From AA Agnostica – Page 13

My Journey

Chapter 19:
Do Tell! Stories by Atheists and Agnostics in AA

Neil F.

On the 12th of April 1986, I drove from Toronto to Montreal and spent the evening drinking with friends. The next day, I visited my son from my previous marriage and drove back to Toronto. During the drive, I broke into a cold sweat and started shaking. I felt I was losing control of my mind and body. I was filled with shame and fear and I concluded I could no longer stand the pain of living this way. Something had to change.

I remembered what my doctor had told me during a visit a few months before. I told him a bit about why I drank, when I drank and was semi-honest about how much I drank. He told me that if I ever thought about having another drink, I should look into a program called Alcoholics Anonymous. At the time, I felt angry and humiliated. How insulting.

But here I was, just a few months later, in the same old pickle. Once again I had been drinking; once again I was paying the price. What was worse, my standby solution – quitting on my own – was once again a total failure. In a moment of desperation, I reached out for help; on April 21, 1986, I attended my first AA meeting. Thanks to the fellowship of AA and good inputs from other sources I have not had to pick up a drink since.

In retrospect, I had a problem with alcohol from the moment I had my first drink.

I was actually quite shy, did not feel like I fit in and wanted very much to be accepted. I was ashamed of who I was. While I was successful at almost every task I took on, I never felt competent and lived in fear of others figuring out that I was in over my head. Alcohol became my instant friend; it allowed me to relax, to be more outgoing, to be a part of life, and my fear could be put on hold. It was a key component of both my social and business life and I could not imagine being able to live a normal, successful life if I were not able to drink. It was this desire to fit in that always took me back to the first drink.

I was not a daily drinker. While there were occasions when I would drink several days in a row, it was more common that I would go several days without a drink. I was very focused on controlling myself and my life when I was not drinking but after taking a drink I lost all control of how much I would drink and what I might say or do.

I had quit several times on my own with success lasting up to several months. My downfall was always finding myself in a social situation where I convinced myself that to be accepted and to relax I had to take a drink. It seemed like all of my normal friends and business acquaintances drank. There was no one who shared my objective of not drinking.

AA offered a community of people that I could identify with and who shared the objective of not drinking and who in many cases had good long term sobriety. Not only were they sober, many of them were successful and they seemed to be happy. I wanted what they had. This community of like minded people, more than anything, was what was missing when I attempted to stop on my own.

But as an atheist, I really struggled with many of the 12 steps.

I do not see myself as being powerless over alcohol as in and of itself alcohol is just a chemical and has no real power to control me. It is my brain, not alcohol, that is the problem. I did not like life as it was and I found that at least in the beginning alcohol was a solution. Over time, alcohol became a habit; a solution to all problems. When I took a drink, I lost control but it was really my reaction to life and not alcohol that caused me to pick up that first drink.

When I came to AA, I suffered from a seemingly hopeless state of mind and body that always led me back to a drink. But, my experience since then has shown me that it was not a hopeless state; I could recover from this state and live a productive, meaningful life without alcohol.

The suggestion of using a Higher Power as an alternative to a god would have been fine except for the fact that when I read the Big Book it was quite clear that the expectation was that sooner or later I would come to my senses and accept the Christian God as my higher power. So, I don’t have a Higher Power in a Big Book or 12 Step sense. There are many things in the world more powerful than me, but there is no individual or group that I am willing to grant control over my life. I gain helpful input from many sources including AA members, AA groups, AA books and literature, Buddhist, philosophy, psychology and neuroscience texts but in the end I retain responsibility for what is a part of my recovery practice.

A doctoral dissertation – “Experiences of Atheists and Agnostics in AA” – is based on the book Do Tell. For more information click on the above image.

While I did not find a higher power, I did find hope that I could recover as I listened to the experience of other members and read the stories in the back of the Big Book.

In the beginning I tried very hard to pursue the coming to believe route; I went to church a few times, I read the bible, books by CS Lewis, the Koran, some Buddhist and Hindu Texts but it didn’t work. As well, the “Fake It Till You Make It” approach seemed to contradict the recommendation that I get honest with myself.

Several books on Buddhism provided helpful insights into how to approach and respond to life. While I reject what I’d call the “woo” associated with claims such as rebirth and karma from past lives, I do find help in the “Four Noble Truths”, the “Eight Fold Noble Path” and the “Ten Perfections” and meditation. To me, these teachings and practices outline an approach to understanding my dissatisfaction with life and a process to bring about changes that help me live a good, happy life today. They are not religious in nature nor are they about the supernatural. As a result, these teachings inform the way that I approach the twelve steps.

I do not use the word spiritual when I’m discussing my practice as I think that it is a word that carries too much baggage in AA. Many would conclude that I am talking about a religious experience or perhaps some new age experience so it’s a term I don’t use. Instead, by working my own version of the steps I am bringing about changes in the way that I approach and respond to life. In the past, I measured success in terms of money, power, position or prestige; today they are no longer high on my list. Today I am more concerned with my relationships with others. I want to avoid harming others while helping where I am able. I am no longer as selfish or self centred as I used to be. I’m a long way from becoming selfless but I have made improvements.

So how could an alcoholic who is an atheist, who does not admit to being powerless over alcohol, who does not recognize a higher power and who does not claim to have had a spiritual awakening get sober, stay sober and have good long term sobriety? First I did not want to die; I did not want to abandon my family and I was convinced that without change I would die. Second, I had the fellowship and the examples of recovering and recovered members that gave me hope. And third, when I could not accept the steps as written in the Big Book, I personalized them to create a process that I could follow and that has helped change me and reduced the likelihood of picking up that first drink.

My current personalized version of the steps is as follows:

We admitted that we suffer from a seemingly hopeless state of mind and body.
Came to believe that we could recover.
Became open to changes in how we approach and respond to life.
Made a searching and fearless inventory of ourselves.
Reviewed our inventory with another human being.
Became entirely open to change.
Humbly affirmed our desire to change.
Made a list of all persons we had harmed and became ready to make amends to them all.
Made direct amends to such people wherever possible except when to do so would injure them or others.
Continued to take personal inventory and when we were wrong promptly admitted it.
Sought through meditation to improve our understanding of ourselves, our practice and our progress.
Having changed as the result of these steps, we tried to carry this message to alcoholics, and to practice these principals in all our affairs.

Due to my fear of not fitting in, of not being accepted in AA, I was not open about my atheism when speaking in AA until after I wrote an article “Personalizing the Twelve Steps” that was published on AA Agnostica in January of 2013. This article was really my full disclosure of my atheism, my becoming totally honest. Prior to this, when addressing a particular step in a meeting, I talked honestly about how I did the step but I did not disclose the fact that I am an atheist.

My disclosure caused some pain, one person called me a few names, and one person fired me as his sponsor, some rolled their eyes when I spoke, but others realized that I hadn’t changed and still accepted me.

Coming out allows me to be honest when discussing my program. I do not wish to convert or de-convert anyone but I think it is important that others understand and acknowledge that it is possible to become sober and have good long term sobriety in AA without believing in a god.

Just over a year ago, two other members and I started our “Beyond Belief” meeting. It is an open AA Meeting, does not include any prayer, and uses readings from the book Beyond Belief to stimulate discussion. It is a great meeting attracting a small number of atheists, agnostics and even a few theists. We focus on our recovery experience.

Today my life is far removed from that seemingly hopeless state I was in when I first came to AA.

This is a chapter from the book: Do Tell! Stories by Atheists and Agnostics in AA.

The paperback version of Do Tell! is available at Amazon. It is also available via Amazon in Canada and the United Kingdom.

It can be purchased online in all eBook formats, including Kindle, Kobo and Nook and as an iBook for Macs and iPads.

The post My Journey first appeared on AA Agnostica.

My Journey

Chapter 19:
Do Tell! Stories by Atheists and Agnostics in AA

Neil F.

In retrospect, I had a problem with alcohol from the moment I had my first drink.

But as an atheist, I really struggled with many of the 12 steps.

A doctoral dissertation – “Experiences of Atheists and Agnostics in AA” – is based on the book Do Tell. For more information click on the above image.

While I did not find a higher power, I did find hope that I could recover as I listened to the experience of other members and read the stories in the back of the Big Book.

My current personalized version of the steps is as follows:

We admitted that we suffer from a seemingly hopeless state of mind and body.
Came to believe that we could recover.
Became open to changes in how we approach and respond to life.
Made a searching and fearless inventory of ourselves.
Reviewed our inventory with another human being.
Became entirely open to change.
Humbly affirmed our desire to change.
Made a list of all persons we had harmed and became ready to make amends to them all.
Made direct amends to such people wherever possible except when to do so would injure them or others.
Continued to take personal inventory and when we were wrong promptly admitted it.
Sought through meditation to improve our understanding of ourselves, our practice and our progress.
Having changed as the result of these steps, we tried to carry this message to alcoholics, and to practice these principals in all our affairs.

Today my life is far removed from that seemingly hopeless state I was in when I first came to AA.

This is a chapter from the book: Do Tell! Stories by Atheists and Agnostics in AA.

The paperback version of Do Tell! is available at Amazon. It is also available via Amazon in Canada and the United Kingdom.

It can be purchased online in all eBook formats, including Kindle, Kobo and Nook and as an iBook for Macs and iPads.

The post My Journey first appeared on AA Agnostica.

A Full Blown Addiction – Just Like My Mother’s

By Anonymous
Originally published on February 18, 2021 on Elle

My worst fear in life has always been ending up like my mum. Sure, plenty of women feel the same, but it’s not premature greying I’ve been worried about, it’s inheriting her alcohol addiction – an addiction that has cut fractures so deep in my family, I don’t think they can ever be bridged.

Today, the nightmare has been realised. I’m in my late twenties, with my very own addiction. I’m hiding bottles of red wine in my clothes basket, topping up my coffee with vodka, constantly chewing mints so my housemates don’t smell the stench of alcohol on my breath. I know which corner shop owners won’t make a comment when I buy yet another bottle or two at 10am on a Tuesday. I know exactly how much to drink to turn off my racing thoughts and gnawing anxieties, without becoming comatose; the amount that keeps me functioning on the outside, answering the right questions on a work Zoom call, whilst comfortably numb inside. I know that red wine is better than white because you don’t have to refrigerate it, and what time to creep out of my room with all the empty bottles so no one will see me.

I know all this and I hate myself for it because the more I do it, the more I am like my mum, going through the same motions that destroyed mine and my brother’s childhoods. Perhaps worst of all, it was a man leaving me that sparked it, just like for my mum – another of her weaknesses I’d promised myself never to fall victim to.

My mum’s drinking started when I was 11-years-old, after my dad left us. My memories of that time are a blur: a week or two of explosive arguments eavesdropped through the stair banisters, my dad’s suitcase packed up by the door, a brisk kiss on the forehead and a vague promise of, ‘See you soon’. He left us for another woman – someone from his work I later found out, younger, prettier, a total cliché – and quickly set up a new life with her.

It’s like my mum stopped being my mum after that, withdrawing into a grey, impenetrable shell that neither me nor my brother could break through. I associate those early days of her drinking with her closed bedroom door, some trashy TV show blaring, her curtains drawn. It was still a secret at that point, clinking bottles late at night and slurs that she covered up with coughs or changes in subject. I quickly learnt how to look for the signs that it was ‘mummy’s bad day’, scurrying out of her way before the drink and the wrong question set her off. Thinking about it now, it’s almost like I’ve copied her, action by action.

For years we lived in that terrifying stasis – I was never quite sure which mum I would get picking me up from school or a friend’s house, anxiety bubbling up like acid as the home time bell drew near. I hated anyone knowing about her, like she and her habit were a hot, shameful secret to bury. Even as pre-teen, I knew that there was a huge taboo surrounding addiction.

The worst thing about my mum’s drinking is that, like all addicts, she refused to believe that she had an issue. As a functioning alcoholic, she’d developed this sick ability to go through the motions of life, even half a bottle, or more, down. I’m sure the people she worked for knew, they would’ve been stupid to have missed the signs, but as a self-employed cleaner, she spent most of her work days alone with the radio and a flask of something. As long as she didn’t nick anything and kept the place spotless, who was going to complain?

By age 12 I was outwardly confronting her about the stash of vodka bottles hidden in her wardrobe, demanding to smell her breath, and refusing to get in the car if she dared to grab her keys. My brother and I were regular bus pass holders from the very start. I’m not sure how many desperate pleas I made for her to stop. Tearful ones, angry ones, calm ones; I remember writing her a letter one Christmas, begging Santa to bring back my old mum, knowing that she would be the one reading it. Even though she made promises over and over to change – to me, my brother, her own parents, who were the only adults I trusted – she never did. And my dad didn’t to keep us involved in his new life as he’d promised.

My own relationship with alcohol started when I was 21 and a third year student in Bristol, far from the Newcastle suburb that I had grown up in and far from my mum who I had cut off all contact with, aged 16. I was far enough away from the very few people who knew the truth – my grandparents who took us in and my two best friends. Miles from the very worst memories of my mum, in hospital after a car accident where she had been black-out drunk and drifting into oncoming traffic. Far from her constant phone calls promising to change once we finally left and from the police who had to physically carry her off my grandparents doorstep. My first drink was a small glass of prosecco at my grad ball. I was surrounded by new people who didn’t know the old me or my sorry story. It was a drink not heavy with all the associations and accusations that I know I would get back home. My brother is still teetotal today.

From that moment on, moving from Bristol to London for a shiny, exciting new life in marketing, alcohol became my friend rather than enemy. Though I always treated it with a wary respect. One small glass of wine, but only with dinner. A toast for a friend’s engagement party or new promotion. After work cocktails, but always with friends.

That was late 2019 me; happy, healthy, earning good money and in a long-term relationship with a man I loved. But at the start of 2020, he left me for another woman, and it was my turn to be heartbroken.

I moved out of our flat and into a house share. It was here my drinking shifted, becoming an emotional crutch and DIY therapy. It began first with friends, in the healthy way that all newly single or heartbroken women drown their sorrows; one or two glasses of chardonnay over pizza or on a girls’ night out. But those glasses never stopped, they multiplied. Soon it was a bottle at least each night, sometimes two. Instead of stopping at the after-work drinks, I would drop into my local corner shop to stock up on the way home. At the time, I had a busy mix of work, social engagements and the gym to distract myself from my problem. Then lockdown happened and I was cut off from the one thing I had to justify my drinking: other people.

It was a month or two into lockdown that I realised I have a problem. Stuck at home, without the usual distractions, I was constantly thinking about the next drink, when I could sneak one or how I could justify another trip to the Off Licence. Originally, all I wanted was to dull the pain of a break up, now I feel like I can’t sleep without a drink; my thoughts are too loud. I’m sure my housemates have realised what’s going on, they’re not stupid. Like me aged 11, they’ve pieced together the clues and I know they’re worried about me. Twisted as it is, it’s often been easy to blow them off – everyone it seems has an alcohol problem in lockdown to joke about.

I do want help. I know that I need it and where to find it. Thanks to my mum’s situation, I know how difficult it is to do it alone, but I’m scared to open up to anyone, especially my family, my little brother. I feel like I’ve failed them by following in my mum’s footsteps.

Most of all, I’m scared to admit to myself that I’m more like my mum than I ever thought I could be. Even though we rekindled our relationship a few years ago after she got herself sober, opening up to her would be too painful. These are old wounds that haven’t quite healed yet.

The post A Full Blown Addiction – Just Like My Mother’s first appeared on AA Agnostica.

Anonymity and Recovery Advocacy

By Ray B. MD

Hi. I’m Ray, long-timer in addiction recovery and professional educator, disseminating information on the growing body of research evidence supporting recovery management, recovery-oriented care and peer-supported community recovery. I am privately an active member of a 12-Step home group while publicly a vigorous advocate for a range of recovery-supporting resources including 12-Step programs. The relatively recent Cochrane meta-analysis showing AA to be at least as effective as any other treatment modality ^[1] has been helpful, but even high-quality evidence such as this has had little effect on substance use and addiction policy and spending by legislators.

During over three decades of recovery I have also benefited from a variety of non-12-Step recovery therapies and programs. More than most of my medical colleagues, I know the powerful therapeutic benefits of active involvement in 12-Step fellowship and the many therapeutic components embedded within the 12-Step program of recovery. I am also painfully aware of some of the less-than-perfect aspects of 12-Step organizations, gleefully pointed out by some of my more critical mental health and medical colleagues. Having said that, AA is like democracy or the Canadian banking system: far from perfect but, considering all the options, it appears to be the best available alternative.

The tradition of anonymity is an essential one for the survival of an autonomous, non-hierarchal, non-professionalized organization like AA. Its public image or brand needs to be protected from the potential harm of people using their status as 12-Steppers to promote themselves or their commercial interests. It is not uncommon for newly sober members, fueled by their pink-cloud grandiosity, to appear in the media calling attention to themselves joyfully broadcasting the virtues of our program. And then, just as publicly, they come crashing down in humiliating relapse harming both themselves and the program. This lends credence to the erroneous view of addiction or alcoholism as a hopelessly relapsing problem akin to the Greek myth of Sisyphus, doomed to endlessly push his stupid boulder up the hill only to have it roll back down.

It has long been obvious in my medical practice, comparing addiction to the other chronic complex multifactorial lifestyle disorders such as heart disease, diabetes, obesity, hypertension and many types of cancer, that addiction deserves equal status. Addiction and these other chronic diseases share common characteristics: biological, environmental and behavioural risk factors; gradual and varied progression; variable response to multiple treatment modalities; and, since they are chronic, treatment at best results in remission but without continuing care and significant lifestyle modifications, relapse is likely. But, more important, 40 years of treating patients with all of these common medical conditions has made it clear that addiction, including its manifestation as alcoholism or ‘alcohol use disorder’, is the disease with the best prognosis ^[2] of them all.

During the ongoing tragedy of the opioid overdose epidemic, the remarkable and achievable outcome of sustained recovery seems to have been overlooked. A big part of the problem is that we have been achieving these remarkable transformations in ourselves and fellow addicts and alcoholics tucked away in our communities of recovery, behind the veil of anonymity, far from academia, research and professional clinicians. So what if people, ‘the Normies’, don’t know about our often-miraculous turnarounds? The problem is they don’t know we are here, all around them, living in their neighbourhoods, working, volunteering, parenting and voting. They think they know the face of addiction. They see it in the news, in the tent cities and on the streets of our cities. Little wonder they have nearly given up on finding a solution beyond supplying addicts with less toxic drugs and safer ways to use them, calling that treatment.

Are there enough of us in recovery to make a difference? Epidemiological population surveys of the quality used to survey other health conditions indicate that somewhere around 9% of Americans and by logical assumption Canadians as well, once experienced sufficient symptoms to meet the diagnostic criteria for a substance use disorder or addiction, but no longer do ^[3]. That’s over twenty million Americans and two million Canadians in recovery! And here’s where it gets really interesting – by far the majority of these sober folks got well without formal treatment, many without attending mutual support groups like AA. Large cross-sectional research studies on this population subgroup, the Life in Recovery Surveys, performed in the US, Australia, the UK and Canada have produced strikingly similar results. In spite of our past histories of legal problems, family problems, work problems as well as medical and psychiatric complications due to addiction and its associated dysfunctional behaviours, once in recovery we become law abiding tax-paying citizens, reliable and productive employees and healthy people who are no longer a burden to the system. And we vote.

OK, so now we know we are a huge and healthy group of productive citizens. The kind of group any savvy politician would want to please. So why is recovery still so low on the political agenda?

When I was about 20 years sober I had a health scare forcing me off the couch (and away from my favourite junk food) and into jogging. As a person for whom moderation is not a natural state, one thing led to another and in a few years, I found myself running the Boston Marathon every year – 8 times to be exact. And every year along the 26-mile course from Hopkinton to Boston I’d be cheered on by tens of thousands of enthusiastic spectators, many of them wearing costumes and holding banners to show support for athletes wearing the same logos, raising money and awareness for chronic diseases, like cancer, stroke, diabetes and heart disease. But I didn’t see any costumes, banners or cheerleaders dedicated to addiction and recovery. Why not?

Addiction is the third most common cause of morbidity and mortality ^[4] and a huge driver of healthcare, social, vocational and legal system costs! What’s more, if the public, policy makers and legislators only knew what we survivors know, they’d realize that solutions to the massive substance use and addiction problem are available and effective. If we only did the public marketing of effective recovery-oriented treatment and community support programs and scaled them up to meet the massive needs out there it would make a huge difference.

During the last 25 years the grassroots Recovery Movement has cautiously begun to leave the closet of anonymity with the formation of organizations like Faces & Voices of Recovery ^[5] and the production and release of high-quality documentaries like The Anonymous People ^[6]. This has attracted the attention of some influential people, resulting in pressure on the US Federal Government as well as some State and municipal legislators in a few regions to begin funding and developing supportive legislation to encourage growth of communities of recovery in what has come to be called, at least for now, the Recovery Oriented System of Care. Still, for the most part, we remain in our closets. But when we hide our recoveries we perpetuate the wrongheaded idea of addiction as a hopeless weakness, a character defect, simple bad behaviour. In other words addiction and recovery is our shared shameful secret – and that fuels stigma.

Back to the pros and cons of anonymity. It’s still important for the reputation and integrity of 12-Step programs that their traditions requiring public anonymity be preserved. But that should not prevent us from coming forward and joining together in visible associations and societies, showing the world that addiction is not a hopeless, perpetually relapsing disease of the brain but, like diabetes and heart disease, it is a complex lifestyle condition caused by a combination of genetics, behaviours and a variety of environmental factors, and it may be prevented, arrested and even partially reversed using a growing variety of evidence-based modalities of treatment and community-based recovery supports.

I made the decision over 35 years ago to continue as a sober and private member of a 12-Step program for my own recovery, while becoming a publicly vocal health professional, educating my patients, colleagues and interested audiences about addiction and recovery, using myself as an example or evidence of the possibility of long-term recovery. This is an invitation: please join me. If we want to decrease stigma and increase hope, it’s time to come out. Please join me in publicly celebrating recovery – while protecting the integrity and anonymity of our precious fellowships.

^[1] Kelly J, Humphreys K, Ferri M, Alcoholics Anonymous and other 12-step programs for alcohol use disorder, Cochrane Database of Systematic Reviews 2020, Issue 3.

^[2]Facing Addiction in America: the Surgeon General’s Report on Alcohol, Drugs and Health, 2016, US Dept of Human Services. https://addiction.surgeongeneral.gov/sites/default/files/surgeon-generals-report.pdf

^[3] Kelly J. et. al. (2017) Prevalence and pathways of recovery from drug and alcohol problems in the United States population: Implications for practice, research, and policy, Drug and Alcohol Dependence, Vol. 181, Pp. 162-169.

^[4] Canadian Substance Use Costs and Harms Scientific Working Group. (2020). Canadian substance use costs and harms 2015–2017. https://ccsa.ca/sites/default/files/2020-06/CSUCH-Canadian-Substance-Use-Costs-Harms-Report-2020-en.pdf

^[5]https://facesandvoicesofrecovery.org

^[6] Williams G, (2013) The Anonymous People. https://www.kinolorber.com/film/view/id/1546

Ray B. MD (ret.) FCFP, FASAM
Associate Clinical Professor
UBC Faculty of Medicine

After practicing 12 years as a rural family doctor and over 30 years as a consultant in Occupational Addiction Medicine Ray retired from clinical practice to focus on the science and practice of peer and professional Recovery support. From 1990-95 he developed the UBC Addiction Medicine curriculum and wrote a chapter on alcoholism in Conn’s Current Therapy, a medical textbook.

He’s a Recovery Coach trainer and consultant in Recovery Oriented Care. He served on CCSA’s National Recovery Advisory and Research Expert Advisory committees, designing and interpreting Canada’s Life in Recovery Survey (2015). In long-term recovery from addiction, Ray became a late life marathoner, an endurance triathlete and the outrageously proud grandfather of four-year-old grand-twins. This year Ray and Agnes celebrated 51 years of not-always-serene but, thanks in part to their continued involvement in 12-Step recovery programs, remarkably improved, marriage.

Our friend, John S., did a podcast with Ray and you can listen to that right here: Episode 93: The Science of Addiction and Recovery.

The post Anonymity and Recovery Advocacy first appeared on AA Agnostica.

Anonymity and Recovery Advocacy

By Ray B. MD

OK, so now we know we are a huge and healthy group of productive citizens. The kind of group any savvy politician would want to please. So why is recovery still so low on the political agenda?

^[1] Kelly J, Humphreys K, Ferri M, Alcoholics Anonymous and other 12-step programs for alcohol use disorder, Cochrane Database of Systematic Reviews 2020, Issue 3.

^[5]https://facesandvoicesofrecovery.org

^[6] Williams G, (2013) The Anonymous People. https://www.kinolorber.com/film/view/id/1546

Ray B. MD (ret.) FCFP, FASAM
Associate Clinical Professor
UBC Faculty of Medicine

Our friend, John S., did a podcast with Ray and you can listen to that right here: Episode 93: The Science of Addiction and Recovery.

The post Anonymity and Recovery Advocacy first appeared on AA Agnostica.

Ann’s Story

Chapter 18:
Do Tell! Stories by Atheists and Agnostics in AA

Ann M.

Already in kindergarten I felt different from others. I often felt ashamed and that I couldn’t do things right. I mostly felt disliked throughout school, sometimes because I was the teacher’s pet, sometimes because I would treat other kids badly to compensate for how I felt. I was also a crybaby.

But I was an avid reader, and always did well throughout school.

I went to college for a year, met the man I married at the start of my second year, and we married over Xmas. The idea that I could have sex when I wanted appealed to me greatly. Before meeting my husband I had dated a man who always seemed to know what I was thinking, and I found that scary. My husband, on the other hand didn’t know, and didn’t understand me. I liked that.

I was not the kind of drunk that crossed an invisible line sometime. I was already across it by the time I had my first drink. My family went to dinner to celebrate my 16th birthday, and I have no memory of what I wore, what I ate, who all was there, or what birthday presents I received, but I sure do remember the whiskey sour my Dad let me have. I spent the evening desperately trying to come up with some way to talk him into letting me have another. I drank rarely, but every time I did, I always wanted more.

Early on I was often able to have one and stop, but I always obsessed about wanting more. Every time I could have as much as I wanted, I did, and had frequent blackouts. The first blackout I actually knew I had had was when my husband and I had drinks before dinner, wine with dinner, and drinks after dinner. I knew we were going to make love, when we started drinking. The next thing I knew it was morning, and I couldn’t remember anything beyond the wine at dinner. I never figured out a cool way to ask, “Did we have fun last night?”

Our marriage got rocky after our third child was born. I suffered through a number of suicidal depressions, which, of course, my husband did not understand. I had had depressions since childhood. I was trying to figure out how to kill myself by age nine. I once asked my husband if I could see a psychiatrist, and he said he would rather divorce me and let me figure out how to support the kids and myself. I often thought about killing both the children and myself, but luckily I never tried to do it.

At Christmas time my depressions would be even worse. Every Christmas, I made all sorts of things for everyone in the family, but I always wound up in a deep depression for what I had not completed. I was a “glass-half-empty” sort of person – even for quite some time after sobriety. My Dad always preached that anything worth doing was worth doing perfectly. My motto seemed to be anything worth doing was worth overdoing. The severe depressions continued, getting worse and I used alcohol to treat them.

After I got sober in 1975 I realized at least part of my depression had been related to prescription weight loss medication which contained mood altering chemicals and that got worse once my doctor wouldn’t prescribe any more and I was in withdrawal.

A doctoral dissertation – “Experiences of Atheists and Agnostics in AA” – is based on the book Do Tell. For more information click on the above image.

Meanwhile I suspected that my husband was molesting our daughters. Eventually I walked into the kitchen just as he kissed our 18 year old daughter in a definitely erotic manner. I felt unable to do anything about it, but wanting to be there for my daughters kept me from killing myself entirely with alcohol.

A friend from the Unitarian church had called me which had occasioned my latest attempt to not drink. She knew that my middle daughter kept running away from home, and she wanted to suggest that she come to live with her for a while. I was drunk when she pulled up to meet me, and I turned and ran for the house, falling and skinning my knees in the process.

She called me a couple of days later to say she did not understand and hadn’t wanted to embarrass me. I was beginning to get honest, and told her I had been drunk.

My husband and I had been seeing a counselor at the Air Base, and a few weeks after this incident, afraid I might not make it through another weekend, I finally admitted to the counselor that I “might” have a problem with alcohol, and he gave me a list of the three available AA meetings in town. I was a few weeks sober by then – one more attempt not to drink. I went to AA the next night and have been sober since then.

After I stopped drinking, my marriage was going downhill rapidly, and my husband was trying to get me to drink again, while I was trying to get him to stop drinking. One night he offered to fix dinner and served a glass of my favorite wine with dinner. I pitched a fit and went to bed without eating.

I was told early on to get women’s phone numbers so I worked up the courage and asked, but all three who were sober had excuses for not giving it to me. Finally I asked one to be my sponsor, and she agreed, and gave me her phone number. This was right before I was going to visit my parents in Oklahoma. I started to work with her after I came back, but I eventually had to let her go because she was coming on to me, but she did give me confidence to make it through the trip.

I went to some really good meetings in Oklahoma. My mother had called me when I was about two months sober and I was not home so I told her I was at a meeting. She asked, “A church meeting?” I said, “No, an AA meeting – I’m an alcoholic”. She got off the phone quickly and called my sister in Chicago to ask what she had done wrong to make me an alcoholic. My sister, whose best friend was alcoholic, had been to open meetings with her and to some Al-Anon meetings, so she told her if she and Dad wanted to know, they should go to Al-Anon and they would tell her, knowing that was the hook that would get her there. So they went.

When I was nine months sober I moved away from my husband, and lived on what I made substitute teaching. By this time, my children were gone from home except my son and he was leaving for college. I had one time affairs with two different AA members, and a longer one with a third. It was glorious for about six weeks, and then I sunk into a really deep depression. One daughter had finished high school and started college, and the other had moved in with a boyfriend.

I found my second sponsor about the time I moved out of my home. She and I were visiting an AA member in the hospital and she asked me if I would like to talk. She asked me if I had a sponsor, and when I said “no” asked me if I wanted her to be my sponsor and in tears I said “yes”. Her next question was whether I was suicidal. More tears and another “yes”.

I had never told anyone about my suicidal thoughts until then. Then I admitted it only because the woman who became my sponsor that day asked me about it.

I had admitted to not believing in any God when I was maybe nine months sober and they all put me down for it. The only reason I didn’t get drunk then was that a man stopped me after the meeting and told me he had just heard a speaker with quite a few years sobriety say he didn’t believe in God. He told me to not listen to the doom sayers.

My sponsor said I needed to go to treatment. She called Livengrin in Pennsylvania and they said it would be about a week’s wait. She asked me if I wanted my mother to come and stay with me until I got in, and then she called her for me. By this time, mother had been in Al-Anon for a year, so she made plane reservations and went to her meeting to ask if it was okay. When they heard I had asked for her, they said, “Go”. I took a 4th and 5th step while in treatment, which was neither searching nor fearless. I did not even admit to the affairs.

I returned home to try to make the marriage work. About eight months later, my husband sued me for divorce. Six months after that the divorce was final. He remarried two months later.

I wanted to leave the area, and my sponsor and the counselor said it was a good idea, so I moved to Des Moines, Iowa. My son was nearby in college. I found work quickly, and kept applying for other jobs also, and ended up becoming an EKG tech.

I stayed with this job for three years, but my boss was a drunk who would sometimes call at night, slurring her words, and give orders contrary to what she had said before she left work. Sometimes, we got in trouble for not doing what she said, and sometimes for doing what she had said. Eventually I had enough and quit.

I had saved up enough money to make it through a counselor training program, so I spent the next year doing that. One of the requirements of entering the training program was to complete the 28 day treatment as a patient, except we went home at night. Among our assignments we had to ask help from three other people who had already been through the program. I was five years sober already, so I figured it didn’t apply to me. They wanted me to ask for help from someone sober only a few weeks? So when I turned in my assignments they failed me and just waited until four days later I figured out I better go ask for help after all. Then I passed. Humility wasn’t my strong suit in those days.

I spent the next 25 years working as a counselor, until I retired. There were several “geographicals” along the way, and a number of depressions, some severe enough to need antidepressants for a time, some suicidal. What kept me from going through with it was the devastation I had felt when a member of our group committed suicide. I could not do that to my group.

My son finished college with a double major in physics and math. My older daughter finished a two year assistant veterinary program and later returned to college and completed a bachelor’s in microbiology. The other daughter completed a GED. I have an excellent relationship with one daughter and my son, while the other daughter struggles with mental illness and addiction. My son is in his own 12 step program, and that makes our conversations easier. AA has taught me that the only way to make amends to my children is to listen respectfully to what they tell me and not argue or offer excuses.

In my 40 years sober, I have had both my parents and a sister eight years younger die. I have had several accidents with broken bones. I was fired from a job as director of a treatment center, and another job as a counselor. In spite of all, I have not tried drinking again. While I know the first sip or two would feel good, I never want to feel again that awful feeling of despair when I could not stop. The long term benefits of sobriety far outweigh any short term feel-good.

I started trying to get an AA meeting for agnostics and atheists started a couple of years ago, but could not find a place to hold it. Finally, in Oct, 2014, there were four of us interested, so we got together, and after a couple of false starts finally have found a nice, stable place to meet. We have had as many as 24 at the meeting, and now another group has formed agnostic group has formed nearby as well. We do not use prayers, but end with the responsibility pledge.

I finally have the support I have always needed.

This is a chapter from the book: Do Tell! Stories by Atheists and Agnostics in AA.

The paperback version of Do Tell! is available at Amazon. It is also available via Amazon in Canada and the United Kingdom.

It can be purchased online in all eBook formats, including Kindle, Kobo and Nook and as an iBook for Macs and iPads.

The post Ann’s Story first appeared on AA Agnostica.

Ann’s Story

Chapter 18:
Do Tell! Stories by Atheists and Agnostics in AA

Ann M.

But I was an avid reader, and always did well throughout school.

A doctoral dissertation – “Experiences of Atheists and Agnostics in AA” – is based on the book Do Tell. For more information click on the above image.

She called me a couple of days later to say she did not understand and hadn’t wanted to embarrass me. I was beginning to get honest, and told her I had been drunk.

I had never told anyone about my suicidal thoughts until then. Then I admitted it only because the woman who became my sponsor that day asked me about it.

I returned home to try to make the marriage work. About eight months later, my husband sued me for divorce. Six months after that the divorce was final. He remarried two months later.

I finally have the support I have always needed.

This is a chapter from the book: Do Tell! Stories by Atheists and Agnostics in AA.

The paperback version of Do Tell! is available at Amazon. It is also available via Amazon in Canada and the United Kingdom.

It can be purchased online in all eBook formats, including Kindle, Kobo and Nook and as an iBook for Macs and iPads.

The post Ann’s Story first appeared on AA Agnostica.

Out of the Closet

By Lisa F.

When I first came to AA in 2008, I was much too sick and scared to mind the God idea. Looking back, the AA in my small central California city was quite progressive: there weren’t many God references in the meetings or in people’s shares, and the meetings usually ended with the Serenity Prayer, not the Our Father.

When I finally got serious about getting sober in 2009, I fully expected to develop a “God-consciousness” as THE result of working the Steps, as this was promised to me repeatedly in the meetings. I wasn’t anti-God. I got a sponsor and “worked” the Steps with her, although I mainly answered with what I thought I was supposed to say. This approach seemed to work OK, but I definitely remember feeling disappointed when nothing changed on the God front: no white light or overwhelming sense of the presence of God. Deep down, I was worried I was doing something wrong, but I shrugged and kept going.

At two years sober, my husband’s job transfer moved us from Central California to Sugar Land, Texas. I jumped in to the local AA, but I immediately noticed a difference: everyone around me was a proclaimed Christian, and they talked about God – a LOT about God – in their shares. Most went to the same suburban mega-church. I immediately felt “off,” although I was warmly welcomed into the local fellowship. I couldn’t seem to work up the nerve to say to anyone that the God thing had never worked for me.

Instead, I jumped into a new career (which I loved), and I started an advanced degree. My life got super-busy (kids in high school), and my meeting count dropped to one meeting every week or two. The insanity to drink returned, and I relapsed in 2012.

What followed: several painful years of “slipping,” in and out of AA. I could only get sober and stay sober for anywhere from three to eight months. Each time I went to the same large Houston treatment facility. I was quite compliant, but I repeated my bad habit of telling people what I thought they wanted to hear. Instead of saying what I was really feeling, I would only share what I THOUGHT I should say. I freely acknowledged that AA worked great (for Christians), but I suspected, deep down, that it wasn’t meant for me. I remember trying with all my might to get on the “God bus,” but it never worked.

At the third rehab stint, in 2015, I was utterly broken – lost marriage, lost custody, lost career. However, I was FINALLY willing to ‘fess up about the God issue. I could barely bring myself to say the word “atheist.” In fact, I had a harder time describing myself as an “atheist” than I did as an “alcoholic” or “addict.”

My roommate in the Detox unit was a very sweet, older Christian lady. I could see that her faith meant a lot to her. She read her Bible every morning, and she talked to God throughout the day. It seemed to me that she would be a natural for AA-style recovery. I mentioned this to the Detox counselor. He looked at me and shook his head. He said, “She’s right where you are, too – in a rehab DETOX UNIT. We get devout believers in here all the time. I don’t think it’s a matter of faith.” (He knew I was an atheist.) He said something I’ve never forgotten: “Maybe it doesn’t matter what you believe. Maybe it only matters what you DO.”

Sitting in the main meeting room, I felt something change, in the pit of my stomach. I thought, “I’ve GOT to make this work.” I asked my counselor, “Is there anyone here on staff, or in the Alumni group, who I could talk to about being a non-believer in recovery?” In a treatment center with hundreds of patients, with thousands of patient Alumni, she couldn’t think of anyone – at all – that identified as an atheist or agnostic. The stigma is that strong. Thankfully, I picked up a book in the Treatment Center’s little bookstore called Waiting: A Non-Believer’s Higher Power by Marya Hornbacher. I cannot overstate how finding that book transformed my recovery and gave me hope for the first time. It was an absolute revelation, and I was nearly weeping in relief upon reading the author’s experience.

Because I am a non-believer, they asked at the rehab if I would like a counselling session with the Spirituality Program Administrator, a Christian minister. He was a kind and helpful man, and he told me, “Atheists and agnostics have been part of A.A. from the very beginning. They helped to get it off the ground. They found an authentic recovery, and it worked for them. I think authenticity is at the heart of how we recover. I myself have had to seek out local meetings that are more inclusive and open, because a lot of them are NOT – but you can find them if you look.” He also mentioned that there were “secular” Houston AA meetings as well as information about organizations such as SOS, LifeRing, Refuge Recovery, and some others that I can’t remember anymore. I will always appreciate his kindness.

Although my voice still shook and cracked with nerves when I spoke, I finally started sharing at meetings about being an atheist. Of course, there were some condescending follow-up shares and comments, but I found that I could let those pass. I knew that other people, like me, were making this stuff work. When we had computer lab at the rehab, I Googled phrases like “Atheist agnostics in AA” and “Atheist recovery.” I found several helpful websites (aaagnostica.org was the first) and Facebook groups. Finding these gave me even more hope. I made a vow (again, that deep feeling in the pit of my stomach) that I was going to make this work. I promised myself that I would be the secular voice that I didn’t hear when I was new and struggling.

This time, too, I paid attention to the WHOLE treatment plan, which included things like individual therapy, prescription medication, a three-month stint in a sober living house, and yoga/exercise – all in addition to 12-step activities. I decided that I was going to try it all, and then I would see what stuck. I also got involved in the Alumni Association at the rehab, which is a large and active organization.

Over time, I went back to grad school and finally finished that damned degree. I was able to repair my relationships with my (now young adult) kids, and I even repaired my marriage. I’ve also managed to achieve a good career, but I keep recovery the priority. Today, I think of recovery like the gas tank of a car: I must keep filling the tank with what I call “recovery stuff.” When I stop filling the tank, I will be vulnerable. As long as I remember to fill my tank, I’ll be OK.

After some time, I started getting requests to lead meetings and to serve as the “go-to” person whenever a patient or a newcomer was wrestling with the “God stuff.” When COVID hit, I started leading an hour-long information group with the patients at the rehab center. Part of my talk, which I always say very clearly, is this: “Belief in God is NOT a requirement to having a happy, healthy, full, and active recovery. If no one has told you this, yet, I am telling you now. It doesn’t matter what you believe. It only matters what you do.”

I know some secular recovery purists don’t care for the sponsorship idea, but I view it as just another beneficial recovery relationship. The rehab’s medical director told me, “Even if you take the 12 Steps and meetings as behavior modification combined with peer support, you will find them to be effective.” I’ve found the Steps to be somewhat helpful, of course with adapted wording. Doing Fourth, Fifth, and Ninth Steps provide a helpful foundation for continued growth and friendship. Many of my most meaningful recovery relationships have come from sponsorship. My sponsees are about 50/50 believers and non-believers.

Today, I go to at least one “secular” recovery meeting each week, as well as three or four in-person “traditional” 12-Step meetings. I remain active in the rehab’s Alumni association, making sure patients hear about my experience as a successfully sober atheist/agnostic. I’ve found that it is enough – it is more than enough – and I am very grateful. I know the 12-Step purists and the dogmatic theists will always be present, and they will always be “Loud and Proud” in the Rooms, but I finally feel comfortable being “Loud and Proud” right back about my secular recovery. My voice doesn’t shake and quake when I share about it, anymore.

Lisa F. was born in Cincinnati, Ohio, and raised as a devout Catholic, going to parochial school and receiving Confirmation from the archbishop as a teen – although she was frequently in trouble for asking questions based on her personal reading. In college years, she majored in Ancient Greek and Roman history, as well as a good amount of philosophy and comparative religions. Lisa became an “in-the-closet” non-believer over this time, but it didn’t become an urgent issue until trying to get sober in 2012, in Houston, Texas. After several painful years, in and out of AA, she fully embraced her agnosticism in 2015 and has been sober ever since. She remains active in Houston-area recovery in both secular and traditional AA, and her mostly tolerant traditional AA home groups now steer new non-believers her way. Lisa shares a PDF – Secular Recovery Resources – at her local rehab’s Alumni association, where she also remains active, lending a helpful hand to those in early recovery.

For a PDF of this article, click here: Out of the Closet.

The post Out of the Closet first appeared on AA Agnostica.

Out of the Closet

By Lisa F.

For a PDF of this article, click here: Out of the Closet.

The post Out of the Closet first appeared on AA Agnostica.

Atheists and Agnostics – The Meaning of Life

If there’s no afterlife or reason for the universe, how do you make your life matter?

Based on an article by Tom Chivers originally posted on BuzzFeed

Jan Doig: Three years and nine months ago I would have declared myself agnostic. Then my husband died without warning at the age of 47. My life fell to pieces. This is no exaggeration. As the terrible days passed in a fog the same question kept forming. Why? Why him? Why us? I was told by well-meaning friends that it was part of God’s plan and we would simply never know what that was. Or from friends with a looser definition of religion, that the Universe had something to teach me. I had lessons to learn.

These thoughts caused me great fear, anger, and confusion. What sort of God, even if he had a plan for me, would separate a fine, kind, gentle man from his children? Why would God or the Universe look down and pick on our little family for special treatment? Why a good man with not a bad bone in his body who had never raised a hand to anyone? My best friend for 29 years. Any lesson the Universe had to teach me I would have learned willingly. He didn’t have to die!

I thought about it a lot. I was raised Catholic so guilt ran through me like writing through a stick of rock. Had I been a bad wife? Was he waiting for me? There were days when, if I had been certain of a belief in an afterlife, I might have gone to join him. It was a desperate time. I needed evidence and there simply wasn’t any. I just had to have faith and believe.

One day as I was sitting on his memorial bench in the local park I suddenly thought, What if no one is to blame? Not God. Not me. Not the Universe. What if he’s gone and that’s all there is to it? No plan. Just dreadful circumstances. A minor disturbance in his heart led to a more serious and ultimately deadly arrhythmia, and that killed him in a matter of moments. It is a purely scientific view of it. I may seem cold or callous but I found comfort in that. I cried and cried and cried, but that made logical sense to me and brought me great peace.

My heart and head still miss my husband every day. I treasure everything he gave me and I love him as much today as the day he died. But I can remember him happily without wondering what we had done to deserve this dreadful separation.

So I declare myself atheist (and humanist by extension) and my friends shake their heads. I stay on the straight and narrow without the guiding hand of a creator or any book of instructions.

I’m not a religious or a spiritual person. (For some reason many of my female friends are shocked by this admission!) I don’t believe in God or the Universe. I don’t believe in angels, the power of prayer, spirits, ghosts, or an afterlife. The list goes on and on. I think there is a scientific meaning for everything, even if we don’t understand it yet. I find meaning in everyday things and I choose to carry on.

The sun comes up and I have a chance to be kind to anyone who crosses my path because I can. I make that choice for myself and nobody has to tell me to do it. I am right with myself. I try my best to do my best, and if I fail, I try again tomorrow. I support myself in my own journey through life. I draw my own conclusions.

I find joy in the people I love. I love and I am loved. I find peace in the places I visit. Cry when I listen to music I love and find almost childlike joy in many things. This world is brilliant and full of fascinating things. I have to think carefully for myself. I don’t have to believe what I’m told. I must ask questions and I try and use logic and reason to answer them. I believe that every human life carries equal worth. I struggle with how difficult the world can be, but when we have free will some people will make terrible decisions. No deity forces their hand and they must live with that.

Life is a personal struggle. Grieving is never an easy road to travel. It’s painful and lonely at times but I use what I know to try to help when I can. I try to be loving and caring with my family and friends, and have fun. I will cry with friends in distress and hear other people’s stories and be kind because it does me good as well. I listen and I learn. It helps me to be better. Life without God is not a life without meaning. Everything, each and every interaction, is full of meaning. Everything matters.

* * *

Gia Milinovich, writer and broadcaster: Several years ago I worked on a film called “Sunshine” which was written by Alex Garland. He wrote the film as an exploration of the inevitable, eventual end. Every day Alex and I would have long, involved discussions about ‘the end of time’. One thing he said stuck with me: ‘Our problem is that, in an entirely meaningless universe, our lives are entirely meaningful.’

There is meaning in the universe. My children mean something to me. My husband means something to me. The roses blooming in my garden mean something to me. So, there is meaning in the universe, but it is localised: It perhaps only exists here on Earth.

When you start to think in universal time spans, your perception of humanity must necessarily change. Differences of opinion seem pathetic. National borders become ridiculous. The only thing that starts to be important to me is material reality and understanding how it operates and how matter itself came into being in the first place.

Accepting that not only will I die, but so will everyone I know and everyone I don’t know – and humanity, and the universe itself – brought me a very deep and profound peace. I don’t have to run away from the fear of oblivion. I am not afraid. I celebrate reality. I don’t have to pretend that there will be some magic deus ex machina in the third act of my life which will make it all OK and give me a happy ending. It is enough that I exist, that I am here now, albeit briefly, with all of you…

* * *

Kat Arney, biologist and science writer: I was raised in the Church of England. As a teenager, I ‘found Jesus’ and joined the evangelical movement, probably because I desperately wanted to feel part of a group, and also loved playing in the church band. I finally had my reverse Damascene moment as a post-doctoral researcher, desperately unhappy with my scientific career, relationship, and pretty much everything else, and can clearly remember the sudden realisation: I had one life, and I had to make the best of it. There was no heaven or hell, no magic man in the sky, and I was the sole captain of my ship.

It was an incredibly liberating moment, and made me realise that the true meaning of life is what I make with the people around me – my family, friends, colleagues, and strangers. People tell religious fairy stories to create meaning, but I’d rather face up to what all the evidence suggests is the scientific truth – all we really have is our own humanity. So let’s be gentle to each other and share the joy of simply being alive, here and now. Let’s give it our best shot.

* * *

Dr Buddhini Samarasinghe, molecular biologist: I think there are two things about living in a godless universe that scare some people. First, there is no one watching over them, benevolently guiding their lives. Second, because there is no life after death, it all feels rather bleak.

Instead of scaring me, I find these two things incredibly liberating. It means that I am free to do as I want; my choices are truly mine. Furthermore, I feel determined to make the most of the years I have left on this planet, and not squander it. The life I live now is not a dress rehearsal for something greater afterwards; it empowers me to focus on the here and now. That is how I find meaning and purpose in what might seem a meaningless and purposeless existence; by concentrating on what I can do, and the differences I can make in the lives of those around me, in the short time that we have.

For a PDF of today’s article click here:
Atheists and Agnostics – The Meaning of Life

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