One Step Down

It's been a while. I have an aversion, pointed out to me recently, to writing about things as they're happening. I'd rather experience something -- see, listen, watch, look -- and then, in the safety of some future time, remember it and write the story down then. But I started this whole exercise to avoid that particular fault line of sticking to a creatively remembered narrative, so I hope it isn't so much of a while again. Which reminds me of something I said at a meeting -- that it had been three weeks, that I didn't ever want to go three weeks without a meeting again. It took me a few months to stop having it be three weeks but lately I haven't been going more than three days without one. They temper the days. Make things easier. And, as someone said, I never regret going to a meeting.

First step down yesterday. Fifteen months of sobriety, nine in the program. One step. At first I felt bad about it; like I'd done it wrong, too slow. Friends of mine are a year in and already on their tenth steps. And here I am, slow slow slow, just doing the first. Sponsor asked me yesterday -- are you powerless? had your life become unmanageable? And I said Yes. With no reservations. No little voice in my head that said "Come on... it was a bad time, a tough time, a rough time. It wasn't the drinking, it was you. And you're better, so drink." Alcohol is, like they say, cunning, baffling, powerful. It's tricked me before and it'll try and trick me again. But I feel safe in my powerlessness. 

I remember reading about that - the safety of that admission, the way it removes the burden of strength. This isn't about willpower anymore. This is about letting all the scales and with them shackles fall, and building myself back up. I don't feel like I'm doing this alone. The first year, I really did. 

I've been praying every morning and every night. At first I resisted. I didn't want to pray -- not believing in God makes the whole thing a little awkward -- but my sponsor told me to do it anyway. So I did. I just realize I wrote about it so many months ago, the first time I prayed. Now I do it automatically, catching myself on the subway sometimes with a few awake hours without a prayer, and I'll do it, quietly. This morning I really prayed, stopped in the bathroom, folded my hands together, my head down. I hadn't done that before. 

It's helped. Things that used to set me off, I remember the serenity prayer now. It doesn't always bring serenity -- we're sober, not saints -- but it helped yesterday when mail with my partner's ex-wife's (a subject I'm very excitable about) name on it came. I wanted to be vindictive and lash out but instead I just said the prayer to myself. Things I cannot change. (That fact.) Things I can. (My attitude.) 

I've been reaching out to people after meetings, introducing myself, inviting them to coffee. It's so strange to see people who are where I was such a short time ago, but to feel like I've come far enough to be able to approach them. I still run away sometimes, kick myself after a share I thought was dumb, or too funny, or not funny enough, or too performative, or too quiet. I'm starting to share my experience and my hope. The strength will come in there somewhere. 

So it's silly I haven't written for so long. And I want to do better. I get tired of the progress sometimes. So much responsibility. So much thinking about what I've done and what I want to do and how I can do better. I oscillate between feeling gratitude and oppression. I have moments where I feel so incredibly lucky, so beyond imaginably blessed, first to be sober and second to be an alcoholic so that I have the chance to be sober. And then I have moments where I can't stand the thought of walking to another meeting, of raising my hand and not being called on, or being called on. But those are smaller and the former are larger. 

This is turning into a long after-the-fact story. I'll keep it to this for today. One day at a time, one problem at a time, one post at a time. 

Thank you for keeping me sober today.