This post was originally published on June 12, 2014.
When I first got to AA in the summer of 1987, I, like many others before and since, didn’t know if I wanted to stay sober. I didn’t even know if I had a drinking problem. I was fairly certain that I had a drug problem, but I thought that if I took a small vacation from drugs and alcohol, I would be able to stop using, and then return to “normal” drinking.
After some stops and starts at the beginning, I was able to put down the drink on Sept 29th of that year, and I’ve been on “vacation” ever since.
In the first few months, I spent a great deal of time worrying about my identity inside of AA. My fellow newbies and I would have discussions about how we should introduce ourselves. I had taken to saying, “I’m Jim and I’m a drug addict and an alcoholic,” because I was unsure if I had an alcohol problem. Towards the first year, I switched positions and became “an alcoholic and a drug addict.” In my second year, after I had determined that I was indeed an alcoholic, and that I did want to stay sober, I heard the most brilliant assessment of the quandary of dual-addiction: “I’m an alcoholic who used drugs, alcoholically.” For me, that was magic. I’ve introduced myself simply as an alcoholic ever since.
In the beginning, there were still a lot of old-timers around who used to say, “I’m Jack and I’m a drunk.” I haven’t heard that in a while, but it always makes me smile when I think of them.
Over time, I’ve heard a variety of different introductions, including “I’m a recovering alcoholic,” “I’m a cross-addicted alcoholic” and “I’m a sober alcoholic.” Then, in the past few years, I started to come across a small group of people who use the term “recovered”—as in past tense.
At first, I was livid, almost to the point of correcting the people for their mistake, but I held my tongue. But I began to hear it more and more often and each time, my eyes would gloss over and I’d roll my head. My brain would immediately shut off. I had no interest in listening to those arrogant enough to call themselves recovered. They might as well have said “cured.”
At times, I have been tempted to say out loud, “If I was recovered, I wouldn’t be sitting in a church basement with you nitwits,” but I am always reminded of that simple slogan that hangs in almost every meeting I’ve ever attended: “Live and Let Live.”
The recovered movement is an outgrowth of what has been derisively called “The Evelyn Wood course of AA.” It started when some people decided that the best way to get and stay sober was to go through a rigorous interpretation of the 12 steps in as short as time period as possible. Any resistance would usually be met with the phrase, “You’re not ready, or you’re not serious.” I already had double-digit years when I first encountered these people, so I wasn’t terribly interested one way or another.
Luckily for me, there were lots of old-timers around when I first came in; I adopted their methodology for the best way to get sober. Slowly.
When I first heard the phrase “I wish you a long slow recovery,” I was incensed. Mostly because I had no idea what it meant. My old friend Hoppy explained it succinctly: People who are in a rush to get sober rarely do.
In my years of sobriety, I have gone through a lot of different phases and attitudes about AA. I’ve been an AA cheerleader, and I’ve also quit AA on more than one occasion. I’ve been to Bible study, Big Book study and psychotherapy for addicts. I’ve been to NA, SA and CODA meetings, all in the hopes of somehow enhancing my life and my recovery. But when I encountered the people involved in the “process” or “solution-based recovery,” I had reached my wit’s end. I had endured some of the Joe and Charlie tapes, and I found them to be a bore and so I was determined to put an end to this uprising of AA neophytes.
When I attended my first solution-based meeting, I snuck in there under the guise of an angry newcomer. I created an aura of hostility around me so no one would approach me.
No one did.
When the speaker first talked, he mentioned a phrase that blew me away: “Contempt prior to investigation.” I nearly choked. I was guilty.
I decided that I needed to be a little more open-minded about the “process.” I left that meeting and came back another time with a better attitude.
Truth be told, when I went back, I knew right away it wasn’t for me. These folks were going over every word in the Big Book like monks going through The Bible. They would spend 15 minutes discussing the definition of certain words like shortcomings and defects of character. I wondered why they didn’t just bring a dictionary and be done with it.
I didn’t give it much of a chance. I listened when I could and high-tailed it out of there. I was almost an old-timer—why did I need them?
AA is a program of attraction; these people held no attraction for me.
Not long after that, I attended a very famous meeting in Manhattan that shall remain nameless. This meeting was a cross between a boot camp and a collection of Stepford wives. The speakers all had to wear ties. The people in the audience had to announce their sober dates and what step they were working on. I was incredulous. I left there determined to have intergroup shut this meeting down as it made “real AA” look bad.
I raced back to Brooklyn to start my campaign. I went to speak to Jimmy Laffey, one of the old-timers in my home group. He listened attentively to my concerns, then he asked me, “How many people were there?”
“About 60,” I answered.
“Were any drunk?”
“No.”
“Were any of them being held against there will?”
“Well, no but…”
“Then be grateful that they are sober and never go there again. If you go there, it’s just to start trouble, not to help anyone else.”
“But, but…”
“But nothing…each group ought to be autonomous, except where affecting other groups.”
“But, but…”
“Look at it this way: if you think these people are assholes now, imagine what they were like drunk. Be happy for them.”
Once again, I had been humbled by AA. I had let my own ego get in the way, and it had clouded my judgment. I never went to that meeting or any other “solution-based” meeting again. I’m happy with my own recovery, and I’m happy that those people aren’t driving drunk on my roads.
My own feeling concerning introductions is simple: any word that you insert between your name and alcoholic—be it sober, recovering, recovered or anything else—is simply inserting your ego. When I hear someone do it, I don’t lose my mind anymore. I simply nod my head and count my blessings.
Live and let live. It’s the best slogan in AA.
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