Courageously Sober

"courage is what it takes to stand up and speak; courage is also what it takes to sit down and listen."
Originally uploaded by edgworthric
I went to an AA meeting that I've always enjoyed and haven't been to in many months. The occasion was to support a young woman who was telling her story; she is someone I am honored to call a real friend in this program. She is young enough to be my daughter and wise beyond her mid-twenty-something years. For the first time in her 1 year and a quarter term of sobriety, she invited her mother to hear her speak. You have to be pretty confident and comfortable in your own skin to give your parent a front row seat to your story of what happened and this is a testament to the kind of recovery program my friend has been working, which includes significant repairs to the relationship with her mother.

The loudest piece of her story that reverberated and echoed throughout the chambers of my being was this: toward the end of her drinking, suicide was the only solution she considered a viable option for dealing with the pain she carried and that now, in her sobriety, she is faced with significantly more pain AND joy AND fear AND love, recognizing that it is far more courageous to LIVE and be in this life sober than to want to annhilate the pain and end life cowardly through the escape hatch of alcohol.

I thought a lot about this after the meeting, on my drive home and as I had my dinner. In the decade of my drinking, I was riddled with fear. I did not have the capacity to face my life as it was. Anxiety consumed me. The illusion of alcohol was that it was strength-in-a-bottle. Some guys who shared tonight used the term: "liquid courage". Pouring that stuff down my throat was akin to putting a bag over my head; I was blinded to whatever was going on around me. There was nothing courageous about it. It was, in fact, the most cowardly thing I could do, short of digging a hole in the ground and burying myself in it to hide from the world. I could not bear the pain of what I perceived as being "wronged" in my life by everyone. Life was not safe; life was dangerous. Life was to be feared at every turn. Life could not be trusted. This is the truth of how it was for me.

Rumi says: "Don't turn away. Keep your gaze on the bandage place -- that is where the light enters you."

Light did sneak a peek through a small opening to illuminate my woundedness when I understood I needed to put down the bottle. Looking at my fearfulness directly, on the other hand, was not something I was ready or willing to do. I had a big toe in recovery. To take the big "cannonball" jump into the pool of AA was far too terrifying. I half-heartedly participated in group therapy and faked my way through to "graduating".

This cowardly lion did NOT want to see the Wizard behind the curtain. It was the easier, softer way to take the path of least resistance, in a totally different direction.

So, without the illusory shield of alcohol and no recovery tools on hand, how the hell was I engaged in life? Merging with and care-taking a partner and friends. Ignoring my needs and my inner voice. Dissociating and becoming paralyzed in the face of anything conflictual or fearful. Busying myself and staying in motion. Working incessantly. Battling insomnia. Pretending everything was ok and denying that anything wasn't ok.

There is nothing courageous about being abstinent when you are not willing to live soberly, I shared tonight at the meeting. Reflecting here is a reminder about what it is and what it is not to be courageously sober.

Being present to my both of my partners' parents dying a month apart felt courageous at the time; the truth is, I never stopped moving to really feel anything.

Leaving my former partner a few years ago seemed like it was courageous; it was, in fact, escaping and running from what I could no longer tolerate.

Ending 2 dating relationships seemed courageous because there were aspects about each of them that were no longer acceptable. I was not completely honest with either person and, in fact, avoided contact with both so as to not deal directly with what was hard in these relationships.

To walk into the doors of AA after a 16 plus year absence and admit I'm an alcoholic for the first time was no small feat. To face my fears of abandonment, the unknown, and all of the childhood terror that was locked behind closed doors for 4 decades of my life is an act of bravery. To examine with a fine tooth comb all of my character defects and to do multiple 4th steps as a result of my writing and sharing this blog with my intimate partner, my healer and my sponsor is one of the most courageous things I've ever done. And, to be willing to love fully and completely in the face of the absolute unknown, amid periods of separation and even no contact, with no guarantee of a happily-ever outcome is warrior-worthy (on both ends).

I am just coming to understand what it means to be in my life, courageously sober.