Ever see a sign like this and wonder, How closed is it? Broken pavement? Wet cement? An open pit? Or just a little sprinkler work on the side? Is it really impassable? I’ll be the judge of that.

Something similar went through my mind when I first entered the rooms of Al-Anon. I’d hear someone share about their loved one and think, How alcoholic are they? By which I really meant, are they as alcoholic as mine?

I had a mental checklist of what alcoholism looks like, based on my own narrow experience, plus my imagination and Information From Nowhere (thanks, Larcine!). If your story didn’t check all the boxes, then obviously you weren’t dealing with a real alcoholic, and I had nothing to learn from you. More than that, if my problems are worse than yours, that makes me better than you.

Ugh. That’s the thinking that qualifies me to keep coming back.

Snowflake status

When I got here, I was convinced that I was a Very Special Snowflake and that no one had ever suffered as much as I had. Disease Thinking 101: My problems are unique, and that makes me special, and I need to be special to be okay. And I am going to win the Who’s Got It Worst competition.

I recently heard an A.A. speaker share that the way to tell the difference between low self-esteem and wounded ego is to explore your reaction to the idea that you are just a normal, average human being. Low self-esteem breathes a huge sigh of relief at the thought of being just like everyone else. Ego jerks away in horror.

That idea applies more widely than I want to admit. What comes up for me when someone in the meeting shares a war story crazier than mine? Compassion? A little shaky gratitude? Some acknowledgement that I’m not the only one suffering? Or do I resent the idea that somebody else might just have it worse than me?

Horrible as it sounds, there can be a sick satisfaction in having the worst problems of anyone I know. Ego loves being number one, even if it’s the number one victim. And sick satisfaction is still pretty dang satisfying, especially if the rest of my life is on fire.

It gets worse when a few more layers of the onion come off. What if my problem is who I am? What if I can’t imagine who I’d be without it? And that gets me into some very dark corners of the basement, opening some big cans of worms.

Who am I, really? I might answer that question in polite conversation (if I can’t escape!) by telling you how I earn a living, where I’m from, what I like to do on weekends. Once I know you a little better, it might sound like a beloved author, a favorite cause, or a worldview.

But when it’s just me and the monster under the bed, the answers are different. Who I was, before program, was defined by what I was trying to hide. Who are you? That was the question I squirmed to avoid. Rejected daughter. Adult child of an alcoholic. Mother of addicts. Martyr. Victim. Puller of strings.

Letting go of a problem is one thing. Letting go of an identity is another. And without realizing it, my issues had become me. I was the sum of my problems, and as much as I wanted relief, I couldn’t imagine not having them. Who would I be? Without this defining core of misery, I’ll be the hole in the donut.

I wasn’t willing to let go of my problems because I’d built my life around them. I wanted to feel better, sure. Maybe garner some admiration by how well I’d dealt with it all–how does she do it? Poor thing, she’s been so brave.

Ha, ha, ha. That’s my disease, y’all. I want to fix you and get all the credit, and look like a blameless and selfless martyr while I do it! And that has been hard to give up.

Ego and the donut hole

The answer came, as it usually does, through the Steps. My inventories showed me that my problem wasn’t the alcohol, or the alcoholism, or the alcoholics. It was me. Alcoholism, by itself, doesn’t make my life unmanageable. Alcoholism plus my character defects makes my life unmanageable. And I can’t change the alcoholism, so I’d better find the courage to change what I can–my defects.

I can’t directly change those either. But seeing how I contributed to my own unhappiness brought in a tiny smidgen of willingness to let God do some tinkering. Nothing major, of course– I just need a few pointers, thanks. (Anytime I want to make God laugh, I tell Him I’m managing just fine. )

Inch by inch, I became willing to let go of some of those overdeveloped coping skills (cough! defects!).* Slowly it dawned on me that to really be free of the things that are making me miserable, I have to let God make me someone who doesn’t cling to misery. And my old identity as Saintly Holder Together Of All Things started to crack and come loose.

Restored, not fixed

Step 2 says that we came to believe in a Power greater than ourselves who can restore us to sanity. Restoration involves so much more than just removing the old. I’m way beyond a little touching up. Fresh paint and new curtains aren’t much help if the roof is falling in and the foundation is sinking.

This Step doesn’t say that God will fix us. It says that He can restore us. God does not pull out the duct tape and the WD-40 and send me on my way patched up. If I am willing, my Higher Power will restore me from the effects of this disease beyond anything I can imagine right now, because from here I can’t even see everything that’s wrong yet. He’s not a handyman; He’s a master architect.

And I need way more help than just having my most troublesome defects removed. In fact, at first what I wanted was not for my Higher Power to remove them, but just to help me hide them better! I didn’t want to look resentful, or manipulative, or dishonest. I just wanted help maintaining my disguise. Lucky for me, He has something way better planned.

To do that, I have to become willing to let go of the competitiveness that wants my problems to be worse, my story more shocking, than anyone else’s. My identity had to change from “the only sane person around here” to “needs a little fixing” to “candidate for restoration.”

As long as I still wanna be Queen Victim, I haven’t admitted my powerlessness yet. And when my ego sees you as the competition, I put myself outside the fellowship. To be restored, I need to be a part of, not apart from, as the AAs say.

You’d think that giving up the sick desire to Win The Meeting, in exchange for sanity and serenity, would be a no-brainer. Letting go of my identity as Tragic Saint Who Nevertheless Valiantly Manages Well has taken awhile, because I had no freakin’ idea who else I could be. And to see the possibilities, I need all of you.

The first traces of hope come from the fellowship. You take me into the circle, and I start to see alternatives. Who am I there? Member. Sponsee. Sponsor. Friend. Servant. Fellow traveler. Work in progress.

I don’t have to wear the victim label, unless I want to. Little by little, the miracle happens: I don’t want to. I see in all of your beautiful faces and hear in your stories that there’s another way.

I have to be willing to feel empty sometimes, to show up with nothing of my own to grab onto. I have to trust that I’ll be okay not knowing. That’s hard. I can’t do it without the love and support in these rooms. But week after week, I’m welcomed in, no matter how I show up.

The new me is shaky at times, because I’m still getting to know her. The urge to control how others see me comes up strong sometimes. Ego still wants to be somebody of my own making. Somebody better than you, that is! Yup, I need a program. But the more I am willing to let that old self die, the more I can see myself in God’s light.

And as I hold my Higher Power close, as the fellowship teaches me to do, He gives me an identity that can bear the weight of recovery: child of God.

Beloved. That’s who I am today by God’s grace. It’s better than anything I could have dreamed. When I forget, you help me remember. I’m so grateful for a safe place to be the hole in the donut while God is working.

Keep coming back!

* There’s a trend current in Al Anon towards distaste for the term “defects.” More and more I hear them referred to in meetings as “character defaults” or “character traits” in an attempt to avoid the negative associations of the word “defects.”

Brittanica Dictionary defines “defect” in part as “a problem that causes something to be less effective [or] healthy,” and that’s a pretty dang good description of my old toolbox. I’m happy to call my misplaced defense mechanisms defects because it reminds me that I’m better off letting God remove them. If my ego doesn’t like that word, I’m probably on the right track!