Living Clean

by Narcotics Anonymous

  For some of us, that false sense of entitlement runs so deep that taking care of ourselves does not occur to us as our responsibility; that had been the task of our partners, medical professionals, or the warden. Our readings suggest that “through our inability to accept personal responsibilities we were actually creating our own problems.” It benefits us to sit with our sponsors and consider what our personal responsibility really is: What are we responsible for, and what are we not? When we look at it, we may find that we feel more responsible for others than we do for ourselves. Learning to care for ourselves is part of taking personal responsibility, and it can be surprisingly difficult.

  One of our oldtimers used to share that “there is nothing sadder than an addict with a high tolerance for pain,” and the truth is many of us struggle with that. Some of us have endured great physical hardship or abuse; many of us have borne terrible emotional suffering. It makes sense that we take pride in being tough. Strength seems like its own reward, and it’s certainly a survival skill we’re not too keen on letting go. For a lot of us, that strength is a part of our identity, both in terms of how we see ourselves and how we want to show ourselves to the world. What could be wrong, after all, with being able to tolerate so much?

  The answer is in the question. When we see a using addict with a high tolerance for pain going on to the bitter end, we can see how needless that suffering is. But in our own lives we may not notice when we are doing the same thing. As we work the steps, we come to see that we tolerate more than we need to, and probably more than is healthy for us. One member shared, “I no longer live at the animal level in obvious ways, but when I ignore persistent pain in my body and just wish it would go away, that’s still a form of needless suffering.” Learning that the rules really do apply to us means that when something is wrong, we stop and take a look at it.

  Being a good steward of our bodies means accepting that they need care and maintenance. As we recover, many of us find that we have a new importance in the lives of our families. We develop deep friendships; we become useful in our work and our communities. Where once we may have been a burden to others, we now find that we are important to many people. We matter! Not taking care of ourselves, living self-destructively in recovery, we find the old lie “I’m only hurting myself” still falls flat. For the people who care about us, failing to care for ourselves is frustrating at best. Too often, it leads to the result that once again they are taking care of us. Taking care of ourselves is an act of amends not only to ourselves, but to the people who love us, and to our Higher Power. It’s a way of showing gratitude for being alive.

  Illness

  Many of us suffer from diseases other than addiction. Some may be a direct consequence of our addiction or things that happened while we were using. Others may have nothing to do with the disease of addiction but certainly impact our recovery. Sometimes it seems like they take over our entire lives. Learning to use the tools we gain in NA to cope with our other challenges is part of living life on life’s terms.

  When we suffer, or see someone else suffering, we want to make sense of it—so we look for an explanation. It’s a good impulse that can go sideways: We want an explanation, but we end up placing blame or passing judgment. Often in the moments when we most need comfort and care, we are angry—at ourselves, at our Higher Power, at anyone in between. We push away what we need the most. Fantasies about what is or is not “fair” keep us in resentment and self-pity. Sometimes when we are trying to support our friends by helping them find an explanation, it can feel like we are just heaping on more blame. We can shift perspective slightly and look for the lesson rather than the explanation. It may be that what we really need to do is set all the questions aside and just get through the day.

  When something is going on with our health, we have a choice to accept what is happening and deal with it or pretend it is not there. A great deal of the time we choose to ignore what we know, either because we are afraid or because we don’t want to hassle with it. For some of us, the fear of undergoing medical treatment is understandable, especially if that brings with it the possibility of having to take medication. Weighing risks and benefits is not easy. Finding a doctor we trust makes the process easier. We carefully consider the possibility that leaving a problem untreated may create more problems than before. Turning something over is not the same as ignoring it. When we take action and leave the results to a power greater than ourselves, we are turning it over. However, when we don’t take responsibility for our part, but wait for a magical answer, we are not working the Third Step; we are being irresponsible. Faith is not the same as wishing.

  There is a difference between denial and refusal: When we are in denial we don’t know it. The evidence may be glaringly obvious, but we do not see it. Once we can say, “I’m in denial,” it is no longer quite true. At that point we are making a choice to accept what is real, or to turn away from it and pretend. When we refuse to admit the truth, we are in danger. Rebellion can be deadly for us. “Acting as if” is a tool we can use for better or for worse.

  The fear that keeps us from moving forward can stem from many causes. Other people’s opinions of us may still seem important enough to risk our lives for: The stigma of disease, whether from society at large, our loved ones, or even our friends in NA, keeps many of us from seeking testing or treatment. Our own judgment and fear can be surprising as well. In early recovery, we learn about projection: What really bothers us about someone else is likely true for us too. So it is with this fear: What we imagine others to be saying about us is often what we are thinking ourselves. We may need to drive ourselves to take action long before we are done working through our feelings about it.

  We may be surprised that a dental problem, for example, could return us to the Sixth and Seventh Steps. But when we recognize that our fear is preventing us from taking care of ourselves, we can see the work we have to do. Sometimes it can help us to look at this action as part of the amends process; we are dealing with the wreckage of our past. A member shared, “I spent a fair portion of my second year in recovery getting my teeth fixed, and I noticed many others doing the same thing. It was a huge self-esteem thing, and an amends to my body.” It may help to see it as part of a Tenth Step, addressing what is wrong in the present moment. Some of us have felt that we created our health problems as a result of our addiction, and that this is simply our lot. The Basic Text tells us that although we are not responsible for our addiction, we are responsible for our recovery; it may help us to consider that this applies to our bodies as well as our spirits.

  We may also be genuinely afraid of being sick. Whether it’s the particular diagnosis we’re considering or the general idea of having something “wrong with us,” this may be a kind of powerlessness we don’t feel at all ready to accept. We may fear that our health issues will create new uncertainty in our finances, our careers, or our families; or that medication will put our recovery in jeopardy. Our fear of something so far out of our control may be surprising in people who have taken so many really insane risks, but feelings don’t always make sense. Fear gives us a chance to act with courage. When we stand up, face what’s wrong, and deal with it to the best of our ability, we may not feel very brave at all; but these are the moments at which we serve as the most powerful testimony to what is possible in NA. We are demonstrating strength of character.

  When we use the tools available to us—calling our sponsor and seeking the experience, strength, and hope of others, allowing our support group to support us, and turning to In Times of Illness and other NA literature—we are able to make decisions we can be comfortable with, and take action to do the next right thing. These can be the moments that define our recovery.

  We may start trying to make deals with God, promising all sorts of things if this will just please go away. This type of bargaining is not uncommon, but it is dangerous, and frequently unhelpful. When we start trading on promises and expectations in our prayers, we are setting ourselves
up for spiritual crisis. A Higher Power is not a vending machine. When we accept life on life’s terms, we come to understand that the terms are not negotiable. Miracles happen to us and around us all the time. The very fact that we are alive and clean to face this challenge is a miracle, and there are always more unfolding if we look for them.

  Gratitude may be most needed when it is hardest to find. Looking for the reasons we have to be grateful in a moment of crisis can make all the difference. But daring or demanding miracles doesn’t seem to work very well. We take action, and turn the results over.

  Surrender in times of illness can mean a lot of different things. We surrender to the process; we surrender to the fact of mortality and to the possibility of survival. Surrender in this sense does not mean giving up. One member in the midst of a long illness said, “It was pretty easy for me to surrender to the possibility of dying. It was a different kind of surrender for me to become willing to fight for my life.”

  There is no model of the recovering addict, no one right way to do things. Some of us, taking an honest look at ourselves and our lives, really don’t want to live that long. It may sound odd, but it’s true: Longevity is not a universal goal or necessarily a universal good. Some of us make choices knowing they will shorten our lives. We may choose to smoke; we may choose to eat in a way we know is harmful; we may make a decision to stop or refuse treatment for an illness. A member whose parents had a difficult old age said, “I’m not going to do that to my daughter. I have a life I love, but that doesn’t mean I want to play the hand to the end.” We may be surprised at some of the decisions we make, or the strength of our feelings about them. These decisions are deeply personal and we make them in accordance with our values. We want to be certain that we are acting on our beliefs, not opening a reservation that could lead us back to using. Each of us finds a balance we can live with between taking perfect care of ourselves and neglecting ourselves destructively. Whatever choices we make, what matters is that we know we are making them—that we understand we have a choice, and we consider it honestly and openly.

  We are always on a continuum between health and illness, between action and wishing, between living in accordance with our beliefs and betraying ourselves and our values. We come back to the tools of the program again and again to fine-tune that balance, and to find a way to bring ourselves back to a life we are comfortable with. Our process of inventory, amends, and surrender is an unending source of improvement for us. We find our values and learn what it means to live by them. Over time we can let go of our expectations for what we thought life was supposed to be, or what we think others expect of us, and live according to the values we find within ourselves. As we learn what is true for us, we find that we are less compelled either to be perfect or to destroy ourselves. We are free to live lives according to our own choosing and design.

  Disability

  “Just for today,” says our reading, “I will try to get a better perspective on my life.” Even though most of us addicts resist change, we know that it is beneficial for us to change our perception by changing our perspective. Nothing changes our perspective quite like the experience of disability. Chances are, if we live a full life, we will at some point experience disability—whether for a relatively short time or in a way that changes our lives permanently. In either case, the lessons that we learn through the experience can enrich our lives and broaden our understanding, even if some of our choices are narrowed.

  We know that our recovery must come first, but when we are dealing with disability, more than that is necessary to get through each day. Some of us enter recovery with a permanent disability already a part of our lives. Our experience has shown that any addict can recover, and the additional challenges that a disability presents are not barriers to our way of life. As one member shared, “I know there will never be any sort of recovery from my blindness, as this program has given me from my addiction; but my perception of my disability can improve, and from that my spirit. Just like a sighted member, it all boils down to self-acceptance. I simply have something more to accept.”

  “Argue for your limitations,” the saying goes, “and they are yours forever.” We may be so painfully aware of our limitations that we can hardly imagine ourselves without them. We mourn for the abilities we have lost, and we fear what is to come. Many of us struggle with having to ask for help. Frustration at little things—uneven pavement, the buttons on a shirt, things others might take completely for granted—can be overwhelming and discouraging. We may be surprised at the amount of time and thought involved in doing the simplest things.

  To try to talk about gratitude at a time like this seems preposterous and infuriating. We may think, “You just don’t get it; you have no idea what this is like.” Self-pity is no less dangerous when we feel justified than when we know we are out of line; either way, it can kill us. If we have been around a while, we know that gratitude is almost always the shortest road to relief. Some of us find gratitude in the knowledge that it could be worse, and find relief in helping out—or simply being aware of—those who are struggling with even greater challenges. For some of us this is cold comfort, but we find gratitude when we pay attention to the things we do have—starting with people who care about us, and a relationship with a loving Higher Power. A gratitude list can be a vital tool at times like this. One oldtimer used to growl, “If you can’t find anything to be grateful for, start with the fact that you’re not on fire and work your way up from there!”

  Learning to reach out to members with additional needs can be a process, as well. Asking how we can help, rather than assuming what someone needs, is an act of empathy. We learn that simple assistance, offered reliably and without much fuss, can be a powerful form of love and acceptance. Our customs or policies may need to be adapted in order to allow a member to experience the joy of service, regardless of physical ability.

  Disability doesn’t disqualify us from service; on the contrary, it may make us more aware of the needs of our members and the obstacles to recovery for addicts still suffering. There are ways for everyone to give back in NA, even if we have to be a little creative about how we can best serve. We can be powerful examples of commitment and willingness when we look past our own obstacles to help others. We may become very conscious of issues of access, even if they only affect us for a short while. We notice whether a meeting list tells us which meetings we can get into with a wheelchair, for example. We start to look more carefully at what makes a meeting feel safe and welcoming. The meeting whose doorway is level but whose bathroom is upstairs is as inaccessible as a meeting on the moon for some of us. When we bring our experience and our awareness with us into service in our local NA community, we help to ensure that the message is available to all addicts, regardless of mobility or other access issues; in this way, our challenge may help the fellowship as a whole to carry the message more effectively.

  In times of need, we almost always find that NA members are here for us, but it may not be the people we expected, or the people we wished for. It is surprising to see who is ready to walk through a difficult time with us, and who is not. Anonymity inside the fellowship means that we are all equal. Each of us has abilities that are valuable and limitations that are regrettable, and together we can do what we cannot do alone. We allow ourselves to be open to the people who are ready to walk with us, rather than focusing on our disappointment in those who aren’t there. Although we might wish that people would act according to our expectations, we don’t want to miss the little miracles of seeing those we never thought had it in them stepping up to the plate and really helping out.

  The lessons we learn in NA about sharing and caring, asking for help, and offering what we have to give are powerful tools we can use outside the fellowship as well. We may feel a new bond with other people who struggle with physical challenges and find that our shared experience brings us closer. We may find relief in being with others inside or outside the fellowship who are struggling with the sam
e kinds of issues and finding ways to adapt.

  Our pride can be a bigger handicap than the physical challenge we are confronting. Pride tells us that we want to look good, and this puts a serious crimp in our style. Embarrassment, shame, or unwillingness “to be seen this way” may keep us from doing what we can, or really living and enjoying our lives as they are. Our physical disability can become an alibi for isolation, withdrawal, and fear, if we let it.

  Gradually, we find that the disability that has forced a change in our habits also changes the angle from which we see the world. We notice details we missed before; we connect with people we hadn’t seen before. As the rhythm of our life changes, so does the music. We learn to respect rather than indulge our limitations, and to build our skills and assets in new areas. We learn time and again that some of our best gifts come in the worst wrapping paper. Being open to the lessons in every experience helps us to get through even the hardest times; knowing that we don’t have to do it alone sure makes it easier.

  Emotional and Spiritual Crisis

  We talk a lot in the rooms and in our literature about the insanity of our addiction, and while it is quite clear that our thinking is deeply distorted by our disease, this is distinct from other forms of what professionals call mental illness. Our booklet, In Times of Illness, can be a very helpful resource for those of us struggling with mental illness in recovery.

  Mental illness is real, and can be very serious. It is vital that we understand that while the illness itself is an outside issue that needs treatment, our struggles with our mental illnesses and the way they impact our recovery are very much “inside issues.” We need to make this distinction to ensure that we don’t fail to seek additional help either because of stigma in the rooms or confusion about the relationship between mental illness and recovery. But it is also essential that we understand that we can feel pretty depressed, anxious, or out of control without having a mental illness.