” . . . the certainty that we are no longer isolated . . . ” (Step Twelve continued)

. . . the certainty that we are no longer isolated and alone in self-constructed prisons . . . “

 

From time to time, Carole and I discuss this.  Our experiences are certainly different, since I’ve spent my whole adult life sober in AA and she had lots of adult life on the ‘outside.’  Also because I’m an introvert and she’s an extrovert.

Last night at our meeting a young lady spoke who was born in 1982 (so, yeah, young).  I got sober in 1984, when she was 2.  She is living in my city but not from here.  She moved a great distance to live here and is looking at another big move in the near future.  She has a young child and is pregnant.

Lots of those details mirror mine, when I was a bit younger than her and with a bit more sober time, but lots of those details are the same.  She chose for a topic “one day at a time.”  It’s interesting for me to reflect on all the “one” days I’ve spent since I was sitting in her place, pregnant, sober, moving.

I can’t imagine how people who don’t have AA do it.  I see my daughter, who is a much much friendlier person than I am, but maybe not up to Carole’s degree of friendliness, make friends at the school she’s been at for almost three years.  Her friends come and go, and she makes new ones and keeps up with some of the old ones, but it isn’t nearly the same.

As I told the young lady last night, there are rooms of people who already love her and understand her, though they haven’t yet met her.  I know it’s very hard with little ones to get out and make connections and socialize pretty much at all, but she’s got the one resource that I think is better than all the others put together.

Isolated and alone is great way to describe the way I was before I came to AA.  I would say before I quit drinking, but I didn’t quit drinking.  I attended AA for six long years, drinking.  And at times that made me be isolated and alone, but the good folks of AA always reached out to me, always welcomed me, and always helped me out of a life-threatening jam when I asked them to.  I wasn’t alone, even though I was still in that prison, I had visitors.

OK these metaphors have gotten away from me.  The fellowship is one of the things I would choose not to give up, if I could by some miracle drink “normally.”  I don’t want to.

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