Читать книгу Becoming Normal - Mark Edick - Страница 14
Оглавление2 FITTING IN— IS THAT WHAT IT MEANS TO BE NORMAL?
I have heard many people in recovery say that they never felt like they fit in anywhere. They always felt different from the people with whom they grew up. This is a common sentiment among members of recovery groups. For the most part, I could identify. I had few friends, and the ones I did have always seemed to be getting into trouble of some kind, and I was right there with them: lying, stealing, cheating, and carousing. These things were all part of life as far as we were concerned. These feelings set us apart from the majority, we thought. We were selfish and self-centered, and sought instant gratification. My friends and I thought we were tough and cool, but in reality we were nothing more than public nuisances, disturbing the peace and doing whatever we felt like, whenever we felt like it, without regard for anyone else’s property or peace of mind. Acting in this way alienated others, who found our actions irritating, annoying, and even crazy. It is no wonder I felt as though I did not fit in, so after a while I did not even try. If you’d asked me then, I would have denied it, but today I know that fitting in was exactly what I wanted.
The truth is that I have always wanted to fit in, and today I do, because I am in recovery. It seems that like most people, I have a built-in need to feel that I am part of the world and part of society. This need drives my desire to understand what it is to be normal and has prompted me to spend time learning how to fit into society. Today, I am learning to smooth off my rough spots so I can fit better into life as it is really is, not as I’d like it to be. In order to do this, obviously, I had to quit drinking, but that was only one step. I had previously, and more easily, set aside marijuana and cocaine. However, for me, quitting drinking was the most important step toward a new way of life. This manifestation of my addiction was my greatest challenge, and I needed to meet it head-on and with all the courage I could summon.
One of the reasons quitting drinking and drugging was so difficult for me was that in the beginning, using had helped me to feel as though I fit in, as it does for so many others. The illusion or delusion of fitting in while I was drunk was a tough one to break. I did not have any desire to break away from the thought or the substance until it became clear that the reason I gave myself for using was not, in fact, true. Only after it became painfully clear, through time spent in jail and the insistence of friends and family members, that I had a problem, as well as the realization that my using really wasn’t helping me fit in anymore, was I able to begin to change.
Once I decided to make the change from active addict to person in recovery, my desire to become normal seemed to grow. I had never liked feeling like an outsider, but now I felt like more of one! While I was using, I had seemed to fit in with the other addicts, but I had never tried fitting in while in recovery. Still, I wanted to fit in more than ever.
What does “fitting in” mean, and why was it so important to me? To “fit in” means to me that I will be more loved, more cared for, and more needed. I longed for these feelings. I yearned for these feelings. I spent my entire life seeking real love, true caring, and a greater feeling of being needed. Yet I had always come up short. If only I could be normal, I thought; then I would fit in the way I’ve always wanted to.
I know I’m not unique in this regard: It seems that we all want to fit in somewhere. But the thing I thought was helping me fit in was having the opposite effect. I spent too much of my life far from normal, getting loaded, acting in ways that even I didn’t accept as proper. Once I stopped drinking and using other mood-altering substances, I began to have a shot at becoming normal and fitting in with the rest of society. This idea was so novel, so untried, that at times it seemed impossible. However, I know that it is possible, and I’m giving it a shot.
When I arrived in my twelve-step fellowship, I found something I had been yearning for my entire life. I discovered there were many people just like me, and I easily fit in. We understood each other; we spoke the same language. We laughed at the crazy things we used to do and cried over the traumas we had caused. We “got” each other; we knew where each other had been. Why shouldn’t we? We had all been through very similar wringers. We shared the same delusions, illusions, hopes, and dreams. What a wonderful feeling to find people I could relate to without being drunk. What a joyous thing to have people who understood me, who shared my feelings, my fears, and my longing to be cared for, to be needed, and to be loved. My fellowship saved my life, and I will be forever grateful. Of course, as we say in my fellowship, “you can’t keep it unless you give it away,” and that’s what I practice now, and hope to for the rest of my life.
One of the great things about my fellowship is the inclusiveness. As I see it, my fellowship keeps the doors open to a wide range of thinking and ways of dealing with problems. In fact, the door is always open and anyone can get in. To join, all I needed was a problem and a desire to stop. The first thing my fellowship and program did for me was to help me stop. The second thing the program gave me was a set of tools with which I could begin to grow. I was never told that I could only use program resources in order to grow. My fellowship knows they are not the be-all-and-end-all. They encourage people to do or to be as much as they want to.
The first step of my program talks about powerlessness. Step One requires the admission of powerlessness, while the remaining steps help me to live a better life—a life without active addiction. Step One is the only step that mentions a substance. The remaining steps exist to deal with personal growth—spiritual, physical, mental, emotional, social, and volitional. When I address each facet of my being and am able to achieve balance, life is better than I could have ever dreamed possible. It is through using the Twelve Steps in everyday life that I can attain my own desired level of normalcy. There is no limit to how far I can grow.
My fellowship also provides me a place to try out new behaviors, actions, and thoughts. By attending meetings, I can share my thoughts and get feedback. If I can maintain an open mind and learn to take criticism constructively, I can learn about who I am with help from my peers, and I can do so in a safe environment. I talk with my sponsor and others in the program, and I am able to push myself to new limits. I learn to trust people and to trust my own thinking.
When I have opportunities for learning and growth, which some people choose to call problems, I think them over and try to solve them with advice from my sponsor. I make a habit of calling him on a daily basis. I mention anything I may have learned along the path of recovery. These conversations allow me to learn about my thought processes. If my solutions coincide with my sponsor’s way of thinking, I can then begin to trust my decision-making. Prior to entering recovery, I trusted my own faulty thought processes. As others in the program have said, my best thinking usually got me into trouble, and my recovery depends on my ability to share my thoughts and concerns with my sponsor and to seek his advice.
Dictionary definitions of “normal” include words like “usual,” “standard,” “customary,” “common,” “average,” and “typical.” Philosophers and social scientists have spent countless hours and millions in grant money trying to define “normal.” Maybe it’s easier to define normal by thinking about what it is not, rather than what it is!
We do know that what’s normal for one person may not be normal for another. Perception plays an important role in what seems normal. Each of us perceives normal differently. Perceptions come to us through our senses, but our understanding and expectations influence our perceptions. Since everyone’s ability to perceive and understand how the world works is unique, everyone has different expectations, so naturally, everyone has the potential to see normal in a completely different light. It is no wonder that the world is full of people who seem so dissimilar.
Some people believe that chocolate ice cream is a delicious treat, while others think it is nothing special. (And some people have sensitive teeth, which makes eating ice cream very painful, if not impossible.) Some folks can smell a rose from twenty feet in a heavy wind, while others must practically stick their nose right in among the flower’s petals to catch the scent. In either case the person doing the smelling may like or dislike the scent. Yet, in both of these cases, there is a norm. Chocolate ice cream has a taste that is normal for it, and a rose has a smell that is normal for it. If I placed a spoonful of chocolate ice cream in my mouth and tasted pastrami, or sniffed at a rose and smelled window cleaner, I would be concerned that the world had gone terribly wrong. What is normal is what we have learned to expect.
Back to those dictionary definitions. According to them, normal can mean “conforming to a standard,” “adhering to a pattern,” or “the usual or expected.” Debating these definitions would be fruitless; I’ll select the ones I found most useful in formulating my own definition and present them here.
In order to conform to a standard, the standard must be set and identifiable. The same is true for adhering to a pattern. Therefore, it should be safe to say that the usual becomes the expected, which becomes the standard or pattern. What usually happens is what I expect to happen. After a while, it simply becomes a pattern; I do this, and that happens. To me a standard is something I can rely on, something tested time and again that has always produced the same result. In the beginning, my using performed in this way. It was reliable in that it always made me feel better—except on those mornings after I drank too much. After a while, drugs and alcohol lost their reliability and the results of using became abnormal. Unfortunately, by the time this happened, I could not stop using. The abnormal had become normal in a weird, twisted sort of way.
When I began working, I learned what a normal day at work was like. While my normal day was much different from that of most people—most people do not build cars for a living—it was normal to me. If one day I woke up and drove to work, only to find that I was expected to do accounting, I’d consider that a departure from the norm. Things never got quite that weird at work, but I did have some very abnormal days during my time as an autoworker. For instance, I can remember times I went to work, expecting to report to my regular job, only to discover that I had been temporarily reassigned to another job on the assembly line. It was the same type of work; I was still building cars, but I was in a different department, in a different part of the building, working with different people, handling different parts, and so on. Sometimes I liked the change of assignment and sometimes I hated it. How I felt was determined by my expectations of what I thought was my normal job. Man is a creature of habit, and we tend to develop a comfort zone. We seek stability and don’t like surprises. We do not expect the unexpected. We expect the normal, or what has become normal to us.
Normal is not always easy to pinpoint or describe. It varies from person to person, day to day, season to season, year to year, and understanding to understanding. Other potential variables include my patience, tolerance, and willingness to change. They all play a part in my understanding, as does my ability to be honest with myself, and to keep an open mind. Since normal is so hard to put a finger on and to hold in place, let us first look at some realistic ranges of normalcy. I live in lower Michigan. The common saying about the local weather is, “If you don’t like it, wait fifteen minutes; it will change.” Of course, that isn’t literally true, but the weather can be rather fickle no matter where you live. Winter weather conditions in Michigan vary widely, depending on the area of the state. The snowfall can run from a few inches to a couple of feet each year in the south, to several feet in the north; along Lake Michigan or in the Upper Peninsula, grab your shovel—it’s going to get deep. There is a wide range of temperatures as well. Still, each area of the state has a temperature range and an amount of snowfall that is considered normal.
Where I live, in the south central part of the state, winter usually begins sometime between late October and Thanksgiving. It does not let up until the middle of April, or sometimes as late as early May. It is normal during these times of the year to expect cold weather. Snow and cold are expected, and clouds seem to obscure the sun for the greater part of the winter season. January is usually very cold, and the temperatures can dip as low as zero-to-ten degrees Fahrenheit rather quickly.
The mercury can dip much lower, but that is not considered normal. Yet, if I venture outside in January and find the temperature is in the thirties, I think it is pretty much normal. After all, winter in Michigan is very cold. A particular winter day may not be as cold as I expect it to be in January, but it fits into my expectations of winter because I have a wide range of expectations for outdoor temperature built into my expectation of normal. When I am indoors, my expectations for the weather change dramatically. Expectations apply to all areas of my life.
For example, I have very strict expectations when I get into my car. I always expect it to start when I turn the key. If it does not start, look out; I may lose my grip on reality in a hurry. I also expect that when I put the gearshift into drive and step on the accelerator, the car will move forward. Then, I fully expect the brake pedal to bring me to a complete stop. In fact, I have come to expect these functions as being so normal that I am willing to bet my life on them—especially when it comes to the functioning of the brakes. If the car does not start or the accelerator does not move the car, I’m not leaving my driveway. However, if the brakes do not work after the accelerator has done its job, I am in big trouble. My expectation that the brakes will work is reasonable. I have developed this expectation over time. From the time I was young, I have ridden in cars, and the brakes have never failed, at least not yet. There have been some anxious stops due to snowy conditions, but those instances are exceptions, and they are not the fault of the brakes. They are the fault of the driver—and I always tend to give the driver a bit more leeway than I am willing to give the car, especially when the driver is me.
You can see that I have a wide range of expected normal with respect to the weather. However, regarding my car, that range quickly narrows. The same is true when it comes to my behavior. My range of acceptable normal behavior is much wider for myself than for others. For instance, when I am standing in line to pay for my goods and the cashier is taking his or her sweet time with the person in front of me, I can easily become annoyed and begin to think this behavior is other than normal. However, when I am the one working and someone mentions that I may be performing at below-average expectations, I am quick to come to my own defense. After all, I am working at a normal pace, carrying my normal workload.
What is normal in everyday life has a relatively similar range. A normal day is the same for most people. We get up, go to work or school, come home, eat dinner, perform some chores or participate in some recreational or leisure activities, watch some TV, and go to bed. It may sound boring when you think about it in this way, but it is normal nonetheless; it is the standard. In general, I consider a standard to be something I can rely on, like the brakes on my car—they generally perform as expected. However, normal seems to be much more expansive because, as the list of daily activities shows, there are many things that could be thrown in—or taken out—and the day could still be considered normal. Therefore, normal is, for the most part, what we understand as a range of acceptable behavior under a given set of circumstances.
In order to determine what is normal, I must make comparisons. Then I must make judgments based upon these comparisons. I do this every day. I make these comparisons with little or no detrimental effects to myself or to others. I go about my day ensuring that things go pretty much as planned. The house is still standing, the water for my shower is the proper temperature, the refrigerator has kept things fresh for me so I can make my breakfast, the stove will heat my food if I decide to cook, and my car starts so I can drive to work. Along my daily journey, I make comparisons at many points. If my car didn’t start, it would fall outside the bounds of normal, and my day would be upset to some degree. I would almost automatically take action to bring things back to what I consider normal, and I would do this to regain my expected level of comfort. I like things to be normal for the most part, so I naturally struggle to maintain a level of normalcy in my life.
Who really defines what is normal? For most of my life, I seemed to allow my parents, my teachers, the news media, and others to shape my definition of normal. If I was not allowing others to shape my definition, I certainly was not taking the time or making the effort to discover my own definition. I simply lived with a decision made at some time and place in my past that told me that I was not normal or that I didn’t fit in. This was an extremely unhealthy way for me to look at life. I no longer allow others to define what I believe to be normal, and I have begun to take a serious look at what I perceive as normal.
For example, it is normal for the United States of America to have a president. At one time, I thought it was normal to think that becoming president was a realistically obtainable goal. (While I would have to admit that it is normal to have a president, I must also admit that becoming president is not very normal at all.) As of this writing, the current president is only the forty-fourth person in the history of our country to hold the office. Forty-four people—forty-four men, actually—in more than 230 years is an extremely small number out of the total population of this country, especially when you consider the number of Americans who have lived throughout that time. Hundreds of millions of people have lived their lives in America since it was established as a country, and only forty-four of them have served as president. So, becoming president is not within the normal range of aspirations for most Americans, and never has been in our country’s history. This example is one of many instances in which I used to assume a highly unusual event was actually normal and attainable.
Becoming a star athlete is another useful example. There are very few people who can actually make it to the professional sports level. A similarly small number achieve rock- or movie-star status. Even the number of doctors in this country is relatively low compared to the population in general. Yet there was a time when I believed that achieving any of these careers was practical and attainable—in a word, normal. I cannot explain my former belief. I can tell you that while I now understand that reaching these levels of fame and fortune is possible, I no longer see doing so as “normal.” I now see it as extraordinary, more uncommon than normal. Like climbing one of the world’s great mountains, reaching these positions in life is possible only for a few people, because it is out of the ordinary for people to possess the skills and desires necessary to attain such lofty heights.
What is more normal and more reachable to the average person is more in the mainstream. Most people simply do not have the desire to push themselves to their physical, mental, emotional, and spiritual limits, at least not enough so as to sustain the level of effort required to reach, and maintain, the high level of performance required by the demanding jobs listed above (and the list could be much longer). When I was young, I wanted to be president, or a firefighter, a police officer, or a doctor. I was taught that I could do anything I wanted, and I figured these were all normal things that could happen to me. You may have a similar list of things you wanted to be when you grew up. If you are like me (that is to say, normal), you probably didn’t grow up to be any of the things on your list, either; and that’s okay.
We all know we have to work for the things we want in life, but I did not understand this at first. Just as I used to think that becoming the president, or a doctor, or a firefighter, etc., would “happen” to me, I used to think other things also happened to me. Now I understand cause and effect. I understand that my actions cause what happens in my life, both the good and the bad. But this understanding took some time. Once I fully understood this concept, I could do something about my life, such as change my definition of normal.
It took some time, but I have redefined my understanding of normal. I now believe that everybody defines normal for themselves. Normal, once defined, becomes part of my new belief system, which in turn dictates my actions. My actions will determine the consequences. I have learned that consequences are not always negative. They are simply the next step in the process of life. They are not punishments or rewards; they are perfectly impersonal and just and are perfectly normal.
Quite often I know what the consequences of an action will be before I act. If I fail to put gasoline in my car I will eventually become stranded in a place where I do not want to be. I know if I put my trash out on trash day, it will “magically disappear” and I won’t have to put up with the smell of rotting garbage. I know these things. They are part of life. Every day is full of things that happen very naturally—very normally. You could say that recurrence is what defines my new normal.
I now include myself in my new definition of normal. What a concept! Everybody else is just as normal as I am today. I came to this new definition by simply looking deeply into who I am, what I like and dislike, what I want and need, and how I look, think, act and feel, and have decided to include me in what I believe to be normal.
Since I have come to the conclusion that I am normal, what does that make everyone else? I now believe that everyone is normal in his or her own way. We all have talents, abilities, character defects, and shortcomings. Everyone acts a little goofy from time to time. What’s the big deal? After all, if I can be normal, anybody can be normal. To those whose achievements make them seem like they are “above” normal, like those listed above, I now give the title of “extraordinary” or “exceptional.” This is a very simple way to be inclusive. No one is actually above or below normal; some people simply scale greater heights. I thank God for every one of the exceptional or extraordinary people in our world. These extraordinary people gave me electricity, fast transportation (on and off the ground), refrigeration, and all the modern conveniences I rely on today. However, just because these people reach heights I have neither attained nor wish to reach, they are not any more or less normal than I am. They still have to sleep, eat, drink, wear clothes, shave, shower, brush their teeth, and so on. When I boil it all down, we have much more in common than not. They are simply normal people who have achieved extraordinary accomplishments. If I continued to spend my time and energy getting drunk or high, I would not be able to achieve anything extraordinary. As my life improves, extraordinary can become more ordinary. Extraordinary can become normal. Wouldn’t it be great if everyone were extraordinary? Well, maybe everyone is.
If everyone is normal—including extraordinary and exceptional people—then anyone can be normal. Understanding this, I simply cannot exclude myself from my growing list of normal people, and neither should you. The extraordinary and exceptional people are normal, too, and without them we would have no presidents, no doctors or nurses, and none of the things that make life so convenient. Life would be rough. In fact, we might still be living in caves, because no one would have been extraordinary enough to venture into a new way of life. As I celebrate my newfound normalcy, I celebrate the extraordinary people who have come before me, who are here now, and who will come later. I celebrate just how normal and how human we all are.
I have stopped thinking of normal as some perfect person, place, or ideal. Normal is right here, right now. I must learn to embrace life and live with normal on a daily basis. If I see normal as what other people are and I am not, then I cause myself unnecessary suffering. When I feel abnormal, I struggle to gain normalcy. When I struggle, I am uncomfortable. When I am uncomfortable, I seek comfort. When comfort is unattainable, suffering is unending. I did not enter recovery to be unhappy and uncomfortable. I entered recovery to get away from that misery, not to wallow in it. To be completely honest, if I had to live in misery I would probably go back to drinking, because “what’s the point?” When I drank, at least I knew to expect more misery and more drinking as the vicious cycle continued. Since I no longer drink or drug, I deserve something better. I want to be happy, comfortable, and serene.
Normal is not a form of perfection. Perfection cannot be found on this planet. Nobody is perfect, even all those “perfect people” I used to see everywhere. Normal is not what I want to be; normal is what I am right now! I can take normal with me everywhere I go, and I should, because it is important to be happy and serene, and I can do that if I feel normal. Perfection is not only out of reach; it is crazy to strive for it because if I could somehow reach perfection, I would still not be normal. I would not fit in and I would end up starting the whole cycle all over again.
Probably the biggest fib I have ever been told is: “Practice makes perfect.” Nothing makes perfect. Here is the plain truth: “Practice makes progress.” As long as I practice things every day, like brushing my teeth and doing my job, I will become more fluent in the things I choose to practice. What I should focus on practicing are those things I want to become better at doing. When I say focus, I mean think about what I am doing while I am doing it; it is thought coupled with action.
What do you think about when you are performing the very normal action of brushing your teeth? If you are thinking about other things, you are practicing that as a brushing habit. It will become your normal way of brushing your teeth. If, for example, I decided that from now on, when I brush my teeth, I am going to count the number of strokes I provide for each set of teeth to be sure that all of my teeth get a certain number of strokes, I could do that with ease. It would require only that I make a small change in the way I perform a small chore. Since it is something I do a couple of times a day, over time I could easily adopt this new habit. This new normal way of brushing my teeth would become so automatic that soon I would be doing it without even thinking. I no longer think about how I brush my teeth. Most people don’t. (This isn’t really a big deal as long as your teeth get clean!)
Tooth brushing is a positive habit; however, we often do things out of habit that affect our lives in negative ways. We need to stop to think about what we are not thinking about—and then think about it. Put another way, we must consciously develop an awareness of our actions. Humans are creatures of habit, and becoming aware of our habits is a skill that takes time to develop.
Once I realized this and began to become aware of my habits, I found that my brain remained on autopilot during habitual activities, so I started telling it what to think about and when. One of the directions I gave it was to start watching what I was not thinking about and not consciously thinking about, before taking action. I began to see that some amazing things had been happening without my conscious consent. Some of my thoughts and actions had become so automatic that I was not consciously aware of what I was doing, and so did not act in the manner I really wanted. One automatic tendency I discovered was giving other people credit as being normal for things that are not really too normal, at least not for me. One of these things falls directly into what I call the “Normie versus Alkie Syndrome”: the idea that being able to consume alcohol without consequences is normal.
Normal is different from one person to another, and we all decide what is normal for ourselves. Put another way, we decide that we can decide for ourselves. In accepting this one simple yet extremely important idea, we have made progress toward becoming normal. There is still work to be done, because we may need to redefine what normal really is, and if we are able do this we will become uncomfortable until we become accustomed to our new normal. My new normal includes not drinking alcohol or using other drugs. You can choose a new normal as well. I have chosen this new way of life and I cherish it. I want and need to protect my new sense of normalcy. However, I did not reach this new normal overnight. There was a process involved, a process that I was not even aware existed. It was a type of covert operation that took place in my head, my heart, and my soul. The process was assisted by my sponsor and those I trust in my program. The process surprised me. One day I realized my attitude about drinking had changed. Here’s how:
One Sunday afternoon I went to my brother and sister-in-law’s house for dinner. My brother is a talented cook; his wife does all the clean-up, and all I have to do is show up and eat. It’s a great deal for me, and it’s one I accept whenever they offer it, which they do on a regular basis. On this particular occasion they served spaghetti with all the trimmings, including a bottle of wine. When we sat down to eat, my sister-in-law began to pour herself a glass of wine, hesitated noticeably, looked at me with an “I’ve been so thoughtless” expression, and then asked, “Would it bother you if we had wine with our dinner?”
I was relatively new to recovery, and this was not something I expected. My sister-in-law hadn’t been thinking about drinking; she doesn’t have to. She isn’t alcoholic, and neither is my brother. They drink when they want, and stop when they think they have had enough, if not before. They are social drinkers. They planned to have wine with their dinner. They invited me without thinking about how my recovery would affect them. My sister-in-law began to pour herself a glass of wine—a perfectly normal thing for her to do—and suddenly realized it might not be a good idea because I was there.
I felt I had to answer her question, so I said “no” without thinking. I continued, saying, “It doesn’t bother me if you drink. It only bothers me if I drink.” Now, as I mentioned, I answered without thinking. I had practiced not drinking for a relatively short time, yet the results had far-reaching effects. My subconscious thought process began to take in the new knowledge that I didn’t drink because it bothered me to drink. This was a major shift in my thinking, and, in this case, it happened very naturally— so naturally, in fact, that I didn’t even notice what had happened until later that evening. My sister-in-law and I exchanged a couple of quick comments concerning alcohol, and then we went about having dinner. She poured herself and my brother some wine, I drank my soda, and we had a pleasant, unremarkable evening—unremarkable, that is, except for the lesson I was to learn from the event. Those two little sentences exchanged at dinner with my sister-in-law radically changed my view of what is normal and what is not when it comes to people.
People come in all shapes, sizes, looks, styles, colors, and types. I don’t understand people—probably most people. I do my best to be an understanding person, but I simply cannot understand why people do some of the things they do. Almost every day, I see people do things that baffle me. They pull out in front of me in traffic, treat their children in ways I could interpret as insane, and cross the street without looking because a sign says the pedestrians have the right-of-way. I don’t get it. But I don’t have to understand them for them to be normal. And it is not my place to understand everything. I must simply accept those things I don’t understand or would not do, those I believe I am unable to do, or those I simply choose not to do as being quite normal for other people.
Some people drink alcoholic beverages or use other drugs recreationally. I used to, but I no longer partake in these practices. The reason I quit has to do with the direction my life was headed. Using had consequences that became so intensely negative that I had to quit. Using in any way, even ways that did not result in my becoming completely loaded, became unacceptable to me; I realized it was abuse. It was when I discovered my new definition of abuse that I realized I might have a problem. My point is that many people don’t have the problem that I have. While this fact may not be a revelation to you, it may come as a surprise to you to realize that you may think of those people, of them, as being normal because they can drink. If you do, I beg of you to change your thinking in this matter. Maybe you don’t think of social use of alcohol or other drugs as “the norm.” However, many people do, and to their own detriment. After all, if that is the norm, how can I ever possibly fit in, or be normal, myself? This idea is as dangerous to my personal growth as playing with dynamite, yet I see evidence that some people believe this mythological notion.
I cannot count the number of times I have heard others say something that sounds like “I went to a party last weekend with a bunch of normal people.” When I hear this sentiment shared it makes my skin crawl, because I used to say the same thing; I used to call other people normal without thinking about what I was implying about myself. I used to say this without thinking. In early recovery, I had heard enough other people say it that it seemed acceptable. I no longer feel that way. I no longer consider it acceptable to regard other people as normal (or more normal than I regard myself ) simply because they can consume alcohol without suffering horrible consequences.
During my using years I thought of myself as an alcoholic, and I felt that I wasn’t normal. In fact, that was true; I was far from normal. Drinking and using as I did was about as far from normal as a person can get. It was certainly as far from normal as I ever care to be. I never want to be in that place again. However, I don’t drink anymore—not that not drinking makes me somehow normal. Not drinking gives me a chance to become normal again—assuming I was ever normal to begin with—and I think I was normal at some point. (One may have to go all the way back to the cradle to pinpoint one’s normal, but it can be found.)
We conformed to a standard, adhered to a pattern, did the usual or expected at some point in our lives. How hard is it to be a normal baby? What do we really expect of an infant? They cry, someone feeds them, they sleep, and they need to be changed and held. I did those things when I was an infant. I must have been normal back then, even if I lost my sense of normalcy shortly out of the crib! The point is that I did lose my sense of normalcy somewhere along the line. I drank like a drunk. My life became unmanageable. I was able to admit I had a problem and sought help. When I sought help, it was there waiting. I stopped drinking. At this point in my recovery, it would be easy to say I am still far from normal, and I might agree with this statement on some level. Still, calling other people normal because they can drink annoys me so deeply.
Calling other people normal—and considering myself not-so-normal—started driving me out of my sense of serenity, because I can’t drink and have a normal life. When I drink, I suffer badly, and all too often so do the people around me. Drinking simply is not part of a normal life for me. In fact, drinking doesn’t make anybody normal. In fact, there is no one thing (outside of general bodily functions) that anyone does that makes them more normal than anybody else. Eating, drinking (nonalcoholic beverages), sleeping, etc.—these are normal to everyone. Very little else is considered normal to everyone. My normal now includes not drinking. Other people’s normal includes drinking. I now believe we can celebrate the differences. I can learn from them and grow with them. But first, I have to get over the hang-ups I have with the fact that some people can drink alcohol without suffering terrible side effects, while I have terrible side effects if I consume it. It’s not my job to understand why I have side effects. I only have to accept the truth and move on with my life.
I refuse to take certain medications because they have very bad side effects—the side effects are worse than the illnesses they are supposed to cure. I don’t think twice about this. When I have a cold, I take a certain kind of cold medication. I take it because, through trial and error, I have found it to be effective for me. I quit taking the ones that did not work for me or made me feel worse. Why? I quit because it made sense for me to do so. I decided that I didn’t like the negative side effects I got from taking the medication, so I quit taking it. I didn’t have to understand why it made me feel poorly; I simply accepted that it did and moved on.
Although it was a form of self-delusion, I used this same approach with certain types of alcohol during my using years. I quit drinking tequila because (I thought) it almost killed me. Even though I drank for many more years, I never drank tequila again. Peppermint schnapps also made the list of alcohols I never drank.
Then, one day, I discovered that it wasn’t the tequila, schnapps, whiskey, pot, wine, coke, or beer that was killing me. It was the addict in me that was causing all the undesirable side effects. Using these various substances made me miserable. I could start using, but I could not stop. When it came to drinking, my brakes—my ability to stop—failed on a regular basis. Eventually, I made the decision to quit drinking altogether. Like all the other medications I have on my “do not take” list, alcohol and other drugs have a new place of residence in my life.
I no longer need to know why certain substances disagree with me, any more than I need to know why the other medications I do not use disagree with me. I only need to remember that I do not pick up a drink or a drug.
While not drinking has become part of my new normal, I do not begrudge people who can drink. Why should I? I don’t begrudge people who can take Tylenol. I simply do not take it myself. I do not take Tylenol and I do not drink alcohol; it is that simple. Like I told my sister-in-law, it doesn’t bother me if you drink; it only bothers me if I drink. Today I choose not to be bothered.
I had to stop the us-and-them mentality. It is this exact thought process that has caused me great mental anguish. If I allow them to be normal because they can drink, I am certainly harboring a desire to drink, to be like them, and to fit in. I can no longer afford to drink. My life is too good today to give it all up to drinking and drugging. Therefore, I must become more accepting of the way other people are, especially when it comes to drinking alcohol or using drugs recreationally. Some people drink; I don’t. Some people use; I don’t. That is the way of the world. Making not drinking or drugging part of my new normal makes life easier to live, even though others may choose to drink. However, if I categorize people as us and them, or them and me, I alienate myself from a large part of society, making it impossible to fit in with people outside the program. Instead, I choose to be part of society. I do my part by choosing not to drink.
Only a small fraction of those who need help with various addictions are actually in a program and fellowship of recovery. To set myself apart from people outside my program puts severe and possibly damaging limits on my personal growth. I once tended to walk around in life, except in meetings, not knowing how to act. I tried to fit into a world where I felt I didn’t belong. If the only place I feel I really belong is in a twelve-step meeting, I must change this attitude in order to continue to grow and function in the world.
What I have found is that my fellowship is a safe place. When I first entered recovery I needed to feel a sense of belonging, and I received much more than that in the meetings I attended. I felt a safe sense of belonging, love, caring, and empathy. In the selfless acts of caring provided by program members I found the help I needed to take the steps necessary to begin my recovery. I found a positive “we” in my life. “We” helped me to get started and was necessary for the rest of my recovery. “We” helps me grow by continuing to provide a safe place to try out new behaviors without feeling like I am being judged too harshly. I did some stupid things within the safety of my program and watched others shrug them off while continuing to go about their business. They did not make a big deal out the stupid things I did, and neither should I.
The real world is chock-full of the same kinds of behaviors that exist within my program. In fact, I have found that my fellowship is really just a mirror image of the world at large. The difference is that in my fellowship I share the view in the mirror with people with whom I am comfortable, people I understand and trust, and who understand and trust me. I can be comfortable with people who are not in recovery. When I say comfortable, I am talking about not thinking in terms of in or out of the program, drinker or nondrinker, or anything that sets me apart from “them.” This feeling of understanding, acceptance, and serenity takes time to develop, but I am making steady progress.
I have grown to think of myself simply as a person. I can fit in anywhere. I can go anywhere, see anything, say anything, and do anything except consume alcohol or other drugs. On top of that, I have discovered that I can learn from anybody, as long as I am willing to learn. After all, if I limit my learning to things I gather only in the program, I put restrictions on myself. If I limit my activities to program activities, I restrict my life. I did not enter recovery to put restrictions on myself. I entered recovery to remove restrictions, to get rid of misery. I entered recovery to be “happy, joyous, and free.” My new freedom includes activities of all kinds, with people of all kinds, in places of all kinds, for reasons of all kinds. It takes work, but it is definitely worth it.
Much seems to depend on how I look at any situation. There are many people in the world who can drink or use without suffering horrible consequences. I can choose to set myself apart from them if I so desire. However, if I do so, I exclude millions of potential friends and acquaintances from my life, to forgo possible learning and potential growth. I can accept that since they don’t have to drink when we go out for dinner, they can drink at dinner, or they may not. I go places with so-called normies on a regular basis.
The places we go serve alcohol, and my friends just as easily order alcoholic or nonalcoholic beverages. Their choice to order nonalcoholic beverages is perfectly normal for them. My old thinking tells me they will order a beer just because they can. However, they may not be in the mood for alcohol and choose not to order it. I regularly go to restaurants that serve alcohol—with a friend who has no problem with alcohol—and he or she chooses to order a soft drink or a glass of iced tea. Even if he or she does order a beer, it doesn’t bother me because it only bothers me if I drink, and I don’t drink because drinking makes me abnormal. I have no trouble watching another person consume an alcoholic beverage.
While I have excluded alcohol from my diet, I have not excluded people from my life. I like most people. I used to like alcohol. I choose to exclude alcohol from my life just as I choose to exclude certain people from my life. As long as I do not drink, I can invite some very interesting people into my life, and they can invite me into theirs. It is a win-win situation. I choose not to drink and I enjoy the company of others, some of whom choose to drink and others who do not.
Why is it that seeing a disgustingly drunken person does not make me want to drink, but seeing people enjoy alcohol causes me discomfort? Some might say this is because seeing the disgustingly drunk person reminds me of where I have been. I would tend to agree. However, I have also enjoyed alcohol. I used to love to drink. If I am completely honest, and I try to be, I’ll admit I would enjoy being able to drink today. By that I mean I wish I were able to drink without all those unsightly and dire consequences. Unfortunately, when I drink, I end up like the disgusting drunk. Still, why should I begrudge someone else the pleasure of enjoying a cocktail? I don’t begrudge people what they have in their lives: their jobs, spouses, children, money, cars, etc. (At least if I am living the program, I don’t begrudge people these things.) Then why would I begrudge their desire or ability to drink alcohol? My guess is that it is because I would enjoy being able to drink today without all those terrible consequences. However, it is long past time for me to stop wishing things were different and accept the fact that some people can have alcohol, while I choose not to do so today. After all, using for me is now a matter of choice. I could drink a beer with them. But I know where I would end up, even though I don’t know what the long-term results might be. Because of this uncertainty, I choose not to drink. I do this because I don’t want to be abnormal anymore, and when I don’t drink I can be as normal as anybody else. While I can honestly say that I would enjoy being able to drink or use socially, I know the reality of my disease, and I no longer choose the path that leads to abnormal behavior. The power to choose is wonderful.
There are many who choose not to partake in alcoholic beverages. There are more of them making this choice, more people who are not addicts, than there are people who are addicts in recovery. (Studies show that approximately one-third of the population in the United States does not drink alcoholic beverages.) A little math puts the number of nondrinkers in this country somewhere around one hundred million people. One hundred million is a large number of nondrinkers. For whatever reason, one out of three people does not drink. Researching this information helped me drive home the point for myself. One hundred million people in this country are not drinking. This statistic made me dizzy while I was trying to take it all in. It gave me a different perspective on the “drinking/not drinking dilemma” that I used to dwell on. I used to think everybody drank or used socially, was in recovery, or was an addict or a drunk. This new information helped me to see things in an entirely different light.
I no longer see normies and those in recovery. I see people in and out of the program. This makes for an important shift in my attitude about life. Social users and nonusers are people who are outside the program. The person who is still getting loaded is also outside the program. According to the primary purpose of my twelve-step program, I am supposed to help those who wish to recover from their addiction. However, I recall nothing in the program that says I should exclude other nondrinkers or social drinkers from my life. In fact, program literature talks about how, once I begin practicing the program, I can go anywhere and do anything if I am spiritually fit. Now that I do my best to stay spiritually fit, I can participate in life. Today I participate in life and see it as a completely normal thing to do.
“When I don’t drink, I can be as normal as anybody else.” This is a direct quote from my first sponsor. When he first mentioned it to me, it flew over my head. I thought that being alcoholic made me different from others and that I would be different for the rest of my life. However, I have come to understand that everybody has troubles and issues. We are all normal in some areas and not so normal in others; drinking has nothing to do with being normal. I have talked with many people who have no problem drinking alcohol. They also have crazy ideas, just as I do. They just don’t act on them. When I drank and drugged, I used to act on any thought that came into my head, as long as it “seemed like a good idea at the time.” Today I don’t do that. I take time to analyze the thought, the situation, even the consequences, before choosing to act. These are very normal activities. Giving other people credit for being normal because they do not drink leaves out all the possible difficulties they may have in their lives such as the illnesses they may have or the financial, family, or social demons they may encounter. These issues and concerns are not included in my equation or my understanding of what is normal.
Many people whom I consider normal have disorders that they believe make them different or abnormal, yet they somehow find ways to cope. There are so many diseases and disorders that I couldn’t possibly list them all, but a short list could include such things as overeating, gambling, smoking, sexual issues, abuse against oneself or others, and posttraumatic stress disorder. Many of these examples are common manifestations of the disease of addiction while others are not. Let’s not overlook cancer, diabetes, and other disorders of this ilk. These diseases may differ from addiction, but they nonetheless require a change in lifestyle not unlike what I have experienced. What makes these people seem normal is that they deal with these issues in more healthy ways than the ways I used to deal with my drinking. However, today I deal with my drinking in the healthiest way possible. I abstain and participate in a program that helps me learn to live a healthy and fulfilling life. While some people may not need, or use, a program to deal with their issues, many people like me do seek help. Seeking help for problems and issues we encounter is normal behavior. There are counselors, psychiatrists, and psychologists whose offices are full of those seeking help. There are many forms of help available for addiction, and there are many self-help groups. Self-help titles comprise a large portion of available titles. Bookstores would not sell them if people did not want them. We all need a little help now and then. My participating in a program to learn how to cope with life issues is no different from another person’s use of self-help books or support groups.
As I see it, my fellowship mirrors life in general to allow for me to try out new thoughts and behaviors in a safe haven before I attempt them in the world at large. I sought and received help for my problem from my fellowship. What I didn’t expect was all the other support I received, both directly and indirectly. When I look at others in the program I see that they come from different walks of life, have all kinds of issues, differ in their willingness to try new things, and have big and small goals. Regardless of who or what they are, they all have one thing in common: They sit at the tables and seek help just like me.
My sponsor once told me that if you clean up a horse thief, you just have a clean horse thief, unless they decide to stop stealing horses. There are people, supposedly in recovery, who still lie, cheat, and steal. They have yet to discover how these activities hurt them and others. Hopefully, they will decide to change their behaviors if and when they are able to see the truth. However, there are people who do not have addiction and who also perform some pretty awful acts against their fellow man, for example, some members of the clergy. They are considered examples of what is just and right. Yet many of them are alleged to have abused children, stolen, or committed other crimes. It is true that no one is perfect.
In my fellowship I get a small snapshot of the outside world, and I am able to test new behaviors in an environment conducive to my personal growth. Then, the real test of my new behavior comes when I venture into the world outside the protected walls of my fellowship.
Once I heard a story about a man who was running late for church. Upon arriving at the church, he noticed everyone leaving. He got the attention of an elderly woman and asked if he had missed the sermon, to which she replied, “Sir, the sermon is just beginning.” So the man ran inside to hear what the pastor was saying, only to find the church entirely empty. The man came back outside, disgruntled, to find the little woman sitting at the bus stop. As he approached the woman, he stated, “I thought you said the sermon had just begun.” “Oh, but it has,” she replied. “The preacher said his piece and he is done with that. Now it is up to each of us to see how we can apply what we learned to our everyday lives. That is where the sermon really takes place.”
My program is a lot like the sermon. I go to meetings to learn. Then I apply what I have learned to my everyday life. That is where my program really lives—in my everyday life. What my program really does is allow me to see who and what I really am. This allows me to change the things I find objectionable. I make these changes with continued practice, with the help of people I have come to trust in the program, and most of all, with the help of God as I have come to understand Him. However, to make any changes, I must take action.
While I was active in my disease, I was not living life. I was, at best, existing. I took no action to make things better—for myself or for others. Since I have entered recovery, I have learned it is up to me to change me. I receive a great deal of help from those I meet in my program, but they are unable to fix my life. Only I can change me, through taking action. Even God is not able to change me if all I do is stay where I am, especially if my inertia is the result of being an addict. I have to take the necessary steps if I am to get anywhere.
I must participate in my recovery and in life. I must take action to apply the things I have learned in meetings, through reading and discussing the basic text of my fellowship, through talking with my sponsor, and by getting in touch with my conscience. For the most part I believe I know right from wrong, but some issues require more knowledge than I possess, or more wisdom than I am able to muster or exhibit. The program is there to help me with these things, yet it is up to me to take the necessary steps to better myself. The reward is nearly always worth more than the work involved. I can become involved in life; I can participate in the activities of living instead of plowing through the misery of dying the death of an addict.
Life is really one big, long process. It is made up of many smaller processes, but life is still a process. Once I begin to live my recovery, it becomes my mission to determine how much I want to participate in the process. I can be part of the action, or I can sit in the stands and watch. Neither is more important in and of itself, but I need to determine which makes me happy—or happier. If I simply “don’t use, and go to meetings,” that is what I will get out of the program: I’ll simply be abstinent at a meeting. However, if I want to experience all the opportunity life has to offer, I need to take more action.
When I met my first sponsor I was just four days out of rehab, but I knew I wanted something he had. He was happy. That was all I noticed at first, although I came to learn that he had much more than just happiness. I decided I wanted all that he had to offer. He was “happy, joyous, and free,” as is said in the fellowship. He had serenity, courage, and wisdom. I jokingly told him I was going to steal everything he had so I could use it myself. He told me that I could not steal that which was freely given. He wanted to share what he had with others if they were willing to do their part. If I was willing to participate in my own growth, he was willing to give me everything he had. What he had was all the knowledge he had gained in his ninety-plus years of life, most of which had been spent in recovery. He told me that all I had to do to get what he had was to do what he did to get it. A good friend of mine likes to say, “This is not Triple-A; nobody’s going to tow you through it.” I have found this to be true. The more I participate, the more I grow. The more I grow, the more I want to participate. Recovery is the opposite of the downward spiral I used to live in, and it is very exciting.
The most important thing I have discovered about taking part in my recovery is that I can be as normal as anybody. Whether someone is in the program, drinks socially, or simply chooses not to drink, they are no more normal than I am, and I am no less normal than they are. That is the gift of my recovery, and it can be your gift as well, but only if you work for what you want.
My plan to become normal, insofar as I had a plan, was inspired by my first sponsor. He taught me so much, and I know I can never repay him directly. Instead, as the program teaches, I choose to “pay it forward,” to help others in the same way he helped me. It is what he would have wanted me to do.
“Take what you can use, and leave the rest behind”; that’s what members of my fellowship say. However, I suspect that there is very little that I will ever want to leave behind. My first sponsor taught me so much, as have others in my recovery. I’ve come to refer to this process as “improvement.” We can all choose to improve our lives, and you can choose to improve yours.
