Miracles Happen
I have read many Share magazine articles, often being moved with not only identification, but with the miracle that recovery can and does so often bring. To be honest, I have thought over the past decades of writing something, but have, like many others I am sure, talked myself out of it. So, when it was suggested that I do put hand to keyboard and send something off, my reaction was, “Who me? Why me? What do you mean write something for the Share magazine? What on earth do I have to say?”
“Well,” you said, “how about sharing where you are today and how you got there, that is what your experience, strength and hope reflects.” Right, I thought, but who wants to read what someone in her eightieth year has to say? How would anyone be able to identify with me? Talking myself into inaction gets me nowhere fast, so here I go, document open, hands poised over the keyboard, words spilling out of my fingertips; this is what emerged.
I arrived in the Rooms of AA, looked at what I perceived to be old people (which is how I saw them then), mainly men, and thinking, what can they possibly know, and how different it must have been for them. And talking to myself saying how sad it was that they still had to come to AA after all this time. Strangely enough, I now see that is not true. Despite being elderly in years, and mature (I believe) in recovery, inside there is still a young woman excited by the discovery that recovery can be scintillating, dynamic and engaging every single day.
My love of the Programme, of the literature, of the Steps and Traditions, and the Concepts (although I admit they bewilder me at times) remains immense. My passion and respect for the guys who set this recovery ball rolling, and those who have continued to push the ball of recovery across the world, never diminishes but only grows day by day. When I got to the Rooms, I had stopped using booze a long time before – 1970. I arrived at AA in 1990. Like the guy in the Big Book (p.40), I knew I could not drink. But I had no idea what to do about my thinking, not fully conceding that the main problem was in MY mind, and as a result of that, the behaviours were all out of whack.
Everything looked alright on the outside, but inside I had fallen apart. Nothing was working internally; in fact, there was a massive hole in my soul which nothing seemed to fill for longer than a heartbeat. Nothing and nobody could defeat me, but I became a defeatist. I lay down and let the world engulf me; it became so noisy that I wanted to resign from life. I had lost sight of the light that was shining through the darkness.
My first meeting was February 1990 in Rotherham, in a residential house for stays of up to one year. I knew there was a solution in that smoke-filled Room, but I would not ask for help. I went to a wide range of meetings in Nottingham, Chesterfield, Barnsley, and Sheffield, maybe as often as five or six times a week. I heard that there was a book, but often only saw banners on the walls, and was too scared to ask where the book was or how I could acquire one. I knew I needed a guide but could not work out how to find someone who knew what was needed. And then the miracle happened.
A woman, who saw my confusion and lostness (how little I realised my mask had slipped), got me my first Big Book. I’m still using it today although the pages are loose and the covers torn. She and I read it together, she let me know by practical application how the Steps worked and said to keep my thinking in the day. She taught me how to get honest, how to ask for help, and how, most of all, to find a Power greater than her, my kids or another human being. We worked together, tagging one Step onto the other, uncovering more of the hidden debris, we went to meetings, we ate together, she got to know my family, she guided my soul towards the light. I discovered it was not an oncoming train.
We worked through the Steps and at the right time, we both recognised we had come as far as we were meant to on this leg of the process. I found another sponsor, one who was able to help with the next part of my journey. So here I sit, at the top of Scotland, in a wee croft house, overlooking a mountain range that tops the East coast. Cosy and warm, clean and sober, all given to me for free, all held by me, like a loose-fitting overcoat, but keeping it close to my heart and soul.
The way I repay this incredible gift of sobriety is to practice these principles of recovery in all my affairs, to work through the Book with other like-minded women, to turn up to my home group, albeit it online, and do service that is committed, meaningful and wholehearted. My life is not what I thought it might be, I do not live where I thought I would, and I am not the career woman I thought I would be. But more than the outside manifestation of what I thought, there is an internal contentment and joy that I never knew existed until I walked the Steps, talked with an open heart, and became willing to do the suggestions. What has come over the years, regardless of my intention or design at the start, is a deep lasting passion for recovery, for the Big Book, and for the miracles that happen.
DEE