God Lives Here
One in eleven women are estimated to be an alcoholic ● Only 6.9% of alcoholic women seek formal help Alcoholism is the third leading preventable cause of death in the US
“One day you will tell your story of how you overcame what you went through, and it will be someone else’s survival guide.”
When I first came to Alcoholics Anonymous people often introduced themselves saying, “Hi, I’m [fill in the blank], and I’m a grateful recovering alcoholic.” “Preposterous, ludicrous, absolutely insane,” I thought. Nobody in their right mind could be content with, let alone grateful for this disease.
I would awkwardly respond to their peppy introduction – “Hi, I’m [M.E.], and I’ve recently engaged in some problematic drinking” – assertively clarifying that I was not “one of them.” To further this ridiculous yet darkly comical paradox, these initial AA meetings took place at an in-patient treatment center in Arizona following a five-night, alcohol-induced stay at Greenwich Hospital. However, not to worry, I was NOT an alcoholic. I fully believed the catastrophe my life had so suddenly become was entirely circumstantial.
Needless to say, I did not stay sober after I left Arizona. I spent most of the next year oscillating between snippets of sobriety and lengthy heartbreaking binges, each progressively worse than the last. My audacious pride was slowly replaced by compounding guilt and shame after each failed attempt at sobriety. I even went back to treatment for three months but to no avail.
This past summer I hit a new level of disheartenment as I was toted by ambulance from my office in Midtown Manhattan to NYU Langone and admitted to critical care for a full week. My body was shutting down and just couldn’t sustain such self-destruction and negligence (had it not already been through enough?). Unfortunately yet understandably, this time my job was not waiting for me when I returned. After being released from the hospital, I tearfully carried my belongings out of the luxurious Madison Avenue skyscraper and cried the whole taxi ride home.
While I still had faith in God, I began to suspect God was loosing faith in me. Despite my strenuous efforts, alcohol had me thoroughly defeated. It had insidiously gouged me with its venomous fangs when I was most vulnerable - caught in the aftermath of unthinkable heartbreak, fear, and desperation - and held me captive as prey.
My Greenwich AA community kept me in perpetual company and safety those first few days. I cried until I couldn’t cry anymore. I recognized and accepted my completely helpless state (step one), and I desperately called out to God as I was metaphorically bleeding out on the floor (step two).
Next thing I knew I was on a plane to Dallas, Texas for my third and I prayed final treatment. The Magdalen House (“Maggie’s House”) was a stark contrast to the sprawling treatment campuses I had previously inhabited in the rural desert of Arizona and the farm-like rolling hills of Connecticut. Maggie’s House resembled a single-family home in an urban downtown mecca. It was uniquely free of charge and without any insurance requirements. When I was there I came to see how their one-of-a-kind model for impact matched the unparalleled spirit of the Maggie’s community: giving to others what had been so freely given to them (literally).
After my first day I felt warmly at home, and I instantly connected with the approximately fifteen other girls in the house. The eclectic yet positive and lively energy was contagious. I often caught myself laughing until I cried, an authentic kind of happiness I had not experienced in years. I came to understand that alcoholism is a disease of the mind and body, not a lack of willpower or virtue. The program included four AA meetings per day which were lead by beaming program alumni. For the first time, I genuinely wanted the true joy and tranquility these women so fully embodied. I didn’t want it because I should want it or for my parents or for my sponsor. This time I undoubtedly and wholeheartedly wanted what they had for me. Perhaps my “gift of desperation” had finally arrived.
With this newfound resolve, I began grasping the concept of a sincerely “grateful recovering alcoholic.” They were not the “preposterous, ludicrous, absolutely insane” ones. I was. The depth of their profound joy, gratitude, and serenity is reserved for those who have known and endured the same dark, muddy, and at times seemingly hopeless battles. However, on the other side, they are able to start life anew, fully experiencing their Higher Power’s strength and love and sharing it with the still sick and suffering.
Thus, I followed Saint Augustine’s wisdom and began to “pray as though everything depends on God, for it does, and work as though everything depends on me, for it does.” When it was inevitably time to leave Maggie’s, my parents and I expressed our utmost appreciation for the miracles the program performs. The Program Coordinator emphatically responded with three simple yet powerful words, “God lives here.”
As I’m still early in my recovery, I can’t honestly say I’m fully grateful for my alcoholism …yet. However, I find myself more aware and thankful for the simple moments and the people in my life - I am especially grateful for my sponsor, my recovery coach, my therapist, my peers in AA, and my countless cheerleaders on the sidelines. I currently have more sobriety on my own than ever before, and I know that’s not of my own doing. As it suggests in the AA Promises, God is doing for me what I could not do for myself. Most of all, I’m grateful to Maggie’s House and the program of Alcoholics Anonymous for helping me re-discover God’s all-powerful presence in my life and His unbounding grace and love.
