I believe that the miracles of the 12-step program are the best-kept secret in the world. Everyone would benefit by following the Twelve Steps. It could accurately be called the 12 steps to being a good human.
Twelve-step meetings provide spiritual showers for me. Every meeting I attend is like putting spiritual capital in the bank. They keep me centered and committed to recovery. Newcomers remind me where I was and how far I have come, and long-timers inspire me with their experience, strength, and hope. Recovery conferences typically draw the most gifted speakers among us, and often end with hundreds or even thousands of people holding hands around the convention center room as we recite the Serenity Prayer together.
The Promises come true to those who stay in the program:
If we are painstaking about this phase of our development, we will be amazed before we are halfway through.
We are going to know a new freedom and a new happiness.
We will not regret the past nor wish to shut the door on it.
We will comprehend the word serenity and we will know peace.
No matter how far down the scale we have gone, we will see how our experience can benefit others.
That feeling of uselessness and self-pity will disappear.
We will lose interest in selfish things and gain interest in our fellows.
Self-seeking will slip away.
Our whole attitude and outlook upon life will change.
Fear of people and of economic insecurity will leave us.
We will intuitively know how to handle situations which used to baffle us.
We will suddenly realize that God is doing for us what we could not do for ourselves. Are these extravagant promises? We think not. They are being fulfilled among us—sometimes quickly, sometimes slowly. They will always materialize if we work for them.11
• 4 •
Dry Drunk Grad School
“Would you rather be right or happy?” Provocative question for which I did not have a clear answer before I got sober.
I was not alone. Until we alcoholics learn to follow the Twelve Steps, many of us are what we term “dry drunks.” We may be physically sober (i.e., not drinking alcohol), but not emotionally sober. Another 12-step group that was started to help families and friends of alcoholics also helps the alcoholic—and anyone else, really—with relationships and emotional sobriety.
I came to the rooms of 12-step recovery to quit drinking, but the experience ended up changing my life. It provided a road map I had always yearned for, a guide for living. Once the compulsion to drink was lifted, there were relationships to address.
I had not heard the term “codependent” prior to entering rehab. Once there, however, I was made aware that the term fit my emotional behavior.1 For example, my happiness was largely dependent on the happiness of my children. I would die for them. But they each have their own Higher Power. And it’s not me. I have to allow them to learn from their mistakes and not try to shield them from such learning opportunities.
I had to learn to take a few steps back and to develop healthy boundaries. I learned that I am only responsible for my own well-being, and not that of others. Each person has the right to choose if and when to change anything in his or her life. I was under the delusion that I could control my teenagers. I learned to listen more, instead of trying always to fix things, which was a sea change for me. I offered advice only when asked, which led my children to ask more.
Parenting most clearly challenges the lessons of what I can and cannot control. Our children are put in our charge, but not forever. My job was to help equip them to be adults on their own. When I see traces of myself in my children, I start to worry that they could face some of the challenges I had, or make some of the same painful mistakes. But I cannot force them to do anything, or cease from doing anything. I must allow them to live their own lives, even if I do not agree with some of their choices. As a recovering overprotective mother, that is very difficult for me to do. I need the support of my 12-step program to not become mired in worry and to refrain from my enabling tendencies. I love my children unconditionally and would save them every ounce of pain if I could, but I cannot. I have learned to love and appreciate the moments of grace I experience with them. I know they love me; they know I love them and am here for them. I pray every day that they find their way and are relatively unscathed when they arrive.
The 12-step program for people with alcoholics in their lives has been referred to as “grad school for alcoholics.” In it, I have learned how to have healthy relationships. Twelve-step programs for codependents and adult children of alcoholics also helped. Really any 12-step program would help this alcoholic. I once wandered into a 12-step meeting for food addicts because I felt at risk and needed some centering and support at that very moment. The attendees welcomed me with open arms. And the steps were the same. I could just substitute the word “alcohol” for food and then could identify with all that was discussed.
One of the central themes in this program is detaching with love. We learn the Three C’s: We did not cause it, we cannot control it, and we cannot cure it. We cannot fix another person, but we can work on ourselves. We can learn not to react. We can make choices that are good for our own well-being. There is no person we can change except for ourselves. The acronym DETACH comes to mean Don’t Even Think About Changing Him/Her.
I actively practice nonattachment. I try not to be attached to outcomes or ways of achieving outcomes. I try not to be attached in an unhealthy way to my loved ones. I try to see others as equals, not elevated in a way that gives them power over me and feeds my false sense of unworthiness.
Another way of detaching with love is “holding a place” for someone. I think of my children and send them love and good energy. I cannot direct my children’s lives, but I can observe with interest. One of my recovery teachers likened this practice to being seated in the first row of a play. You are engaged, but you do not get on stage and interfere with the production. This metaphor made sense to me and has saved me from meddling—as much as I used to meddle.
When I finally realized just how little I had control over, those things on which I spent a lot of emotional bandwidth lost their control over me. I regained the time I had spent future-tripping over things that may or may not happen. I learned to live in the present and to stop fighting my Higher Power’s will.
As Holocaust survivor Viktor Frankl wrote in Man’s Search for Meaning, “Everything can be taken from a man but one thing: the last of the human freedoms—to choose one’s attitude in any given set of circumstances, to choose one’s own way.”2 We always can choose our response to a given happening. I read Dr. Frankl’s powerful words while in rehab. I took them to heart several years later, when I was ready. Sometimes it is a matter now of my asking myself if I would rather be right or happy before I respond.
Nonattachment does not require me to relinquish my dreams. It means that I must remain open to learning about myself, and responding rather than reacting. In this way, I can become a more complete and serene version of myself.
A helpful 12-step tool I use every day is to frequently ask myself, before speaking, “Does it need to be said; does it need to be said by me; and does it need to be said now?” This little exercise has saved me much conflict.
Though I always have leaned toward being a glass-half-full, optimistic person, another important tool I use is gratitude lists, especially with regard to my relationships. The lens through which I choose to see my loved ones has changed. I now focus on the good in various people, rather than amplifying the bad. In my current romantic relationship, my beau and I text each other every day one thing we appreciate about the other person. The item can be profound or prosaic. I am fond of how his eyes crinkle in the corners when he smiles. I am inspired by how he helps so many men in recovery.
And the traits I most appreciate in people
have changed. Kindness tops my list. I surround myself with people who help me to be the best version of myself that I can be. I avoid psychic vampires and toxic people. I stay away from people, places, and things that are triggering for me.
Another change: I no longer believe in soul mates. I was sure I could live a Hallmark-card life, and tried my best to mold myself and my family life into my perceived ideal. I realize now the folly of my fantasy, which probably was a reaction to how dysfunctional my childhood had been, exacerbated by the illusion of Facebook post–worthy lives around me. I now believe we each have the capacity to be our own soul mates, and that no person and no relationship can be perfect. We are all perfectly imperfect.
Twelve-step programs are not without issues, of course. Any man-made institution has them. Many participants in recovery programs suffer from dual diagnoses or mental illness. It is not uncommon for those in recovery to substitute one addiction for another. I was warned to avoid those who may try to “13th step” me (i.e., prey on newcomers when we are at our most vulnerable). In fact, participants are counseled not to engage in any romantic relationships during their first year of recovery.
Also, like so many others in recovery, I started smoking when I stopped drinking. In rehab, the smoking areas were social outings of sorts. Smoking was one of the few vices we were allowed in rehab. I had absolutely no business smoking. I watched my father die a gruesome death from lung cancer following years of smoking. I realized that when I was upset, I gravitated toward self-harm. Lingering self-hatred, I suppose.
I quit smoking about a year ago. A friend told me he quit because he wanted to maximize the chances he would be alive to walk his daughter down the aisle at her wedding. I, too, want to be there at my children’s milestone celebrations. I want to be a part of my grandchildren’s lives, if I am lucky enough to have them. My sugar addiction may be the next habit I will work on eradicating from my life. Moderation has not been my strong suit.
We are asked in these recovery programs to put principles over personalities. This is sometimes a challenge for me. I have to refrain from judgment and taking other people’s inventories. We learn that when we figuratively point our fingers at someone else, there are four other fingers pointing back at us. What we abhor in other people is frequently a reflection of what we dislike about ourselves in some respect, or a form of insecurity.
We in recovery often cannot control our first thought. But we learn to control our second thought and, of course, our actions. We learn to practice the pause before speaking or responding. We call it “practicing restraint of pen and tongue.” I often call my sponsor before taking an action I am unsure of and she always provides wise counsel. She helps me learn self-care and appropriate boundaries.
Boundaries. Something I had not been very good at creating or respecting. I have been abused—physically, sexually, and emotionally—so many times that I have wondered if I have “abuse me” psychically emblazoned on my forehead. I devalued and gave away pieces of myself.
I learned, through therapy, that because I had been violated sexually at a critical developmental juncture early in my life, I had trouble maintaining boundaries. Many who are sexually abused become either sexually anorexic or promiscuous. There were times in my life that I used my body as a weapon, or as a means to feel that I had power. I would f*** them before they could f*** me. Eroticized rage. As other suffering women I have met have attempted, I tried to fill the hole in my soul with men. I also tried to seek affirmation via the attention of others. Pathetic, misguided thinking. I now try to fill the hole in my soul with myself and, more importantly, with my Higher Power. I have begun to repair my battered soul.
Perhaps the worst boundary-violating incident occurred in a hospital on Nantucket the summer my father died. I was experiencing suicidal ideation and my then-husband took me to the hospital there. Shortly after arriving, I became paranoid that my children would be taken away from me if I were shown to be mentally disturbed. So I demanded to be released. They told me I would have to be cleared by a mental health practitioner before they would let me go and that there was only one psychiatrist available on the entire island.
He arrived and I told him how my father’s death unleashed a Pandora’s box of horribles. I told him of the sexual abuse I had endured as a child, the rape when I was in high school, and the pain I had hidden for years. He gazed at me with lecherous eyes. I froze. He said, “Hugging therapy works.” I remained corpselike as he ran his hands over my flimsy hospital gown-covered body. It was like a bear was attacking me and I was playing dead. So he lost interest, I think. I am not sure. I was no longer there.
I did not tell anyone about what happened until about five years later. At the time of the incident, I was afraid no one would believe me, and my priority was getting out of that hospital and retaining my children. When I returned to Nantucket, I shared about what happened during a recovery meeting. A woman there who was married to a police officer helped me find out about the abuser. It turns out that he was fired for molesting children at the facility where he worked and had left the island. I regret not reporting the abuse when it happened.
I finally allowed other women to bear witness to my pain and to all that happened. I am still not ready to face my abusers. But sharing with other women helped me heal. It is as though a scab has formed over the wounds. I now can share about my experience without tears.
What I continue to work on, however, is approval-seeking and emotional hangovers when I get reprimanded or rejected in some way. This, I have learned, is a common problem for those who have been abused. We measured our self-worth via the reactions of others. Oh, how much time I have wasted seeking approval. I am well on the road to recovering from this character defect.
Alcoholism and relationship recovery also provided me with a healthier perspective.3 I realized that many of my problems were “first-world” problems. I knew I would have a roof over my head and food to eat on any given day, though plenty of fellow alcoholics lost even these comforts. Concentrated gratitude changed a great deal for me. I do not indulge myself on the “pity pot” anymore. I strive to pass on what I have learned to help others.
So now that you know a great deal of my dirt, let’s talk about you. Hopefully, your life has not been filled with as many traumas and mistakes as mine. Regardless, we women today are blessed with the ability to chapter our lives and to grow as we age. The fact that we are middle-aged does not mean we must remain stagnant or wither. In fact, those of us who stay active or try to learn new things live longer, healthier, and happier lives.
Fifty is a good reckoning point for most of us. Age 50 can be an igniting point to the most invigorating chapter yet. As our familial responsibilities become less all-consuming and hopefully before true physical decline sets in, this is a way for women to reclaim their authenticity and discover what truly makes them happy.
I remember years ago being simultaneously horrified and intrigued by Pulitzer Prize–winning novelist Anne Tyler’s Ladder of Years.4 In this book, the protagonist, a middle-aged wife and mother of three, simply walks away from her life and starts anew. She tires of the monotony of her everyday life and the way she is taken for granted by those around her, for whom she is becoming less necessary. The description of middle-aged angst, and the abrupt and extreme way Tyler’s character attempts to escape it, beguiled and haunted me. What would I do differently if I could walk away from everything? I am not suggesting you abandon your present life and responsibilities. But even fantasizing about the prospect can be instructive.
How many of us know people this age, including ourselves, who have middle-aged blues? Well, help yourself—and your friends—design a blueprint for turning midlife into the most exciting and fulfilling chapter yet. Take the time to reevaluate and recalibrate before it is too late to secure a life well lived. Cut out the things that no longer serve you and explore what does or might. It’s your life, and it’s up to you what y
ou do with it.
II
Introducing My List of 50
My life circumstances demanded a new beginning. I was newly sober, newly single, and a recent empty-nester, crossing over the half-century mark in my life. I needed new goals and direction. On my 50th birthday, I decided to embark on trying 50 new things, many of which took me out of my comfort zone. Each activity or change taught me something new. From hiking in the Himalayas to getting my motorcycle license to choosing to surround myself only with people who bring out the good in me, I sought to drink fully from the cup of life. My wide-ranging list may not be your cup of tea. But I can almost guarantee that my list will spark creative lists in those of you who are ready to make this chapter of your lives your best one yet.
Some of the items on my list of 50 involved little commitment. Some altered the tenor and possibly the course of my life. The point for me was an awareness of my mortality creeping closer, a desire to make the most of the time remaining and a mission to make this world a better place because I was here.
Perhaps a bit by necessity—I divorced and did not ask for alimony because I felt so guilty for drinking my way out of my marriage—I decided that I did not need any more material things. I wanted essentials and experiences only. So I saved money and looked for new ways of making money to attain my goals.
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