and to work with (and withhold the truth from) my sponsor this whole time. It wasn’t until I was ready to establish a “new” recovery date by going out and getting loaded that I realized the danger of keeping my secret. I finally told the truth about my using at a meeting. This I did not do all on my own. My Higher Power had intervened. I heard a woman share who had done the same thing: she had continued to use drugs as she continued to attend twelve-step recovery meetings. I felt nothing but compassion for her; I did not feel pity, and I did not sit in judgment or scorn her. And as I listened and looked around the room, I saw the same emotions on everybody’s face: compassion, concern, and care. I stood up with what we call “a burning desire” to share and told everyone my story of self-betrayal. And they loved me, too. Eventually I went to all of my regular meetings, changing my recovery date out loud and feeling humility with that action of amends.
Now I could dig into my steps for a second time with renewed honesty and more self-awareness. While I had made sincere amends the first time through the steps of the program, addressing all the issues and events I could remember at that time, I had a new appreciation for who I had been and who I wanted to be. That gave me a finer comb with which to remove the tangles of my past. It was as if a veil had been lifted between my inner self and others: I could listen with my whole heart and respond honestly from the totality of my being. It also gave me a new place of authenticity to be a sponsor to others. I could “give so freely that which had been given to me”—acceptance and empathy.
With the madness of having lived the “lie of deception” in my early recovery, I truly found the unmanageability of my disease. I realized that I would have to include and rely on a power greater than myself for resolution and guidance, that I could become whole and find my genuine authentic self, and that there were still moral wrong turns to evaluate and evacuate. I needed to know what my spiritual road was and how to proceed. This is an ongoing search, and I am patient. I tried organized religion, I tried me-ism, and I tried “him” again—making my partner my deity. This also does not work, and is an unfair burden on a partner and an unrealistic source of inspiration and approval. In my journey I have discovered that the real source of inspiration and approval comes from inside, and is based on my spiritual life.
We are taught in recovery that we need to find a Higher Power that we are comfortable with and develop a relationship with it. While much of the writing in the basic texts of recovery reads from a traditional monotheistic model, we are given the option to find our own spiritual path in any manner or direction we wish. Twelve-step pioneer Bill Wilson averred that the program “contained spiritual principles that members of any and every religion could accept, including the Eastern religions” (Pass It On: The Story of Bill Wilson and How the AA Message Reached the World, p. 283). As a result of this search, I am on a very comfortable path now of worshiping the divinity in all of us. I have my group of wise people who demonstrate the life I want to lead and advise me along the way. I have been able to take the principles from the twelve-step recovery program into my daily practice, and to weave them into my daily activities and my relationships with my husband, children, and grandchildren. I have also been able to work them into my career choices and my relationship with myself.
Once abstinence was firmly a part of my life, once I had dealt with the wreckage of my past, and once I was solidly practicing the principles of the twelve-step program in my daily life, I still had an inner landscape to explore. Moving down the path in recovery, I found the need to heal my body, to get into movement and rehabilitate my stagnant physiology. As my children grew up, I had more opportunities to be on my own and could walk, try gym classes, and even take a dance class. Each of these had physical health as a focus, and I became more fit and strong (initially I could only manage to walk around my block, and eventually I was able to run a ten-mile race). Physical health was only one aspect of the recovery I sought. I went to a church and hung around with people who had a spiritual life and a spiritual quest. I belonged to an antiwar/nonviolence group. I was patching together solutions to my overall needs for a holistic answer to my deeper longings. I was unsure what physical discipline could combine with my need to move into my body, spirit, and recovery. Then I found yoga.
I do not have a flexible body, but I do have a flexible mind. I am aware of my physical limitations, but my desire for the integration of body, mind, and spirit has no such limits. I was afraid of stepping into a yoga studio for fear of not fitting in, of lack of capability, and of being “not as good as.” I actually had to try a few yoga studios to find one with a heart, the one that had room for the inquiring, uncertain student in me. I was fortunate enough to have teachers who brought attention to the breath as well as the postures. They taught the principles of working within your own capacity and accepting yourself the way you are, and they taught integration of spirit, body, and mind during final relaxation. These skills are useful on the mat and in your life.
Each class allowed me to release more and more stiffness and tension. My shoulders, which were often drawn up to my ears, began to descend as I released the weight of the world I had been carrying for so long. Once I learned to identify and let go of tension, I was able to replace that with strength—strength and energy to deal with “life on life’s terms” rather than fighting, resisting, and controlling.
I had heard and read enough to know that yoga was more than just the postures, and that there was a reason for the breath work and meditative aspect, and that the practice could provide me with a doorway to further integration. Recovery had reached a plateau, and my spiritual seeking had moved me away from a church—but toward something more defined than “Good Orderly Direction” or “Group of Drunks/Druggies” (as some in recovery say). I was definitely looking for a deeper connection. Yoga is not a religion; it is a spiritual practice. My continuing journey had to include a deeper sense of self-knowledge and an embrace of the divine around and within me. This came to me through the smoothness of the breath, the focus of the poses, the release of trapped feelings, and the energy that yoga poses allow. This abiding calm had an impact on both my prayer and my meditation; it also moved into my life off the mat into my daily activities and relationships.
My investigation into yoga started with the body postures and finding a style that suited me. I eventually found it. Integral hatha yoga taught me to feel my insides clearly—to practice something difficult, sometimes physically stressful, but that led to inner peace. Many benefits were immediate. I learned poses that I could take into the workplace to give me a sense of calm and serenity. A simple forward fold into “rag doll,” arms hanging limply to the floor with the gaze at the legs, would bring circulation to my brain and both increase alertness and provide a release from anxiety. Calm, measured breathing in a mindful pattern would dissolve anger and fear and return me to the present moment. “Standing mountain”—simply standing in an aligned, balanced manner—would bring composure as well as a sense of strength and valor. All of these activities would remind me that I was sufficient; I was enough in myself and with the universe. Returning to the mat on a regular basis developed, strengthened, and renewed these skills.
Unlike with competitive activities, in yoga I was being taught to explore my physical limits in balance and breath, with love and acceptance for where I was, moment by moment. The philosophy of yoga also intrigued me; my teachers were generous with their time and wisdom. Here, I thought, was another way to look at recovery: with guiding principles, disciplines, and observances that sometimes mirrored, sometimes complemented, and sometimes expanded on what I had been practicing in twelve-step recovery. Both belief systems were founded on the principle of nonharming. In recovery, cessation of the activity or behavior that debilitated you is the first step of nonharming. In life, treating self and others with care and respect is a continuation of that practice. Both systems believe that honesty, open-mindedness, and willingness are keys to a successful journey. Purity or cleanliness—that is, being right with our Higher Power and others—is a daily practice of both yoga and the Fourth Step, as well as the Tenth Step in particular. Finding contentment in daily life can be achieved through gratitude. The discipline of working a daily program of recovery and mindful yoga practice are partners in this journey. Prayer and meditation are integral to both paths, as is working with a teacher or sponsor. Meetings and satsang, or wise company, are suggested.
