I haven’t written for a while because I’ve been in a fog of humility. Part of my being humble this past month was that I felt like I needed to do a lot of work on the inside before I had much of value to share with the world.
One topic that has been on my mind a lot is the stigma that the word alcoholic carries. I’ve listened to this episode of The Bubble Hour about five times now because I’m so fascinated by this topic and want so desperately to change it. The stigma is somewhat of a baffling concept to me now because of the entire mental shift that I’ve had over the past couple of months. I’ve floated on a pink cloud of recovery pride and joy much of the time, so it’s hard for me to remember the way that I used to view admitting that I’m an alcoholic.
For many years, I wanted help, but was afraid to ask. Every day I remember different things from my drinking history that I had forgotten. Times when I found myself desperate for help, but didn’t know where to turn. I once drove an hour and a half to see a therapist in a different town that specialized in addictions. It isn’t that there weren’t therapists closer to me that could help. It was just that I was afraid they would know me through my work and admitting my problem would harm my professional reputation. There were several mornings–what I used to refer to as those kind of mornings–when I felt like I needed to go to a meeting desperately. Ultimately, the fear of someone recognizing me and “outing” me usually kept me from going and always (until now) kept me from staying. It’s so sad to me now, to imagine myself–crying, desperate, hung over, and utterly helpless against the powers of both alcohol and marijuana–but fighting the battle all alone. And unsuccessfully, I might add.
All that time, help was just a few blocks away. Every day, several times a day, I could have accessed help. But instead, I continued to suffer for many more years. And why? For my reputation.
Now here I am, writing this blog that anyone could read, going to a few meetings a week, really working the steps, and sharing slowly in my personal life, person by person about what I’m going through. Am I singing from the rooftops that I’m a proud alcoholic? Absolutely not. First of all, I’m not there yet. I’ve only just crossed the 60 day mark. I realize that the insight that I offer at this time isn’t infused with the same kind of valuable wisdom as people with more solid, long-term recovery. I am new, fragile, but still a little proud. I’m proud of myself for being self-aware enough to realize that I was gaining momentum down a destructive path. I am proud of myself for each day that I stay sober, 24 hours at a time. I owe it all to my 12 step community and God. There is no way in hell I could have done this on my own.
The stigma is still a part of my thoughts and behaviors though. I just started a new job this week, and I’m terrified that someone might find out that I’m a sober alcoholic–a newly sober alcoholic–and begin to think negatively of me. I’m afraid I won’t be trusted. I’ve lied to a couple of my colleagues when asked out for drinks. I said I was “taking a break” to lose some weight. There is a bit of truth in that, but it’s still a lie to protect my professional reputation.
How do we change the stigma? Am I shirking my responsibility to change it by lying about my recovery? I am still muddling through all of this, but I’d say this is the biggest challenge that kept me drinking for the past ten years. I wish I would have known that no matter who finds out about my recovery, life is better for me without alcohol and pot. It really is better. Despite the hard days, there are so many more good days. Here’s to one more. xo
clearmom 