November 7, 2015
A significant milestone occurred today, although it didn’t involve summiting Everest or facing an apocalypse. Instead, I attended my very first Alcoholics Anonymous (AA) meeting in Burlington, Vermont.
For the past six months of my sobriety, I had resisted going to any meetings for a multitude of reasons: I was convinced that it wasn’t for me, that I wouldn’t enjoy it, and that I was simply someone who had chosen to stop drinking. I told myself I was strong enough to manage this on my own.
Reflecting on these thoughts, I realize they are reminiscent of the lies that perpetuated my drinking. One of my favorites? “Life would be too easy without hangovers.” I actually believed that. The list of excuses and justifications was equivalent to the circumference of the Earth—approximately 24,902 miles long.
This morning, I met individuals who have navigated their own struggles to live more authentically. I had been hesitant to attend this particular meeting, which was highly recommended by a friend, mainly because it started at 8 a.m. At that hour, I typically find myself still in my pajamas, nursing a cup of coffee due to my low energy from Hashimoto’s disease. Yet today, I managed to drag myself out of bed at 7 a.m.
In a surprising turn of events, I even took the time to clean the toilets while my coffee brewed. I then made my way to the meeting, feeling too groggy to second-guess my decision or concoct an excuse to turn back home.
As I sat in the meeting, I felt an overwhelming sense of authenticity among the members, which made me think about how drinking often breeds dishonesty. I can now openly acknowledge that I used my writing as a reason to drink, and drinking as a reason to write. But six months into my recovery, I find that I appreciate both the process and the outcome of writing much more than before. Let’s also dispel another myth: life is not easier without hangovers; it is challenging, yet I can confront those challenges with clarity and an open heart.
During the session, I even uttered the very words I had vowed never to say: “Hello, my name is Emily, and I’m an alcoholic.” Surprisingly, it was more difficult to suppress those words than to let them flow freely.
I was captivated by the stories of hardship and humor shared among the group. I couldn’t help but think of it as a “comedy of terrors.” As I listened intently, it became clear that I am indeed part of this community.
By the time the meeting ended, I walked away with a blue chip signifying my six months of sobriety—something I previously swore I would never desire. Yet, I clutched that chip tightly on my way home, as if it were the Holy Grail.
Later, I shared the experience with my 11-year-old son, who was both curious and pleased. He expressed the painful truth of how my previous relationship with alcohol made him feel less important than wine. Hearing this was difficult, and writing it down is no easier. But my love for him is vast, and I am committed to facing these truths.
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In summary, confronting the lies we tell ourselves can lead to profound personal growth. By embracing authenticity and seeking support, we can navigate our challenges and find a more honest path forward.
Keyphrase: Alcoholics Anonymous and personal growth
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