If you share with me the common Al-Anon trait of wanting to have all your ducks in a row–sorted by size, color, material, date of purchase, and squeaker volume–uncovering our powerlessness and facing it can feel like a big, slow-motion disaster.

I used to be good at keeping those ducks in a row. If there was an Olympic Duck Committee, I’d be on it. For years, I spent all my time, attention and energy lining up those ducks. Duck-sorting was my zone. I came into recovery expecting to learn new and better ways to keep them lined up. That’s what programs are for, right?

I always thought the problem was that I just needed a better duck-management system. If I could get a little more efficient with those ducks, I could straighten out everyone who was making me crazy with their persistent refusal to stay lined up.

Then I kept coming back and learned other names for duck-organizing: manipulation, control, fixing, and my laugh-out-loud favorite, being “overly supportive.” Ugh!

It was a big day when I realized that me trying to manage the ducks was what was making me crazy. Finding a saner way to live meant letting go of some ducks.

A big ducking mess

My M.O. before program: Take ALL the responsibility and then get mad because nobody ever helps me.

Yup, I’m an Al Anon!

When I first came in, I was so sick that this made total sense. Of course I have to do everything, because how else will it get done my way? And of course I’m resentful, because I have to do everything myself! All these ducks, and they’re all my problem! How unfair can life be?

Once I started to see that this might be a little bit counterproductive (read: crazy), I had a huge mess to untangle: figuring out which ducks were actually mine.

This duck is my duck, this duck is your duck

All parents know the Toddler Law Of Ownership: What’s mine is mine, and what’s yours is mine. Everything is mine, mine, mine.

This is also a pretty good description of my disease: Everything is mine.

Before program: It’s my duck if it affects me in any way. It’s my duck if it affects someone I love. It’s my duck if I have strong feelings about it. It’s my duck if I have any opinion about it whatsoever. It’s my duck if it appears anywhere in my field of awareness.

Can you guess that I was exhausted and angry all the time?

Row, row, row your ducks

Some of the ducks I spent the most time lining up:

• Making sure Kid Qualifiers #1 and #2 woke up for school and/or work
• Making sure Kid Qualifiers #1 and #2 arrived at school and/or work
• Making sure everybody in my orbit woke up, ate, and arrived wherever the heck they were supposed to be on time
• Managing my kids’ sibling relationships
• Managing my kids’ relationships with their other parent
• Managing how other people perceived me, Partner Qualifier, and our family
• Managing the flow of information so that certain people with tempers wouldn’t get upset (for their own sake, of course!)

This, friends, is nuts. I had management issues.

It’s especially nuts when you consider that at the same time I was busy lining up everyone else’s ducks, my own ducks were stuck in the drain, lost in the pool filter or being chewed up by the dog. Metaphorically, of course. But I took zero responsibility for my own health or happiness.

Taking care of myself? How selfish is that? Isn’t my love for others measured by how much of my own freedom, health, and sanity I sacrifice for them? And who’s got time for self-care anyway? That’s for unimportant people with no demands on their time. I’m busy being the center of everybody’s universe here!

Duck Number One

Admitting I was powerless over alcohol was easy; I’d known that since I was a kid. I gave up on that before I reached double digit birthdays. Accepting I was powerless over other people in general? Much tougher. The hardest Step One I ever did was: I am powerless over the ducks. Duck-sorting makes my life unmanageable. Keeping the ducks in a row is not my job. Why? Because I’m always trying to line up someone else’s ducks.

It’s okay for me to line up my own ducks, as long as I accept that the universe may have other plans. (That’s a process, too. And anytime a recovery friend tells you, That’s a process, it’s gentle code for, You’re going to cuss a lot. But that’s another post.)

But managing everybody else’s business? That has to go.

None of my ducking business

And oh, boy, there is no such thing as just deciding to stay out of someone’s business. ‘Minding my own business’ is a million and one discrete decisions, every single day, every time I spot a duck out of line. Every single time, I have to consciously choose to step back and ask myself: Is this my duck?

Chances are, it’s not. How do I know that? Because most of the ducks aren’t mine. Big Change Number One: assuming that the duck isn’t mine, instead of jumping in before I even give myself time to consider whose duck it is.

And then it’s time to use the tools: detachment, slogans, frantic texts to my sponsor. (“She left all the groceries out on the kitchen table AGAIN!”) I laugh now, but damn, my sanity was fragile. Still is, actually.

And walks. I took walks. Lots and lots of walks. Walks are a great tool when I’m trying hard to leave those ducks alone and know I just can’t as long as I’m looking at them. “I’ll be right back” ought to be an official slogan; it’s one of the most useful phrases ever. (Thanks, Fr. Tom!)

I still need a lot more practice. I’m sure there will be no shortage of opportunities. In fact, I see one of Partner Qualifier’s ducks sitting right there, a little out of line. I’d better go take a walk.

Keep coming back!