effervescent storyteller. It had been white wine that had helped me relax in the face of obstacles, ignore problems, or laugh off baffling situations.

Without those spirits and that wine, how could I live? Deep down inside, I didn’t know who I was or what I liked to do, and I certainly didn’t have the coping skills to face any challenges. But I put up a good front.

So, this woman told me people could recover from the disease of alcoholism. She said there were only three things a person had to do to stay sober: Don’t Drink. Ask for Help. Go to Meetings.

She looked at me and added, “DD, AH, GM—even you can remember that. Six letters. DD, AH, GM.” I was affronted that she thought that I was incapable of remembering all her words. I had not mentioned to her that I had not had a drink in almost three months. I had been engaging in a generic, theoretical conversation about a serious social and educational problem. Was it not apparent who and what I was: an educated, intelligent, professional woman? What did she mean, “Even you can remember six letters…”

Something was missing. I was as dry as a bone and quaking in my boots that day when I spoke to the woman I met at the conference, the one who gave me the gift of six letters.

From my vantage point today, I believe that woman knew exactly who and what I was. She clearly saw a woman who was struggling, new to the idea of not drinking, foundering, and headed for some mighty challenges in the months to come.

She had told me, “DD, AH, GM.” I remembered those six letters. I recited them to myself like a mantra, “DD, AH, GM; DD, AH, GM; DD, AH, GM ” and no matter what was going on, I would keep chanting them until the moment of despair or craving or hopelessness passed I would still be breathing. I would still be sober. I didn’t drink. But I was pretty miserable.

I needed help. I needed people who wouldn’t let me snow them with multi-syllabic words, an erect carriage, or confident delivery. People who would see that underneath it all, I had no idea how to live a life without alcohol. Sure, I had put down the drink. But who was I? I couldn’t sing, dance, or tell stories while sober. I couldn’t ignore or laugh off complex situations. I had no skills, no tools. Nothing to guide me.

But wait, I did have a tool. DD, AH, GM. As hard as it was, I had, for now, done the DD part: I hadn’t had a drink in three months. But that woman had given me six letters, not just two.

DD: Not drinking was the first thing—Don’t Drink—okay, sober, no alcohol—but now what was I supposed to do?

AH: Ask for help. Who do I ask? I asked God to send me a group I couldn’t BS, and I had found myself at a conference on alcoholism, learning about the disease and recovery, and listening to a woman assuring me that I could certainly remember six letters and that using them would make my life better.

I thought of the last pair of letters that woman had challenged me to remember—GM: Go to Meetings. I had learned at that conference that there were meetings where a way of life based on “The Twelve Steps” was practiced and discussed.

These were meetings of people who admitted they had a problem, that their lives had become unmanageable. Meetings of alcoholics. Meetings of drug users. Meetings of people who had spent their lives trying to control someone’s behavior. Meetings of people who were raised in homes affected by active addictions. Meetings of people who were addicted to food or sex or spending or gambling.

There were meetings where people spoke about themselves and their lives and how they enjoyed or coped with what life was offering without using alcohol, drugs, trying to control others, or any of the other things people can become addicted to. Meetings where people were living life now, in the present, on life’s terms. Meetings where people talked about gratitude and acceptance. Yikes.

In all of these meetings, people were admitting that they were powerless over their addictions. And they were asking for help. They were learning who they are—what hobbies and interests they had and how they could spend their time and enjoy life. They were being adults who accept that their actions affect themselves and others and learning how to behave responsibly and kindly. They were talking about the difficulties and challenges they face and how they cope.

And they were learning, profoundly, deeply, that no one is alone.

I could go to those meetings: I was not alone. I am never alone.

I don’t know that conference woman’s name. But she saved my life and showed me that I could be restored to sanity. Thank you.

Six letters, that’s all it takes:

DD, AH, GM.

Christine H.