Promises Fulfilled: My Ongoing Journey of Recovery
“The program saved my life then and continues to do so today.”
Thirty-one years ago, on April 20, 1994, I entered a room full of strangers sitting around four long tables. Men and women who had Styrofoam cups of coffee and big blue books in front of them looked up at me and gave me welcoming nods. I slipped into a space around the table that was waiting just for me.
The night before, I’d had a moment of clarity. The thing I wanted to do most in the world that night was find a buyer for my condominium. I’d staged it, and it was listed to go on sale the next day. I was having a few too many drinks to celebrate.
The doorbell rang. I was half-passed out on my couch and stumbled to the door to greet my real estate agent. She had an “early buyer” in tow, saw my condition and graciously told me to relax on the couch while she showed the buyer around. I was mortified.
It became clear to me that the one element in my life that I had some control over at the time was the amount of alcohol I introduced to my system. There was something I could do about that. I picked up the phone after she left and found a meeting.
I was not unfamiliar with Twelve-Step programs. My dad was an active friend of Bill W. for many years, and my mom brought us to the meeting for spouses of friends of Bill W. As I sat at my first meeting, however, the rumbling voices reminded me of the times I’d attended meetings with my dad, and I began to freak out. I thought, “I’ve entered my dad’s meeting.” The thing I never thought could possibly happen to me had happened! When it was my turn, I said, “I’m Kathi, and I’m an alcoholic.”
An aura of shame surrounded me, and a woman approached me afterwards and offered to be my temporary sponsor while I found my footing. The program suggests ninety meetings in ninety days for newcomers. I was ready and put in my ninety.
The Promises
After most meetings, we read from pages 83-84 of The Big Book. I savored the passage and was willing to do everything possible to achieve these promises. It starts out:
“If we are painstaking about this phase of our development, we will be amazed before we are half way through.”
The meetings I attended at first were in my hometown of St. Charles, Missouri. I found time every day to make my way to a seat around the tables. I cried most of the time I was there, in the grip of so many resentments and so much shame.
The gentle people listened and encouraged me to “keep coming back.” At first, I was puzzled by that phrase: “keep coming back.” Of course I would “keep coming back.” Later on, I learned that the phrase was shorthand for: “You have lots of work ahead of you. We are here for you. Keep coming back and find out how these promises will materialize in your life.”
The promises continue:
“We are going to know a new freedom and a new happiness.”
I was so desperate. I’d lost my job as vice president of Reproductive Health Services and was sent out by the president with the words, “We know you’ll be able to find another job. This isn’t about you—we just need to right-size.” My second marriage came to an end a month later, with my husband assuring me that it wasn’t about me—he just wasn’t suited to married life. Finally, one of my best friends was dying. I’d taken a job at her flower shop in order to help her out, but she was helping me out by offering me a minimum wage job to get me through my job search. I needed a new freedom and any kind of happiness.
“We will not regret the past nor wish to shut the door on it.”
I scoffed at this promise at first. I was so full of resentments from the past decade that I had trouble listing all of them when I did my Fourth Step inventory. A kind man at one of my early meetings handed me his much-folded and torn list of resentment sayings. I learned that external circumstances had nothing to do with me—it was about inside work.
Resentments were like taking poison and hoping the other person or circumstance died. I learned to find my part in the failures of my past, made amends, and put the external circumstances into perspective. That didn’t mean I got rid of all of my resentments; in fact, they came back to visit on a regular basis. I just let them hang around long enough to recognize them and then escort them out the door.
“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.”
As the years went by, I found a home group of women. We helped each other on our sobriety journeys. We met on Friday evenings at 7 in the Clayton, Missouri, library and went out to dinner afterwards. Our laughter filled the room. A few of us began the journey thinking that we would never laugh again. As I moved from St. Louis to Detroit to Chicago to Albuquerque, I knew there was a place at the table waiting for me.
“Self-seeking will slip away.
Our whole attitude and outlook upon life will change.
Fear of people and of economic insecurity will leave us.”
I worked odd jobs until I decided to go back into ministry. The fear of economic insecurity haunted me. I was a retail flower seller, a meat cutter at our local Schnucks market, a temporary receptionist and administrative assistant, and a wedding and funeral officiant.
In order to go back to seminary to continue my ministry studies, I took out loans and took jobs on campus in the library and office. I moved into an apartment provided for seminarians on the campus of Eden Seminary. I found a meeting across the street and took my seat around the table with fellow seminarians.
I took a unit of Clinical Pastoral Education the following summer in addition to two classes. It was a hectic summer, and my income came from weddings and funerals that fellow clergy sent my way. On one memorable weekend, I officiated at four weddings—two at the Botanical Gardens on the same day in different locations, transported in a golf cart. I managed not to mix up the names and ceremonies. I also house-sat for a friend.
As my summer was coming to a close, a position for a full-time internship in Clinical Pastoral Education based at Barnes-Jewish Hospital in St. Louis became available. My supervisor recommended me for the position. The path had become clear for my career as a hospice chaplain, one that would nourish me for the following thirty years.
“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.”
An Ongoing Journey
After a dozen years or so, I stopped regularly attending meetings. I’d drop in once in a while, but I wasn’t intentionally working the Twelve Steps. More importantly, I hadn’t made myself available to help the suffering alcoholic who was still drinking.
As my thirty-first sobriety anniversary approached, I began to notice some negative behaviors and attitudes. I was irritable, restless, and discontented. I was actively writing essays for Substack about my life and times, and unresolved emotional issues emerged. I still had work to do to unearth the root causes of my addiction. I saw my psychologist on occasion when I had a life problem to wrestle with. I wasn’t drinking, but my coping mechanisms were wobbly. I’d become what is known in the program as a dry drunk. Dry but not sober.
It was time to return to my place at the table. I’m now attending meetings around the tables, and online, in Albuquerque, New Mexico. I plan to pick up my 31-year coin on the last Sunday of the month at one of them. However, this is a one-day-at-a-time program. I have no laurels to rest upon. I am amazed, and oh so grateful, that the hand of one of Bill W.’s friends was there when I needed it, and the program is still going strong as I keep coming back.
The program saved my life then and continues to do so today.
How about you?
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How do you maintain a sense of community and support as you continue your path in recovery?
Which of the promises of sobriety have you found to be the most true for you?
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Heart-sourced congrats on your 31 years, Kathi! Thank you for sharing your ongoing journey with us. ❤️
Thanks for sharing.