Facing Ourselves in Early Recovery

I hit the brickiest of brick walls this week in recovery. It’s still early for me, just shy of six months. And as any of you out there who’ve done this know, it hurts.

I told my sponsor I feel like I’m standing in Minnesota in December–naked. She said, “Yeah, and you’re the one who took off your clothes.” Exactly. We opt to do this thing. We don’t want to feel the “incomprehensible demoralization” that we felt in active alcoholism. We’re also just a bit tired of dehydration, exhaustion and agitation. By the time we get into a program we feel we’re willing to do just about anything to feel better. But this??? Looking at all the stuff that’s always been there–inside us. Think of the biggest slob you know and imagine having to go clean their house. Times a thousand. I don’t want to look at myself. That’s why I started drinking to begin with. Insert big bottle of whine here.

So, for anyone joining me in early recovery, this is what I know. Do what the book says. Do what the old timers say. Do what your sponsor says. Do not under any circumstances listen to yourself. I love it when they say, “My best thinking got me here.” That, of course, can be taken two ways. It really was our best thinking, via a higher power, that got us to AA and it was the best thinking we had, which wasn’t ever good, that got us to the point we needed AA.

They say recovery is like peeling the layers off an onion. Another interesting two-fold analogy because with each layer more is revealed and more tears are shed. We humans, especially sensitive ones, cover ourselves in blankets of bad behavior to suffocate fear, low self esteem, shame and any number of issues related to what I’ve heard called “cancer of the ego.”

We all know it starts early. Our basic personality mixed with what happens to us and how we react, or don’t, to everything becomes–especially in addictive types–a big, boiling pot of insanity.

This is where we are in early recovery. No anesthetic remedies. No thumb sucking. No bail. Just us and our isms, all piled up like dirty clothes waiting to be patiently sorted, washed, dried, folded and put away.