On February 9, 2025, my good friend Vlado (N3CZ) and I headed out to Pisgah National Forest (US-4510) near Looking Glass Falls for a joint POTA activation. This is Part 1 of our activation — and while I typically write much longer field reports, I’m still in the final stages of Hurricane Helene debris removal … Continue reading QRP POTA with Vlado: Elecraft KX1 in Pisgah National Forest (Part 1) →

I’m grateful for a cloudy Friday morning at my desk. I’m grateful for the new coffee cups. I’m grateful for a train ticket to see a certain grandson. I’m grateful for soft spring breezes. I’m grateful for chilly mornings. I’m grateful to be sober today.

Subscribe now

song of the week:

Like Ryan on “The Office,” I’m a fake fan of Smokey Robinson.1 Yes, yes, he’s very talented, just never really liked his versions of his own songs. imho,2 the Smokey-recorded version of this song has a lot to do with Stevie Wonder, but no need to be negative, it’s just that I much prefer this version. Of course, I listened to it quite a bit in college, back in the early days of the punk, new wave, ska era.

This song went back into heavy rotation just about seven years ago, if I recall correctly. In fact, it was exactly seven years ago (roughly). I perhaps have mentioned my disdain for February, well, maybe it’s just February spreading its ugly tentacles across the calendar, but the first couple of weeks of March haven’t been great either, from a historical perspective.

That year, March 14 was a Thursday, and I knew it was going to be my last day of sobriety for a while. You see, I pretty much knew that A. was going to break up with me the next day. I watch a lot of YouTube videos about space and physics and astronomy and all the freaky stuff that happens out there—including the multi-verse and time-travel. Well, I think in many of those parallel universes, the ones that branch off from every decision and turning point, she and I ended up spending the rest of our lives together.

As March 15 dawned, I knew that I wasn’t residing in one of those universes.

In A’s cool, efficient, CEO-way, she had asked me to be available for a call that morning. She was in California for some meetings and some time-off. I was in my office and she called around 9:45 am (edt), I looked at her picture coming up on the phone, gulped and answered.

“Hey.” That’s all I could muster. “Hey,” came back and there was just the tiniest bit of warmth left. She launched into something of a speech and knew that she had probably prepared talking points for this. That’s because I knew how hard this was for her. I wasn’t angry, I knew this wasn’t her choice, wasn’t how she wanted things to turn out. I was the one who had placed us in this terrible spot. We both knew things were coming to an end, I was struggling every single day to not drink and my success rate was not great.

I’ve had a lot of really bad moments drinking, but the days leading up to this March 15th were some of the worst. Every time that glass touched my lips and I gulped a little more of that pale golden elixir, I also knew I was potentially committing the last great act of treason that would end this forever, would drive the silver spike into the sort-of ghoulish shell of a relationship we had been clinging to. We both knew the soul had already departed, we were just awaiting the burial.

She was brief and to the point. She might have used the phrase “ROI” to explain why this had to be the end. I numbly said something along the lines of understanding and, for the 11,732nd time, told her how sorry I was. She hated it when I said I was sorry, she correctly pointed out that it was selfish and manipulative the way I always said I was sorry. The thing that she hated was that every time I said, “I’m sorry,” it was a not so subtle request by me for absolution and reassurance.

She was right, it was really manipulative.

But, I was sorry and I really didn’t have any other words. She hung up and I looked at my phone. As our trust levels dove earthwards (hers, mostly), she had asked that we share our locations on our phones. I know this is a relationship milestone these days, but I think it’s a really terrible thing, because it substitutes for actually trusting someone.

I know they’re not going to do anything wrong, because I’m always watching where they are.

I watched her blue dot walk along the beach after we hung up. I knew that she had made plans to take a long walk after talking to me. tbh, I had been watching her blue dot for a bit that morning, I could see her walking on the beach rehearsing what she was going to say. I watched the dot for a bit, then turned off the location sharing and she vanished. I stared out the window for a little bit, then weirdly, brightened a little. I pulled on my coat and left the office,

It was a perfect day to drink.

The first round of the NCAA basketball tournament would be underway that weekend, and I thought about the very precious silver-lining in the catastrophic event that had just occurred.

I was free to drink as much as I wanted. Whenever I wanted.

It was a pretty beautiful spring day, as I recall from the walk to the Logan Tavern. I sat on my favorite stool, ate terrible, dry chicken wings, watched basketball, guzzled sauvignon blanc and thought about what a gift I had been given. F*** everyone, I am what I am and that apparently is a remorseless, pretty hopeless alcoholic.

I know for a fact I listened to the song of the week as I headed home late that night. I was very drunk. I had spent the day and most of the evening at the Logan Tavern. I had been busy, I had started looking at new apartments I could buy, A. had always kind of hated my place and we had been working with an architect to renovate and it would have been very, very cool.

But that dream had washed away a long time ago.

Moving to a new place, a fresh start, that seemed like a good idea.Also, I had fired up the dating apps, since we’re making a fresh start, might as well. When it got late at the Logan Tavern and I really wasn’t ready to face walking in the door at home, I went down the block and down the scale to Stoney’s. Lots of bartenders drank at Stoney’s after their shifts were done, they had perhaps been serving me all day and evening and now we were drinking together. That seemed right to me, I think it seemed pretty awful to them.

When I finally decided it was time to head home, I finished that last drink, put on the airbuds and played the song of the week. I had a jaunty attitude for the first few measures of the song. I had conjured up this image in my head. It was of a swanky, sophisticated alcoholic, but an alcoholic in the noble, artistic, kind of tragic way. Like Hemingway or F. Scott. I was trying to convince myself that’s probably what people in the neighborhood thought about me, when I realized that it was just the tragic part that applied. I wasn’t a debonair, devil-may-care alcoholic.

I was a lonely, sad man who had just drank away one of the best things that had ever happened to him.

For those first few days of the second half of March, I still tried to be careful and sneaky about my drinking. There were still a few fantasies that hadn’t quite stopped breathing yet and one of them was that A. might change her mind, maybe this was a test to see if I was really committed to trying to get sober. Of course, my actions had already answered that question. But my alcoholic brain was still scheming, trying to figure out how we could potentially account for the days following the fake break-up. I even thought about what was being said at the AA meetings I was no longer attending, just in case I had to make something up.

There was no need to worry, I wasn’t being put to any test. She was gone and not coming back. Most of me knew that, it was just the Alamo-style alcoholic command center that never gives up hope on anything; it was already great at obscuring the losses that had already occurred. As long as I kept drinking, things wouldn’t actually be that bad.

These were actual thoughts that I had back then. And at other times, too. My alcoholic brain just produces some stunningly-ridiculous ways of thinking about the world, many of the thoughts that are produced are just wrong, not based in any kind of reality. Those thoughts ruled my life and were in the process of ruining my life.

Things got pretty dark from there. It wasn’t long until I had to drink about every four hours or go into withdrawal. You know how I feel about mornings these days. Back then, it was definitely like waking up in the coffin and knowing that your day would be spent in soulless, empty pursuits and that tomorrow would be exactly the same. I started to wonder about why I would want to continue to live this way, and, to be clear, the alternative I was musing about wasn’t finally getting sober.

This Spring, this March 14th, things couldn’t be more different and I’m not sure I really understand how all of it happened. Of course, that’s a big part of what I’m doing here on Fridays, hoping that in the course of writing it all down I’ll figure more and more out. I know that the more I understand, the less shame I feel.

I was watching a YouTube video the other night about the Bronze Age collapse. The mystery of how several thriving civilizations just vanished about 11,000 or 12,000 years ago. One of the theories is that an asteroid hit the gigantic ice sheet that covered North America back then and triggered instantaneous melting on a scale we simply can’t imagine. When we look at the landscape of the Western United States, the idea has been that some of the fantastic geological features, the valleys and chasms cut in rock, the weird ripples and structures of places like the Bad Lands. It’s been suggested that the world looked this way because of millions of years of subtle forces being applied. That may not be the case.

Our world is more likely shaped by sudden catastrophe.

The flooding caused by the asteroid impact would have been unimaginable. Those valleys cut in rock might not have taken a million years of erosion; they might have happened in a matter of weeks. Think about the power necessary to shape the world like that. When I look back, I see that my history has been studded with catastrophes. When I look at the histories of the people who loved me, well, say hello to Mister Alcoholic Asteroid.

That drunken March 15th, was one of the last times I tried to convince myself that my drinking was an under-appreciated aspect of my sparkling personality. I was just a middle-aged alcoholic doggedly trying to drink away anything of value or beauty that was still hanging around. I saw that finally. It was just going to be a long, agonizing few years until I could finally take the steps I needed to, the steps that led to the reclamation of my life.

I’m not watching any blue dots today. I’m not saying goodbye to anyone. I’m not trying to do my best Wile E. Coyote and convince myself that the catastrophes are necessary. I stopped chasing the Road Runner a long time ago. When I wake up, I marvel at the way that every sunrise is beautifully different, instead of preparing to sit on the same stool and consume my regular alcoholic breakfast of champions: White wine and pancakes.

While my alcoholic world was riven and shaped by catastrophe, by contrast, my sobriety has been shaped by a very small and subtle force: Willingness. The Big Book makes the point that sobriety doesn’t need to be about building the Hoover Dam to prevent future catastrophes, the gigantic changes that occurred in my life started with one very small change:

A willingness to believe that there could be a power greater than myself in the Universe.

That was all that was necessary for me to make my new start, my new beginning. I didn’t have to undo or prevent massive catastrophe. I just had to imagine a world where I was meant to be exactly what I was. I just had to believe that maybe I was placed where I was supposed to be. I just had to believe that all I had to do was show up as myself and let the next moments unfurl as they were meant to. That’s what willingness meant to me.

What willingness did for me? I think you know.

Happy Friday.

I’m grateful for exercise being such an uplifting part of my day. I’m grateful for nature serving as a powerful visual to put my problems, my grievances in context and nudging me to get out of self. I’m grateful for the poignant phrase “as the road gets steeper the views get better” to frame how life grows in AA. I’m grateful for continuing to recite the mantra “this too shall pass” as a means of more easily letting go of negativity whenever it arises. I’m grateful for my daily gratitude practice becoming a core part of how I engage with Step 11. I’m grateful for reflecting on the ways humility is tied to gratitude. I’m grateful for Harper keeping me disciplined around my routines. I’m grateful for feeling incredibly satisfied with all that I have today and not finding old instincts for ‘more’ or ‘better’ seeping into my psyche as much. I’m grateful for more readily accepting life’s myriad of beautiful imperfections.

At my old NYC Zoom AA meeting I heard a humorous anecdote from the fellow qualifying. She talked about how resistant to the Program she was in her early days and once told her sponsor that AA is just brainwashing. Her sponsor replied, “Good! Your brain needs washing.”. I thought that was a pretty clever retort so I recorded it in my Notes app.

Enough people with alcoholic tendencies have certainly told me a variant of this sentiment over the years. I can’t speak for them, but I definitely know my brain needed washing – and still does. Her anecdote served as a catalyst for reflecting on some fundamental ways AA has transformed me.

Wash Away My Prejudices

Honestly I had a ton of barriers when it came to people from all walks of life. Because I thought everyone was judging me, I decided with vodka’s assistance to judge them first before they could hurt me. In that way I would “win”. Win what? Nothing really except increased isolation. Step 12, which has the principle of “Service”, reminds me that no matter who it is (inside or outside these rooms) to be helpful to my fellow humans where I can. When I am helpful to others I get to know them for real and have my prejudices melt away.

Wash Away My Insecurities

My goodness do I have a lot of insecurities I wrestle with even today. I don’t feel cool enough, smart enough, eloquent enough, attractive enough, etc. This is where Step 11, which has the principle of “Awareness”, serves to stabilize me. When I am able to connect with a Power Greater Than Myself it places my issues into the broader context of our world. I find humility in the reminder that: 1) Much greater problems exists than what I deal with, and 2) My problems still matter to me and I am not alone in feeling a certain way, there is a community of people who have similarly incorrect assertions about themselves. Knowing I don’t believe those negative things about them then why can’t I extend myself the same grace? Regularly practicing such thinking permits me to slowly let go of long-held, faulty insecurities.

Wash Away My Misconceptions

These were rampant when it came to what I thought an alcoholic, and AA in general, is. Thankfully those beautiful fellows I met early on in the Program quickly smashed my misconceptions and created a gentle on-ramp into recovery.

Additionally I had such a skewed understanding of self. Since I had spent years contorting like a Cirque-du-Soleil gymnast to be a certain type of person in order for society to accept me I had developed no real understanding of who I am. Step 4, whose principle is “Courage”, gave me the appropriate framework to look inside me with honesty and start discovering the truest version of me. I found my authenticity in sobriety and thereby my self-confidence.

Wash Away My Defects

Steps 6 and 7, which have the principles of “Willingness” and “Humility”, are daily practices for me (or at least I strive to do them daily). Whenever something goes awry I see those defects I codified in Step 4 (control, fear, passive aggressiveness, anger, etc.) creeping up. What 6 and 7 permit me to do is notice them from farther away so I have the necessary distance to steer clear. I’ll likely never reach a place of true enlightenment where all defects are erased, but with time, willingness, and humility I’ll hopefully continue getting better at mitigating their power over me, especially during stressful moments.

There are so many other aspects of my thinking that need regular washing away. I’m grateful AA, specifically the Steps, provide me structure on how to do that in a healthy fashion. I’m not totally wiping away my thinking with vodka only to have it rear its head back in more destructive ways. Instead I’m understanding how the various pieces of my thinking come together, identifying what pieces no longer fit, and finding new ones to rebuild a new, better, less washed up version of me.

Subscribe now

My 100th POTA Activation at the Place It All Began by Christian (IX1CKN) Mathematics is a finite science. So, for a while, I knew that my 100th POTA activation was coming. The only thing left was to decide how to organize and experience it. Initially, I considered activating a new reference (paradoxically, I still have … Continue reading Christian’s 100th POTA Activation at Tsatelet Nature Reserve →

I am so grateful to be sober today. I’m grateful for my family and for my sponsor who always makes me laugh. I’m grateful for our new place, being able to walk to meetings again and that the bus will drop me right in front of the Workshop too. I’m grateful for the weather warming up, for living in NYC, for getting sober in NYC and for staying sober in NYC.

Hello my friends (: As alwaysss I hope everyone had a lovely weekend! Tim has been in London and will remain in London until this Saturday when he promptly returns home however, since he’s been away I have had the freedom to binge watch Sex and the City so naturally I find myself writing here as if I am Carrie Bradshaw herself. 

And so I couldn’t help but wonder….just kidding!! In all seriousness I have been feeling a lot of things these past few days and I’m really grateful to have a place where I can not only talk about it freely but maybe just maybe, through all of the bullshit, help someone else. (That is cliché and I’m a little cynical right now but somewhere deep down inside I know it’s true.). 

I had a serious breakdown on Saturday, followed by another on Sunday. I feel like I am swimming through emotion. I wanted a dog like people want babies and I never ever imagined how much love I would feel for this animal who drives me absolutely bananas. My baby was viciously attacked, for many minutes another dog had him by his chest, was shaking and shaking and shaking him and after many minutes of pure terror and the other people doing absolutley fucking nothing, I stepped in, I got bit, I saved my boy. But there’s a little blood stain in the white of his fur that for the love of god just will not come out. Every time I step into the elevator I see that dog rushing in and grabbing mine over and over and over again. I look down and I see the gnarly scar I have on my hand now and I think about my sweet boy half dead in the hospital with a tube down his throat following us with his eyes and us not knowing if we would be able to take our baby home again. Not knowing if we would get the absolute joy of having him drive us bananas ever again. 

I know there are people who experience significantly worse. But I have never ever felt more powerless. I am angry, and I am scared and I am sad. Tim is away and my parents are far and I have the most wonderful friends in the whole world who if I called right now I know they would come over and hold my hand. But I unfortunately cannot ask them to do that everytime I need to be brave and go out and walk my dog, something that used to be fun and nice and enjoyable and now takes every ounce of energy I have because I simply cannot go through that again. Seeing this thing that I love so much almost die. And god help me if something ever happened to Tim, or someone in my family or one of my friends. 

I have crazy imposter syndrome being in this apartment with our fancy doorman who pushes the elevator button for me and keeps our packages safe and has become bff’s with the dog we almost lost. How did we get here? How did we deserve this? We work our little tails off but a DOORMAN on the UPPER WEST SIDE?? 

I have been doing all of the right things. I have never talked to God so much and so consistently not even when I first got sober. I am going to meetings, I am talking to my sponsor, I am doing service, I am talking to other sober people. This is not a matter of what I can do better. This is very simply wanting to know if this is normal. If what I am feeling is normal and if it will ever get better. 

It is and it will but that doesn’t make it any better. When he first got hurt I operated by putting one foot in front of the other. That was simply the only thing I could do and now we are somewhere safe, away from those irresponsible people and their psychotic fucking dog and yes I am VERY far away from forgiveness and no I don’t want to hear anyone’s advice about it. I just want to feel normal. Whatever that new normal is going to feel like I just want to feel it. 

There’s a positive way to round this out. Everything is going to be okay as long as I’m sober and have AA. All the things we know and they are all very very very true and I’m not trying to let that get lost. But on top of everything else I feel selfish. The past 7 weeks I have had a lot of people in my corner and it has been all about us and the dog. And as I go through all of these emotions they have been very patient with me. So the way I want to end this is with a special nod to a good friend of mine who I am very proud of. Who does amazing things all the time but has done something especially amazing not once but twice. 

I am very grateful for that friend. And a special friend of that friend, both of whom show me what it means to be brave constantly. I am grateful for everyone who has remained in my corner and has given me the space to heal. I see you and I’m sorry for not being myself lately. Thank you for loving me anyway. 

Leave a comment

xx  

Jane

I’m grateful for a day off. I’m grateful for an early morning and really good coffee. I’m grateful for the thin band of orange right before the sun comes up. I’m grateful for feeling lit from within. I’m grateful to be sober today.

LAST WEEK ON TFLMS:

song of the week:

TFLMS Weekend: Where Sobriety Isn’t Just a Consequence…

(last weekend)

By Teri KO4WFP January and February have been such busy months that not much POTA has happened for this POTA Babe since my trip to southwest Georgia. Wednesday, February 26th was too gorgeous a day to sit inside. I set aside my projects and Daisy and I headed to a new park – Mead Farm … Continue reading The POTA Babe Shakes It Up →

Activating on the Road:  Gems Along the Way – Part 2 by Brian (K3ES) This article continues my series from our 2024 road trip across the United States (Six Weeks and 7300 Miles:  Activating on the Road).  I hope to wrap up the series with one or two more articles (not yet written) over the … Continue reading POTA, Landmarks, and Unexpected Wonders: Brian, Becky, and Molly’s Journey Home →

Many thanks to Becky (N4BKY) and Mike (N4FFF) who share the following announcement: A New Way to Connect On the Air with CW by Mike (N4FFF) and Becky (N4BKY) Hi everyone! Mike and Becky here, (aka the HamRadioDuo) and we are excited to share a brand new tool to make it easy to find people … Continue reading QSOFinder: Making It Easier to Connect Over CW →

I’m grateful for a bright, sunny Friday morning. I’m grateful for a twilight walk in the park. I’m grateful for feeling free. I’m grateful for an incredibly adorable grandson. I’m grateful for what is. I’m grateful to be sober today.

Mystery ?? Button

song of the week:

You may not know the song of the week well enough for its selection to instill alarm in you. Also, since the vast majority of you never even listen to the song of the week, this part must be like the intercom and Charlie Brown, blah, blah, blah.1 But before we untangle that semi-interesting weave, I’d like to bid a polite farewell to February:

F*** you and the horse you rode in on. See you next year.

Just needed to say that. So, back to the song of the week, this is a cover of a Spice Girls song. I have a daughter of that vintage, so I’m pretty familiar with the ouevre. There was a lot of Spice Girls, SClub7, the Cheetah Girls and, of course, a young Britney Spears in the car on the way to school and birthday parties and soccer games.2 There was a really unfortunate joke I made one time, where people in the car were wondering what their Spice Girls name would be, like Sporty Spice, or Posh Spice or Scary Spice? I think someone in the car might have suggested “old spice” for another passenger to whom I was married at the time.

What I have been wanting to write about for awhile is shame and its role in addiction and recovery, at least from the standpoint of this alcoholic. When I do my gratitude list every day, I try to let it be a free-form exercise and let the things that crowd to the front of my head out first. This means there is a lot of appreciation expressed for things like the beautiful sunrise or the very excellent quality of my coffee. Of course, it doesn’t take too much digging to get to other very excellent things to be grateful for, like my very adorable grandson, the safe return of my son from deployment, things like that.

Anyway, the word that popped into my head this morning was “free.” Now, “free” could mean a lot of different things. I definitely move through the world according to my own beat these days, and that for sure is an excellent form of freedom. I’m not obsessed with finding another drink or catastrophizing about the next shoe to drop, and that is an excellent form of freedom, too. But as I thought about what I meant when I wrote the word “free” down, I realized it was freedom from shame.

I think that shame and fear are two very potent forces in addiction. I think most of the things that get written down in 4th Step inventories are really expressions of fear and shame. I know a lot of what I did was motivated by those two demons and I know the feeling I have these days, the feeling of being free from shame, is quite palpable. But I’m not sure exactly what it is.

I guess one needs to start with defining shame:

“A painful feeling of humiliation or distress caused by the consciousness of wrong or foolish behavior.”

Oxford English Dictionary

I know a bit about “wrong or foolish behavior,” in fact, I could be considered something of an expert, but I don’t think this definition really gets at it. I started drinking when I was 15 and knew I was an alcoholic by the time I was 18—other than the drinking and the marijuana, there really wasn’t that much for me to be ashamed of. So, I don’t think it was that kind of shame that was at work inside my head.3

For me, the thing I was ashamed of, the thing I had to hide, the thing I knew would make people laugh or point or whatever, was me. I’m far from the only person who feels this way; I think roughly everyone has feelings like this at times in their lives and of course, these feelings don’t turn everyone into an alcoholic. I’m not sure why some of us pull the golden ticket, but part of it, for me, was that I instantly saw alcohol as a solution, as a tool. I was trying to fix a problem: I never felt like I fit in with other people, I never felt like I really understood other people and I know I missed a lot of signals and signs. My default state is feeling kind of disconnected from other people.

I assumed this was because I was defective, had been produced with some switched-up wiring or the soldering was crappy or it just had all of these rogue ideas and thoughts—all of which was my own fault. Somehow, by the time I was 15, I had convinced myself that I needed to be ashamed of myself. When I really pull those memories apart, that’s one of the things at the bottom and it’s very closely connected to fear. Maybe they’re even Siamese Twins or Minnesota Twins.4

I’m here to tell you that alcohol is a very excellent way of dealing with internal feelings of shame—at least early on. The problem is that the way alcohol works actually ends up producing lots of legitimate reasons to feel very, very ashamed later on. It’s kind of ironic that way, I guess. But that was the problem; by the time I was really trying to get sober, to stay sober for longer than 60 days, the big ball of shame I carried around, well, let’s just say it was really big. You know how it takes more water to cover larger things in a pot? That was shame for me, a huge thing that took a lot of Sauvignon Blanc to cover.

A big part of the problem was my mental construct. I had this idea that recovery was about admitting defeat and then “trudging” some happy road of destiny and having to go to AA meetings forever. It meant carrying around those horrible memories as talismans forever. It meant walking around imagining everyone whispering, “you know he was a terrible alcoholic,” and agreeing in my head. It felt like that glass of sparkling water in front of me was more like a scarlet letter.5 Recovery was more about all of the things I wasn’t going to do, the people, places and things I was supposed to avoid.

The problem was, that was my life.

I remember coming back from sleep-away rehab, I had already relapsed within a few hours of leaving, but no one knew that. Well, it might be more accurate to say no one knew that for sure. It had taken a fair amount of deception, because when I showed up at A’s house later that afternoon to begin the celebration of my release from captivity, she definitely suspected that I had been drinking. She asked me to do a “test.” I had been issued a SoberLink testing device as a means of guaranteeing my sobriety, but in what was obviously a bit of cagey fore-planning, I had not “activated,” the device, a process that involved authenticating face photos and took 24 hours. And this was a Saturday, too.

Sorry, I can start the testing tomorrow! Or Monday at the latest.

Ok, that’s something to be ashamed of and I am. And I will continue to feel those feelings of shame when I recall memories like that, because recalling those memories involves consciousness of wrong or foolish behavior—-and this was very, very, very wrong.

The next weekend, I was alone in DC and trying very, very, very hard to not relapse again.6 I remember walking around the neighborhood aimlessly, it was a really pretty October day and a lot of people were out and there were dogs and just a lot of happy feelings all around. I felt like I was walking through a post-apocalyptic landscape where everything associated with what had been my life was now lost or banished. Even though a lot of dirty laundry had come out in rehab, and things were pretty dicey on the relationship front, I knew we had only really begun to explore the tip of the iceberg.

There was no ship that would survive that iceberg. Especially not a relationship.

That gigantic ball of shame was one of the things that made it very hard for me to stay sober, it’s a big part of the reason it took me ten years of trying to get my first year of sobriety. It’s why I wasted so much of my life and hurt so many other people. But the problem was, the only proven method (that I knew of) of dealing with that horrible black cloud of shame produced even more shame.

At this point, you might be wondering what the magic bullet is, perhaps you’d like me to pull a rabbit out of my hat. If I do that, it will likely turn out like this:

Here’s the thing, there’s no magic bullet. There’s acceptance and doing the steps, but it takes time to let the shame seep away. I think other people often forgave me way before I began to forgive myself. The way the Program worked for me, the way writing about this has helped me is by letting me see more of the “why” around what happened. I think the disease-model of addiction gets a fair amount of skepticism because it seems like a cheap, responsibility-avoiding device.

I’m sorry, I have a disease!

But it’s way more complicated than that because of the behavioral and volitional aspects to addiction. I was for sure addicted to alcohol. But no one held a gun to my head as I tied my shoes to head to the Logan Tavern. I spend a lot of time contemplating my navel in these missives, not because I think I have a really good one or anything, it’s because understanding how things happened, helps me let some of the terrible consequences go. It helps me put the shame in little paper boats and set them out to sea.7

The maybe-excessive ruminating actually gives me confidence, proves to me that things are different. Understanding how I felt way back then, and how alcohol changed that for me, lets me see how far I’ve come.

Also, how lost I was.

But like I said at the beginning, my career as an alcoholic didn’t take off because I had a long list of things I had done to be ashamed of, things that needed to be drunk away. I think I became an alcoholic because I was ashamed of me. I was afraid to be me. The twin horsepeople of the alcoholic apocalypse, fear and shame, were nice enough to stop and give me a ride and that’s how I got here.

I was drinking my excellent coffee and smiling as the world brightened around me earlier this morning. I was thinking about how free I felt. I mean, I have a ton of pressure and deadlines and targets and all sorts of stuff that keeps me up at night. But the way I live my life no longer produces feelings of shame in me. The way I think of myself no longer produces shame. I can see where I lost the trail and I understand why it took me so long to find my way back.

I always end up asking, “What happened?” Why did it finally work? Why did it take so long? Why did I miss the obvious for so long? I don’t have definitive answers for most of those questions, but what really changed was the way I thought about recovery and the way I thought about myself. I stopped seeing recovery as a consequence, a compelled way of living to make up for all of the nonsense and bad stuff. I was so wrong about that. You know what I’m going to say next.

Recovery was finding myself and the life I was meant to lead.

Maybe it took me a while, but there’s not an ounce of shame in that.

Happy Friday.