My Big Share

I was asked to speak at the 19-year celebration for Cathy.  Here’s the talk that I shared:

Intro

Hi, I’m John, and I’m an alcoholic.  Is Dave D. here tonight?  He’s my sponsor’s sponsor, and he always likes to offer the refrain, “Yes, you are!” when I introduce myself.  But anyway, I’m here to talk about the party I went to 45 years ago, and I’m just now getting home.

So, I’m not here with decades of sobriety behind me—just 7 months. But those 7 months have already taught me more than I learned in years of drinking.  And AA isn’t exactly new to me.

For me, coming back to AA wasn’t some heroic leap or hard decision. It wasn’t dramatic.

It was simple: I knew I couldn’t keep living the way I was, and I didn’t want to. I came back because it was the only thing that made sense.  I had been wanting to come back to AA.  I just needed a little push in the right direction.

This time, it was at my wife’s suggestion. So, I did a quick Google search for “AA meetings near me” and then showed up for the “Messengers Meeting” on Saturday morning at Norbeck Church. My drinking wasn’t sustainable, healthy, or safe, and deep down inside, I knew she was right. I didn’t come back because I felt strong. I came back because I felt weak, and I knew AA could do for me what I couldn’t do alone.

And I really was alone…  I’m not talking about being physically alone. I live with my wife, and our kids are in their 30s; they also live near us.  THEY have kids that Nina and I look after a couple of days a week.  My house is rarely quiet and empty.

No, I was alone in my own head.  I was alone when I slipped out to the garage to pull a slug from a bottle that I hid under the stairs.  I felt a deep sense of dread and fear when I ran downstairs, my heart pounding, to get something I “needed” in the kitchen.  What I wanted was a belt from the bottle hidden behind the fiberglass in one of the unfinished walls.  Alone and afraid.

No, I wasn’t afraid of the mess in the basement. What I was really afraid of was getting caught. Caught with that bottle in my mouth, caught with a pungent smell on my breath. So, I always had a chaser of kombucha or kefir, which seemed to hide the smell. Even with those tricks, the cover was slipping. And that’s when I started to see what alcohol had truly become for me.

The Mask of Alcohol

I think that’s one of the common threads in this room. People have shared that their personality changes when they drink. That’s their tell. It’s the red flag that people notice immediately and recognize when someone has been drinking.

I didn’t have that. I had that figured out, too. I got around it by just drinking all the time! There was no transformation, just a constant state of altered perception. They saw me through my glass.  (Pause)

And that glass functioned like a lens. A lens that shaped how others saw me, and it shaped how I saw the world. But since it was always there, no one noticed it. They thought that was just me.  It just became the norm.

So, for me, there was no obvious switch that flipped when I drank. The line between sober and drunk wasn’t just blurred—it had been painted over so many times, I stopped knowing where it was. I played the part of the dutiful spouse, the involved grandparent, the reliable neighbor, all the while keeping up the act that everything was fine. Maybe that’s the thing about addiction: it’s a performance, and you start to believe your own script. The mask doesn’t just fool others—it fools you, too.

It’s a strange kind of exhaustion, living that double life. Always anticipating, always covering your tracks, always editing yourself. Every conversation filtered through the fog, every plan and promise quietly measured against the need for another drink. I’d convince myself I was managing it, but I wasn’t living. I was strategizing… Surviving…

And when I look back, I realize that alcohol wasn’t just numbing the pain or the fear—it was numbing everything: the joy, the connection, the sense of belonging, and mostly the love that others were trying to give me. I became a tourist in my own life, watching from behind a glass wall, present, but never really there.

The First Drink is the Trigger

So, what was MY trigger?  It wasn’t my job, or my life, or my wife.  I’ve been thinking about how addiction is an allergy.  Oh! Sure!  Leave it to us drunks to come up with that kind of excuse, right?

But, when you really think about it… It kinda fits.  The dictionary defines an allergy as:

An exaggerated or pathological immunological reaction (as by sneezing, difficult breathing, itching, or skin rashes) to substances, situations, or physical states that are without comparable effect on the average individual.

OK, let’s apply that to alcohol.  The “average individual” has a drink or two, starts to feel a little tipsy, maybe a little out of control. A few more and their body says, “Nope. That’s enough. Time to switch to water or we’re gonna throw up.”

Why? Because alcohol is a poison. A healthy body wants to expel it!

But for an addict? One drink doesn’t send us running for the trash can. It has the opposite effect: it makes us thirsty for more. Alcohol doesn’t make us sick—it creates a craving. A switch flips. The brain says:

Hey! That felt good! Let’s go chasing after that!

The alcoholic’s mind feels the subtle effect of the alcohol and wants more. And that’s the point at which we drunks lose control.  You know the game. Chasing that feeling with more and more booze.  It’s like our “off switches” are broken.  We don’t know when to stop.

And that’s why I don’t drink. I can’t have one drink. I can’t risk the craving.  I have one swallow of vodka, and I want more.  Maybe not right away. Perhaps it’s the next morning.  Maybe it’s a week later.  But that allergic reaction always happens!  So I’ve learned that the only way is not to drink.  I’ve also learned that the other thing about my allergy is that every time it’s triggered, it gets worse.  Not that I necessarily drink more, but the cravings persist with greater intensity. I’ve learned that I can be sober for years, but when I start drinking again, I pick up right where I left off.

It’s funny.  I’m actually lactose intolerant, too.  They make these little pills you can take before you eat a cheese pizza, and you’ll be a better company to the people around you afterwards.  Why don’t they have that for alcohol?  I should be able to take a pill before I drink those four glasses of Manischewitz at Passover, so that I don’t want to finish the bottle while I’m doing the dishes later.

Early Denial

But seriously, I was in denial.  For years, I said, “I can quit anytime I want.” Turns out I couldn’t—and I didn’t really want. But I said it with confidence, which felt like the same thing.

I didn’t get hangovers. I got guilt.

While other people woke up clutching Advil and making deals with their liver, I woke up apologizing to myself. Not out loud, but in that quiet place where shame settles in.

They say that “the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results.”  Alcoholism is doing the same thing over and over again, and knowing you’re going to get the SAME result!

I would have my little drinks and want more little drinks. And every time?

I lied to myself.

So, I built a daily ritual around self-forgiveness that never truly worked. I didn’t feel sick — I felt sorry.  I felt sorry for myself.  I felt sorry for the people in my life.  I felt sorry for what my relationships had become. All the while, I knew that it was my soul that needed the recovery, not just my bloodstream.

The Descent into Addiction

So, here we are, sliding into alcohol addiction.  I mostly drank vodka. No mixers, no frills—just straight to the point.  Or sometimes, when I was grocery shopping, box wine. Because I could buy it anytime at Safeway and then, just very conveniently, lose the receipt that listed the wine in my purchases, so it wouldn’t get discovered later. Didn’t matter if it was 10 a.m. or 10 p.m.— Nothing quite says ‘living the good life’ like boxed wine in a cart full of shame and denial.

Remember that I said that I never got hangovers? Even after drinking straight vodka or emptying boxes of wine from Safeway at 10 a.m. and hiding them in the bottom of the garbage can, I always felt… fine. Which made it way easier to convince myself I didn’t have a problem. I mean, normal people get hangovers, right? What I got was just really good at being a drunk. Looking back, that wasn’t a superpower. That was a warning sign disguised as resilience.

I used to tell myself I had it under control—that I could drink just enough.  Just a slow drip on that invisible I.V. that I pulled around behind me.  But the truth? It’s always a trade-off between enjoying the effect and staying in control. When I was succeeding at one, I was failing at the other. If I were in control, I wouldn’t feel it. And if I was feeling it? I sure as hell wasn’t in control. That kind of balancing act? It’s like walking the line for the state police after getting pulled over—except the cop was in my head, and the flashing lights were shame and denial.

I never actually got pulled over, but every day I lived like I was trying to keep the car between the lines, just under the radar.  It was always about the enjoyment of the effects of the alcohol versus controlling how drunk I got. And when you succeed at one of them, you are failing at the other! That’s not control–that’s addiction with a calendar.

And that is where the bottom fell out.

My Bottom

Let me tell you a little bit about my bottom.

My drinking game all came crashing down one night, last holiday season. I was with the whole family, all out walking around Brookside Gardens, looking at Christmas lights—it should’ve been peaceful, sweet, maybe even healing. But something was off.  My wife was taciturn and withdrawn.  Finally, she turns to me, looks me in the eye, and asks that one question that I had dreaded for years:

“Have you been drinking or are you stoned?”

In that moment, I saw in her eyes the exhaustion, the knowing—and I realized I couldn’t dodge the truth anymore.  I’d always promised to be truthful with her, even though truth by omission had kind of become my escape clause.  She was right.  I was enjoying the effects a little too much that night.

So I answered and I told her the truth.  “Both,” I said.

There it was—no dramatic fight, no chaos—just a moment of painful clarity.

The gig was up. I had come out. And I knew it.

I came back to AA the very next day. Not because someone forced me to. But because I finally reached the end of my story—the one where alcohol kept winning—and I didn’t want to live in that chapter anymore.  Just because you hit bottom doesn’t mean you have to stay there.  My bottom was realizing that I had prioritized alcohol.  Alcohol had become the priority.  The priority over the one thing that I loved most in this world, and she’s sitting right here in the front row.  You know you’ve reached your bottom when the last thing that you lost or the next thing that you lose will be the most important thing in your life.

Sobriety as Freedom, Not Punishment

People talk about Sobriety like it’s a sentence, like being punished for drinking too much.  It was as if the right to drink was being taken away.

But now? I see things differently.

Sobriety isn’t a sentence.  It’s a parole from the prison I built—a prison made of vodka, boxed wine, lies, and self-inflicted loneliness.

I used to think not drinking meant giving something up. Now I see it as gaining back everything I locked away.

I didn’t realize how living that life inside my prison, how looking out at things through that lens of the thick glass of the bottom of my vodka bottle, had distorted everything! It’s like I’d been hiding in my cave, and I’m starting to feel the sunshine on my face again.

A Realization

The first time I ever quit drinking was back in 2007, a couple of years after I left my first wife.   My brother invited me to his 1st sober anniversary.  Not a celebration meeting like this one, but a regular meeting when they were offering chips.  It was my first AA meeting.

Maybe it wasn’t planned, but he got me into a meeting. And in that first meeting, I heard a lot of the shares that I really identified with.  I sat there in my folding chair and thought, “Hey, these people are just like me!”  Well, most of them anyway.  Sometimes people shared, and I thought, “Wow.  I hope I don’t get that bad!”  I guess that was kind of a turning point for me.  So, I started going to meetings.  I was listening to other people’s shares and stories, and started building my list of “not yets”.

I also heard people talking about The Steps. I was nodding along when someone else shared. But I didn’t have a sponsor. I didn’t work the program. I thought showing up to meetings was the same as healing.

I’ve since learned that I was doing something called two-stepping.  Sounds like a dance, doesn’t it?  It is.  Lemme’ show you:

Step 1: “My life sucks, and I want AA to fix it.”

Step 12: “Look at me! I’m not drinking! It’s great!”

And then skipping everything in between:

• the inventory
• the amends
• the humility
• the spiritual awakening

I thought I was getting what everyone in the room had, without doing any of the work. And surprise: that version of sobriety didn’t last!

Because it wasn’t sobriety—it was dry time with an ego.  In retrospect, I guess the only step I worked was the 13^th step.  That was a step that I worked with a girl that I would get high with after meetings, and eventually moved in with. But that’s enough about that chapter.

This time? This time I got honest. I got a sponsor. I’m reading that Big Book over and over, and I’m working through the steps for my first time. I stopped trying to pretend I was recovering.  Now, I’m actually doing the emotional soul surgery that’s required to get this shit out of my head.

And guess what? It’s starting to work for me.

I’ve learned that sobriety isn’t just about not drinking. It’s not about showing up for meetings. It’s about showing up for myself, and about showing up for the people who care about me.  It’s about showing up for life as it is, not for how I want it to be. It’s about rebuilding trust, learning humility, and making peace with my past without being defined by it.

And don’t let me kid you.  This is not easy work:

Rebuilding trust with the woman who loves me, this woman to whom I’ve been lying for the past few years.

Learning the humility that you’re not always right

Learning that you’re not the only one who is struggling to get through the day.

I’m here today because of the support in these rooms.  You showed me that I wasn’t alone. And for the first time in a long time, I wasn’t alone because I was surrounded by all of these other people who were also all alone.  It’s amazing the fellowship and love you can have in a roomful of people who have found themselves lost and alone.

What I’ve Learned

Sobriety hasn’t made me a saint, but it has made me aware.

Of what I’ve broken, and what I can work on rebuilding.

I’m learning how to show up. Not just be present, but be honest.

I’ve learned that having feelings won’t kill me.

Did AA mess up my drinking?

Did AA suck all the pleasure out of drinking?

AA found guilty on both counts. But I knew it would. And that’s why I came back. Because I have an “honest desire to stop drinking”, and that’s why I’m here.  People see that as one thing, but for me it’s two.  Yeah, the “stop drinking” part is big.

But that first part of the clause, honesty, is the other program that I’m working.  Jim62 always asks me, “Who is the man you want to become?”  My answer, Jim, is “An honest man”. (pause)

I want to be honest with my wife, myself, and my Higher Power.  I want to rebuild trust with my wife, myself, and my Higher Power.

Closing

So, in closing, I want to give a shoutout to the newcomers.  A couple of months ago, I was sitting right where you are now.

Finally, not only am I here to congratulate Cathy, but I also want to extend my congratulations to the newcomers.

I feel funny saying that.  I know I’m still a newcomer to a lot of you.  But that’s what I’m working toward—being honest, present, and free.

Just like what Cathy has been doing for 19 years.

But I also want to thank the oldtimers-Thank you for showing us newbies what’s possible.”

I don’t know what got each of you here—maybe getting thrown out of your home.  Maybe your health. Perhaps you have a slip to get signed for a couple of weeks. Maybe it was a silent realization that you had, one cold night, alone in the dark, that your priorities in life were fucked up beyond all repair. Maybe you’re not even sure yet. But if you’re here, and you’re already doing something very brave for the people in your life and for yourself.

And you don’t have to have it all figured out. But you figured out the big part, and that’s reprioritizing what’s in your life that’s the most important.  Keep coming back and make sure all of those “not-yets” that you hear in other people’s shares stay that way-“not-yets”!

Thanks for listening and letting me share.