Twenty-Three
Twenty-three.
Then, twenty-three years old.
Now, twenty-three years sober.
One of the last photos before getting sober. So young and so clueless as to the many blessings that lay ahead.
But for the grace of God.
I was twenty-three years old.
A child really.
Scared of everything and everyone. Uncomfortable in my own skin and wishing I was anyone else.
On the outside, I thought I looked fine, but inside, I was utterly without hope.
I went to see a psychiatrist to see if he could tell me what was wrong with me and in his wisdom he asked about my drinking.
What???
Why would you ask that?
Were you not listening to what I just said about so and so?
Sheesh.
But his question lingered in my head.
A short while later, while at home flipping through photo albums, I realized so many of my decisions had been based around alcohol. Like…who would be there? Did they like to drink? Would it be easy to get alcohol? Would those there drink like real drinkers or light weights?
And I started to realize that I had missed out on quite a bit and that alcohol was influencing the majority of my decisions (see Telluride).
Ouch.
I remember looking at a picture of myself with my three besties from college and I started to cry as I saw clearly how alcohol had controlled so much.
So when I went back to the psychiatrist, I asked him, “What do people that don’t drink do?”
Honest question.
I seriously had no idea.
I thought they sat at home alone bored, sitting in the dark, watching Shark Week (true story).
He asked me if I was willing to go to an AA meeting.
Ha!
I audibly scoffed at him and asked him if he knew who the f I was (which was noone btw, in case you needed clarification).
I’m young. I’m a girl. I went to college. I have all my teeth.
Given those criteria, there was no way, in my mind, I could be an alcoholic.
Nevermind that I had called the AA hotline several years before in the middle of the night on one of my most embarrassing of evenings.
But that’s beside the point.
I have a job. I have friends. I have a place to live and a car.
How could I possible be an alcoholic?
Seeing my resistance (and seeing straight through me) he asked if I’d be willing to go to a meeting, you know, to take notes on how other people didn’t drink and see if maybe I could pick up some of their tricks.
Ahhhh. Now that I could do. I was always looking for some good pointers for not making a complete fool of myself and how to drink less.
One beer. One water. One beer. One Water.
Eat before going out so that my stomach is full.
Liquor before beer, you’re in the clear…
Yes…tips! I liked that idea and these people were clearly professional drinkers, so they had to have some good ones.
I had no clue what I was walking into when I went to my first meeting on July 12, 2001.
I asked a well-dressed woman outside the church if she knew anything about where the AA meeting was. Clearly she worked at the church or had been at a women’s prayer meeting or something since she was so put together and would just point this embarrassed girl in the right direction and be on her way.
Nope.
She smiled so warmly and then led me downstairs to the meeting…and then sat next to me.
I was horrified.
How could she be an alcoholic???
I sat there in the meeting trying to hide. If I could have pulled my whole body into my overalls and rested my hat on top of that ball, I would have.
I wanted to be anywhere else, but yet, I was mesmerized.
In that church basement were guys AND girls of all ages and backgrounds and most people had all their teeth, but not all (I don’t know why this was a thing for me, but it was).
In the Big Book it says we are “people who normally would not mix” and they are not wrong.
But despite all of the differences I saw, the people who spoke were sharing my story. People I had never met seemed to know more about how I felt inside than people I had known my whole life.
I had never felt more at home or that I had found my people.
They got it and there was no shame or embarrassment in their voices.
They spoke from the heart and they spoke of hope.
Despite hearing my story told aloud from several people that night, I wasn’t ready to admit anything. I mean, it was good for them and all, but I was different.
On July 25th, two weeks later, I met a friend at He’s Not Here, an outdoor beer garden in Chapel Hill, NC. I convinced myself I could go and just have a Diet Coke and then come home.
Welp, I was wrong.
I was proud of myself for not ordering a Blue Cup (that’s the big cup for those that haven’t been), but for some reason I ordered a small one.
Sidenote, I have no idea how I remembered 23 years later that it was called a Blue Cup, but there you have it. Crazy, right? One of those, “In case you forget you’re an alcoholic, remember this moment,” kind of thing. Okay, back to that night…
Why did I buy a beer? That wasn’t my plan! What was I doing? I knew it wasn’t the right decision, but yet, I found myself ordering one anyways. I couldn’t not buy one.
And then I ordered a second one.
What was going on? Why was I doing this?
My friend called it an early night and I was bummed. I didn’t want to go home, but I didn’t have anyone to drink with, so I left.
Walking to my car, I had my moment of clarity.
I didn’t even want to drink that night and now I didn’t want to stop. Was this the powerlessness people in the meetings talked about?
I realized that despite my good intentions, when it came to alcohol, I was powerless.
Once I have a sip, I immediately want more.
It’s that simple.
Something happens. A switch goes off and then it’s anyone’s guess as to whether it will be two small cups or lots of Blue Cups.
Fortunately, my last drink was not a bender and nothing bad or embarrassing happened, but everything changed for me that night.
I found my way to a meeting the next day and admitted I was powerless over alcohol and my life I had become unmanageable. God removed from me the obsession to drink and put a community around me that got me through those hardest first few months.
It’s been 23 years since that last drink and I am forever grateful for the men and women who were in the rooms when I came in and welcomed me with open arms. I was a mess and yet they loved me, or at least tolerated me. Despite making many mistakes, they showed me how to take an inventory o fmy part and make amends, seek God, and live a sober life one day at a time. My first sponsor, most importantly, explained and demonstrated how I could have a personal relationship with God, something I never really didn’t know anything about.
It is hard to comprehend that I have been sober half of my life and that because of the decision I made at 23, I have the life and the family I have today.
I wish I could go back and tell that young girl that life was going to be okay. Not to worry. It wasn’t going to be easy and it was going to take a lot of work and trust, but that it was worth it. That she was worth it. And that the reward laying ahead was worth it.
I never think of that young girl as having any strength or courage, but writing this now, I see that she was incredibly brave and had no idea of the strength within her just waiting to be let out. That girl that was so scared did the bravest thing and put away her security blanket and faced her demons head on. It wasn’t easy or fun, but man, what beauty it led to. Thank you 23 year old Cathleen for being willing to go to therapy, go to a meeting, meet new people, trust the process, not quit when it got hard, and for putting one foot in front of the other especially when you didn’t want to. Your older self thanks you, from the bottom of my heart. Thank you. You have no idea the gift you gave. And I’m pretty sure my husband and four kiddos would thank you too.
