A friend new to program recently told me, “You know what I just realized? I don’t know s#it about f@ck.”

Me either. My whole recovery has been a long process of figuring out that I don’t know s#it about f@ck. Or rather, figuring out that a lot of stuff I thought I knew “just ain’t so.”

(In an ironic twist, the quote above is commonly attributed to Mark Twain, but it’s likely he never said it, and the true author isn’t known. See, the universe does have a sense of humor!)

Off the cliff

Realizing that I had built my life on Things That Just Ain’t So was not fun. It felt like looking down and finding out I had run off the edge of the cliff, like Wile. E. Coyote chasing the Roadrunner. As good as I am at shifting blame, this one was all on me, because the lies that let me down were the ones I told myself.

Assumptions are very handy things when truth isn’t easy to come by. (They’re also the most efficient way to lie, but that’s another post.) Truth wasn’t an option in the alcoholic situations of my childhood. Asking questions was bad, bad, bad. No one talked about what was going on, and the things I was told didn’t match the things I saw and felt.

This kind of cognitive dissonance is hard to live with; as soon as I was old enough to understand what the word crazy meant, I knew it applied to me. The worst thing alcoholism did to me–among lots of other sincerely sucky things–was that I grew up not trusting myself.

I didn’t trust my perceptions, I didn’t trust my feelings, and most things made no sense. But we have to have some way to live in the world. As a confused and scared little kid, I didn’t have much to work with. If I can’t ask questions and if people’s words and actions don’t match, what do I do? Try my best to figure it out all on my own, and then operate as if that’s the truth.

With imagination as my only tool, I became a pro at filling in the blanks.

Fill in the blanks: wrong answers only

Problem #1 with this strategy was that, little and confused and surrounded by all the deceptions of alcoholism, I didn’t have enough information to fill in those blanks. My answers were almost always wrong, or at least never quite right. And with no one to set me straight, I ended up believing lots of things that weren’t true.

A little bit of wishful thinking never hurt anyone, right? Maybe, but this wasn’t wishful thinking. Those false beliefs became the foundation of how I saw the world, others, and myself.

A few mistaken beliefs about life, the universe and everything can cause some big freaking problems. The big troublemakers were the lies I believed about myself, because I didn’t know they were lies.

The things that just ain’t so

Here are some of the blanks I filled in with wrong answers as a kid. If you grew up with this disease, maybe yours look like mine:

• The adults around me don’t know how to handle my feelings, so feelings are bad, horrible, dangerous things that must be squashed or stuffed away at all costs.

• I don’t have any friends, so I must be unlovable.

• A sibling regularly beats and terrorizes me, so I must deserve it.

• The adults in my life can’t respond to my emotional needs, so it must be wrong to need anything.

• Most of my interactions with others are painful, so it’s safer to be alone.

Sound familiar? I could go on, but those are some of the biggies. And every one of those lies was stone cold reality to me until my Higher Power started getting in through the cracks.

Didn’t you figure this out as you got older? Nope. I got better and better at filling in the blanks with assumptions. Lies can only beget more lies. I didn’t know how to operate any other way.

By the time I came into program, all I knew was that the way I was living wasn’t working. I thought I could just learn a few strategies and shape up. I had no idea that my real problem was a life built on lies.

As the cracks in my life got bigger, I felt like the foundations of my life were crumbling. And they were–hallelujah!

The key to letting go of those lies was OWNING them. However they came to be there, however young and unguarded I was when they took root, they’re mine. They’re my responsibility. I have to be able to say, and mean, “That’s my mess.” Only grace and mercy make that possible. Anyone who thinks grace and mercy are soft, gentle things has never been squeezed to own their mess. I’m so grateful to my Higher Power for not letting me off that hook.

The things that really ARE so

I fill in the blanks a little differently these days. What I’ve learned from the experience, strength and hope of the program:

• The adults around me didn’t know how to handle my feelings, because they were suffering from the disease of alcoholism and didn’t have the bandwidth to handle their own feelings, much less teach me to process mine. But I have tools now–the Steps, the slogans, a sponsor, program friends.

• I didn’t have any friends, because the craziness of active alcoholism made it really hard to learn social skills. There’s no better place to learn to make friends than in program! I can actually sometimes sort of talk to people now without scaring them off (on a good day).

• A sibling regularly beat and terrorized me, because my sib felt the terrible pain of growing up with alcoholism too, and didn’t have a healthy way of dealing with it either. We’ve made living amends and my sib is now a treasured ally and friend. We can look back at our roles in each others’ past with compassion instead of bitterness. That’s a true miracle, by the way.

• The adults in my life couldn’t respond to my emotional needs, because they were overwhelmed by an untreated disease that none of us could control or cure. I can learn to take care of myself and to choose people who are available.

• Most of my interactions with others were painful because of the effects of alcoholism, but there are safe people in this world and I can reach out to them. Isolation is an option, not a necessity. I’m not doomed to be lonely forever.

And it ain’t over

However damaging those lies were, letting go of them still felt like falling into the void. It took a lot of time and a lot of program and some miracles for me to start feeling safe enough to question those old beliefs and start building new ones. Only the love and acceptance of my Higher Power and my groups make it possible.

That process was hard, hard, hard. And it’s still hard. It’s not over. New ‘things that just ain’t so’ keep turning up with unfunny regularity. I thought I’d reach a point in recovery where I’d unearthed them all–cute, right? There’s no finish line.

Every one that I’m brave enough to face and own becomes a blessing. I need fresh grace and mercy every day. I’m glad I don’t have to make this journey by myself.

Keep coming back!