This is a guest post from my friend Beth Wilson.
I’m guessing that anyone who has not been personally affected by substance use isn’t aware that September is National Alcohol and Addictions Recovery Month.
Don’t feel too badly; recovery from addiction, while not the taboo subject that it was 20 years ago, when I got sober, is still not openly discussed by the general public. There is still stigma and shame directed toward people in recovery from folks who believe that being addicted to a substance is a choice, one that with the right amount of willpower, can be reversed.
My name is Beth; I’m a recovering alcoholic.
I’d like to share a bit of my story with you in hopes that during this national month of recovery, you’ll see that addiction–definitely not a choice for me–holds within its grasp the promises of a fulfilling life.
I grew up in the Kansas City, MO area, the older child in a middle-class family of four. My parents were hard-working, blue-collar folks who wanted the moon and stars for my brother and me but also made sure we knew that the celestial skies weren’t free. My dad was a pull-yourself-up-by-your-bootstraps kind of guy, a man’s man. His daily mission was to provide for his family and come day’s end when his job was done, it was his deserved right to kick back with a few cold ones.
Alcohol was a part of my home life as far back as I remember.
When I was old enough to reach the refrigerator door, Dad asked me to bring him a beer. My reward was to stand by his side as he popped the top on the can, pulled off the tab and let me drink what he called “the poison,” or the first swallow.
Little did I know how prophetic those words would become 25 years later.
I need to say that I do not blame my alcoholism on my dad; the disease permeates both sides of my family and I believe I was born predisposed to be affected. My brother and I have had long discussions about how we were raised under the same conditions and he is able to have a beer or a cocktail–one, mind you–and not want anymore.
That’s the difference between my brother and me.
I cannot have one beer. Oh, I can intend to–with every fiber of my being–and I may even succeed. But I can guarantee that if I do have only one, I will obsess about when I can have more. I will connive and manipulate and perhaps even lie and cheat to ensure that I do get what I want, which is more alcohol at any cost.
The repeated scenario is one in which I consume as much as I possibly can of mine and yours, I end of doing something physical that, at a minimum causes severe embarrassment, and have no recollection of the next day. I start out as the life of the party. I am witty, people fawn over my stimulating conversation and groups gather around to see what’s happening with the “in” crowd.
That is only the start.
If I’m lucky, I’ll make it home without injuring myself, or God forbid, harming someone else. If it’s a bad night, your guess is as good as mine where I’ll end up. There will be consequences, perhaps even severe penalties.
But I don’t care because without alcohol, I am a woman with a hole in her gut the size of Texas. I’m a little girl in a woman’s body whose maturation process was severely impacted by introducing poison to her developing brain and nervous system (Science has proven that a child’s brain does not finish developing until the age of 25).
Alcoholism is known as a disease of perception.
I perceived I was different because I felt different as a child. I perceived that I was the square peg in a round hole because I felt different growing up. I perceived that alcohol filled the empty places inside me because when I drank I became different.
Active addiction to alcohol was a way of life for me–through high school, college and eight years into working in my chosen field. I desperately sought to fill the gaping hole, even as I fought my own stigmatized thinking that said alcoholics were skid row bums who couldn’t hold jobs and certainly didn’t own homes.
You see, I didn’t lose any of those things.
I became the successful professional my parents wanted me to be. I became the first person in my mother’s family to graduate college–never mind that I don’t remember my classes, professor’s names or the commencement ceremony because I was in an alcoholic blackout.
I had a job waiting for me when I graduated; I traveled on an expense account; by all outward appearances, I had made it.
And yet, I was slowly dying inside, a diminishing death perpetuated by no self-esteem, no sense of pride, no belief in my own worth.
How did a girl from the suburbs of Kansas City, adored by her family, reach this point of wanting to die?
To me, that question is not nearly as important as this one:
Why on May 20, 1991, did I suddenly want to live?
There were no sudden burning bushes of religious conversion. There were no ultimatums of “get sober or else.” I did not experience an intervention–loving or otherwise. I did not get carted away to an inpatient treatment center.
I did not face a judge or a jury.
I simply surrendered to a power greater than myself that I still suspected existed. I gave in to my disease after watching and listening to a surrogate-mother figure describe how her son was trying to get clean from drugs. I connected with the description of his pain and I let a seed be planted.
I knew I was through “handling” my drinking.
It was no longer working. I will forever believe that God graced me with the intuition that now–May 20, 1991–was my chance, perhaps my one chance, to get sober and begin to rebuild my life.
I had no clue how I was supposed to even begin to think about what that process looked like.
But my heart knew it was time.
Every recovering person’s path to sobriety is just a little different because our paths of destruction are each a bit different. If we’re lucky, we get to arrive at a point of hopeless despair because that is the point in which we can say without any further reservation, “I can’t. He can. I think I’ll let Him.”
I believe that without God’s intervention in my life–through my surrogate mother and her son’s story 20 years ago–there is a good chance I wouldn’t have survived to experience the fabulous life I live today.
Here’s the part that is hard for nonalcoholics and addicts to grasp:
I am singularly grateful for every ounce of alcohol, every demoralizing stunt, every disgusting morning after and every price I paid in the name of “having fun.”
Why? Because each of those things had to happen just as they did so that I can experience the miracle of recovery.
And that is why Recovery Month is precious to me. I get to celebrate, along with millions of others, the rebirth of people who were once written off as useless losers who “could stop if they really wanted to.”
Please know that recovery takes much more than desire. If you know someone actively addicted, please educate yourself about the disease of addiction along with the hope of recovery. A great place to start is www.drugfree.org. Who knows? You could plant a seed that one day helps someone like me begin a life that is incredible beyond our wildest imaginations.
Miracles happen every day. Mine did. Many more await their opportunity.
Beth Wilson is the creator of B Here On Purpose, a solo-preneur company dedicated to mindful living and writes a blog called B Here Today, about finding a balance between our outer and inner worlds. Visit her at http://bheretoday.com and on Twitter and Facebook.
Wow, thanks for sharing your personal story. I’m very proud of you. Families are such a big influence in our lives and it stinks when they can have some negative influences on your growth. You are a very strong individual to have taken control of your life the way you have.
What a great support you must be for others that have gone through similar circumstances. Thanks for sharing.
Bryce
Hi Bryce,
Thanks for your kind words. One thing I want to add to my story is that my dad and I have an incredible relationship today. I know that he and my mom did the very best they could raising me and I hold no resentments toward them. Yes, the roots of my addiction are probably hereditary but the foundation of my recovery is also hereditary. That foundation is love and that is what Dad and I share today. Sobriety taught me to let go of the wounds of my past, take responsibility for my actions and step boldly into the sunlight of the Spirit. May you be blessed by sunlight as well.
B Well,
Beth
Thanks for sharing your story. Interesting that you had a spiritual experience that helped you move on. God does work in mysterious ways, right Beth? Recovery is a miracle but your ability to appreciate all the pain you went through is truly inspiring! If the rest of us could look at all aspects of our life this way (appreciating pain so we can heal).
Your story is inspiring and filled with miracles! I hope that someone will read it and realize that they are not alone and that recovery is possible. Thank you for your honesty and humility.
Vishnu, believe me, it hasn’t always been this way for me! It has taken years and years of meetings, working with sponsors and therapists and being willing to sit with myself when I sure as heck didn’t want to. As we say in my 12-step meetings, it’s simple but not easy! Even today, I have emotional relapses that cause me to spiral back downward, but thankfully they don’t last nearly as long as they used to.
Thanks for your comment. Have a terrific day!
B Well & Present,
Beth
Hi Beth,
Yours is a tremendously moving story. I am glad that you saw ”living” as truly great & you stayed with us.
be good to yourself
David
I would have missed a whole bunch of fun, right, David? Life justbkeeps getting better.
And Becky, I sure do appreciate your kind words.
Cathy, your readers are amazing!
Beth
Hi Beth,
This was a very courageous post that you shared here. Alcoholism was prominent on my Mom’s side of the family. I know how alcoholism can pass from generation to generation and some are lucky like your brother who had no problem only having one drink.
I am fortunate enough to had quit drinking almost 6 years ago and know that my life would not be the same had I continued to drink.
Hi Beth, Wow, what a powerful story! Thank you so much for sharing your experiences here. Have you been able to identify why you had this demon while your brother didn’t? And was there some experience or event that led to you recover? And what advice would you give to someone seeing a loved one struggle?
Not only is it fantastic that you were able to overcome your struggles, but also that you channeled your energies into helping others overcome theirs.
Cathy, thank you very much for having Best as a guest author!
Hi Justin and Carolyn,
First, I want to apologize for the delay in responding. I went “off-planet” for several days to spend quality time with my father. I just returned last night.
Justin, congratulations on six years of fortitude and doing what you instinctively know is best for you. Keep the faith!
Carolyn, my goodness, I hardly know where to start. The “demon” that you reference used to be just that for me–an albatross that targeted my life and let my brother be. Here’s the thing, though: My brother may not have a drinking problem, but you can surely believe that he has been impacted by the disease of alcoholism. Maybe those in the medical field can offer an explanation as to how alcoholism genes drop into one child and not another, but I sure don’t know. And to be honest, I no longer care. I’ve reached a place of gratitude for my disease because not only have I learned how to stay sober for today, I’ve also learned how to be a better sister and daughter, friend and neighbor.
Yes, there was an event that planted the recovery seed. It came in the voice of a mother describing her son’s newly found recovery. The mother happened to be the woman who was like a mother to me; her son was a close friend (and partying buddy!) during my high school years. Something in that conversation touched me in a way that no one else had been able to reach. Ironically, her son–my friend–has been unable to stay sober.
Finally, my advice for anyone watching a loved one struggle with addiction is to get a sense of direction for themselves. It is so incredibly easy to get sucked in to the manipulative ways of an active addict. Loved ones–whether parents, siblings, other family members or friends–are affected by the disease of addiction and MUST take care of themselves. Blogs like TreatmentTalk are fabulous resources (Cathy’s work is top-notch!). I can also highly recommend logging onto http://drugfree.org for help in connecting the dots around addiction.
I truly appreciate your kind words and can only hope that you’re right about giving back to others. That’s my goal!
B Well & Present,
Beth
Hi Beth, Thank you for your wonderful reply. One more question, if you don’t mind. Did you ever tell the woman who inspired you about the impact she had on your life?
I really appreciate your sharing your journey with us. And congratulations on keeping the demons at bay. I know it’s a difficult struggle, but you are very brave to share your experiences with us. I know you are an inspiration to many.
Hi Carolyn,
Yes, I’ve had contact at several points over the years with the woman in my story. She poo-poo’s the importance of her involvement (as I would expect) but being a deeply religious woman, she recognizes that God used her as an instrument on my path.
Thanks for asking the question (and for reminding me that I need to call my friend!).
Best to you,
Beth