Living Clean

by Narcotics Anonymous

  Complacency

  Complacency is a watchword for all of us, but it shows up in different ways at different times. Most of all, what we know about complacency is that we rarely recognize it when we’re in it. In some ways, there’s not much sense in trying to talk about it before we experience it. We always believe our own experience will be different. Most of us don’t recognize it until it hurts.

  We may not know we have a reservation until we bump up against it. Reservations can be surprising—not what we predicted at all. Some of us struggle with pride and complacency when we finish the steps. Others lose hope when we are going through a hard time. Some of us have shared that it got hard when things got good: Our lives get better, and we think, “Okay, I’m done.” Complacency lies in the gulf between desperation and passion. Not only do we risk losing what we have; we miss out on the opportunity to get even better. Not seeing the hope that lies before us, we stop seeing the fear that lingers behind us. Rather than moving from desperation to passion, we move from desperation to complacency. It may be better than what we had, but we are still shortchanging ourselves.

  Our stories of complacency are much the same. We get lost in work or worship or some other activity, think that NA is stifling or limiting our growth in some way, or that we have “grown past” this recovery stuff. We lose a sponsor or move, and just never reconnect. Sometimes it’s a gradual process: We drift away from friends, stop going to meetings, get busy at work, or start developing resentments. A little at a time, we stop working on our recovery and our disease starts gaining a foothold. We can lose everything to a failure of imagination. Thinking that we no longer have to be vigilant about meeting attendance, step work, or sponsorship can lead us to predictable places. “I was on the road a lot for work,” one member shared, “and it stopped being a big deal to not show up.” We can’t see how addiction is affecting us, especially when the destruction looks different than before. It is possible to lull ourselves to sleep in this program and think we are still awake. The living skills we gain in recovery can become part of our denial structure. It’s not that everyone who does this relapses, but it seems that nearly everyone who relapses after staying clean for a while shares this part of the story.

  The risk of relapse doesn’t end when we get some cleantime. A member with many years clean admitted: “To this day, I still try to talk myself out of qualifying for this program. The majority of my problems are related to my self-centeredness and immaturity, and I want to separate that from my addiction. I start thinking, ‘You’re older now, wiser and more mature. Real addicts don’t stay clean this long.’ My own cleantime becomes a reservation.” Some of us fear contentment or serenity because it might look like, or lead to, complacency. If there’s nothing left to fight against, will there be anything left to strive for? Finding the balance is a challenge. We can slow down without stopping. We learn to be content without being complacent—we can be very happy with our lives as they are, and still not stop doing the basics.

  Just as a battery can’t recharge itself, chances are we can’t put the spark back into our own recovery without some outside power. Participation in the life of our fellowship keeps NA alive—but it also keeps the spirit of recovery alive within us. “I didn’t know how much faith I had until I lost it,” a member shared. “Recovery started to seem meaningless. Dry and cynical, I couldn’t check the negativity by myself. I had to seek out opportunities to witness the miracle happening.” Connecting with those who have enthusiasm and hope is a beginning. Thinking about recovery never helps as much as getting out and taking action, especially when we don’t want to. When what we’re doing isn’t working, we stop. But when what we’re doing is halfway working, we tend to keep going even if it’s uncomfortable, because we’re used to it. Sometimes it seems like the longer we are clean, the less we are willing. Just like in the beginning, we may have to fight our impulses and make ourselves do what we know is right.

  Celebrations can propel us out of complacency, and many members find that a good convention or retreat can get the gratitude flowing again. Celebrating the anniversary of an addict who is important to us reminds us what a miracle it is that we are still here. A service commitment gets us to a meeting when desire doesn’t. Sharing with a newcomer can bring us out of our funk; carrying the message reminds us that we have a message. Sometimes we just have to get honest about where we are, and let go of the belief that we’re not supposed to share about feeling bad or wanting to use if we have the most cleantime in the room. Even when we don’t want to, we know what to do: If you’re feeling complacent, come place your end in a seat. The message is waiting.

  Setting Ourselves Apart

  Whether they had three years or thirty, we recall the members who had the most time when we got clean. We may or may not have liked them, but still they were important to us. We depend on those with more cleantime to teach us and energize our recovery, but eventually we find that we are standing where they once did. We look around for the oldtimers and notice—we’re them. We are grateful for those who are still with us, but we must also be open to learning from those who come after us, or we will get very lonely. Anonymity means that we are all equals in NA, no matter how much cleantime we have. Remembering that can be hard sometimes and we may need to remind one another that it’s true. We can get caught up in expectations of where we should be or what we should know with our cleantime.

  Honesty, humility, and a healthy sense of humor can help us navigate through these challenges. We learn to help members answer their own questions, and not to feed the image of ourselves as an authority figure. The fact that people ask for our advice doesn’t mean we are qualified to give it. We share our experience, strength, and hope, but we are careful with our opinions—especially when we know they’re taken seriously. It’s nice to feel important or respected, but we indulge in it at our peril. When we allow our fellow members to believe that we no longer have needs, the result is that we have nowhere to go when we are in pain.

  No amount of cleantime can make us immune to our disease or exempt us from the challenges of life. Recovery is an every day, just for today process. A relationship with our Higher Power requires ongoing conscious contact, and ongoing growth requires that we remain teachable. “Keeping it green” means that we are still in process, still willing to change and grow and work on ourselves. We keep our recovery alive by feeding it. If we are not getting ongoing support and nourishment, we get depleted. It is our responsibility to find that support, even if it means we need to reach out across long distances.

  The simple fact is, if we stay clean, one day we will be the one with the most time in the room. It’s a gift, a responsibility, and a pitfall, all at once. Many members share that it’s easy to feel separate when there is a gap in cleantime. Sometimes being the member in the room with the most time feels as daunting as walking into our first ninety meetings. We may feel like the newer people don’t understand us, or that there is no one we can reach out to for help. When we are more aware of our responsibility than of our ability to get what we need, we feel isolated. A member shared that being viewed as an elder was uncomfortable: “I’m the one people come to with questions, and I don’t feel equal. It’s not about feeling ‘better than,’ but separate from.” We don’t always know when or how we will find ourselves in trouble, and we certainly don’t know who is going to get us out. We find people who have what we want, regardless of cleantime. It’s one of the most beautiful things about NA—someone always steps up to the plate. It’s often not whom we expect. We do not have the luxury of choosing who is allowed to save our lives.

  It is sometimes said that our emotional development stops when we start using, and that when we get clean, we pick up where we left off. It may or may not be that simple, but the fact is, most of us have some serious maturing to do in recovery, and we spend many years in the process. Most of us go through some time in our recovery when we are desperate for recognition and approval. Really basic questions become
important. Am I visible? Am I heard? Do I matter? It is neither selfless nor anonymous. It may even be destructive, but it’s frequently a part of our process.

  It can be appealing to get up on a pedestal. Actually, many people on pedestals don’t volunteer for it—and once we are up there, we may not know how to get down. When people treat us differently because of our cleantime or our service, it can get very lonely and very strange. The less we believe we deserve that attention, the more insecure we get—and the more approval we seek. When we are past that point in our lives, we can look back and see the humor in wanting to be a celebrity in an anonymous fellowship. But when we’re in that place, it can feel like the most important thing in the world. A member with a lot of time said: “When I was new, you loved me but you didn’t baby me. Don’t do it now. It’s condescending and it separates me from any other recovering addict.” It’s the separation that makes that position so dangerous.

  As willing as some of us are to put people up on pedestals, others of us are even more eager to knock them down. We can be mean and spiteful, judgmental and harsh. Kicking the pedestal doesn’t help anybody to change. A member shared, “Any time I’ve been crazy, when it all came crashing down, the people I came to weren’t the mean, judgmental ones, but the ones who had been honest and loving.” If we want to help someone down, waiting may be the best thing we can do. Time is more powerful than we are. We may or may not be the people to carry the message to a friend who forgets we’re all equal here. It may or may not be our job to confront someone. Pulling someone’s covers is an incredibly intimate experience. If we don’t pay attention to circumstances, what we do may simply be violent. Being humble and honest is a better approach than trying to be someone else’s conscience.

  The fact is that we do not have to live perfectly to carry a message. More importantly, we don’t get to choose who deserves to be a vehicle for something greater. We can carry a message even if we’re not quite living it, and some people might be helped by what we share. But inside, it is slowly destructive. When our expectations start to make our choices for us, we can become disillusioned, disconnected, and fearful of the very thing that saves our lives.

  Newer members expect oldtimers to be stable, grounded, and principled—and often we are. But there will always be times when we fall short. Once we lose the feeling that we are an ordinary “garden variety addict” like everyone else, it can be hard to regain it. We seek out others who have had that experience, and ask them how they handled it. We are addicts in recovery, doing our best to learn how to live. When we remember that, the rest falls into place.

  Consciousness can change through its surroundings, with no action needed. “At some point,” shared a member, “I had all the attention I could stand, and I started pushing the next guy up front.” This is our learning ground, and sometimes we make a mess in the process. It can be a wonderful aid in helping us get free of our need for approval. “I really, finally, don’t care what people think of me,” said an older member. Ultimately we see that when we are secure in ourselves, we carry a message without saying a word.

  Time is time, and in the end what it gets us is a seat in a meeting like everyone else. We come to enjoy our own anonymity, even if people still sometimes call us out as special. When we share from the heart, we generally don’t remember much about what we share. We disconnect from ego and something else happens: The truth comes through us, and it takes on a life of its own. We hear the gratitude after we speak and know it’s not about us. It’s the love that came through us that teaches us all something in the moment. The love that we feel in the room is more powerful than any words that are shared. When we glimpse what it is we are allowed to be a channel for, we are truly humbled.

  The best way to model recovery is to walk the walk, and show up honest and real. When we are sort of showing up and we’re sort of honest, we’re “sort of” in danger. We need to remember that our first job, always, is to allow our own lives to be saved. Sharing what is real for us is a benefit to our recovery and a responsibility to those who follow, even if it doesn’t make us look good. A member shared: “I remember the people who were here when I got here and how they bared their souls in meetings, and I follow suit. It’s a benefit to my recovery and a responsibility to those who follow.” We learn from each other’s experience. Sharing our journey with others is how we teach and learn at the same time. Honest sharing is always attractive, even when we are sharing some really unattractive stuff. When we are honest and open, it resonates with people. When we are humble, they feel it—and so do we.

  Keeping It Real

  We all need to reenergize ourselves sometimes—physically, emotionally, and spiritually. We separate these parts of ourselves so we can talk about them more easily, but really they are all connected. Just as we may be much more emotionally sensitive when we are physically tired, we find that when we are emotionally exhausted we’re prone to get physically sick. When we are spiritually exhausted we can feel deeply insecure. Some of us are at our best when we are moving and busy; others of us recharge when we’re alone and quiet. It may be as simple as sitting down for a brief meditation, or showing up at a meeting.

  Reaching out might be the best thing we can do for ourselves—and for those around us. Seeing the program work in another person’s life affirms our commitment and gives us hope. “At ten years clean I hit a wall,” said a member. “For me the turnaround was a group of newcomers whose passion and intensity woke me up. It was the same passion that kept me clean in the beginning.” We can recognize the change in others before we see it in ourselves.

  Some of us thrive on working with newcomers. We only keep what we have by giving it away, but we don’t know what we have until we start to give. In the moment, dealing with someone who is struggling or in pain, we find resources within us that we never knew about. When we see someone really get it and take off, it gives us a gratitude we never thought possible. We don’t get to choose who gets recovery. It’s not up to us to choose who to help. It can be hard sometimes to watch the spark land, flash, and go out—over and over again. When we show up and do our part, the message gets carried. “When I’m helping someone through the steps, I feel like an instrument of my Higher Power’s will,” a member said. “I’m not in charge. My responsibility is just to stay close.”

  The work we have done to build our fellowship means that a lot more experience, strength, and hope is available to newer people than “back in the day.” But the skills we develop helping an NA community get started may be different from those we need to maintain unity and stability once that community is established. We are liable to feel left out or left behind. The trouble with being called a “dinosaur” is that we know they are extinct. Staying involved helps us to grow and requires us to change.

  It may sound odd, but we are also responsible to let ourselves be outgrown. It can be a challenge when we’ve been sponsoring someone for a while to accept when they decide to move on. We take comfort in the thought that, if they are taking responsibility for their recovery, we did our job. As a fellowship, too, we can see our growth. Those of us who have been here since the very early days can see it in a particular way that is bitter and sweet. The fact that NA changes and the patterns and habits at the meeting are different can be an excuse to leave. It’s another reservation we couldn’t predict. When we stay involved with a living, growing, and changing fellowship, we don’t notice so much. But if we move or take a break, the changes can be startling.

  NA changes. People come and go. But we change, too. The time we have available, our relationships with others, the way we’re comfortable serving or participating—they all change naturally over the course of our lives. When the steps are an ongoing part of our lives, we are called on pretty regularly to examine our lives and see what is working and what can be improved. It’s natural that we will take a hard look sometimes at NA, too. We consider our fellowship, how we see ourselves in it, and our beliefs about it. It can be very uncomfortable
and frightening. When we give ourselves the space to examine our commitment, we can be honest about it—just like in any other relationship.

  When our beliefs and perceptions are changing, we can experience pain and confusion that leave us feeling isolated. We can be cut off from others, but also from ourselves and our Higher Power. Sharing with others at these moments is critical. It can be surprising how welcome that sharing is. When we are honest and real, we connect with people. When we have a lot of cleantime, we can get caught up in what we think we are supposed to share in meetings. When the message we carry is an honest reflection of our experience rather than what we imagine other people want to hear, the truth can set all of us free.

  There are many ways to think about our disease. Some say that addiction is a severe case of the human condition. We struggle with the same fears and insecurities that everyone else does, but we experience them to a degree that makes us willing to die to escape them. Other members say that addiction is a shame-based disease. At the core of our diseased thinking is the belief that something is wrong with us. When we are looking at the world, or at ourselves, through eyes of shame, everything we see is further evidence that we are wrong or bad, or that we cannot be restored to sanity. We describe our struggle differently as our relationship to it changes.