When I first came to AA my emotions rose to the surface, where I became aware of them. While I thought that I had successfully submerged them with alcohol when I was drinking, I can't deny that I often drank at “him,” “her,” “Mom,” "Dad,” the boss, some unfair customer, a disrespectful sales clerk, the police, the system, or whatever. I could say that alcohol let me not feel, but the truth is that I felt everything and often wanted to show "them.”
I used drinking to hurt others or plot my revenge. The only blessing was that I often wouldn't even remember the plot when I sobered up. Newly sober, I not only had the feelings but I also had a lack of ability to deal with them. My immaturity came out in full force. My old idea was that alcohol would still work with these feelings, and I would sometimes give in. Even if I didn't drink, I could be miserable and hold grudges. That's when something trivial like a broken shoelace might lead me to drink because it was the last straw.
Without the help of God and a sponsor, I might never know that it wasn't the shoelace but the lingering grudge and my lack of emotional sobriety that led to drinking again. While this lack of emotional sobriety was dangerous when I was newly sober, the danger did not go away just because I've achieved some time in AA. Indeed, I can mistake number of years for a degree of emotional sobriety. I can rest on my laurels without even recognizing it.
When I hold on to resentments, when I find things unforgivable, when I am jealous of another's success, when I am unwilling to listen to others and change my mind, when I react severely to criticism even as I congratulate myself for another day or month or year of not drinking, I am not only not emotionally sober, but I also may become not physically sober. This can happen even if I once had a spiritual awakening and have many years of sobriety behind me. The Tenth Step tells me to "watch for selfishness, dishonesty, resentment, and fear" not because these emotions are so deadly in themselves, but because they block me from dealing in a mature, emotionally sober way, rather than just reacting. Since the essay on the Step next says, “and when they crop up,” it is a sure bet that time in the program will not make me immune from these negative emotions and my ensuing reactions. My reactions can include drinking again, but even if I don't drink, I can cause problems and heartache in the lives of those who love me and work with me.
As the book says, “We believe a man who says sobriety is enough is unthinking.” For the sake of others if not for myself, I should seek emotional sobriety.
When I am letting myself be ruled by “selfishness, dishonesty, resentment, and fear,” any rational thinking or action I do would be purely by accident. Likewise, serenity would be elusive at best and non-existent at worst. As a friend says, my biggest job in a spiritual life is to become undisturbed. I would only have one of two reactions to any negative interaction with another person: I would either forgive the other person or make amends.
I have made a real advance in emotional sobriety if I finally realize I do not have to react to a slight by striking back.
Finally, I was told to live a day at a time but not told how to do that. I submit that it is impossible to do a day at a time when bedeviled by emotional chaos. If I strive for emotional sobriety, I will have a much better chance of living in the now, which can lead to joy and appreciation for the wonder of my life.
Jim H.
Largo, Florida
Carrying the Message
February 1971
After six years of sobriety, I recently went through my first really long (four weeks) depression. Doctors had given me some bad news about my eyes, and I immediately exaggerated their diagnosis. I went around telling myself I had to accept blindness and, “Thank God I would not be a drunken blind man.” I thought I was applying the Eleventh Step (to the best of my ability), but I could see it was not working, and I proceeded into a very bad depression. I used all the gimmicks I was taught in AA—except “Let Go and Let God" and “One Day at a Time”—but nothing was working.
Then I met a doctor who told me things were not as bad as I thought—it seems I was hearing only what I wanted to hear. However, the depression continued. Along about this time, I had some difficulty with someone I was sponsoring, and the result was another emotional upheaval, which did not help the situation.
I began talking to good friends and members of my group, and things started to look a little better. I found my “conscious contact” through these friends. I found that “Let Go and Let God” does work and, most important of all, that “One Day at a Time” was something I had to apply. I also attended many meetings. I have to be honest and say I did think about drinking, but thank God I did not drink. I put myself through the meat grinder on this emotional binge—self-condemnation, doubts, etc.—but I think it was for a reason. I think I have greater understanding for someone going through these things, and I also learned to love the person who has been slipping around and coming back. Have I ever experienced such humility and willingness as that poor soul? I am feeling much better now, and I thank God for AA and my good friends. I have learned how to accept their help.
J.P.K.
Queens, New York
Chair Master
October 1997
Those first few weeks in AA, Frank had begun to drive me nuts. He couldn't resist. At the end of every meeting, as soon as I left the table and headed toward the door, he would yell across the room, “Hey, Bruce!” I would stop, turn, and wait for it. Grinning ear to ear, he would give me the wink and pointed finger and say, “Be good to yourself!” I would nod and mumble, “Sure, Frank, sure,” and go to the car.
Driving, I would begin the internal dialogue: What the heck does that mean? Be good to myself? I was good to myself—that's what got me into church basements trying not to drink a day at a time, trying to understand the meaning of AA, trying to relate to guys like Frank. I'd been too good to myself—rewarding myself with booze, giving myself a break with booze, cozying into the bottle in the basement—and look where it got me. I figured I needed to do the opposite of being good to myself. I need to get tough with myself: stop this stuff that I obviously couldn't handle. How did Frank get sober and stay sober all these years, if that's his philosophy, and why the devil is he singling me out with that dopey farewell after every meeting?
But I liked Frank. There was something about him. He was a rugged, confident, good-looking guy in his forties, with a toughness about him, a directness in his approach to the AA program. He had years of sobriety and when he talked, gesturing in a relaxed way, he reminded the group frequently that his father was Italian and his father always said don't worry about it, it will always work out, and he would add, “And it all will, a day at a time, if I don't take a drink and give it a chance.” When Frank talked, the others around the table smiled and nodded and gave him respect. I did too—and he seemed to like me and listened to me when I talked. Then he gave that parting shot as I was leaving!
I'm a doer. Always was. I was brought up that way. My mother told me, “You're the best, you can do anything anybody else can, set your goal, follow your star.” My dad said, “Don't be lazy; get to work; I've got a job for you.”
I was a doer when drinking, too. I drank through college and finished with honors (never mind the hospitalization for ulcers senior year and the medical caution about drinking). I drank through a marriage and held it together for sixteen years (it wasn't the drinking that caused the divorce, it was that incompatibility thing). I drank through three good jobs and always moved up, got promotions, made more money. (Okay, maybe the problem I had with those martinis in the last job was beginning to show a little, but I was never arrested, was I?)
Sobering up in the group with Frank and the others, I was still a doer. I ran at AA like I was running to the arms of my mother, eager to show that I was the best, ready for the compliment. I got to the church early, set up the chairs, learned (from an old guy named John) the special technique of making coffee in not one but two big pots (I'll make the best coffee, they'll taste the improvement), and on my six-month