Step Eight

Made a list of all persons we had harmed and became willing to make amends to them all.

Step Eight is about getting real with the consequences of the way I have lived, and comprises an undertaking—a physical list, not some nebulous blob of names in my head—that has healing of relationships with others as its goal. Presumably this means means that I have already done a significant amount of healing within when I embark upon this list. I have to get the balance of my relationship to Self healed before I can hope to engage in real healing with others.

Healing my relationships with others doesn’t translate as making everybody happy with me. If I think of my relationships as concentric circles moving away from me, healing means being authentic enough to allow everyone to move to their right place with respect to me, and vice versa. 

In early white-knuckle recovery, when I wasn’t interested in AA any more than I was interested in church, somebody handed me a pamphlet with the 12 Steps written on it. I breezed through them: nope, nope, ha!, not doing that, no thanks, whatever, as if!...hey, oh ya, maybe—

Step Eight caught my eye, or actually Step Nine did, because it seemed to offer a valid excuse to call up an ex-girlfriend. And possibly get lucky! So, without a single meeting under my belt and no exposure to the Steps or a sponsor, I called up Ms. X to explain to her how I’d reformed my ways and hinted how she was, through my amend, lucky enough to have another shot at me. 

I don’t think we need to tell the rest of that story to surmise that acting in ignorance and without awareness of why I made the decisions I made, my attempt at an amend was likely more harm than good—for both of us.

Months later, after having gone through the rest of the Steps, Ms. X came up again in Step Eight, and my sponsor at the time suggested that the best way I could make amends to this woman in particular is to just stay out of her life completely. That was harsh to hear, and more painful to come to understand as truth. 

Sometimes our relationships may seem so broken that it’s difficult to know where to begin; I need to start by reviewing what I have learned so far in the Steps. I have to get it through my head that I am not now in the business of persuading anybody to buy into my newly minted spiritual worth. 

I am here to get authentic. 

When I reach Step Eight, I should have an emerging understanding that the resentments I am holding are often a reflection of what i am denying in myself. Now I have to shine this spotlight of experiential wisdom on all the relationships I have or have had. 

Let’s not pretend that I am responsible for saving or healing anyone other than myself. Yes, I have a Higher Power, but God isn’t going to sort through my feelings for me. However, and this is the ongoing miracle of recovery, my own healing will indirectly provide the help necessary for those willing to receive it. Trying to force healing is as damaging as some of the behaviours I used when I was still drinking.

I can’t get anywhere with this stuff until I accept that I am worthy of healing—and we all are, though it may require some significant trauma reduction work to understand this. 

I also must have a genuine intent to heal.

This is a sticky wicket, especially with years of practice in justification, rationalization and denial. If I simply say I have intent to heal but continue manipulating others by playing the role of denial, then I cannot heal. I can stick around in the rooms for years whining and pointing fingers, but this doesn’t mean I have ever actually moved into the belly of the whale that is the recovery journey, what Joseph Campbell has called The Hero’s Journey. 

When I have a genuine intent to heal, I must recognize that others have the same spiritual rights that I am claiming for myself. 

How am I supposed to deal effectively with raging resentments and heaps of fear when everyone is telling me, at times rather smugly, to clear my side of the street? Sooner or later I’m going to have to deal with the fetid mess in the sewer on my side of the street. This is exactly what I’ve been trying to clear out in Steps Four, Five, Six and Seven—why would I want to dump more garbage in it now by pretending to ignore my resentments, as if there is a magic sober wand that makes my feelings about the other side of the street simply vanish? In truth, it is not simple. It is precarious work, releasing emotions without damaging others or myself. It’s far more effective than denying them.

I had to find ways to deal with resentment, and these ways are multifarious: acting it out with a trusted ally, writing a letter and then burning it, yelling at the top of a mountain, screaming in the belly of a cave. Whatever way I choose—and the best ways come from my own intuition—it is helpful if it can be witnessed by a trusted ally.

I have to get my relationships with myself and my Higher Power as right as possible. And here is a good opportunity to express some of the rage I am holding against  what some call God for these feelings of being terrorized, abandoned, ignored, mistreated, or misunderstood. We each have our own version of the less-than-nurturing aspects of our own existence, and some rage about them. God can take it. 

This isn’t about blame; it’s about release, and release clears the lines of communication to let in more light. Unreleased anger and fear cut me off from others and from myself.  

One of the tricks of false spirituality that I subscribed to for a long time is the notion that either I am operating out of fear or I am operating out of love. Only recently have I discovered how this erroneous premise leads me further into denial by pressuring the fear I’m holding to hide itself under a veneer of centered bliss, or to fragment itself outside of me. Whatever I deny, I’ll eventually have to face in the reflections that come back to me. 

The answer for me is to accept terror and rage as part of love. If I don’t, part of me is outside of love, and that cannot be. As soon as I accept my feelings and allow them to move, something else gets released, one of the most toxic elements to humanity: guilt. 

At my first AA meeting some young punk had a Screw Guilt badge pinned to his jean jacket. It has taken me over a decade to fully understand this simple message: Guilt is never true. 

I can allow that everything has its place without needing to understand how or why; who’s to say I’m not a reflection of Divine fear or Divine anger? A preposterous notion for most, but even the smallest meditation on this prospect leads me further into the appreciation of how truly very little I cognitively understand. 

If guilt isn’t true, and Step eight is about relationships, I need to explore the limitations on intimacy, connection, and sexuality that I’ve learned and rehearsed during my time on this planet in this body. I’m looking for a sane perspective on relationships and a reasonable comprehension of where I stand in relation to others. 

This can’t be clear until I have an honest perspective on where I stand with myself and with God, Source, the Ultimate Reality. 

To glean the granular details about the beliefs I am holding, I’ll likely have to comb through my Step Four to review the recurring patterns in my behaviour and my life. 

One of the most important understandings I can have here is that while it is useful to have a sponsor as a sounding board, I am not evaluating harm in terms of someone else’s perspective, but on my current, active and most informed beliefs about how to treat another human in an honest and spiritually authentic way—not based on perceived slights that others may wish to hold over me. 

It is notable that being truly authentic is sometimes the opposite of conventional notions of what it means to be polite. 

This is precarious ground, because my own denials might wish to convince me that I am not in the wrong when in fact I have done harm. I can’t engage in ‘purposeful forgetting’ when attempting a ‘deep and honest search of motives and actions.’ 

I’ve heard a lot in AA that my instincts are garbage, and that I shouldn’t trust my own feelings, my feelings aren’t facts, and that they are just going to get me drunk. This is true on the one hand, if I’m having the feeling that a single malt scotch wouldn’t be a bad idea to enhance my research on recovery. 

On the other hand, there has to be some trust in my intuition as my own will comes into alignment with Divine will.  

As nobody else lives in my body with my history and my chemistry, nobody should be given the power to tell me what to do or how to feel here. My sponsor—if I have an honest one, not one interested in supporting his own beliefs my making me parrot them—can offer a helpful reflection here. 

I need to do much inner work and release to gain the perspective necessary to understand the nature of my relationships. This is what the Steps leading up to number Eight have been all about.  Then I can examine the relationships I have and have had, starting with the circle closest to me, and moving outward, applying the new perspective I carry to my actions vis-à-vis these relationships of my turbid past. 

The formation and substance of my Step Eight List will shift every time I gain a new insight. As Ghandi said, I must be dedicated to truth, not to consistency. 

This process is potentially painful, but ultimately proves to be an edifying and uplifting one. 

Where have I been an energy vampire? Where have I enabled others to use me as a doormat in order to get the benefit I feel from playing the victim? I need to have a clear understanding, an intuitive knowing, about which releases of anger and fear are cleansing and which are damaging. I also need to define what selfishness means to me, and whether or not I am going to subscribe to a general, vague interpretation of it, which often gets misconstrued and remedied with the erroneously harmful act of putting the needs of others above my own. 

This is playing the martyr, a passive type of victimhood that kills the very thing it is attempting to uplift and protect. 

More and more, the understanding is that I need to stop treating my physical body as a rented vehicle, and treating my emotional body and will as a whipping boy to conform to the ideals of ‘Spirit’. It is all one package that must find its balance in the Heart. 

Step Eight, if done with right intention, can go a long way to accomplishing this, and lifting the veil on a whole new way of living, which has been called the beginning of the end of isolation from others and from God. 

I would also add: from Ourselves. 

Step Six

Were entirely ready to have God remove all these defects of character.

The more I involve myself with the Steps, the deeper I understand that each one is a practice, not a finite event. It is the practice that whets against the edges of insight, honing it. As insight grows sharper, it is able to cut deeper into ignorance and open space for more profound humility and a deeper peace. But first, I must practice. 

Part of removing ignorance is removing denial. 

denial |diˈnīəl|, from Apple dictionary:

noun

the action of declaring something to be untrue: she shook her head in denial .

• the refusal of something requested or desired: the denial of insurance to people with certain medical conditions.

• a statement that something is not true: official denials | his denial that he was having an affair.

• Psychology failure to acknowledge an unacceptable truth or emotion or to admit it into consciousness, used as a defense mechanism: you're living in denial .

• short for self-denial.

• disavowal of a person as one's leader.

Denial, as it applies to our lives as humans on this planet, is essentially the disavowal or failure to acknowledge some truth that appears unacceptable to either our psyche or to social norms. Denial has a strong presence in most alcoholics because we need it in order to go on hurting ourselves and others in order to continue consuming vast quantities of the substance that is killing us. In the most blunt example, we are in denial of our own disease until we decide that we are in recovery and we need help.

Yet there are multiple layers of denial, and they grow subtler and subtler in turn. I cannot ask for any character defect to be removed if I don’t do the work of recognizing it; to see my character defects, I need to release denial, and to do this I must cultivate humility. With humility I can see things as they truly are, and how shame and guilt have been blocking me from the abundant reality that I inherently understand to be my birthright.

I have learned that I mustn’t turn my back on shame and guilt. I need to feel these things, and all the rage, pain, fear and sadness that accompany them—but I need to feel this without judgment of myself or others. At first this seems like an impossible task; we may be trying to do this while we are still severely wounded. Whatever emotions come up, they need to be accepted, not pushed away or denied further. This is a challenge for me, because when I was younger some emotions, particularly anger, were unacceptable. This creates a lasting impression on my psyche, and it is sometimes difficult to convince myself that feeling my anger is safe and in fact very helpful. Feeling these things releases them.

I used to drink, I can see now, as a way of not feeling, when in fact the feelings I feared would have been the easiest path to freedom. There’s no way of realizing this other than by experiencing it, and as with other elements of recovery, I am often only able to experience it when driven by suffering.  

This step sounds so bloody absolute, though—do I really have to be entirely ready to have God remove all these defects of character? I sense attachment rearing its sticky head immediately. This is why non-attachment is so important in this step. I can only be open to solving my problems if I am open to change, and in Step Six I am repeatedly given the opportunity to let go of ineffective, low-level and limiting beliefs, perceptions and practices. 

Again, this tricky notion of letting go. I can’t count the number of times I ‘let go’ of my anger, often right before losing my temper. What does letting go entail, then? I believe it involves unconditional self-acceptance and the courage to FEEL whatever comes up. By feeling something I am vibrating it, and when it vibrates, it moves, and if it’s moving, it can be released. But nothing is going to move if I don’t trust myself or have compassion for myself. This has been a very important learning point for me. So my job is to feel whatever comes up, remain equanimous, and have compassion for myself. Otherwise I am bound to revisit the same old cycle of thoughts, attitudes, and behaviours that keep me on the merry-go-round of problem-reaction-problem.

Stop reacting. Feel. Let time pass. Breathe. Trust the process. 

Part of this process leads me to take a closer look at my thoughts and beliefs; I need to determine which ones are borne of true insight based on my own objective analysis of my life experiences. The answer: almost none. 

Most of the thoughts, beliefs, and attitudes I had been carrying were borrowed from parents, teachers, media, and the norms of society at large. These were not actually my beliefs, but habit patterns engrained in me through training and practice. Habits become pervasive; they define, both in the mental and physical realm, most of our thoughts, words and actions.

In habits, we’re stuck. 

Thus, I need to unpack my habits, which I have done in Steps Four and Five, in order to have at least a superficial awareness of what isn’t serving me and what needs letting go of. 

This non-attachment, this letting go—particularly of deeply engrained habits—can make me feel as if I’m coming unhinged, without any point of reference. It may also involve the re-experiencing of old grief, fear or trauma, as many of our character defects can be in place as survival tools. The truth that we need to experience ourselves is that these old tools can’t work in recovery and become cumbersome and self-limiting. 

It is crucial that I gain some insight in Step Four in order to see how the elements I share in my Step Five are still exerting active power in my life. I need to bring my awareness into the present moment, and to do this, I may require some emotional releasing in order to achieve truly effective self-scrutiny. Anger may come up. Resistance may raise its toothy head. A tsunami of ear and guilt may wash through me.  

I must not ignore these things or turn away from them. They have a right to be felt. It is my job to feel them. If I need to release, I must release in safe ways. Maybe I find a small hilltop and I scream to the heavens from it. Or I could spend a weekend watching tear-jerkers and bawl my eyes out. Maybe I join a punk band. Perhaps I dance like Napoleon Dynamite until I drop. Whatever safe way to release comes up naturally—and often for me this is by expressing some kind of sound, intelligible or not—I have to trust that at some point, a point known as ignition, the body will intuitively know what it needs to do to release. I have learned that I should follow it, no matter how silly it seems to convention.  

Convention even slips into the Twelve Steps and Twelve Traditions, which states that “no matter how far we have progressed, desires will always be found which oppose the grace of God.” I’d like to meet the person who thinks he is in charge of deciding what opposed the grace of God for me, personally. Nobody lives in my body with my chemistry and with my connections and experiences; therefore, nobody has the ability to understand an appropriate moral code for me, much less impose one. 

The other issue I take with “conventional wisdom” is the perseverance of the harmful themes, the most notable example being that sex is somehow dirty or sinful. AA literature asks us “how many men and women speak love with their lips, and believe what they say, so that they can hide lust in a dark corner of their minds?” This question presumes love is a precursor to, and thus divorced from, any expression of the body. It also assumes there is a conventional understanding of and abhorrence for what is commonly considered to be ‘lust’. One woman’s lust may be another woman’s passion. One man’s perception of lust may be another man’s source of creativity and inspiration. We are so quick to judge others, as well as ourselves. More than one great thinker has determined that most of the problems of the West, including addictions, come from sexual repression. This is a valid consideration in Step Six because it is vital to me that I understand if my actions are truly harmful to myself or another, or if they simply lie outside the acceptable (read: harmful) conventions of my Judeo-Christian upbringing. This is a key part of stepping into my own freedom and guided by Divine intention.

Understandably, it is often easier to list our character defects than to willingly release them. The blockage to change is almost always fear, and one of the deepest fears we can carry in recovery is that it is not safe to feel what is present. Once we release old fear, doubt, denial, ignorance, we are truly ready to allow our will to naturally align with Divine will. Form this point forward, we will rarely forget that we are never alone. 

Step Five

Admitted to God, to ourselves, and to another human being the exact nature of our wrongs.

The practice of confession, to have the awareness of the nature of one’s own flaws witnessed by another human being, and thus sanctified in spirit, is widespread among numerous religious and spiritual traditions. The practice speaks to the very inherent instinct for cleansing.

It is notable that Step Five is the first step described in the chapter entitled “Into Action” in the basic text of Alcoholics Anonymous. The completion of my inventory in Step Four means I have stirred up the silt of my past to take a look at the granular details of the shifting moral foundation I have built my life upon. Step Five is the crucial step to begin the repair of this foundation by recognizing and admitting my responsibility for the detritus in my life. This stirring of muddy waters can sometimes make for a pretty murky view, and if I hang on to this inventory by myself for too long, it may be difficult to remember that this is the way to light. 

There is a risk involved in Step Five; this is the hero’s journey, where Jonah leaps into the belly of the whale. We face the darkness, knowing not where it will ultimately transport us. In our minds, there is the risk of being rejected, of ridicule, of full exposure to the depths of the shame we have been carrying, and as alcoholics who are almost universally sensitive to criticism, Step Five can be intimidating. 

The only solution I’ve found is to, yet again, surrender. I need to open myself completely. I wouldn’t advocate making oneself completely vulnerable to this process if there weren’t tremendous gains to be made in doing so. No matter how much the vulnerability scares me, it serves me, because it provokes me to step out of isolation. When I step out of the old pattern of sequestering my spirit, I step out of the illusion that I am separate from others or from Source. 

I sought my soul,

But my soul I could not see

I sought my God,

But my god eluded me.

I sought my brother,

And I found all three. 

—Anonymous

Sharing this stuff, particularly if I have been unflinchingly honest, can be a daunting task; what generally prevents us from bringing all of our story to another person is shame. Shame is at the root of endless diversions, justifications, rationalizations, and general delays of putting Step Five into practice. It is important to contemplate how, left in the darkness of self, my Step Four is bound to fester. My moral inventory, and my awareness of its implications upon the habit patterns of my actions and attitudes, needs to be exposed to the sunlight of the Spirit in order to be transmuted into a lasting gift of awareness. 

If I have reached this stage, I have my personal moral inventory in hand; now I need a witness. It is important that the person who hears my fifth is not someone who has all the answers. I need to trust my gut and find someone who has humility and a sense of humour; humility will enable my witness to detect which shame belongs to me and what I have been carrying for others. A sense of humour will ensure that I don’t take myself too seriously. I needn’t panic over who is going to share this experience with me; if I have done my work, the right person will appear.

All my ancient, twisted karma,

From beginingless greed, hate and delusion,

Born through body, speech and mind,

I now fully avow.

—Zen chant for Ryaku Fusatu

Once I make a commitment to have this undertaking validated by another human being, I will become aware of what an empowering process it can be. The relief from the burden of my secrets and my ignorance will be commensurate with the level of honesty I apply to this step. The power of one spirit coming to another with humility and vulnerability calls in the sunlight of the Spirit and sanctifies the act of surrender. Here, I can break old patterns of isolation—spiritual and otherwise.

If I balk too long or refuse this step, I risk retreating into denial. I need only review Step One to remember that there is no peace in a life of denial. 

The first time I took this vital step, I stumbled for a while on another major hurdle: grief—grief over losing myself, the only identity I’d been consciously aware of for years. Even if I have recognized and inwardly admitted to old beliefs, judgments and patterns of denial that don’t truly belong to me through the process of taking a moral inventory, the prospect of overtly admitting to them in a Step Five might provoke a kick from within. For instance, I may suddenly become forgetful, and have a blank mind. Or doubt may raise its head. 

There are many varieties of doubt: doubt about AA, the Steps, my sponsor, my own abilities.

The good news is that this resistance is a last-ditch effort of the old framework of living to re-assert itself, because once I take Step Five as fearlessly and honestly as practicable, this old scheme of interacting with the world and the things in it is utterly altered. Just as darkness cannot stay in a room when a light is turned on, the film of ignorance and denial that I’d cloaked myself in will no longer fit. 

I need to treat myself like I am someone I can trust. 

Step Five is not just about admitting my wrongs, but about becoming vulnerable enough to share how and when I have suffered. Tough love in this program is for suckers; it may seem easier because I’m used to beating myself up and haven’t had much cause to trust others, but we’ve had enough of tough times, haven’t we? I suggest trying tenderness.

If this step is causing me to shut down emotionally, I may need to get outside help and do grief work or trauma reduction. I can also always look to Step Eleven for support and guidance. Often this stuff that we are dragging up through this process gets stored or stuck in the body, and this is where breathing techniques, a healthy diet, yoga, massage and energy work can all be helpful in getting through Steps Four and Five. These steps are as much about moving from the brain to the heart as any other; this cannot simply be an intellectual exercise in truth-telling. We have to feel our way through this process, and we need to feel it without reacting in order to surpass the small idea of our once-disconnected selves to the Unity with our true and highest selves that is our birthright.

Step Four

How do we find a reality that we can own? We need a map. “Start where you are,” advises Pema Chodron. There is really no other place for us to begin, obviously—but most of us alcoholics aren’t sure where we are. 

We were initially thrust into reality with the admission of the true nature of our relationship to alcohol in Step One, and then continued the process by observing what resources were available to us by considering Steps Two and Three. Through this process, we invariably examine the tip of the iceberg that is our persistent denial and penchant for magical thinking. We begin to suspect that there is much more to our habit of judging ourselves and others, and the cause-and-effect in our broken lives. In Step 4 we roll up our sleeves and, as fearlessly as possible, do our work of mapping our own attitudes and actions. Step 4 provides the training necessary to obtain, and then use, the insight necessary to find ourselves in bumpy terrain of our own physical, emotional, mental, and spiritual geography.

Until we sober up, we are unable and unwilling to recognize that our dismal consequences are the direct result of our own volitional activity. As my meditation teacher likes to say: “You can’t continue to plant bitter neem seeds and then cry out for sweet mangoes!” So in step 4 I need to acknowledge my own participation in the creation of my own life: what I do matters. Moreover, what I think matters: thoughts are waveforms of energy, and they have an impact. The sooner I stop casting myself as a victim of external circumstances or other people, the healthier I will be. 

Once I understand this, I understand that I have created the environment of my current circumstances with the thoughts, words and actions of my past; now that I am sober, however, and committed to engaging outside help to compensate for my lack of power, I have a choice in how I respond to whatever my present situation may be. 

At first the word moral was slightly off-putting to me; then I came to the understanding that immoral simply means anything that transgresses my inner knowing of right action, word and thought, and while this concept implies a certain universality, it is ultimately subjective. Some of us are so confused by an off-putting and self-interested system of morals we grew up with, that Step 4 can seem daunting, even insurmountable, especially if we clearly no longer ascribe to this system. Others of us may be so deeply programmed with the corrupt values systems of others—commonly through trauma—that we are not yet aware of what value systems are motivating us. 

The good news is that there is a sure way out, as long as I am still subscribing to the spiritual principles of Steps One, Two, and Three, namely: honesty, open-mindedness, and willingness. These magic three principles give birth to the fourth, which is insight. And this insight enables us to do the work of Step 4. 

I need a value system against which to judge the morality of my own thoughts, words, and deeds. It is important for me to keep in mind that my value system doesn’t necessarily apply to others, so there is no need or point in judging them; this just creates more knots for me to untangle. 

One thing I can say is that in sobriety it quickly becomes clear that ethical conduct is highly pragmatic, because it is impossible for me to have peace of mind when I am transgressing my own value system. For a while, when I was drinking, I could squelch this inner turmoil with booze. But Step 4—the mechanics of which are clearly laid out in AA literature and which I need to go through with a sponsor—begins to show me that alcoholism was not my root problem, but actually the temporary and unsustainable solution to my internal disquiet and spiritual torpor. When I understood this, I knew inherently I had made a solid beginning on Step 4. With persistent work and feedback from my sponsor, I began to see the nature of my relationship not only with alcohol and others, but with fear itself; when I see my own ignorance and fear as reflexes to protect the self from imagined threats to its integrity, I have truly made a significant step in the acquisition of spiritual insight. 

Step Three

My sponsor says that in developing the willingness required for this step, we need to develop a readiness to go beyond physical, intellectual and emotional living to allow ourselves to explore spiritual living. But how am I to even imagine this concept, let alone implement it? I am stuck in this body; while human, there is no escaping the reality of these bones, the flesh that surrounds them, and the fascia that wraps and re-wraps, hugging the whole works together beneath my miraculous skin. How am I to drop my emotions when they seem to arise of their own accord, just because I want to be willing to have a spiritual life? 

I think all alcoholics crave transcendence, and this is why we drank. As Carl Jung wrote in his letter to Bill W: The craving for alcohol was the equivalent, on a low level, of the spiritual thirst of our being for wholeness, expressed in medieval language: the union with God...'alcohol' in Latin is spiritus, and you use the same word for the highest religious experience as well as for the most depraving poison.

“Made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of a higher power.”

Spiritual principle: Willingness

I think it is helpful at first to re-establish that in Step 2 it is neither necessary nor desirable to narrowly define the nature of my higher (deeper, broader) power. It is also ill-advised for me to get hung up on technical details of what exactly constitutes sanity - this searching for definition keeps me living in my left brain, in the world of the rational and logical, which never served me in my active addiction and which has a tendency to want to take over and fix, manage or control the areas of my life that are not flowing, i.e. that are stuck. In Step 3 I need to cultivate the willingness that will allow me to leap forward without logically understanding what the outcomes will be and absolving myself of the fiction that I can control these outcomes anyway. This leap forward, from what Joseph Campbell would describe as 'the jumping-off place' into the belly of the whale, is the 'decision' we must make in Step 3. 

The literal meaning of the word 'decide' is 'to cut off'. The way this decision is made is as unique as our fingerprints, but essentially we are cutting ourselves off from not only our old way of living, but from our old way of thinking. Clearly, this decision is an active undertaking, and is not a one-off affair. We have to make the effort to come willingly to this decision again and again, open with an honest heart (not logical head) for the transformation that allows us to live outside our comfort zone even as we slip back into it. To continually choose the path of healing, awareness, and growth requires a sustained effort to be able to let go of our old ideas at the moments when they seem to offer us the most comfort.

In a way it appears deceptively simple; the power that we have come to have some belief in through Step 2 is still here for us. All that's being asked of me, then, in Step 3, is that I drop my defences and allow that power to help me out. In order to work the rest of the steps, this willingness for a personal spiritual connection - a connection I understand to be my own. This decision to give up the illusion of control can be frightening and requires consistent practice - a daily practice. At this point, prayer and meditation might prove invaluable. I understand that it is very often heard at AA meetings that "the steps are numbered for a reason,", implying that we should do them in order. I can't find that information anywhere in AA literature, however, and it only makes sense to me that waiting until I "arrive" at Step 11 before I try prayer or meditation would be unnecessarily hamstringing my own recovery. The benefits I receive from attempting my own versions of prayer and meditation support my ongoing efforts to make the decision required of me in Step 3. 

The other thing I "cut-off" in this step is the idea that I can walk back into the faulty paradigm of my addictive thinking and behaviour, that I can somehow make the old way of life work. I cut off the idea that that house of cards can hold me any longer, that alcohol can still offer me refuge from the pain I feel. In spiritual terms, this pain is a gift, and feeling it with awareness and equanimity (as opposed to numbness and aversion) is what brings me greater spiritual insight and freedom. Cutting off this old behaviour and thinking opens up greater humility, which is, in essence, the ability to see things as they really are--not as I want them to be or as I fear them to be. Greater humility brings greater willingness to choose freedom from my rusty ideas of who I am and who I can become; in a sense, it is the process of deconstructing my own story so I am not bound by it any longer: this is why, in the Third Step prayer, we asked to be relieved of the bondage of self, which means returning to a place of not knowing. 

If I accept "not knowing," then I do not need to fix, manage and control every detail of my life. I can experiment with this step, using my craving and aversion as a diagnostic. Gradually, I see progress and my reaction time towards making a conscious decision to try something new becomes less and less. But this step, and this process, is not done in my head - for me, anyway, the logical, reasoning brain on its own is not the portal into the realm of the spirit within. I need to start with my body.

We don't hear this very often in AA meetings, but the process of "turning it over" to a higher power is, in large part, a physical one. We are burdened with toxins, fear and disease, which find their way into our physical beings where we store them up and store them up and, in active addiction (and often in recovery) ignore them. We somehow remain incapable of seeing the direct correlation between our anger and fear and our physical ailments. This is why I see the body and, particularly, the breath, as the key gateway to the inner sanctum. The breath is the bridge between the unconscious (which is never unconscious, even when we sleep) and the conscious mind -- it functions autonomically and it can also be controlled. The breath used in tandem with physical movement and awareness, accepting everything just as it is, is called yoga. I believe that yoga, as a practice, is directly in line with the spiritual principles of the 12 steps and that, in fact, Patanjali's Yoga Sutras, the first codified system of yogic technology, parallels (in many ways) the 12 step process. 

Willingness to let the pus come out of the wound, in emotional terms, is not always an easy state to come to, especially for someone who is so used to avoiding mental and emotional pain through the use of booze and drugs. But as we re-learn how to breathe, and give new life to our bodies by stretching them, giving them exercise, and reducing the toxins we put into them,  it is not only our physical bodies that become strengthened, but our subtle bodies as well. Locked so long in the spiral of shame and self-degredation, we enter an upward spiral in line with the law of nature, and the less we try to control this process and accept it as it comes, the more elegant and joyful it can be. Eventually we stumble naturally onto our own meditation, where the mind is alert, concentrated, focused - not relaxed and half-asleep, but vibrant. Awake. 

But we start small. Maybe with a couple of deep breaths, a positive thought, a short gratitude list. Maybe just a bow in the morning, an acknowledgement to the light that resides within, whatever name we give it. When I bow I sense that I am bowing internally as well as externally; as within, so without. In this way the connection does not escape me, even if I am at a loss to name or define it. Faith is an attitude of mind rather than subscription to a specific philosophy or dogma.

I make the decision in Step 3 to investigate this life of mine, every moment of which is precious. With the repeated practice of this step, I have come to see that every element and every dimension of life exists and thrives on the spiritual plane, even the mundane. 

Step Two

“Came to believe that a power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity.”

Spiritual principle: Open-Mindedness

Open-mindedness means opening my mind and inner awareness to possibilities beyond my personal limited imagination, creativity and intelligence.  Whatever this power greater than myself is, it is not defined in this step; we need only be open to possibilities. Many of us are confronted here with The Great Wall of UGH. In this society there are a quinbillion different roadblocks to belief in a higher power. These mental and emotional blockages can seem insurmountable at first, but with a little bit of reflection and the spiritual principle of open-mindedness, I can step my way safely into the sunlight with surprisingly little resistance. 

I was told that eventually I will need to define what is meant by a "power greater than me." I don’t necessarily think so; I think I needed to undefine it for myself. Source, what some people call God or Higher Power, cannot be confined to my limited mind. I need only be open, though, which means willing to change.  I must be careful not to fall into the deadly trap of waiting to be absolutely certain I can conceptualize and define in detail my higher power. If I am expecting certainty, I will be waiting for a long time--probably long enough to get drunk again. I don't need to be certain, I simply need to be amenable to being shown the way, which means listening without judgment. Perhaps the more appropriate term for this spiritual principle is open-hearted, not open-minded, as I need to feel my way through this process more than think my way through it. If I am in AA, chances are I didn’t get here because my thinking and reasoning have a stellar track record; this doesn't mean my mental faculties are all garbage, though. I need my wits to stay sober, but first I need to train my mind to be able to discern. I must be able and willing to see things as they truly are. But how can I do this when I never had the power to do so before? The answer is in this very important step, which has been called in AA literature the "rallying point to sanity."

Sooner or later I understood that in order to believe in a power greater than me, I also needed to deconstruct my perception of the word 'belief' and build up a definition that works for me. The idea of belief as it relates to spiritual principles may have uncomfortable associations for many of us. So we need to define belief for ourselves. I asked myself How am I going to choose to believe? How is my belief going to be genuine to me? It is possible that if I read the AA literature and form my own conception of a God or Higher Power, I may be concerned at some point that I am merely using my imagination to gain a tenuous purchase on spirituality, and thus my grasp on sobriety will be flimsy. Yet my imagination is the creative, connected aspect of my mind, and my mind houses a lot more than I can consciously call to memory or articulate in my waking hours. From this vast storehouse dreams are born, and as Joseph Campbell once said, dreams and myths come from the same place. If I approach my own creative imagination with the honest intention behind the spiritual principle at play in this step, I will not be off the mark. 

Part of the open-mindedness required in this step is to make myself open to the unknown, accepting that my alcohol-addled brain cannot fully serve my mind in the early stages of recovery. I have already admitted to lack of power. This is the fundamental problem that I am addressing in Step 2; I cannot address it through defiance. Making myself open to the process of change and growth is vital. With the human ignorance I am born with and lived with and drank with, I shattered the perfect image or representation of my connection with Source. 

Imagine this image of a Higher Power as a crystal sculpture; it represents belief or inherent awareness of this spiritual connection I have and have always had, whether I’ve been ignorant of it or not. In recovery, at Step 2 in fact, I can wake up to the fact that this glass sculpture is lying in shards at my feet. The rest of this process is about picking up each piece I can find, examining myself through it, turning my gaze inward, and then fixing these pieces together to form my own representation of the whole. It will never be perfect or complete, but from this perfect sculpture I may someday piece together a stained glass window through which I can, during times that I choose to, glimpse enough truth and beauty to understand that love is what's left when I let go of everything I don't need. Love is what I was looking for in the first and last place I drank, and what I sought out every time I put a bottle to my lips.

The third thing that begs defining (or redefining) in this step is sanity, the antonym of which is often defined in AA meetings as doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result each time. Presumably, if I am at Step 2, I have already copped to this in Step 1, so it shouldn't be too bitter a pill at this point. And yet it is, for many. There is often the residual fear that if I accept AA's version of insanity, I am admitting I am a crazy alcoholic. Ego tries to lift its head here, disguised as thoughts of what others might think or perceive of me joining this mysterious cult of weirdos that hang out in musty church basements. We have assumed for so long that we do not fit here or there because we have feelings of "not fitting in," which is one of the great many things we eventually come to understand we all have in common. My ego tells me that while AA (which is at its core a fellowship to help people practice the 12 steps) might work for some, it certainly won't work for me; I am different, after all. My situation and circumstances and background are special. If I am unable to break out of this egoistic thinking, this is what is known in recovery parlance as "terminal uniqueness." 

"Whatever you do, don't go to AA, man," a friend warned me when I told him I was checking myself into a 28-day rehab in September, 2001, "That's like going to church! They'll change you." At that point, thankfully, I had had enough humiliation and suffering to grasp enough humility to understand that I needed to change, whether I wanted to or not. 

Go to an AA meeting and look around; when people start to speak watch what happens to the energy in the room and to people's faces as one alcoholic after another shares their experience, strength and hope. There is a higher power at work--something is at work in these rooms as the faces of the powerless and insane soften and regain colour, their eyes brighten, and they gather confidence and even laugh at the misfortunes which not too long ago plagued them with anxiety and merciless depression. 

A power greater than myself is a power greater than my personality, something bigger than the persona I have settled into and come to ignorantly think of as my whole being on this one plane of existence. The truth is that I start to get healthy when the 12 steps strap me in for the long internal journey. It is a revelation to one day understand that my God, as mysterious as God has been to me, has infused my entire being since forever, and that there was never any division between me and Source or me and others—the division was only in my mind, and grew wider and wider until I couldn't come to any sort of grace through my own efforts. 

But in early recovery it hardly matters how or why it works. I just have to believe that something related to this process will work for me. Getting caught up with the gritty, granular details of higher energy and how it works in early recovery can be deadly. As the Buddha said, "Suppose a man were wounded by an arrow thickly smeared with poison, and his friends and companions brought a surgeon to treat him. The man would say: 'I will not let the surgeon pull out the arrow until I know the name and clan of the man who wounded me; whether the bow that wounded me was a long bow or a cross bow; whether the arrow that wounded me hoof-tipped or curved or barbed." All this would still not be known to that man and meanwhile he would die." 

Didn't I make alcohol my higher power? Wasn't it capable of changing me from my true nature? It tricked me into believing, over and over again, that I could control it. 

The hardest part of all this, of becoming open-minded, is that it demands humility. Humility means seeing things as they really are—not as I want them to be and not as I fear them to be—and to attain humility I have to be able to park my mental habits of seeing myself as either better than or less than other human beings. We the people wander around this globe, classifying and judging and sorting all sorts of impressions, adding value to these impressions, and reinforcing the fallacious belief that we are all separate entities. 

These judgmental thought patterns are ancient and deep-rooted, and it takes a profound spiritual experience (whatever shape that might inhabit; there are as many spiritual experiences as there are creatures on the earth) to lift the veil, even for a moment. 

This is why we must gently, delicately, and thoroughly examine childhood trauma, and the most apt definition of trauma for recovery purposes is "anything less than nurturing," to figure out what our beliefs, feelings and judgements are in relation to the world and ourselves. We will eventually have to deconstruct all these beliefs and judgements, one by one, as well as all the assumptions that they have fertilized over the years. In recovery we can come to understand that just because we have a thought, feeling, or insight, it doesn't mean that this thought, feeling or insight has any basis in reality. 

How do I do this? Just as a scientist would. I conduct an experiment, with my life being the lab. Then I need only observe and note what sort of effect it is having. Part of this is not judging my own beliefs or those of others, but simply take stock of what's in store. I don't need to employ the old habit of putting a (+) positive or (-) negative charge on everything. I need only be open to an honest stocktaking, and accept everything as it is without needing to fix it, manage it, defend it, hide it, or control it. I observe it. And when I start observing, I will very quickly realize that what I am observing, all of it, is constantly shifting, changing, moving. 

In this step we are not being asked to understand or believe anything. We are asked simply to drop denial and judgement so that our minds can open to possibilities that exist. A mind full of stale beliefs has no room for grace. We must empty our minds and open to the possibility that there is an energy operating and that we can invite this energy to manifest itself in our lives. We are also not asked to believe blindly - this type of belief is useless. We are asked to open to possibility and observe and note what changes occur. We become scientists of spirituality, our wrecked lives become our laboratories, and the change that takes place is the spiritual experience that supports the theory that we can, and will, be restored to sanity. All we need is an open mind.

Greater, more powerful insights have come when I am not judging myself or others. Once I accept it, this step shows me, in a very basic way that not just I, but every creature, has the choice of awakening from this seemingly endless dream. This restores hope, and proves, to me at least, that while we must walk our own path, we are never alone in the process. 

Step One

“We admitted that we were powerless over alcohol and that our lives had become unmanageable.”

Spiritual principle: Honesty

The most compelling truth of Step One is that I cannot find recovery from something I cannot acknowledge. I need to bring my powerlessness out from the murky damp depths of my shame-box and into the light of day. Truth, surrender, letting go. Yes, it can be frightening, but this fear is indicative of how healing this step is when taken honestly and thoroughly. 

To get on the path of recovery I needed to take Step One on my own; I didn’t understand this consciously at the time, but this meant that no matter how many times my girlfriend-at-the-moment told me I was a hopeless drunk (begging the question what she was doing with me in the first place) and no matter how many friends and family members expressed their concern regarding the relative shambles my life was in, I was the only one who could make the vital and humbling admission called for in this step. 

Through practice I eventually found out that I would get as much help as I ask for with the other eleven steps — from the fellowship of AA, a sponsor and honest sober friends — but this first step has to be taken solo. I do this by admitting — which is saying, believing and accepting the responsibility that comes with such an ego-deflating statement — that I am powerless over my alcoholism and that my life has become unmanageable.

The Big Book says our drinking was only a symbol of an underlying problem. The 12&12 tells us the root problem is self-centeredness and selfishness, but to an alcoholic on the cusp of recovery, such self-evident truths are not always so simple or apparent. An double-edged admission of both powerlessness and unmanageability is psychically excruciating — it goes against everything we have been telling ourselves over and over and over ad nauseum for years. The unmanageability is often self-evident; for many of us the bleak reality of a life in shambles and the mounting wreckage that is sharply evident in those vital moments of clarity can often pierce even the densest denial. But powerlessness? Do I truly understand what it means to be powerless in the face of alcohol? Because I need to understand, believe, and accept this stark fact with every faculty that is operating (and in early recovery sometimes this is not much). But if I want to stay sober and experientially understand the meaning of serenity, one thing is certain: I have to understand Step One at a cellular level. This means letting go of the rim of the toilet bowl I've been living in and allow myself to be flushed down, through the aperture of honesty, into the vast unknown. What makes this step so difficult and unapproachable for some is the ignorance of what comes after such an admission.

What does it mean to admit powerlessness, other than to admit that on my own, I am lost. Left to my own devices I have repeatedly proven to be hopeless in the face of alcohol. I lacked power, and because of this lack and my unwillingness or inability to accept it (through denial, rationalization and justification) for all the years of my drinking, I left a wide swath of damage in my wake. It’s clear to me now that I could not open myself up to the strength and beauty that is available to me, that lives in and through me, until I could admit that I was defeated and I needed help.

But that admission is just the beginning. The most effective way for me to understand step one was to burn my powerlessness and unmanageability into my consciousness. Because I had reached a place where I was willing to do whatever was suggested, when I was told to write down ten consequences of my drinking, I drafted an honest list of 10 examples of times that drinking alcohol impacted my emotional, mental, social, interpersonal, physical, medical, financial, legal and/or spiritual well-being. I was also asked to write down a list of 10 crazy things I had done, and the lengths I had gone to, for alcohol. Ten examples weren’t difficult to come by, so that list was rather quick. Then I shared these lists with somebody I trusted. It needed to be witnessed, a vital part of the spiritual nature of this program. 

Next I was told I had to learn deeply what tells me my life had become unmanageable. I needed to examine dangerous behaviours that I had engaged in through my abuse of alcohol, which included such things as driving drunk, having unprotected sex, and drinking to the point of alcohol poisoning on many occasions. After I came up with the most obvious examples on my own, I was encouraged to provide even subtler examples of how I had engaged in or experienced any of the following: lack of concentration while driving/working/child minding, seeking or abusing prescription medication, self-medicating, suicidal ideation, suicide attempts.

I was by now ready to admit my life was unmanageable, but apparently I wasn’t done learning about the extent of it, because next I had to survey the effects of my alcoholism on social life, specifically how it affected my relationships, my reputation, my popularity and my contact with friends, family and extended family. 

“Okay, I know I am powerless and my life is unmanageable,” I said. “Not yet,” I was told. For instance, what were the financial, legal, and workplace implications of my drinking behaviours? Have I incurred fines, legal expenses due to my alcoholism/addiction? Have there been effects to my overall personal economy? Has there been a cost to others, through stealing, borrowing, damage to property, or other injury? Have I become materialistic? Have I had issues with drug dealing, drunk driving, theft, fraud, assault, imprisonment or any other legal ramifications from my behaviour? How would others in my place of work describe me? How have I coped with responsibility, performance and reliability on the job?

After all this examination, I was feeling pretty beat. I was so clearly rudderless, so lost and out of control, that the desolate terrain of my own life started to seem oppressive. My powerlessness and unmanageability became an emergency. It was softening the soil of my own mental landscape to make way for the awareness of the spiritual ramifications of my alcoholism. I had to weigh my awareness, my peace of mind, and face the incessant feelings of guilt and shame. I saw how I couldn’t love or care for myself or others, I couldn’t trust myself or others, and I couldn’t value my life and set goals. I witnessed, with more shame, how I had become increasingly selfish and less caring. I was completely out of alignment with the most basic spiritual principles.

A thousand mile journey starts with the first step. We can't move forward without this step. The healing begins with this ego-deflating admission. Nobody can force me to take Step One. Nobody can stop me from taking Step One. This step requires an ongoing awareness. As the oldtimers say: nothing changes if nothing changes. My inability to manage my own life on my own resources, once clear, prepares me deeply for what comes next in Step Two.

An ongoing, daily awareness of Step One is required in my program.  If I meditate on it, I can feel my alcoholism physically residing within me; it's difficult to describe, like shadows lurking in my own cells. My alcoholism to me can be-—at times of low spiritual connection—a theoretical abstraction. But then I remember I knew at one time that my powerlessness and unmanageability were absolutely true, and with some work I can sense its absoluteness. Sometimes it is as if from a distance, an image I see when I look up from my busy day. 

Alternately, when I make even the smallest effort toward self-honesty and what I consider to be prayer, my alcoholism is a sharply defined physical and mental fact, an integral facet of my experience from one moment to the next. I remember that point of no return, the place where the world seemed to drop out from under my feet and alcohol could no longer help the feelings I needed to avoidwhere I stared at a bottle of wine I'd pulled from my knapsack and I was so bone tired I just wanted to flop on my cousin's couch and sleep forever; it was with a mixture of incredulity and horror and panic that I realized no matter how tired I was, I would not be going to bed until that wine was gone. I was alone and knew I didn't want to drink it, really, but that I would not be able to help myself. At that point, and when I think about that point, that's where all the other moments--of disappointing myself and others with broken promises and regret and wasted effort and good (but weak) intentions--that's where all the moments seem to gather. Yes. I am convinced I am powerless over alcohol today.

No, I do not have lingering doubts as to whether I am an alcoholic - today. Nor do I have any doubts about my powerlessness over alcohol. I know that one drink, even one sip, could lead me into oblivion, that all bets would be off, there would be no controlling or imagining what would come after, but I know that I would be getting my passport to the land of shame and remorse back very quickly.

I have proven to myself numerous times that I cannot manage my own life on my own resources; I am routinely — consciously or unconsciously — trying to manage all of my affairs, with my proverbial hands on all the levers: work, home, relationships, expectations. It's uncomfortable and exhausting, and when I lose my connection to this vital awareness of Step One, the wheels start coming off the cart pretty rapidly. Yet the converse is true, as well. When my life starts getting unmanageable again, I can always come back to the spiritual bedrock of Step One with an honest heart, and make a new beginning at this amazing spiritual program.