Taking a Break from Meetings
Embracing the ebb and flow in long term sobriety
As of late, I have been a fairly poor member of my very supportive and wonderful sobriety communities.
In any event, my attendance at a meeting that I once attended almost daily has really, really, really slowed down.
Here’s a story that you’ll hear if you attend AA for any length of time : I got busy, stopped going to meetings, and relapsed. Usually this story accompanies the fact that this relapse was worse, that whatever “yet’s” had not happened to this person, they did — they lost their family. They lost their home. They lost their car, their health, their everything.
This is a cautionary tale to stay “in the middle of the pack,” as they advise.
It is a bit of a fear-based tactic, and I don’t particularly care for that.
There is another phrase in AA: AA will give you a life that takes you away from AA.
AA giving me a life away from AA has most certainly been true for me.
In early sobriety, I found my husband. He and I fell madly in love and blended our families — my three sons, his four children (3 boys and 1 girl), and so the madness began. We decided if the children liked each other, we would get married.
The children adored each other — and so we got married.
The children were easy enough to manage, but we have had our struggles with the adults.
I was out of my routines. But we were madly in love.
I’ll just skip the 3pm today, I’d say, staring doe-eyed at my husband. We were so, so, so in love.
Before my husband and I met, I listened to a few meetings a day while I went about my day. I popped my earbuds in while I was at the grocery store, while I washed the dishes, while I swept when I had the boys in front of the TV eating waffles.
But then: I no longer went to a noon meeting and a 3pm. My boys started elementary school rather than daycare, and their time out of the house was significantly shortened. There were four more children living in my house, and while all the same things needed to be done — laundry, dishes, sweeping, mopping, grocery shopping, book reading, bathing — the addition of 4 did change my rigid routines.
My heart is infinite, I said to my boys. But my time is finite. And so the time I had available for meetings lessened. Or, rather, the time I was willing to commit to the meetings lessened — I had more exciting things I wanted to do.
And there has been a shitstorm (much of which I have written about, almost all of which is entirely out of control, including but not limited to other people’s behavior, the weather (snow days), and endless and ongoing sickness, and judgments from literal judges).
Also, we decided to have a baby, which has been one of the best decisions we have ever made.
Each of the children adore the baby. They each have a particular a way of greeting her — “Whatreyoudoing,” the eldest says, grinning at her. She smiles wide-mouthed, her four teeth exposed, giggling. “You want to play with Sissy,” the only girl asks. “Who’s a good baby,” my oldest boy says, talking to her almost like she’s a dog (and she adores it).
But, still: these things have kept me from my meetings.
My first and most sacred obligation is to protect my children.
In the early days of my sobriety, I envisioned myself a fox with my sons. I wrapped my tail around them and we hid in our foxhole. I bared my teeth and growled at any threats, real or imagined. I growled when I heard footprints nearby. I growled when my little foxes stuck their heads out of the hole and tried to venture off. I growled when the wind blew. I growled.
And then. Safety in this new marriage. But, also terror: my fox tail wasn’t long enough to wrap around everyone.
That was the fear in the early days: is this just too many kids?
Perhaps I am not equipped for this number of children, I worried.
But then I find two of the boys — my 8-year-old stepson, and my oldest (by 25 minutes) 7-year-old twin
“You’re the best mom ever,” my son Cooper says. “And I also love you because you married him so I could have a best friend,” he says, referring to his stepbrother.
Are there just too many of them, I fret, carrying a laundry basket into our room. I turn into the boys’ room, though, and both Austin and Cooper are wearing astronaut costumes.
“Welcome to Mars!” Austin shouts. And Cooper follows right behind.
My husband made this for our family.
It is 100% AA, lifted directly from the Big Book (it is the 10th step reflection), but it’s also a lot of Mr. Rogers and some lead-with-love Christian values that my husband may draw from his Christian background.
When I return to my meeting (as in, when I put my earbuds back in and settle into our bedroom with a pile of laundry to be folded on the bed), I feel as though I am a beginner again.
What do I have to share with these people, I wonder.
But I listen. Someone got in a fender bender. Someone’s boss is being a prick. Someone’s dogs are sick, someone’s stepson is going through a divorce, someone’s brother is dying from this disease.
And here we are. All marching together in sobriety.
I am generally happier when I come to these meetings, I say. Which is true.
Some days I am not able to pop my earbuds in. There are dentist and doctor and hair and eye appointments. It is a busy life.
I lead with security in this sobriety — with gratitude. I don’t care to exist in a fear-based way that missing a few weeks — or even months, for that matter — of meetings will lead me back to a drink. I am cautiously aware that to walk in my integrity, I should ask the questions that we printed on that canvas. Some days I don’t. Some days it’s too busy.
I think it is a huge mistake in recovery culture to lead with fear-mongering about relapse (although I feel good about a little bit of healthy fear).
I am learning to have compassion for myself, whatever happens.
But I am generally happier on the days that I do reflect on those questions, or attend a meeting, and on the days that I do ask the universe, what would you have me do today?
And it’s even better on the days when I actually let go and listen.
I would love to hear from you: How do you embrace the ebb and flow in sobriety (or in life)?
Do you function better when operating in community?
How has sobriety given you a life that has taken your focus away from sobriety, and how do you feel about that?
I have to admit that the advent of zoom meetings during Covid got me going way more than I ever had —at least since my first five or so years. It got me going every day(because it makes it so easy—I can be lazy about getting out of the house to go. But I humbly acknowledge my life and my recovery is entirely different going to A LOT of meetings. The beautiful paradox most outsiders don’t get is after getting over the initial hump of getting sober, we go to be there for others—yet by being there in totally being helped myself and never stop growing.
I don’t believe in fear-mongering either. I do know though that my relapse at 15 years started with losing connection. I enjoy my meetings with other recovering women and they are an important part of my recovery (I also found a program I align more with) but connection comes in many forms- not just in attending a meeting. I covet and foster my connections.