There is more than one way we understand the phrase “practicing these principles.” We practice, and we don’t always get it right. The Basic Text tells us in the Sixth Step, “We learn that we are growing when we make new mistakes …” Regular practice, beginning with the basics and gradually progressing from there, is exactly how we get good at anything, from learning to play an instrument or speak a new language to learning how to live a spiritual, principled, and rewarding life. We are not just learning new skills; we are breaking old habits. Some are so deeply ingrained that they feel like a part of who we are.
Building a relationship with something greater than ourselves is a project we undertake the first time we approach the steps, and it continues throughout our recovery. For some of us, spiritual disciplines, including prayer and meditation, shape our day. Others of us try to live our lives as a prayer, offering all of our actions as gifts to our Higher Power. However we practice or experience it, our relationship with our Higher Power comes to shape our understanding of who we are and how we relate to the world around us. Our actions and motives reflect our values and beliefs. When we are in tune with a power greater than ourselves, we seem to flow more easily with the currents in our lives.
After years clean, we experience ourselves differently than we did in the beginning. As we develop an identity beyond “addict,” we wonder whether that label still applies, whether we still belong in the fellowship. We tend to learn balance by bouncing off both extremes. Questioning our relationship with NA can take it to a deeper level. The answers we find help to resolve our new reservations, and the security to question our foundation is part of the secret to solidifying it for a lifetime.
It is said that those wishing to discover a new land must spend a long time at sea. Sometimes when we feel like we are lost at sea, we may wonder whether the program still matters for us. We are afraid to doubt because we know it can kill us, but the fear of questioning our new way of life can lead us to be dishonest with ourselves. NA isn’t about learning to be compliant; it’s about establishing a relationship with something greater than ourselves, and often that relationship can be a little stormy. It is important to know there are members who will give us space to question our recovery, but don’t quite let go of us, either. Though some people will be unsure how to respond to our doubt, sharing our feelings can help us to see that we are not alone. In moments of extreme uncertainty, “fake it ’til ya make it” is exactly the wrong prescription, even though it may work just fine at other times. We need to be brutally honest with ourselves about what we feel and what we believe. Out of these moments of doubt can grow a faith that is truly our own. We can neither deny nor indulge these feelings; they must be handled with care.
We learn what is true for us, and that sets the direction for our lives. Our moral compass is the product of the work we do to understand and apply spiritual principles. When we move away from what we know is right, we feel frustrated and trapped. When we forget what is true for us, we lose our way and drift dangerously. On the other hand, when our understanding of the truth is changing, we may feel much more lost than we actually are. That compass is very much at work and is leading us in a new direction. Through these periods of grave doubt and uncertainty, we find a new surrender, a deeper faith, and often a very different sense of who we are.
We run back to our old ways for fear that we may become someone we don’t recognize or won’t even like. Some of us fear that if we go all the way inside, what we will find is … nothing. But the emptiness we once feared gives us space for growth and change. We stop trying so hard to re-create ourselves and simply allow it to happen. As we work our way through those layers, we find safety, clarity, and confidence that no matter what happens, we don’t have to lose ourselves again.
There are some questions we can only answer alone, but in order to face those questions alone, we need the support of people we trust. The difference between solitude and isolation is another fine line we identify through experience. One question we learn to ask ourselves is “Am I acting in the service of a greater good right now?” We may need to be alone to connect with our Higher Power. Sometimes the best thing we can do is to rest and unwind, read a book or watch a movie, and let go. This is not the same as isolation—though the difference may not be apparent to anyone else. The difference is inside. We come to identify for ourselves what is restorative time alone and what is destructive withdrawal.
Acceptance of our changing spirituality is part of our personal evolution. If our relationship with a Higher Power is real and meaningful, of course it will change over time. But sometimes this feels like a crisis. If we surrender, it drives us back to the steps, and in revisiting Steps Two and Three we can find a relationship to faith that makes more sense to us. As our values change, our beliefs are likely to develop as well. Letting go of the idea that we have to understand why things happen or how it all works frees us to have a spiritual experience without wondering if we’re doing it right.
Action is not always visible. Sometimes in order for us to move forward we must stand very still. Meditation can be hard because it can be so uncomfortable to be quiet with ourselves, to simply stand in the moment and be present. But this is where we ask for help, listen for answers, look ourselves in the eye, and see who we are, where we are, and how we are. When we can be still and observe without judgment, we are given the clarity to see what is right for us and what is not.
We learn to trust our process and allow it the time it needs to work. When we set timelines for how “well” we should be, or how long we will grieve, be afraid, or not know the answer to a question, we can set ourselves up to believe that recovery isn’t working. Recovery works very well, but not always on the schedule we set for it. There is no substitute for time.
A lot of the stepwork we do after the first time through is about clarity: listening to the voice within that tells us when what we are doing is right, and when it’s not in line with our values. Each time, we release more of what ties us to false expectations and beliefs about who we are. We are no longer contained by our addiction or our old, narrow view of what life is “supposed” to look like. We learn that the power we gain in the Eleventh Step is available to us when we are doing our Higher Power’s will and living in self-acceptance. The biggest changes in recovery often happen when we’re not looking. We wake up and find ourselves in lives we hardly recognize as our own. We find stability, dignity, and honor in our dealings with others where once we saw struggle, degradation, and alienation.
We gain self-respect when we follow through on commitments. These may begin with group service commitments: making coffee, chairing a meeting, and so forth. As our ability to follow through begins to grow, we take on larger challenges. Perhaps the biggest one is following through on our commitment to work the steps. One of our members suggests that it’s not just the work we do in the steps, but the way we work the steps that sets the pattern for our lives. Taking on a big project in little pieces, working consistently on something that is important even when it is hard or unpleasant, teaches us different things than we learn by pushing through in a rush or working all night to meet a deadline.
Through the steps, we peel back the layers of illusion that we mistake for ourselves. We learn that we have a disease, but that our disease isn’t all we are. We learn that we are not God. We learn that we are not our past or our defects of character. We notice when we are confusing how we are for who we are. As we work our way deeper and deeper through the illusions, some of us wonder what will be left.
We talk to members we respect and trust, and they remind us that working a program is not going to turn us into anyone other than who we truly are. As we develop a conscious contact with a Power greater than ourselves, we grow into the awareness that our Higher Power doesn’t want an imaginary, idealized version of us. We come as we are, and we serve best when we are most fully ourselves. The simple act of being present without trying to pretend works to peel away the distortions and lie
s, our defects, our baggage, and our nagging sense of inadequacy. We learn who we are precisely when we forget ourselves in service to others.
Connection to the World Around Us
We build our foundation in recovery. As we become more secure, we broaden our horizons and accomplish goals we would never have considered before. Many of us go back to school, pursue careers, and start families. We come back regularly to check our foundation for cracks and shifting, and to reinforce it where needed. Such a sturdy foundation would not be necessary if we were just pitching a tent, but we build skyscrapers on our foundations. Those skyscrapers must be securely grounded so that renovating one room doesn’t cause the entire structure to collapse.
The tools we use to build our foundation are not the only tools we need later on. It’s not that they lose their value. The basics are always important—but at some point they may not be enough to sustain us. When we arrive at a moment when everything we know is not enough for us, we turn to members with more experience. We are likely to get the same simple guidance we have heard from the beginning: The answers are in the steps. A deeper relationship with the steps continues to develop even after we have worked them many times. For some of us, consistent practices of prayer, meditation, writing, or physical exercise are useful in the beginning but grow richer over time. The simple fact of having maintained a practice for a long time offers a structure for our program that we can depend on.
For many of us, getting and staying clean is our greatest accomplishment, no matter what else we do in life. For others, it is the most beautiful gift we have been given. It is not always possible for us to share the thing for which we are most grateful with people outside recovery. That may feel like a little barrier between us and the world.
Some of us stay entirely within the sphere of recovery: All of our friends are in recovery, our whole world is tied up with the fellowship—not because we are afraid to venture out, but because we derive so much satisfaction from the rich interactions we have in NA. The way we share, this level of deep identification that makes NA feel so special to us—talking openly about feelings, finding humor in some of the darkest, most frightening things that have happened to us—is not always available outside the rooms.
For some of us, that’s fine. We are happy making our lives in NA. For others, creating outside the rooms the same kinds of intimacy and community that we have learned to love in recovery presents an exciting challenge. We may experience some kinds of connection in NA and other kinds in other places—with our families, religious communities, coworkers, or neighbors. We are comfortable having some of our identity here and some there. Each of us finds the blend that works for us, just for today. Self-acceptance, for most of us, means finding a balance between our recovery and our lives outside NA.
There are times when we are not around the fellowship as much as we would like to be. We notice the difference in our recovery; we may also notice the difference in how it feels when we come back. When we are not as closely connected, it’s easy to feel left out. People ask where we’ve been and we take offense. We can be in grave danger when we start feeling angry at meetings because people are not responding to us the way we like.
The tools of this program can become weapons if we choose to use them that way. Even our stepwork can become an opportunity for us to abuse ourselves about our imperfections. Some members say that our defects are just survival mechanisms that stopped working. Likewise, our best tools sometimes grow from our worst defects of character. We swing from self-obsession to intensive work on our recovery and gradually find a balance between these extremes, spending more time closer to the center as we practice.
When we hit our thumb with a hammer, our sense of proportion changes and it feels like our thumb is enormous. We think about every movement in relation to that thumb and whether anything might touch it. The same is true of our egos. When we are damaged or hurt in some way, we feel larger than life. Every conversation seems to be about us. Humility is about discovering a sense of proportion firmly grounded in reality. We gain a better perspective on how much space we actually occupy. We discover that we are neither as big nor as small as we might think. We are important in the lives of the people around us, but that doesn’t mean they are always thinking about how their actions will affect us.
Self-obsession is rooted in fear. One of the deepest fears many of us share is that we will lose ourselves entirely. We are afraid to let go of what we know about ourselves in order to change, afraid to let go of our sense of ourselves in the world in order to meditate, afraid to let go of our beliefs about our place in the world for fear we will never fit anywhere. For many of us, letting ourselves go may be the first step toward finding ourselves. We don’t have to hold on so tight. One of our members shares that “when I turn it over but don’t let go, I’m just upside-down.” Letting go gives us the freedom to right ourselves again, naturally and gradually, rather than forcing ourselves into a mold of how we think we ought to be.
We struggle with self-obsession throughout our lives. This is not a defect we let go of just once. It comes up again and again. Often a feeling will send us into self-obsession. Addiction is a disease that distorts ideas and attitudes. When we practice acceptance, we distance ourselves from our reactions and reflexes. This gives us the ability to see more of the picture than our limited point of view allows. The Serenity Prayer is a tool we use again and again in our recovery: Considering what we can change and what we cannot becomes increasingly powerful.
Connection to Others
Some days it seems really easy to identify with others, to feel welcomed and welcoming in a meeting. At other times, all we hear are the things that set us apart from the group. When we start noticing the differences more than appreciating our similarities, it’s usually a red flag indicating discomfort with ourselves. When we focus on the personalities of others, we may gossip, bicker, and contribute to disunity. When we focus on our own personality, we quickly become self-centered and self-obsessed. When we focus on living the will of our Higher Power and carrying the message, our identities grow and flourish. The Tenth Step offers us ample opportunity to tend to that development, nurturing the growth we want to encourage and pruning back the wayward branches before they grow out of control.
When we attend meetings regularly, people get to know us and see us over time. When a fellow member can point out to us, “You know, you always get depressed at this time of year,” we can take action to address a pattern we could not see ourselves. When someone we don’t know that well points out our generosity or loving kindness, we learn that people see goodness in us that perhaps we don’t see in ourselves. Our fellows reflect us back to ourselves and show us how we have changed.
Practicing compassion helps us to stop comparing ourselves to others. We start seeing the deep connections and similarities between us. Our traditions teach us that we are all equal. This doesn’t mean we are the same; our differences are striking and sometimes very entertaining. Many of us have shared that part of what made us feel comfortable in our earliest meetings is that there are so many different kinds of people in a single meeting, sharing and appearing friendly with one another. This can contrast sharply with what we have experienced before, in or out of active addiction.
The things that separate us in the outside world don’t matter in NA. The disease does not discriminate, and neither should we. We know this is true in principle, but it is sometimes a struggle in practice. Some patterns of prejudice and discrimination are so deeply woven into the fabric of our lives that we don’t even notice them. On the other hand, if we have had a lifetime of experience dealing with oppression or discrimination, we may be so conscious of its signs that we see it even where it doesn’t exist.
For some of us, “hearing our story” or identifying is all about finding someone who shares our background or beliefs. Not experiencing that right away can be frustrating or frightening. “I can see it works,” some of us have said, “but not for someone lik
e me.” When other members tell us our need for that companionship is overstated, we don’t feel welcomed—we feel even more invisible. However, many of us have found that despite our initial discomfort, we do thrive in a diverse fellowship. We notice at first that we need addicts who share and understand our sexual identity or our heritage, for example; later we find that we need even more to have members around us who really understand us, no matter what we share. We may be surprised by the members whose stories we relate to, or with whom we feel comfortable talking.
It’s uncomfortable when we feel like “the only one of our kind” in a meeting, but that can give way to a larger sense of connection. We learn to accept and love who we are whether or not we feel like we “match” the people around us; we learn to identify with people on other levels, whereas before, we might not have even tried. Many of us come to keep an eye on the door, paying special attention to newcomers who might feel like “the only …” In many local NA communities, it has taken a few members who stick around through that sense of isolation to create a community that is large and diverse. One or two very young addicts in a meeting make that meeting feel safe for the next young person who walks in, and so on. We learn that what once felt like a reason to isolate is actually one more reason why it’s important that we’re here: We are each uniquely qualified to carry the message to the addict who sees him- or herself in us.
We never know what will make someone feel a connection with us. When we sense a connection based on our shared disease and shared recovery, the ways in which we differ from one another become enriching rather than limiting. As we meet more people, attend conventions and events out of town, and connect with other members in service or online, our circle in NA grows, and we find people who share our experience. But more surprisingly, we find people who share our feelings—and even our sense of connection and disconnection—where we might never have thought to look for them. When we share our experience honestly, we give others the opportunity to relate to us and connect with us in spite of any surface differences.
Living Clean Page 4
