When hope was replaced by faith, the program really began to work for her
Today, I am a grateful recovering alcoholic. I am grateful for reaching what I could only describe as a state of hopelessness and desperation.
Craving to fill the void in me, I used to hold onto anything and everything that helped me forget the pains of existence, even if just temporarily. When I realized and admitted that no amount of liquor could fill the aching hole in my heart, I had hit my rock bottom. That living hell kickstarted my lifelong journey of recovery. While the hefty emotional labor was difficult to begin with, it has brought me immaterial dividends, allowing me to appreciate life. Today, I firmly believe in the axiom “nothing changes if nothing changes.”
Hope, as a noun, means desire accompanied by expectation of or belief in fulfilment, according to Merriam-Webster. Hope, when used in relation to the past, often entails a reality and situation that we refuse to accept. To hold onto desire and expectation about the past inevitably implies I am longing for things to be better than the way they currently are. While intellectually I know there is no going back in time, I can still be fixated on how things could have been different. For an alcoholic like me, the could’ve, would’ve, and should’ve can drive my brain in endless circles.
When I was drinking, I resented the past and avoided the present. My lack of awareness and appreciation for the present meant that my reasons for living were always seated in the future. The present only served as a miserable means to get to the future. I believed that if I reached the next destination, I would feel better — that was my hope. Despite my seeming successes, the harrowing realization that I still felt empty and unlovable would seep through, and lead me to conclude that my efforts were futile. While hope in the future was limited, I held tightly onto that as my reason to live because I saw no better reason. Today, I call that unfounded hope a delusion.
I went to therapy with the hope that I could resume my way of life once my therapist helped patch my life together. I believed that life was my problem and alcohol was my solution; getting drunk was the only tangible escape I saw. In reality, alcohol was a problem indicative of my inability to face and accept reality. My colleagues told me repeatedly that I had a problem, that I need help. They experienced first-hand the destructions I caused when my life was spiralling out of control. Egoistic as I was, I had wilfully chosen to selectively listen and purposefully forget what others told me, until reality smacked me in the head.
Finally, life became utterly unmanageable. I was overcome by a wave of powerlessness, and I had relinquished all hope. With bottles and pills at my disposal, I was ready to end my life. I woke up at the local hospital the next morning with no recollection of how I got there, though the psychiatrist told me I checked myself in. Conceding my powerlessness over alcohol, I knew I took step 1.
I still recall my therapist asking me, afterwards: “What are your reasons for living?” My mind was blank. I couldn’t come up with anything. I stayed silent. Tears came streaming down my face, and I hugged my knees tightly. “How about hope that you would feel better?” he asked. I frowned, because I saw no hope at all. I wanted to believe in hope, but I knew my hopes were never actualized. I wanted to feel better, but I was afraid that hope would lead to further disappointments. I wanted to stop the pain I felt, but my past attempts had failed me. I didn’t know that my own will was insufficient in getting me sober.
Would I ever feel better? I didn’t know how. I didn’t know when. I didn’t know who would be on my side. I certainly didn’t know if I would ever feel better. However, I was willing to entertain the possibility that maybe I would feel better, somehow, some time in the future. Maybe, just maybe.
In AA, I find myself accompanied by many others who experienced the same depths of despair. At first, I was taken aback by your joy and ease. I could not fathom how you are able to enjoy life; I thought your happiness was a façade. Day after day, I would return to find you unfazed by the ebbs and flows of existence. You would share the difficulties in your lives with faith that everything would turn out okay. Those same situations, I thought, would surely drive me back to the bottle. You would tell of how you climbed out of your misery using the 12 Steps as your ladder, and how it could work for me too.
While I was not hopeful your way would work for me, I did not foreclose the possibility that it could. At the time, my life had already fallen apart. Really, what had I got to lose? There was nothing left in my life. I had to be truthful with myself—I didn’t know how to climb out of that dark abyss. To get myself out of the hole I dug, I was willing to try anything. My alcoholic and compulsive mind had taken over me, and I needed help — any help. I stopped comparing reality with my ideals. Not holding onto any desires and expectations allowed me to accept my life for what it was. My lack of hope allowed me to embrace all of life’s possibilities.
You told me my alcoholism was rooted in my inability to cope with life, that I had to free myself of the emotions that held me hostage by working the Steps. What followed was months of crying, developing self-awareness, and experiencing the depth and intensity of my emotions. My inventory helped me understand that my dissatisfactions and resentments against the world and myself had festered long before I became an alcoholic. Embracing what I was most fearful of — my emotions — was the start to cultivating healthy, meaningful relationships with myself, my Higher Power, and my fellows. Practicing the Steps opened the path to building a life I want to live.
Today, I am no longer hoping for life to become any better. I can be present and embrace reality with my open arms, without trying to will it my way. I have learned that my self-will only leads me to unfulfilled desires. My Higher Power has given me the tools to cope. I just need to be willing to tap into that power by practicing all of AA’s principles and using those tools in my daily life.
Instead of hoping for a good life, I have faith. I trust and rely on these simple steps to protect me from our subtle foe.