It Was Staying Stopped That Was the Hard Part

Over the years of my drinking, I found it was easy to stop drinking. It was staying stopped that was the hard part. Countless times, after a bender or an embarrassing event, I would go on the wagon, swear off the drink, and firmly believe I had kicked the problem forever. With full confidence in myself, I would lay low and avoid the people, places, and things that triggered my urge to drink. It worked for a while, but it was never a permanent fix.

At times like these, I would be so self-assured that I would even stop smoking, go to the gym, lose some weight, and go on a diet. I felt pumped up, like I was in charge!

However, just a short while later, when I had regained my confidence, I would make the fatal mistake of venturing back to my old haunts—the bars and the only life I knew. It was not unusual for my barroom friends (I use that term loosely) to remark, “Long time no see!” or “Looking good!”

Then came the real test of my willpower. The bartender or some other patron would offer me a drink. I would beam as I said, “No thanks!” The feeling was exhilarating. I was in charge, and I felt powerful. But these periods in my alcoholic life were brief, lasting no more than a few weeks or, at most, a few months.

When My Attempts to Control Drinking Failed

Looking back, those periods were uneventful. There were no turning points. It was as if I were performing a one-trick magic show, unable to pull off the same trick twice. My loved ones had seen the show before, and the reruns of me “controlling” my drinking were too predictable and painful to watch. They knew how the act would end.

My pattern of on-again, off-again drinking, with shorter and shorter periods of control or abstinence, left me with an emerging realization that I was out of control. I was powerless to turn things around on my own. It was demoralizing. My only solution was to drown those feelings of inadequacy and failure with even more drinks. I felt doomed to drink.

The Moment I Wanted to Stay Stopped

When I finally hit bottom, it wasn’t a dramatic one. There was no hospitalization, arrest, or major upheaval. Mine was a spiritual awakening of sorts.

I came home one day in my usual drunken state and saw my elderly mom on her knees praying. No words passed between us, but the realization hit me: she was asking God to help me stop drinking. It was a moment in time I’ll never forget.

At that moment, I said a silent prayer to God: I want to stop and stay stopped. I realized I did not have the power or strength to do this on my own.

The next day, I got hold of some AA literature, especially the pamphlet Is AA for You? It contained twelve questions. I took the short test and passed with flying colors. I got an “A,” so I called the phone number for Intergroup and was given the name of a meeting near me that night.

I was so numb from stopping drinking cold turkey that I didn’t ask any questions. I just wanted to go. It seemed as if I was blinded to everything else. Nothing mattered at that moment except that I needed to stop drinking and stay stopped. I was open to suggestions.

At my first meeting, thank God, I grasped the concept that I only had to do this one day at a time. At twenty-one years of age, I could not grasp the idea of swearing off alcohol for the rest of my life. Instead, I would take it one day at a time while learning to apply the Twelve Steps of recovery to my life.

Learning to Live One Day at a Time

This approach to recovery, along with the anonymity of the program, allowed me to return to the real world without making promises about my future behavior. I had a chance to demonstrate through my actions that I was changing, one day at a time. I did not boast, brag, or make promises about stopping. I simply tried to carry myself through life, living the AA Twelve Steps to the best of my ability.

In early recovery, progress can feel like looking at a single cell in an animation. There’s not a whole lot going on, and we may not see the changes taking place in ourselves. But when we string those days of sobriety together, we begin to see a pretty good moving picture. We go out into the world and add to the harmony of life. Friends, family, and co-workers begin to notice the changes in our behavior and attitudes. They may wonder what brought them about, but they benefit from them just the same.

Those who preceded me in recovery also showed me the meaning of anonymity. They made no claim of curing me and took no public credit for helping me rebuild relationships with friends, family, and co-workers. They simply shared their experience, strength, and hope, including their failures, to encourage me to strive for one more day of sober life.

They lived a glorious new life of humility, quietly practicing the principles of the program without seeking recognition. They were the quiet, unsung saints of my recovery.