I cannot count the number of times I have heard others say something that sounds like “I went to a party last weekend with a bunch of normal people.” When I hear this sentiment shared it makes my skin crawl, because I used to say the same thing; I used to call other people normal without thinking about what I was implying about myself. I used to say this without thinking. In early recovery, I had heard enough other people say it that it seemed acceptable. I no longer feel that way. I no longer consider it acceptable to regard other people as normal (or more normal than I regard myself ) simply because they can consume alcohol without suffering horrible consequences.
During my using years I thought of myself as an alcoholic, and I felt that I wasn’t normal. In fact, that was true; I was far from normal. Drinking and using as I did was about as far from normal as a person can get. It was certainly as far from normal as I ever care to be. I never want to be in that place again. However, I don’t drink anymore—not that not drinking makes me somehow normal. Not drinking gives me a chance to become normal again—assuming I was ever normal to begin with—and I think I was normal at some point. (One may have to go all the way back to the cradle to pinpoint one’s normal, but it can be found.)
We conformed to a standard, adhered to a pattern, did the usual or expected at some point in our lives. How hard is it to be a normal baby? What do we really expect of an infant? They cry, someone feeds them, they sleep, and they need to be changed and held. I did those things when I was an infant. I must have been normal back then, even if I lost my sense of normalcy shortly out of the crib! The point is that I did lose my sense of normalcy somewhere along the line. I drank like a drunk. My life became unmanageable. I was able to admit I had a problem and sought help. When I sought help, it was there waiting. I stopped drinking. At this point in my recovery, it would be easy to say I am still far from normal, and I might agree with this statement on some level. Still, calling other people normal because they can drink annoys me so deeply.
Calling other people normal—and considering myself not-so-normal—started driving me out of my sense of serenity, because I can’t drink and have a normal life. When I drink, I suffer badly, and all too often so do the people around me. Drinking simply is not part of a normal life for me. In fact, drinking doesn’t make anybody normal. In fact, there is no one thing (outside of general bodily functions) that anyone does that makes them more normal than anybody else. Eating, drinking (nonalcoholic beverages), sleeping, etc.—these are normal to everyone. Very little else is considered normal to everyone. My normal now includes not drinking. Other people’s normal includes drinking. I now believe we can celebrate the differences. I can learn from them and grow with them. But first, I have to get over the hang-ups I have with the fact that some people can drink alcohol without suffering terrible side effects, while I have terrible side effects if I consume it. It’s not my job to understand why I have side effects. I only have to accept the truth and move on with my life.
I refuse to take certain medications because they have very bad side effects—the side effects are worse than the illnesses they are supposed to cure. I don’t think twice about this. When I have a cold, I take a certain kind of cold medication. I take it because, through trial and error, I have found it to be effective for me. I quit taking the ones that did not work for me or made me feel worse. Why? I quit because it made sense for me to do so. I decided that I didn’t like the negative side effects I got from taking the medication, so I quit taking it. I didn’t have to understand why it made me feel poorly; I simply accepted that it did and moved on.
Although it was a form of self-delusion, I used this same approach with certain types of alcohol during my using years. I quit drinking tequila because (I thought) it almost killed me. Even though I drank for many more years, I never drank tequila again. Peppermint schnapps also made the list of alcohols I never drank.
Then, one day, I discovered that it wasn’t the tequila, schnapps, whiskey, pot, wine, coke, or beer that was killing me. It was the addict in me that was causing all the undesirable side effects. Using these various substances made me miserable. I could start using, but I could not stop. When it came to drinking, my brakes—my ability to stop—failed on a regular basis. Eventually, I made the decision to quit drinking altogether. Like all the other medications I have on my “do not take” list, alcohol and other drugs have a new place of residence in my life.
I no longer need to know why certain substances disagree with me, any more than I need to know why the other medications I do not use disagree with me. I only need to remember that I do not pick up a drink or a drug.
While not drinking has become part of my new normal, I do not begrudge people who can drink. Why should I? I don’t begrudge people who can take Tylenol. I simply do not take it myself. I do not take Tylenol and I do not drink alcohol; it is that simple. Like I told my sister-in-law, it doesn’t bother me if you drink; it only bothers me if I drink. Today I choose not to be bothered.
I had to stop the us-and-them mentality. It is this exact thought process that has caused me great mental anguish. If I allow them to be normal because they can drink, I am certainly harboring a desire to drink, to be like them, and to fit in. I can no longer afford to drink. My life is too good today to give it all up to drinking and drugging. Therefore, I must become more accepting of the way other people are, especially when it comes to drinking alcohol or using drugs recreationally. Some people drink; I don’t. Some people use; I don’t. That is the way of the world. Making not drinking or drugging part of my new normal makes life easier to live, even though others may choose to drink. However, if I categorize people as us and them, or them and me, I alienate myself from a large part of society, making it impossible to fit in with people outside the program. Instead, I choose to be part of society. I do my part by choosing not to drink.
Only a small fraction of those who need help with various addictions are actually in a program and fellowship of recovery. To set myself apart from people outside my program puts severe and possibly damaging limits on my personal growth. I once tended to walk around in life, except in meetings, not knowing how to act. I tried to fit into a world where I felt I didn’t belong. If the only place I feel I really belong is in a twelve-step meeting, I must change this attitude in order to continue to grow and function in the world.
What I have found is that my fellowship is a safe place. When I first entered recovery I needed to feel a sense of belonging, and I received much more than that in the meetings I attended. I felt a safe sense of belonging, love, caring, and empathy. In the selfless acts of caring provided by program members I found the help I needed to take the steps necessary to begin my recovery. I found a positive “we” in my life. “We” helped me to get started and was necessary for the rest of my recovery. “We” helps me grow by continuing to provide a safe place to try out new behaviors without feeling like I am being judged too harshly. I did some stupid things within the safety of my program and watched others shrug them off while continuing to go about their business. They did not make a big deal out the stupid things I did, and neither should I.
The real world is chock-full of the same kinds of behaviors that exist within my program. In fact, I have found that my fellowship is really just a mirror image of the world at large. The difference is that in my fellowship I share the view in the mirror with people with whom I am comfortable, people I understand and trust, and who understand and trust me. I can be comfortable with people who are not in recovery. When I say comfortable, I am talking about not thinking in terms of in or out of the program, drinker or nondrinker, or anything that sets me apart from “them.” This feeling of understanding, acceptance, and serenity takes time to develop, but I am making steady progress.
I have grown to think of myself simply as a person. I can fit in anywhere. I can go anywhere, see anything, say anything, and do anything except consume alcohol or other drugs. On top of that, I have discovered that I can learn from anybody, as long as I am willing to learn.