50 After 50

by Maria Leonard Olsen

  One of my character defects had been the inclination to do the opposite of what a given person wanted me to do, if I felt he or she were trying to control me. This was often to my detriment. I berated myself for all the things I should or should not have done in my past. But I have learned to stop “shoulding” all over myself. I look for the lesson and focus on the precious present.

  Getting kicked out turned out to be somewhat of a blessing. I moved on to rehab number four, which led me to much self-discovery and healing. I spent most of my time there uncovering and examining the root causes for my sick behavior. The counselors there were excellent, and they treated a panoply of issues. I stopped fighting so hard.

  Rehab number five was my finishing school. It was a transitional program for women. It provided periods of freedom in which we could put the tools we learned there to work. I had no car, but learned to love bike riding again. I got myself to recovery meetings “off-campus.” I learned self-regulation, using cognitive behavioral therapy.

  I also learned during my stay at number five that I was no longer welcome at my house and that my husband of almost 25 years wanted a divorce. I was stunned. I thought he would take me back after I returned to sane behavior. But the irreparable damage had been done, and he needed to protect his heart.

  My alcoholism and reckless behavior was linked inextricably to my PTSD, my feeling of being less-than, my inability to deal with life on life’s terms. It was a form of flight. It crept into my affairs like ivy, slowly invading every aspect. I am convinced, as were some of my rehab therapists, that I would be dead now if I had not gotten help.

  I came to rehab and the 12-step rooms to quit drinking, but the Twelve Steps I learned there ended up changing my life. They provided a road map I’d always yearned for, a guide for living.2 They were crafted carefully in a specific order and have saved many people from dying from this disease of alcoholism or other addictions:

  Step One: We admitted that we were powerless over alcohol and that our lives had become unmanageable.

  Step Two: Came to believe that a Power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity.

  Step Three: Made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of God as we understood Him.

  Step Four: Made a searching and fearless moral inventory of ourselves.

  Step Five: Admitted to God, to ourselves, and to another human being the exact nature of our wrongs.

  Step Six: Were entirely ready to have God remove all these defects of character.

  Step Seven: Humbly asked Him to remove our shortcomings.

  Step Eight: Made a list of all persons we had harmed, and became willing to make amends to them all.

  Step Nine: Made direct amends to such people whenever possible, except when to do so would injure them or others.

  Step Ten: Continued to take personal inventory and when we were wrong promptly admitted it.

  Step Eleven: Sought through prayer and meditation to improve our conscious contact with God as we understood Him, praying only for knowledge of His will for us and the power to carry that out.

  Step Twelve: Having had a spiritual awakening as the result of these steps, we tried to carry this message to alcoholics, and to practice these principles in all our affairs.3

  The Steps are brilliantly designed to appeal to agnostics, atheists, and those of any religious beliefs. While the word God is used in the Steps, the literature makes clear that what is being referred to is an individual’s Higher Power, whom many choose to call God. Some people I know choose to call the power they find in the fellowship to be their Higher Power. No one in the program must believe in God, though most come to believe in something bigger than themselves. The only requirement for membership in the 12-step recovery program is a desire to stop drinking.4

  The 12-step program is rich with pithy slogans that seemed silly at first, but have saved many an alcoholic, including me, as they became ingrained in one’s psyche. Slogans I see in almost every recovery meeting room include: “Think, think, think,” “Easy Does It,” “One Day at a Time,” “First Things First,” “Let go and let God,” and “But for the Grace of God.” The sayings were easy to dismiss as platitudes until I surrendered and allowed them to start working in my life. Among the many gems I learned from showing up, day after day, in the rooms:

  *Acceptance is the answer to all of my problems. Acceptance is not tantamount to resignation. It is saying “yes” to what is. As the most resonant part of the “Big Book” in my 12-step recovery program says:

  acceptance is the answer to all my problems today. When I am disturbed, it is because I find some person, place, thing, or situation—some fact of my life—unacceptable to me, and I can find no serenity until I accept that person, place or thing, or situation as being exactly the way it is supposed to be at this moment. Nothing, absolutely nothing, happens in God’s world by mistake. Until I could accept my alcoholism, I could not stay sober; unless I accept life completely on life’s terms, I cannot be happy. I need to concentrate not so much on what needs to be changed in the world as on what needs to be changed in me and my attitudes.5

  We thereby adopt a central tenet of Buddhism: We must either accept the truth or suffer.

  Sometimes I find myself saying the Serenity Prayer6 ten times a day. Freedom from fear is more important than freedom from want. I had spent many hours in my former life worrying about things that seem insignificant now, and certainly outside of my control. Now, I have an effective check on that practice. I ask myself, can I control this? If the answer is no, I accept it. Worrying deprives me of the joy of living in the present. I have learned to Let Go and Let God, aka, Let Go or Be Dragged. Life has improved tremendously for me since I began trying to wear life like a loose garment.

  There are many things over which we have no control. But there are a great many that we can control. The most life-altering for me is controlling my attitude. I used to be greatly affected, for example, by how others felt about me and behaved toward me. If someone says something bitter or mean-spirited to me, I now can pause and not allow it to affect me negatively. I can respond with compassion or disinterest, or not at all. I do not have to react. No one can make me feel a certain way. I, alone, can choose my feelings and response.

  Traffic and poor drivers impeding my way used to irritate me a great deal. I choose now, however, not to let such potential irritants anger me. I choose instead to focus on my breathing, make a mental gratitude list (remembering, for instance, that I am fortunate enough to have a car and the ability to drive it) or listen to a book on tape. I subscribe to audible.com and always have books available in the queue. I have CDs in my car of recovery speakers I admire, that help keep me on the beam and pass the time on long drives. I protect my serenity as much as possible. It took me five decades to find it.

  Anger is a luxury not afforded to alcoholics. The deleterious effects of anger are illuminated in the Dalai Lama’s writings.7 Anger destroys our peace of mind. It can cause ulcers and high blood pressure. It makes us ugly inside and out, as our facial and other muscles tense. Our feelings of anger do nothing to the object of our negative sentiment. The Buddha says that “holding onto anger is like drinking poison and expecting the other person to die.” In a similar vein, my anger used to spur me to drink at my problems or the person I perceived to be causing me problems. How crazy is that logic?

  Similar effects can occur from worry. “Who of you by worrying can add a single hour to his life span?” is a biblical admonition that is especially important to me at this stage in my life, when there are more years behind me than in front of me.8 So when I feel worry bubbling up, I first ask myself if I can control anything about which I am anxious. If not, I need to let go of it, because it will help no one, and will affect the quality of my present life negatively. For example, even though I would like to keep my children in a protective bubble, I cannot. I must have
faith that now, as adults, they will make the right choices. They must live their own lives and make their own mistakes. I am learning to accept that I can no longer helicopter-parent them.

  Sometimes, for a particularly vexing issue, I go through the act of writing it down and putting it in something I call my God Box. The act of physically putting something away for God to handle underscores how the problem is out of my control. It is, for me, a symbolic surrender, a laying down of my sword.

  *Bless them; change me. When I am pointing my finger at someone, there are four other fingers pointing back at me. In recovery, I have learned to pray for difficult people.

  I now pray for the people who have hurt me deeply, taken advantage of me, or betrayed me. It does not mean I have to keep company with them, of course. It helps alleviate any negative feelings I have toward them by picturing them as hurt children, or adults continuing to carry childhood scars. We never fully know what is going on in another person’s life and what challenge or sadness they face. So I choose to practice compassion for myself and for others by not reacting to the behavior of others, but rather responding with love.

  We learn in recovery that it is important to clean up our side of the street. We must acknowledge our part in any issues and make amends for our mistakes, in order to heal from our “dis-ease.” Now I can also see more clearly the role I played in any perceived wrongs done unto me and quickly do what I can to fix whatever problem to which I have contributed.

  I can live my amends to my children by staying sober and doing the next right thing. I cannot change the past, but I can write a new ending. I can look for the lessons in what happened. As the poet Rumi says, “the wound is the place where the light enters you.”9

  I went to my father’s and grandfather’s graves at Arlington National Cemetery to apologize to them. My loud sobbing startled some tourists who had come to pay their respects to other veterans. But saying I was sorry to both of these men was cathartic for me.

  I attempted to make amends to all I had harmed in the past. With one exception, they appreciated my gestures and apologies. The one former friend who declined my invitation to meet with me to receive my amends is no longer in my life. But I am able to let any sorrow involving her go now.

  *Pleasure and happiness are not the same thing. Pleasure is fleeting. Happiness or serenity is of longer duration. It sometimes is the ability to live peacefully with the inevitable discomfort that comes our way. It is a feeling of contentment and the knowledge that everything is as it should be. It is not yearning for things one does not have, but relishing what one does have.

  I chased pleasure in my youth. I fed off of thrills.

  What I seek now is a sense of calm well-being. I get that most readily via meditation, especially coupled with being near water.

  I have learned how to have fun without alcohol. I thought, when I became sober, that life without the social lubricant of alcohol could not possibly be as fun. But it is. In fact, it is better.

  Part of recovery involves fellowship. I have made deep friendships in my recovery groups and we frequently socialize. There are sober softball leagues. One of my rehabs has offices in several cities and organizes outings to sports events, concerts, and other fun opportunities. My recovery club sponsors parties, cookouts, dances, dinners, and open mic nights. And we each can remember the next day what happened at these events.

  *When the student is ready, the teacher will come. The amount of denial most alcoholics and addicts like me practiced is astounding. The acronym “DENIAL” reminds me that, as a drunk, I “Don’t Even Notice I Am Lying.” For many of us, the pattern of lying or denial during active alcoholism became so ingrained that we even lied for no reason at times. Recovery reveals to us such patterns. We become aware and then ready to change.

  No one in the recovery rooms cares what your profession is or how much or little wealth you may have. I have heard people there say, “We don’t care if you came from Yale or jail; if you want sobriety, you are welcome.” No one comes to the rooms because their lives are going swimmingly well. We are all just “bozos on the bus.” We surrendered to the program and will of our Higher Power because we had hit our own personal bottoms. We were sick and tired of being sick and tired. We know that continuing on the addictive path we were on would lead to death, jail, or institutions. We became ready for a better way of living.

  I have learned great wisdom from homeless sober fellows, as well as from learned doctors in the recovery rooms. I used to surround myself with beautiful, financially successful people. Now I surround myself with people who help me be the best version of myself that I can be. There is something for me to learn from all of those trudging the road to happy destiny. There is something for me to learn from pain and difficult people. The famous poet Rumi10 says that each guest in our lives is sent to teach us something, and that we can learn if we greet such opportunities with an open heart.

  *The opposite of addiction is connection. We alcoholics cannot recover by ourselves. It is nothing short of a miracle that so many have gained relief from the disease of alcoholism and other addictions by being in rooms with fellow sufferers. There is power in the “We.”

  Those in the program who do not believe in God sometimes made their recovery group their “Higher Power.” Human community most certainly can act as a protective wall. I personally believe that the recovery group is one manifestation of my Higher Power, whom I choose to call God, and that these worldwide recovery programs wisely chose to appeal to all people, including those who do not believe in God.

  Some of my nonalcoholic friends have said, “You are cured now, so you can have a drink with us.” They do not understand that recovery is a lifelong process. I have met many alcoholics with decades of sobriety who relapse when they let their guard down and become complacent with their program. We addicts must remain vigilant because the disease is a cunning foe. Our culture is infused with alcohol references. Happy hours abound. “Let’s meet for drinks” is a common refrain. Jokes about wine making things better emblazon cards, plaques, towels, and signs. Drinking is the norm in American culture.

  We call those who can control their drinking “normies.” We marvel that normies can walk away from a drink without finishing it. If I start drinking again, I am likely to take a bottle from behind the bar and gulp it down in a bathroom stall. Or worse.

  I plan to go to recovery meetings for the rest of my life. Meetings keep me centered, aware, and safe from my disease. I instantly connect with people in the meetings and feel welcome in any room I visit. And part of giving back is being there for other alcoholics.

  Twelve-step meetings exist in most countries and all over the United States. They are online and available by phone. The program and meetings are not secret, but are not publicized. They often take place in churches. I chose a regular home group based on the meetings in which I found I could relate more closely to the attendants. Women’s meetings remain my favorite.

  Women in the program said to me, “We will love you until you can love yourself.” I believed it. That feeling propelled me forward. When I went through my painful divorce, the words of my sponsor were at the forefront of my mind: “You will be protected.” And I was, by these wonderful sobriety sisters.

  We celebrate each other’s successes and share our pain. Pain shared is halved. Joy shared is doubled. In fact, I initially was shocked and even annoyed by all the laughter I heard in the rooms. “How can these people be laughing when I am so miserable?” I wondered. Now I understand and can find the humor in life—even in the tough parts of it.

  Sometimes, “If I don’t throw it up, I’ll drink it down” (i.e., if I do not share something weighing on me, I am one step closer to relapsing on alcohol). I scrutinize every decision to evaluate whether it brings me closer to or further from recovery. We take care not to isolate and watch to ensure none of our sobriety sisters is so doing.

  *We ar
e responsible for our own happiness. We will experience the consequences of our own self-love or self-hate. I believe more now in the power of attraction and manifesting our own abundance.

  There are so many pearls of wisdom to be gleaned from those in sobriety, and I continue to learn something new every day. I had to change so much about myself. I have to stay away from the people, places, and things that are triggers to me. “Don’t go into a ‘barbershop’ unless you want a ‘haircut,’” my recovery sponsor warned.

  The winds of life continue to affect me, but now I have tools to deal with them without seeking temporary refuge in the bottle. I learned that I did not have a drinking problem; I had a living problem.

  No one can make me happy or sad. I choose my own responses to life. I experience my emotions and no longer stuff them away. If I am upset, I allow the emotion to wash over me like a wave. Then I let it go. I take solace in the belief that if I do not experience the depths, I cannot experience the heights.

  It is important to acknowledge that change can be scary for those around you. Sobriety demands that we alcoholics change a great deal about ourselves. If we return to the conditions that led us to drink, we are likely to continue to imbibe. We are embarking in recovery on a new way of living.

  My atheist sister-in-law felt threatened when her husband got into 12-step recovery because it felt cultish and full of God-talk. My heavy drinker friends did not like the mirror of sobriety held up to them. My ex-husband felt resentful of all of the time I was spending with my sponsor in my early days of sobriety. Some relationships died natural deaths after I chose a new path for myself. The instant kinship I felt with fellow people in recovery was more comfortable for me than my previously exciting, whirling social life. My previous world shattered as I became more fully whole.