INSPIRING STORIES FROM FELLOW A.A. MEMBERS

Recovery
Starts
with you

Recovery Starts with you

Stories

GEORGE D.

My Experience…George D.

 

I honestly don’t remember my first drink.

I grew up surrounded by the Puerto Rican side of my family and the coquito (spiked eggnog) flowed at family gatherings. They always made sure the kids had some to quiet us down. As a child, I always felt like I was missing out on something, as if there were some secret that everyone knew about—except me. I hated going to bed because I just knew something great was going to occur in my absence. 

I had my first drunk at age 14. It gave me that warm feeling inside; my shoulders relaxed and that empty suspicious feeling I had throughout my childhood melted away. I became relaxed and my sense of humor helped me be part of any group I chose.

By the time I was in my late twenties, stories of my antics in the discos, nightclubs, and after hours spots were getting back to my family. As a result, they tried to make me act more responsibly. New York was obviously getting too small, so, I moved to California.

My drinking really took off in San Francisco. After seven years there, I was drinking heavier than I had in the past, was getting lonely, and felt estranged from my family. My sister was expecting a baby and my Mom was getting up there in years so I thought it was the perfect time to return to New York and get my life back together. At first it was OK: I got a new job and was trying to control my drinking. After three months, my “trial period” at work was over and I began to drink more than ever. My life became smaller and smaller until it was a dull routine of coming to in the morning, getting drunk, going to work, having a “few” at lunchtime, and then going home and drinking myself to sleep.

After a few years of this routine, I arrived at the end of my emotional rope. I had done some shameful and demoralizing things over the years and I just snapped. One night I sat down on my couch and started sobbing. I was so desperate I called out to God to please help me. I cried myself to sleep that night and went to my first AA meeting the next day. 

To say I was terrified of walking into that first AA meeting is an understatement. When someone “suggested” I go to 90 meetings in 90 days I was overwhelmed. It felt like work at first but; slowly, I began to enjoy the meetings and the people. My sponsor took me through the Big Book and had me go through the 12 Steps. I was directed into service and it was also suggested I get involved in the fellowship. That happened 22 years ago and although I have gone through some hard times in sobriety, I never had a reason to go back out and drink again. For this, I thank the God of my understanding and the fellowship—both of which I found in AA.

Sabre L.

Story from an Old Timer…Sabra L.

 

 

I started drinking at age 11…

I started drinking at age 11 and knew about AA at the age of 8 when we used to prop my Grandma up in the corner in a Parkchester meeting. Knew I had a drinking problem by the age of 13, but always figured those were the cards dealt to me and my life would suck forever. Booze made it bearable for me. Never could understand how AA people could ever give up their lives to a bunch of Bible Thumpers, hiding in church basements, praying to God, and basically dying from a boring life.

I lived across the street from the old Morris Park meeting and used to watch you guys with fascination because you looked happy and comfortable in your own skin. As my drinking progressed, I longed for that—I  hated the body I lived in and particularly the mind that I was cursed with. Each year I drank, the more my mind went into darkness…until I could no longer deal with living. I had been to AA before; but, I wasn’t ready yet.  In 1987 however, I had a choice. I hit bottom, and I knew if I continued this way I was taking myself out, and AA came into my mind. You know once you get a taste of AA—EVEN a short stint—it sticks with ya. 

I decided to give the meetings a chance. I had the gift of desperation and was now willing to “wither away in church basements” and drink coffee. I was 24 years old. I thought my life was over: no friends, no love, no life. I was a shell, dark and empty with absolutely no hope. Figured God left me and hated me. The first thing I heard that stuck with me was Keep Coming Back, and I hung onto that. I thought because I had been there before, that I would be denied admission and a woman looked at me and said, “I remember you; I prayed for you to come back.” I felt like lightning struck me. I was never welcomed back anywhere. No one ever prayed for me. That woman saved my life that day. I believed her and hung onto it. 

The moral of the story is that no matter what you go through in your sobriety—no matter how bleak it seems or how wondrously happy it becomes—keep coming back. I have seen members go through death, birth, good times, divorce, sickness, and tragedy who kept coming. That is a powerful thing to see and feel. My good friend Mary O. (God rest her soul) said to me one day, “Sabra, the one thing I love about you is that no matter what you have gone through in your life, you just kept coming back.”  That is the one thing I have done right in my 30 years of sobriety. That is our first step. Stepping into a meeting is admitting we are powerless over alcohol and that our lives are unmanageable.

May God continue to bless us and keep us. 

LISA Q.

June, 2020 Grapevine

A Good Cry at the Alcathon

I walked into Never Too Young the third Sunday in March. It was my fifth Alcoholics Anonymous meeting and I was still struggling with the idea of being an ‘alcoholic’ and never drinking again. The room was a Catholic school cafeteria with wood paneled walls and long cafeteria tables. Metal folding chairs scattered here and there. It was packed with people, chatting, laughing, coffee cups in hand, nibbling on Oreos and slices of cake. I was shaky and shy and sat in the front as suggested.

It was an anniversary meeting. The first of many I would attend. I didn’t know it then, but the woman celebrating ten years sobriety would be the woman I would ask to be my sponsor. She walked with her head held high as she approached the podium. “Hi my name is Nicole. And I’m an alcoholic and addict,” she said smiling. The room burst into applause. In her palms, she rolled a small yellow marble – a gift given to her before she left rehab, she explained. “They say after five years you get your marbles back and after ten years you know how to use them.” Everyone laughed. It seemed to be a joke, one I didn’t get being new to the rooms and a few days sober. But I laughed anyway.

Nicole looked genuinely happy, at peace. ​Is that what ten years sober looked like?​ I wondered. I couldn’t imagine her ever feeling the way I felt. I couldn’t imagine her being the falling down drunk I was. And if she was, how did she look so put together?

I had walked with my head down for so long, afraid to look anyone in the eye. Scared that if they did, they would see right through me. Nicole looked around the room, unafraid to be seen. She spoke with confidence and poise without any shame, guilt or remorse. She talked about being a woman of dignity, grace and gratitude. Words I would never use to describe myself.

For the next hour, I sat. I listened. And I cried. I cried because I knew that it was the place I needed to be. And for the first time, I saw hope of what my life could be like without a drink.

At the end of the hour, I congratulated Nicole and we exchanged numbers. She was kind, supportive and encouraging. By the middle of that week, I asked Nicole if she could be my sponsor and because I knew Never Too Young was her homegroup, I made it mine too. Four out of the five suggestions checked off.

I was a forty something single mother, raising a 12-year-old son with autism and working full-time, when I walked into the rooms of Alcoholics Anonymous. Making 90 meetings in 90 days felt like a stretch. But they said, meeting makers make it. So I put a plug in the jug and made a meeting a day – sometimes two or three a day. I was grateful my homegroup was within walking distance and met twice a week.

My homegroup was also the first meeting where I brought my son. I had been coming around for a few weeks. I didn’t see anyone bring their kids to a meeting and I felt awkward about it. But on a Thursday evening, I needed a meeting and without childcare, I had no choice but to bring him. I packed his ipad and headphones, notebook paper and crayons. We sat in the back and I served him milk and oreos. About halfway through, my son started to get antsy and talkative. Fearing, I’d be asked to leave, I gathered our things and headed out. As we got to the door, a man stopped me, “Did you get women’s phone numbers?” I thanked him and said that I had.

I didn’t think anything of it at the time. But as the months went on, I got to know Alex – the man who stopped me. He’s quiet and shy, and doesn’t say much. I realized that it took a lot for him to approach me. But it speaks volumes to our homegroup and our members. The hand of AA was there for me.

As soon as I was able to take a commitment, I volunteered to make coffee. I worked as an administrative assistant for years and one of the tasks I resented most was making coffee. Something about it, made me feel subservient. However, making coffee for my homegroup, didn’t bother me in the least. I was happy to do it. Making coffee seemed like a small price to pay for my sobriety.

I spent my first sober New Year’s Eve at Never Too Young. They held an alcathon — non stop meetings from 7pm to 2am. In the past, I usually spent New Years drinking at home, alone. I’d cry into my wine until I passed out. It was my first New Years that my son was going to be with his dad. To say that I was scared to face my first sober New Years alone was an understatement. I was going through a difficult time and I needed to be in a place where I felt the safest. For me, it was the safety of my homegroup. The place where I could be with friends, the people who knew me best. Overwhelmed with emotions from grief to gratitude, I cried all night. Moving from table to table, with my wrinkled tissues stained with mascara and blush crumpled in my hand. In between the tears, I also laughed. I rang in the new year, safe and sober and surrounded by love and fellowship.

In sobriety, I’ve learned to laugh through my tears. I don’t feel silly crying. I’d rather cry in a meeting than home alone. The fellowship reminds me that crying is part of the healing process.

Over the first year of my sobriety, I felt more comfortable bringing my son to Never Too Young. So often, I’ve felt alone raising my son. I used to be scared that I’d be kicked out of a meeting. Never Too Young has embraced not only me, but my son. During moments when they see me becoming flustered or frustrated, trying to quiet my son, the members pat me on the shoulder, assure me that he’s fine. I am always moved by the love and support of the fellowship in my homegroup. They tell me I’m a good mom. They make an effort to make my son feel welcome and part of. The women mother him and the men treat him like one of the guys. They understand, they’re patient and extremely generous. They spoil him with milk and cookies and slices of anniversary cake. They engage with him and laugh at his sweet silliness. They greet him with hugs and high fives and always offer to help. The hand of AA reaches out. My homegroup, Never Too Young, always reminds me that I am never alone.