He stopped swimming upstream and dove into Step 3 to find a peace and purpose he never knew
The first time I got drunk I remember thinking that I was going to make feeling that way my No. 1 priority until the day I died. For the next 13 years I kept my word, minimally engaging in the real world while surrounding myself with people who liked to escape reality as much as I did.
On days when I didn’t alter the way I felt, I was miserable and angry. I was constantly obsessing about alcohol, feeling that drinking was the only way to deal with a life that seemed not only indifferent to my needs, but outright hostile.
As my disease progressed, I lost interest in my family, my passions and the beauty of the world. The mere mention of the word “God” while I was intoxicated would send me into an alcoholic rage, because I was convinced that others didn’t understand the futility of faith the way I did.
By the time I was 24, my list of accomplishments included two DUIs, two near-fatal car wrecks, an assault charge, a criminal mischief complaint and a trail of hurt and angry women who were unfortunate enough to cross paths with a narcissistic alcoholic who was entering the chronic stage of his disease.
At that time I was suicidal on the days I didn’t drink, knowing in the back of my mind that death by my own hand would indeed be my fate. The only question was how many years I would be able to enjoy a good drunk until the consequences became so unbearable that I finally gave up.
One morning in 1998, my brother called to check on me, rousing me from a fitful, alcoholic sleep saturated with hazy nightmares. For some reason the suffering of that morning was so intense that I begged him for help. “I’m going to die,” I whispered. Together with my parents they found a treatment center outside of Nashville, where I was living at the time, and my journey toward sobriety began.
I can still recall the day I arrived at the treatment center, especially seeing the Twelve Steps on the wall for the first time. I scanned them for their philosophical merit, quickly determining that I had made a huge mistake. I found a counselor nearby and informed him that I might have to find another place to go for treatment. A drinking problem was one thing, but the answer to that problem being belief in a Higher Power was quite another. The counselor nodded his head at me knowingly, assuring me that nobody was going to force religion down my throat.
“Have an open mind,” he said. “That’s all you need right now.” But despite the sad state of my life, a truly open mind was not available to me back then.
I managed to stay in the treatment center for 21 days, attending groups and listening to what the medical staff and Big Book had to say about the disease of alcoholism. The concept that I had an allergy to alcohol and drugs seemed intuitive to me, especially the phenomenon of craving. I knew that once I started, I couldn’t stop, regardless of my overvalued willpower and intelligence. That was as far as I got regarding the Twelve Steps—one half of Step One. I truly believed that would be enough.
After my stint in rehab, I didn’t drink alcohol for two years. I stayed abstinent, going to meetings, working a lot, and using women as my Higher Power. It would be dishonest to say that I was miserable every day during those two years, but I was miserable most of the time. Finally, I couldn’t take the emotional or spiritual strain anymore. I woke up one Saturday morning and walked to a bar near my home, coolly telling the bartender to pour me a draft beer. I had to drink.
After five months of hellish drinking and drug use, two friends I’d made in AA took pity on me, pulling me out of my filthy apartment and taking me back to the treatment center. Tortured by anxiety, existential angst and racing thoughts, I wandered the grounds like a zombie for two days, until I finally decided to try something that I had always refused to do. I went back to my room, closed the door, knelt beside my bed, clasped my hands in prayer and surrendered.
It’s always been difficult to express what happened to me that day, but I haven’t taken a drink or contemplated suicide since I experienced the power of Step Three. Nor have I ever questioned the existence of a Divine Power that cares for and loves me the way a good father and mother cares for their children. It also became crystal clear to me that it was no longer my job to try to make myself happy.
From that day forward, I’ve tried to help other people, practice spiritual principles and stop trying to control the uncontrollable. If I follow those directions, God will take care of the happiness. And that’s the way it’s been ever since.
My last drink was October 3, 2000. I became spiritually and emotionally sober five days later when I placed myself unreservedly under the care of the God of my understanding. For the last 20-something years, not playing God has been the keystone to my physical and emotional sobriety. As the Big Book promises, when I’m established on such footing, I’m less interested in myself and more interested in what I can contribute to life. I enjoy peace of mind; I can face life successfully; I’m conscious of his presence; and I lose my fear of today, tomorrow and the hereafter.
Over the years I have witnessed the collapse of the Twin Towers, the premature death of my father, my wife’s battle with ovarian cancer, the death of many friends from addiction and the pandemic. Each of these challenging events have driven me back to the safety and hope of Step Three. I can lean into Step Three on a daily basis if I so choose. For me, it’s the challenge of day-to-day living that has always been most difficult.
Every year, when my wife and I take our annual vacation to a gorgeous beach of our choosing, I swim out as far as I can into the salty ocean, close my eyes and reaffirm my commitment to Step Three with these words:
“God, I offer myself to thee—to build with me and to do with me as thou wilt. Relieve me of the bondage of self, that I may better do thy will. Take away my difficulties, that victory over them may bear witness to those I would help of thy power, thy love, and thy way of life. May I do thy will always!”