September 17, 2017
I used to get the thickest, darkest curtains I could find, so that I wouldn’t be awakened by the morning light, but these days I keep the blinds slightly open, and often wake up before sunrise without any provocation, even on nights I don’t sleep enough. I don’t hate mornings anymore. They feel now like an old friend returning after some time spent apart, rather than a jilted suitor pounding on the door demanding attention. Maybe that’s what making amends to myself feels like. Every new day is another adventure, and I am still surprised and delighted that I get to be a part of it.
I was talking with my sponsor yesterday about how recovery works, and he said “what I know is that the people I’ve known who work through the first 164 pages of the Big Book and keep it simple don’t drink again, stay sober, and live happy lives. There are a lot of unhappy people in Alcoholics Anonymous, but from my experience, most of them tried to make it more complicated and go beyond the program as it is.”
There’s something really profound about this for me. I tend to be an “all or nothing” thinker at times, in that I expect or hope for a universal solution to the problems of life. I want all of it to get better without having to wrestle with any of it, or without having to accept that sometimes life just doesn’t get better. But that’s a surefire path to an eventual straightjacket, or worse. Life doesn’t always get better. Accepting life on its own terms is sometimes the best we can do.
I think I’d hoped that becoming sober would solve everything else for me-and maybe eventually it will, in its own way. It’s becoming easier to be okay with some of the ambiguities of life, and to let go of some of the ways I’d tried to control life before. It’s definitely easier to think clearly. I’m no longer trying to avoid making hard decisions or pretend they aren’t even there by anesthetizing myself or checking out of life. I’ve had to walk away from a few friendships, and while this has been sad, it’s also been both necessary and obvious, and while I truly wish I could still have the best versions of those friends in my life, I also know that my own survival and sanity are at stake, and that letting go in this case means trusting God to take care of people I really do love but who cannot love me in a way that will work.
Today’s meeting was a discussion of the third step:
“We made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of God as we understood Him.”
Overall, the last 13 days of sobriety have not been that hard for me. I’ve had a sense of calm and a lack of chaos in my heart and life that I haven’t experienced in months, if not years. But I found myself struggling with this point, not because I disagreed with any of it, but because I agree with it so thoroughly, and because of a profound fear of inauthenticity in myself. In addition to having been a drunk therapist, I was once also a drunk pastor. I’ve prayed for deliverance from my addiction and from the life circumstances that somehow made dependence seem necessary before. I’ve recommitted myself to God’s purposes for my life and tried harder more times than I can count, only to stumble and fall in my very best efforts to be a better version of myself. I wasted a lot of life living as a hypocrite. I don’t ever want to live that way again, and even if that means a vivid and unattractive display of my wounds and scars, I’d rather be known as I am than loved for something I’m not.
I desperately want to remain sober, and that requires a sort of honesty and authenticity I’ve mostly faked in the past. Sometimes I’ve even believed the false version of Pete myself, and that’s the part that scares me. How do I know this time is any different? It feels different…I’ve done a few different things this time…but the truth that I’ve come to know about myself is that I have a tremendous capacity for self-deception. That’s why it’s so important to surround myself with people with whom I am ruthlessly honest, who will hold me accountable and call me on my bullshit, but who will also tell me when they actually see me being honest. That’s why I’m grateful for meetings.
I guess the other thing, like many matters involving faith, is that this isn’t a one time surrender. Every day, sometimes every moment, I have to commit myself to that surrender again, to decide that this is the path I walk today. Today is almost over, and I’m grateful I got to live in it.