Choice
I read in September’s issue that in July, Share had only received three articles. I am responsible… So, here I am doing my bit to help keep Share alive. When I was drinking, I thought I was choosing the alcohol. That when I got home from work and was faced with the option of a cup of tea or alcohol, I chose the alcohol. I could have a cup of tea I thought, therefore it’s my choice not to. I have the power of choice.
Little did I know it was never going to be the tea. There was no choice. I was powerless over alcohol, so it was always going to win out, but I continued with the mind games. I drank the alcohol even though it tasted foul. I bought the cheapest, strongest bottles I could find, proud I could get the effect so cheaply, and held my nose when the first mouthful went down. The second wasn’t quite so awful. But persist I did, because I couldn’t not. When I read what we’re told about the illness in Step One – “…first we were smitten by an insane urge that condemned us to go on drinking, and then by an allergy of the body that insured we would ultimately destroy ourselves in the process.” (12&12 p.22) I realised that’s how it had been. I didn’t know about the first drink. So much for choice. I needed help and it had to come from something with more power than me.
During my drinking, I miscarried – twins, within weeks of each other – a double whammy in anyone’s book. I was determined to succeed and went through the emotional roller coaster that is IVF. Naturally, I told no one of my drinking – they might not have proceeded, so I lied my way through any questions they had about my grumbling innards. Finally in recovery, I ceased attempts when it hadn’t been successful, but it has been one of the biggest issues in my journey. That feeling of being different to all women with children – be they young mums or grannies – so that didn’t leave many out. They were in a club I could never be part of whether at work in tea breaks, overheard conversations on the bus, girls with buggies, shared photos – I couldn’t get away from the reminder and I hated them all.
Long story short, at 25 years sober, my sister braved telling me she was to become a granny. I drew breath – she knew I would – and I think I said the right things expected of a little sister. I spoke to my sponsor, and she very simply said, “You have a choice. You can ignore the new baby, and all things related (as you did her son and your brother’s children), or embrace it.” I chose to embrace it – because I have a choice today – and I’m the proud great aunt of four beautiful boys ranging from seven months to five years. The children of my siblings’ children, who are beautiful young people, who I’ve got to know and am delighted to call friends. Direct amends have been made. Just being mad great auntie Lesley, loved by infants, wasn’t enough. Direct amends to all concerned was required, and it was only then that I felt ready to make them because I felt the hurt that I had caused over the previous generation. I feel a freedom from that weight now. I have forgiven myself and they appear to have forgiven me in their hearts. I am in the middle of a loving family and it’s a beautiful thing I had denied myself. I’m now the one you’ll find showing off her photos to all and sundry and ‘oochy cooing’ strangers’ babies and toddlers.
It’s a kind of love and freedom I’ve never known before, and I have AA to thank for being given that gift of choice amongst so much else. That club I wasn’t in – I always was, and always will be in some club or other – it’s how I choose to look at my membership.
LESLEY
