Through the Red Door Blog

When we were young in recovery we looked to the old-timers with awe. “She’s got 35 years” He’s got 40 years.” We’d listen when they spoke.

We knew that all that time meant something. We knew it meant they had been through a lot and they still did not use or drink. We knew they had faced all kinds of hard things and had learned a lot about recovery and spirituality and personal growth.

But as much as we admired the old-timers, we didn’t always ask them to be our sponsors—we needed people closer in age to us and we needed people closer to our life stage: other people who were dating or having kids or building careers or making a new life after divorce.

We used the principles of the program—we prayed for God’s will. We surrendered. And, just like the odds in anyone’s life, some of us got the book contracts or the VP titles or the babies. And some did not. We celebrated, and we grieved.

So, it turned out that as much as we whispered our admiration for the old-timers in our meetings, we also didn’t look too closely.

What we missed by not looking closely was the grief, the physical pain, the family losses, and death moving closer. Maybe we knew they had a child that died but the comments in meetings just sounded so wise, still. And we heard that “so and so” had a bad diagnosis or was in the hospital, and maybe we even visited but we missed the fine points.

“How do you get to be an old-timer?” the old joke asks. “Don’t drink and don’t die.” And we laugh. But behind closed doors, and in small living rooms where everyone is over 65, the story changes. The physical stuff is hard, death is not a theory, and we have to face things that platitudes cannot remedy.

Then as it happens, we got older too. We had the career disappointments, and the divorces. The small crises and the huge, shocking ones. If we had kids it turned out that they pleased us, or they didn’t. The baby we prayed for 30 years ago is a drug addict or a too busy parent. They married someone who likes us or who doesn’t.

We lose our jobs—the ones we liked and the ones we hated, and we are shocked that can happen to someone in recovery. Life happens to us the way it happens to the rest of the world. What we have is recovery and maybe a little bit more sanity than some others and some great habits and a community or people who speak our language.

But the divorces hurt, and the wrinkles shock, and the scary diagnoses come slowly and then quickly. Time keeps passing. We sponsor young people, but our recovery friends are aging too.

It’s not a question of staying sober or abstinent. That habit is pretty solid. And over this many years your lifestyle runs itself. You don’t buy wine, and no one offers it. You are not in bars or parties with drugs. Maybe the grown kids are a problem if they bring their substances home post-divorce. You need to tell your recovery friends about that. 

And something else happens with those friendships: They get farther apart. As the illnesses and disabilities get more serious, our friends start to move away: they go to special living places or to the town where their kids live. Oh, we promise to call and visit, and we do, but then it’s harder for us too. And the gap grows.

We go to meetings and we speak when asked. Our stories are still admired. But we don’t raise our hands as often. We may be a little bored with ourselves.

We are the old-timers, but we are not fixed. No one is, after all.

It doesn’t matter who you used to be. Who are you today? What does your commitment to recovery look like now? How do you sustain it? And how will you move toward the end of your life?

Diane C
Albany, New York

Recently I’ve been rereading THE WORLD’S WISDOM*and this sentence stood out to me: “Death…does not mean passing away and extinction of life, but returning home to the divine world…[it]  is a passage into a new existence, the transition to a new and true life.” Reflecting on this I realized that this is what happened in the process of working and learning to live the Twelve Step program.

My addiction was killing me. In my active addiction I had become a walking dead person. If I were going to live, then I had to die. As Jesus said, “Unless the grain of wheat, falling to the ground dies, itself remains alone.” The seed has to die in order to become alive.

I did not know I was dying, and I did not want to die. Admitting I was powerless over alcohol sounded so stupid. I could stop anytime I wanted to, and I did periodically. Coming to grips with the true meaning of powerlessness was not easy. It was simply this: I had no idea which drink I picked up would get me drunk.

When I finally admitted I was powerless and that my life had become unmanageable, then the beginning of new life began. My life was unmanageable, I was dead to all the values which I said I held important. Now it was time to “return to the divine world.”

It was a strange concept that I had to “come to believe” in something I thought I believed in already. I believed there is a God. For me there were two gods; the God I talked about to others – loving, kind, merciful – and the one I feared was going to send me to hell. Now I could come to believe in an undefined Power Greater than Myself that could restore me to sanity. I had to admit that my thinking was not reasonable when it came to all that I was addicted to. Sanity, peace of mind, it was a long time since I had experienced that.       

Believing in a Power greater than myself that could restore me to sanity was “the transition to a new and true life.” It was no longer “I” that was doing anything, but rather I was guided by this power I would, again, call God.

I chose to ‘turn my will and my life over to the care of God as I understood god”. How often had I trusted people to give me directions, to answer a question honestly, to repair my car. Now, this power that had restored life to millions of addicts, was the Power to which I would turn over my will and my life – just for today, one day at a time.

“Returning home to the divine world” included cleaning up the wreckage of my life through steps four and five, eight, nine and ten. And so began a new way of living, being responsible, helping others, making amends immediately (almost). This was new and at the same time a wonderful way of living. No more lies, stories, blaming others. This was the freedom to be who I was born to be and become. But I was not there yet.

Steps eleven and twelve were the important final building blocks. Seeking to improve my conscious contact with God through Prayer and meditation – talking and listening to God – was something I once did and then let it slide away and my EGO [Easing God Out] took over. Now I was returning to something I understood and seeing it as for the first time.

Finally, “praying only for knowledge of God’s will for me.” Not determining what I needed to do for me, for the world that waited for me. No. Praying only for knowledge of God’s will for me and asking God to entrust in me the power to do what God wanted me to do. Once again, I am powerless, I need help. God help me.

As I began to come alive, I experienced what the Fellowship taught; that I would experience a new freedom and a new happiness, I had no regrets for the past as I would be able to use my past experiences to help others; the feeling of uselessness and self-pity gave way to the concept of “I am responsible” and a willingness to reach out to others in need. I was no longer focused on what “I want what I want when I want it” but rather on the needs of others. Fear of people, finances, faded into the background as my new divine life opened up for me. It was then I realized that “my outlook on life had changed. [I realized] that God was doing for me what I could not do for myself.”

Séamus D.                                                                                                                   Seamus is an active retired Episcopal priest in New Orleans/

*THE WORLD’S WISDOM. Phillip Novak.351

...perhaps it was in a church basement. Today—all over town—AA meetings are opening in all manner of places. The Days of Stigma, epitomized by basement AA meetings, are gone and in more ways than one, the Fellowship has moved “upstairs.”

You probably didn’t know a soul at your first meeting, not one person. Some probably appeared a bit shell-shocked. By the way, recall how you looked that first day!

Of course, everyone seemed to know the workings of AA meetings-opening with the Serenity Prayer, a reading of material from something called—as you came to know it—the “Big Book,” then the passing of the basket.

Then out of the blue, the chair asks if anyone is attending their first AA meeting, “Please stand so we can say hello.” Shazam... are you kidding me, you screamed to yourself. Did your face reflect that shock and fear?

You didn’t expect this and racing through your mind was this thought: ‘Am I going to have to stand in a room of people and admit I’m an alcoholic?’

You stand up, but before you can even say your name, everyone claps, smiles, and turn to the last row where you decided to hide sit, some asking your name, others shaking your hand, others, “Welcome, come back! Need a ride?”

Then someone was asked to address the group. She said she was going to tell us what it was like, in her words, “drinking like a skid-row drunk,” what happened, and what she’s learned working the Program. Right off, her story went to her worst days, nights, her torments. It seemed to trace your own path. She told of her fears and sorrows. It became more real to you. You knew she was telling the truth. She spoke of finding the Program, her early days of working the Steps.

But then she said in hindsight, “It was all a lark to get ready for my court appearance.. She said she went back out after a month or two, maybe it was longer.  She said she quickly returned to her old drunken path, and really tumbled this time. You could tell she was hurting. Her voice broke, tears were beginning... you knew she wasn’t making this up and you felt her pain, her shame, you wanted to reach for and hold her.

Suddenly, it was as quiet as that church meeting room ever gets. She stood there, barely in control of herself, shaking... then she said,

“I’ll never forget, I came back, ashamed, afraid, crushed as a human can be... but you welcomed me! You cried with me. Some of you said, ‘I’d followed a similar path’... no questions or suspicious looks, just a ‘glad you’re back. Keep coming back!’”

Her story struck you hard as can be, twisted your stomach, but at the same time grabbing your heart. Maybe she was speaking to you, but to you alone?

Those early AA meetings—yes, they often were hard for there was so much to learn, and to learn to have the courage to implement what you had learned. But you finally realized the wonderful news was that these new ways were the start of your new life, one of rebuilding and re-learning how to live without harming yourself and others. You saw the need to carry that message of hope to others. Perhaps most importantly, you learned to seek a spiritual basis for living your life.

Scary first meeting? You bet, but for me, it’s important to recall those days, down and dirty in that dungeon, and how our Higher Power and the Program themselves walked into that dungeon and helped us seize that moment and twist it and surrender drink and accept the Program’s ways. You found the joy of finding a Power greater than yourself and move forward as a Recovering Alcoholic!

Jim A St X Noon, Cincinnati   

I spent most of my life in Seattle, WA. Here’s a little, known fact about Western Washington – there are no poisonous snakes (too cold year-round)!  I like to hike and roam so for all those years I never thought about snakes. In general, they don’t bother me but knowing that if I came across one, I could be assured that it was not poisonous.

Then, I moved to Southern Arizona. I moved in October, so it was getting cool enough that many snakes were heading towards hibernation. Very early on a worker at my place said, “come out by my truck, you can see a rattlesnake – a dead one”. I went out to see a thin snake about a foot long. I didn’t want to get close even though he told me it was dead. He said it was a very young one and that was why it was so small. I asked if its mother was around, and should I be worried, but he let me know that snakes are pretty much on their own two weeks after they hatch. So – no mamas around to worry about.

I walk for an hour each day. During my first winter in my new hometown, I didn’t concern myself much about snakes. There is a trail across for my place and I would walk each day admiring my new world and enjoy the sun. One day I noticed something black on the road as I crossed to go home.  It was a snake – a big one that had been run over by a car and was dried out. I took it home to check in my Snakes in AZ brochure and it was a diamondback rattle snake! Thank goodness it was DEAD.

Along about February my friends in AA began to warn me about snakes. They would be coming out of hibernation. The list of things to watch out for was long – look under your car before you get in, don’t leave out empty pots they can get in, they can crawl into your walled back yard through the drainage hole – make sure it has a dense screen to keep them out. If you see one – go the other way. Call the fire department and they will come and get it!  Yikes! I was freaking out! The newspaper in town had stories of snakebites every week and classes were available for residents, especially for ones that had dogs!

When I went on my daily walk, I was very aware of walking and watching what was in front of me on the trail. If I heard a noise I would stop and listen and assess and then move on. (By the way – rattlesnakes DO NOT rattle if you get close to them). I walked so that I was present and only looked a few feet ahead. I could enjoy the birds singing and the view of the mountains. I wasn’t afraid, I was cautious. The first time I saw a snake on my trail, I stopped about 25 feet from it. I didn’t see it moving but I still watched and began to look around to see if I could walk around the snake and not get cactus needles in me. Someone had told me that early in the spring snakes are often out getting sun to warm up since they are coldblooded creatures. I found a way around the snake, said hello as I watched, as I walked around the snake, and went on my way. Another time I was walking by the fire station near me, and they were doing a training on capturing snakes, putting them in wooden box and then taking them further out in the desert to release. It was fascinating. All wildlife in AZ is protected from being killed.

I’ve seen a few in this last year and this is what I have learned: Being present in my body and mind is very important. I can enjoy nature and be present at the same time. When faced with a challenge, I can stop, breath, and find the safest way to move through the challenge. Listening to others’ fears and anxiety doesn’t help me, it often just makes me anxious. I can trust myself that with education and AA support I can learn how to navigate my life. Scary things happen in my life. There is a power greater than myself that can restore me to sanity, and I turn my life of to the care of that power.

  

“In ACA, we learn to let go in stages…Our attempts at control bring spiritual death to a relationship with ourselves and others.…..At the core of this learned control is a fear that we will not know who we are if we do not have an addict or dysfunctional person in our lives…In ACA...we learn we can survive the journey of finding out who we are. We can change and know happiness.” Adult Children of Alcohlics/Dysfunctional Families; ACA Fellowship Text (The big Red Book) 41.

Recently, I’ve taken to rereading The Big Red Book of ACoA. Ever since I first read anything about ACA, put myself into therapy, and came to realize that I am an Adult Child of an Alcoholic who did not drink. In time, I came to believe that just about everyone in A.A. with at least five years of sobriety, should attend ACOA for at least six months.

ACoA is not just another Twelve Step program. Rather it is a program in which I was able to locate my behavior choices in order to survive a system that was broken, and we did not know it.

My choice (subconsciously) was a mixture of the quiet one (at school), the clown (at home). I had an undiagnosed learning problem, was labeled as being a “slow learner,” and so I stayed quiet in the classroom and around those whom I judged to be well educated. At home, for the most part, I could change mom’s anger into laugher and escape whatever punishment she had in mind.        

In ACA I looked back and realized that early in my life I had boundary issues, involving myself in situations (to be of help) that were none of my business. It was clear to me that we did not talk about our family outside the family (nor inside). And, bringing a friend home, or going to spend the night at the home of a friend, was out of the question

Out of the home and into college gave me a new life. I had to make decisions for myself, but I wasn’t sure all the time. So, unconsciously, I used other people to make decisions, to speak up on issues, to make suggestions. My dry alcoholic mother was a master of manipulation, and I learned from the best.

There came the day when I found total freedom and friends. Jack Daniels, Bud Wiser (Stupid), John Jameison, etc. In no time I was the center of attention, could dance, became arrogant, selfish, self-centered, and developed a fear of God punishing me that only got worse as my lifestyle spiraled out of control. Of course, I never doubted I was in control. I knew what I was doing. After all, by this time, I was helping alcoholics on the streets of Dublin.

ACA Step One reads: “We admitted we were powerless over the effects of alcoholism or other family dysfunction, that our lives had become unmanageable.” My mother was a good person who was addicted to Church, to work, and needed to control all she could of her family, what they said and who they were with. After her death, I wrote her a number of letters and in the end, I came to admit she had done the best she could in her circumstances. What a relief.

As a child in this dysfunctional system, I learned to keep my emotions to myself. I concluded there was no point in telling anyone how I felt. I was a couple of years in A.A. when I began to make a list of emotions and then acknowledge I had them. It was difficult to admit “ I am loving. There are times when I am indifferent.” “I am patient. There are times when I have no patience.” “I am loving.” I’m afraid to say I love you. I have difficulty hearing “I love you.” In time I learned to love and be loved.

Some of the ACA promises state “We will discover our real identities by loving and accepting ourselves…Our self-esteem will increase as we give ourselves approval on a daily basis… Fears of failure and success will leave us.as we intuitively make healthier choices…Healthy boundaries and limits will become easier for us to set…Gradually with the help of our Higher Power we will learn to expect the best and get it.”

Alcoholics Anonymous offered me sobriety and serenity and living one day at a time with people I wanted to be like. Sobriety and serenity opened my mind and heart to the environment in which I was molded, learned to love it, and from that become the person I am today, and I continue to grow. Thanks to AA and ACoA.

Séamus D

Seamus is a semi-retired Episcopal priest in New Orleans.

Except that’s not how I felt when I woke up and said that to myself this morning.

I didn’t feel happy. I felt discontent and tired. After 4 ½ years of avoiding Covid I had finally gotten it! I had to see a doctor about my aching knees. I feel old AND at the same time I have a zit growing on my nose, so I felt ugly and old.

I took myself for a walk. When I don’t know what to do, I walk. I started to walk during the pandemic, and it stuck.

Walking often delivers a God Shot to me and today was no exception. I remembered reading about a man who wanted to cultivate gratitude, so he put 8 pennies in his left pocket and each time he had ANY moment of gratitude during the day, he noted it and moved one penny into his right pocket. It never took him even a half a day before the gratitude pennies were all in his right pocket.

On my Facebook feed today, there was a memory of the start of a year (I think it was 2016). I posted a gratitude I had on January 1 and then I started to post one every day and I did it for a whole year!

This year that felt way too much – but maybe 8 pennies was doable. I tried in the past to list gratitudes as I turned off the light but by the end of the day, I rarely remembered them.

So, I will do this today, and hopefully tomorrow and on and on. I have 6 already: I heard a bird singing. The sun out and the weather is cooling in Southern AZ, seeing my daughter and granddaughter on FaceTime, dear ones I love, who I know love me and a few more.

As I got close to home from my walk I saw a small key on the sidewalk. It seemed to be for me – the God Shot. The key to whatever is going on is gratitude- gratitude and acceptance that life is as it is wherever my feet are at any moment. And this is my prayer: Please help me remember that the Impossible is Possible as long as I don’t believe the lie that it is all up to me. Happy new day!!

We went to Cape Cod a few weeks ago. It’s a favorite place with my favorite beach. When we are there, I go to the beach alone in the morning to pray. It’s easy—there’s a lot of privacy—the dog walkers might wave, and I can wave back. The surfers are out in the waves. No one is sunbathing.

I take time at the water’s edge to write the names of each person I love on the edge of the shore and watch to see the water come up and take the prayer away. Sometimes I write the names of people I struggle with—coworkers, former friends, and yes, relatives. I have left many prayers on the beach. Many fears, dreams, people I love and people that scare me. I have cried many tears with those prayers and let the ocean’s saltwater wash away my salty tears. Sometimes the healing or resolution happens right there at the water’s edge, and many times it happens later that day or week or month.

It is always some form of surrender.

I live in the gap between wanting to make a complete surrender, making that surrender for a moment, and then, seeing, even as I walk back to my car some fear returns and my wish to control something or someone is already back in my head.

Surrender is such an imperfect process, but I do think it is a process. I really do wonder about people who say they have done it and it’s done. Do they really never worry again? Worry means I still think I can affect an outcome. Curiosity might be the antithesis of worry. Being able after surrender, to wonder: “I wonder how God is going to play this one out?”

These are the things I surrender and later worry about: my job, his job, my health, his health, money, in-laws, kids and aging.

Maybe this worry habit of mine too is something I need to surrender.

Over and over, I surrender and return to these things. But just the surrendering of them makes them different—if only for a minute I am willing.

The ocean’s rhythm is familiar; in and out, in and out, washing, soothing, wearing me down.

The first time occurred while I was standing at the edge of that alcoholic abbess. There I came to believe I was an alcoholic and knew I had to stop drinking. I was scared. But I saw changes in the lives of others and worked the Program to bring those changes into my own life. My AA meetings hammered on the step-by-step process of dealing with the harm we’d caused. My sponsor warned me of the importance of continuing to attend meetings and continuing to work the Steps. At that point I knew I had indeed been born again.

As I worked the Steps, I came to understand that Step Two told me much about myself, the depths of which I didn’t comprehend immediately, and to some extent, not for years. It is this Step which tells me to “get outside myself,” to forget that I alone can understand life and function within it. Step Two tells me to “let go and let God,” to always seek the will of my Higher Power, to seek the next right thing to do in any circumstance. For me, accepting that was my second moment of being born again.

You’d be mistaken if you thought that at this point I’d leave talking about this born again business. But I want to point out that I’d missed an understanding of the depth of my “life” I was turning over. More recently than I’ll admit, I see that “turning over” includes not only the big stuff but the junky stuff we run into every day—car keys your son (or you) lost, your printer jams, the snarky letters from people. I need to remember to turn over these mundane sudden difficulties. These daily little things can push me into temper tantrums and anger causing me to fire off a “way-out-of-line” response.

It’s the daily ordinary trivial stuff that grabs me and turns me into a person I don’t like. It forces me to ask myself if I have really done what Step Two says. My failure to do so means I failed to take advantage of His love for me and His assistance in working my way through all of life’s activity.

It’s not always easy to “stop, be quiet and wait.” I fail a great deal. But the fact is that with a few seconds of reflection, I can muster a solution, I can find a way to look again to find those keys, even find a way to clear that jammed printer.

I have found that this “halting time” usually gives me that solution. Our Higher Power responds in many ways...sometimes quickly (calm down and look again for those keys under the chair). He has suggested to me a manner of response as I slept. Sometimes it comes later, sometimes not at all. It’s not always easy to wait and listen, but the fact is that when I am able to overcome my “know-it-all arrogance,” my life is smoother, more productive, and kinder and within Christ’s teachings and the Steps.

And when I am able to do this, I feel in those moments that I’ve been reborn.

Jim A, St X Noon/ Springboro/Frankin, Wed. Noon

Tomorrow morning, I will catch a flight to Washington, DC, to the World Convention of Narcotics Anonymous.  This will be the fifth one I’ve had the privilege to attend.  It is an amazing event. My first one was in the mid-90s about a year after I got an internet account and searched for NA and found chat rooms and email lists and discussion boards full of recovering addicts from all over the world and it was an exciting time because many of us met up in person at that convention!  Each one I’ve attended my circle of recovering friends has grown exponentially from the previous one. When we stay in the middle of the boat, and get involved with service at various levels, that is one of the results.  At the last one I attended my friend who was newly coming back from a relapse was amazed that everywhere we went—every meeting, workshop, meal, hanging out in a sitting area—I would see people I knew.  That’s an amazing thing when you’re looking at 21,000+ folks from all over the world!

Not only will I get to reconnect in person with many friends, but I will also celebrate my belly button birthday and turn 69 years old.  If not for recovery and all that comes with it—a renewed relationship with God, 12 wonderful steps and 12 wonderful traditions and all the great literature that tells my story—you would have thought they intimately knew me and were writing about me personally in our literature–this would not be possible!  Like many of you, I probably wouldn’t even still be alive if not for the gift of desperation that gave me the willingness to go to any lengths to stop using.

Recovery Ministries has also been a very significant part of my recovery as well.  I was working at a church when I got clean and one day something came across my desk from the local Episcopal Addiction and Recovery Commission, and I was thrilled that the church had such a committee! And lo and behold, there was also a national Episcopal recovery organization—at that time called NECA (National Episcopal Coalition on Alcohol), and later NECAD (National Episcopal Coalition on Alcohol and Drugs) and even later RMEC (Recovery Ministries of the Episcopal Church) as we know it today.  I’ve been pretty much involved locally and nationally since hearing about them back in 1987. 

My 12-step fellowship was there for me when I got clean, my Episcopal recovery organizations were there for me—and one thing I learned that has stuck with me all these 37+ years—if I want to keep what I have, I should give back to others what was so freely given to me. My gratitude speaks when I care and share with others… And I thought today would be a good time to sign up for a Red Door Blog post!

One of my fondest memories of 3^rd grade was how our teacher, Mrs. Vantrese, read books to us. The only one I remember was one about a little girl who could make herself very small and visit the ants that lived under her backyard stairs. I too loved ants after that and would lie in the grass in summer and watch them. Later when my daughter was 10 or so I got us an ant farm. I told her that it could be a fun science thing, but she wasn’t very interested. It really was for me.

On my daily walks in Arizona, I walk on the cart paths of a golf course that went belly up and the owners donated the course to our county as a park. You can walk the whole course on the paths, perhaps 5 miles. It doesn’t much look like a golf course any more as the desert has reclaimed the manicured green grass.

Most days, I see hundreds of ants crossing the paths. They often look very random. They bump into each other and seem to not have any idea where they are going or what they are doing. I am reminded of ME before recovery. I was on fire running around trying to stop the chaos and flames and never noticing anyone else and all the while wanting someone to help me!

Sometimes, I notice one little ant carrying something that seems way too large for this small creature to hold, let alone, carry. I watch as she tries to move a crumb of something, and I feel sad for her. I too tried to carry my disease all by myself. I could manage it alone, thank you very much, but it was hard. My life was unmanageable.

The other day I saw what looked like a red pebble on the path. It was the size of a dime BUT it was MOVING! I got closer, bent down to look, and saw an amazing thing. It wasn’t a pebble; it was some organic thing, and it was moving because a dozen ants were moving it! They were working together in a way that seemed to indicate that they had done this many times before. Their survival depended on working together. The ant hill nearby was their destination and there too were ants working together to maintain their home.

So, I think it is with recovery. Meetings and fellowship and reaching out to those who still suffer is the selfish thing I do to keep my sobriety. It also keeps me connected to and in fellowship with others to support and nurture us in our recovery. Carrying and supporting each other as we Trudge the Happy Road of Destiny.

–Libbie S, Sober Sisters, Green Valley, AZ