style="font-size:15px;"> Recently, after my sponsor moved, the struggle with Step One resurfaced. I asked God to help as I could not go on much longer resenting being in AA.
The next day I went to my home group, where one of our members was telling his story for the first time. Toward the end he began to share that he had struggled with the First Step for his first two years, and the point he made was how glad he is now that he never decided to give up during those two years, because the obsession finally did pass. He said that he knew he was an alcoholic when he came into Alcoholics Anonymous, but he didn't quite believe it. And for as long as he didn't believe it, he fought it. Well, in time he not only believed it, but he accepted it. It was then that the obsession passed.
I'm glad he stuck it out because I needed to hear his story. If anyone reading this is still struggling with the First Step, I pray this gives you hope that there will be freedom for you, too.
Carol B.
Atlanta, Georgia
Gateway to Freedom
September 1994
Lying face down on my dirty living room carpet, hands manacled behind my back, I listened as the sheriff's deputies ransacked my home looking for contraband. I heard one deputy remark, “Boy, this dude sure likes to drink. Must be forty empty liquor bottles on the kitchen floor.”
Terrorized, my mind raced, trying to remember if there was anything illegal in the apartment. Unfortunately, a week-long drunk prevented any lucid thought at all.
How had I gotten myself into this situation? I had no idea. My world had become a one-bedroom apartment which I protected with half a dozen loaded guns. The hideous Four Horsemen—Terror, Bewilderment, Frustration and Despair—had moved in as nonpaying roommates and refused to leave. I lay in a pool of incomprehensible demoralization, not knowing what to do.
One day a week later, bright and early, the doorbell rang. I looked out through the peephole and saw it was John, a former crime partner I hadn't seen in over six years. He looked very different, was quite fit, and his eyes sparkled. Afraid of what he might want, I conversed with him through the door. He told me that the reason for his visit was to make amends to me.
After further discussion, I finally opened the door. John was stunned at my deterioration. He spent the rest of the day carrying the message to me, telling me the story of his miraculous recovery in the Fellowship of Alcoholics Anonymous. I finally agreed to go to an AA meeting with him that evening, though I couldn't see how it could possibly help me.
At the meeting, I heard the First Step for the very first time: “We admitted we were powerless over alcohol—that our lives had become unmanageable.”
The word powerless hit me like a bomb blast. It described my situation with alcohol perfectly and completely. My life was more than unmanageable, it was illegal.
The best part was the word “we.” I was no longer alone. Others before me had made the admission of powerlessness and had been set free from years of alcoholic misery. If John could work the AA program and stay sober for six years, then I would have to try my best to do it, too.
Later on I got an older member to help me work the program and formally took the First Step. My sponsor told me that my unmanageable life was a result of self-will run rampant. He went on to say that the only things I had any power over were my behavior and my attitude.
Believing that I was powerless ultimately reduced the size of my world—down to me in the moment. My sponsor explained that alcohol was but a symptom of deeper problems. He also went on to explain that I was selfish, childish, grandiose, emotionally sensitive and had a number of character defects that stood in the way of serenity and peace of mind. But he said I had a choice: to live life reacting to everything with childish emotions, or to try working the remaining eleven Steps and learn how to live a life guided by spiritual principles.
Today I am learning how to develop a better sense of honesty and to accept my alcoholism with all its ramifications. The obsession to drink was lifted almost immediately and the grace of God continues to shine down on me as I learn how to live life on life's terms. The First Step was the gateway into a new sober life that I could never have imagined.
Anonymous
Gainesville, Florida
Who, Me?
April 2000
At my first AA meeting, the leader asked, “Is anyone here with less than thirty days of sobriety? If so, please raise your hand and give us your first name so we can get to know you better.”
I'd had two glasses of sherry before dinner, so I felt I qualified. I raised my hand, gave my first name, and proudly announced, “I am a functional alcoholic.”
A year before, I had completed thirty-two successful years of teaching high school. I'd been what society loosely defines as a social drinker since my high school years, and alcohol use had never been an issue in my life.
Instead of retiring, I decided to make a career change and took to travel writing. Soon, I experienced something called “writer's block" and found one way to get through it was with a couple of shots of vodka. It worked, so I imbibed on an increasingly frequent basis.
It wasn't long until I was sneaking bottles into the house and hiding them in filing cabinets. My wife noticed liquor on my breath and that at times I walked funny.
She and I talked, and in order to bring peace to the family, I agreed to go to an AA meeting. The idea of me being an alcoholic was preposterous—alcoholics sleep in gutters, pass out on barroom floors, are homeless, and drive on the wrong side of the road. Me? An alcoholic at sixty? With my record? Ridiculous!
I became more careful about hiding bottles and kept my bottle of mouthwash handy. My wife was as smart as I was, and she soon caught up with me. I agreed that I would go to a rehab facility if I continued to drink.
One day I came home from the store with my spanking new bottle and when the garage door opened, there was an empty vodka bottle standing in the doorway to the house.
That was it—off to rehab.
It was there that my stereotype of an alcoholic changed. I met professional people, bright young folks, others around sixty—a random sample of humanity. Here, it was comfortable for me to admit that I had become an alcoholic—I had acquired the disease.
But I held to the belief that this was like a bad cold—if you blow your nose often enough, it will go away. Also I am different from most people—I know how to handle problems. This thinking, in time, led to a relapse, in spite of working the Steps with my sponsor and attending meetings.
Then came a period of sobriety and another relapse—and another.
One morning I booted up my computer to continue working on an article. I sat there. My brain was like a bowl of mush. Nothing happened. Then I thought of other things that were happening. My golf handicap had risen to thirty-nine. My kids had caught me drinking out of a bottle at Thanksgiving, and I had missed several writers' club meetings.
The dawn came. I had hit bottom.
I found a home group and began to attend regularly and collect chips: thirty days, sixty days, ninety days and finally one year. I fastened these to my key chain, and each time I started my car I reminded myself of my disease. Sobriety feels great and my writing
