Seven Summers Later

**August 1, 2019, marks seven years since I last picked up a drink.**

Seven years.

It's a strange number, isn't it?

Long enough that the chaos of my drinking life sometimes feels like it belonged to someone else, yet close enough that I can still remember the exhaustion of trying to survive the insanity of it day after day.

At first, I thought this article would be about *seven years*. About some grandiose enlightenment I can point to, on some specific idyllic day, and share it with others to show just how hard I work *The Program*. But the more I reflected, the more I realized it isn't the years that matter. It's the ordinary days that fill them. The days where nothing spectacular happens except that you stay sober, you grow a little, and you try again tomorrow. Those ordinary days have quietly become the most extraordinary life I could have imagined.

## 1. The one-day rule

Step One and Two taught me that I don't have to give in to every thought or emotion my mind produces. Today, when something shakes me to my core, I've learned not to make permanent (or wildly self-destructive) decisions in the middle of that storm. I wait 24 hours. More often than not, what felt unbearable yesterday becomes manageable today as I return to sanity while simultaneously admitting that I am not the puppet master of the universe.

Sometimes the greatest act of courage is simply waiting until tomorrow.

## 2. Meditation and introspection belong at the top of my to-do list

An incredible therapist introduced me to meditation back in 2016, three years before I got sober. Step Eleven gave that practice an even deeper purpose. Learning to sit quietly with my own thoughts, memories, hopes, disappointments, and fears has slowly changed me.

The more honestly I get to know myself, the less certain I become that I have all the answers (and I'm genuinely ok with that). I think that's another definition for humility.

## 3. Humility and gratitude are muscles

Step Three and the Third Promise remind me that these aren't achievements I unlock forever. They're practices. Some days gratitude comes easily. Other days I have to choose it intentionally through mindfulness, inventory, and reminding myself of everything this program has given me.

Like any muscle, humility and gratitude grow only when I keep using them.

## 4. Esteemable acts build self-esteem

For years I searched for confidence by looking inward. Steps Nine and Ten taught me to look outward instead. Every honest amends, every time I admit I'm wrong, every effort to carry these principles into all my affairs subtly becomes another brick in the foundation of my character.

This program helped me realize self-esteem isn't something I *just so happen* to find, but rather something I build through action.

## 5. Growth is a privilege

Few souls excitedly sign up for Steps Four and Five. Looking honestly at ourselves can be uncomfortable, even painful. But sobriety has taught me that growth itself is a privilege. I get to dust off the parts of myself I'd rather leave hidden because today I have the safety, clarity, and willingness to become someone more aligned with who I truly am. And, I can face the difficulties of my past without having to resort to drinking away the memories, shame, or guilt.

That isn't something everyone gets the chance to experience.

## 6. The opposite of addiction is connection

Step Twelve gave me something alcohol never could: belonging.

Service has looked different over the years: serving on committees, helping plan conferences, setting up meetings, answering the phone when another alcoholic calls. None of those things feel small to me anymore, because so many people did those very same things for me.

When I was drinking, I isolated until I had almost no one left. Today, my life is full of friendships that feel like family. Somewhere along the way, I finally understood what people mean when they call themselves a grateful alcoholic.

## 7. Lowering the barrier to entry helps save lives

August 1, 2019 is my sobriety date, but September 20, 2022 is the anniversary I celebrate in AA.

It took me more than three years (and coming frighteningly close to relapse) to finally walk through the doors of the program. Not because I didn't need help, but because I couldn't see myself in the stereotypes I'd heard about AA, like church basements and The Lord's Prayer. I convinced myself there wasn't a place for someone like me.

Then I found a secular meeting.

That meeting led me to a sponsor, which led to the Steps, which gave me a life I never imagined was possible.

That's why I believe so deeply that AA should feel welcoming to everyone. Whether it's a secular meeting, a women's meeting, or any other special composition group, every doorway we create is another chance for someone to find hope instead of another three years of white-knuckling their way through sobriety in isolation, fear, and uncertainty.

This month, I celebrate seven years without a drink. In September, I'll celebrate four years in Alcoholics Anonymous.

Both are miracles.

And neither would have been possible without the people in these rooms who loved me, guided me, challenged me, and reminded me (often before I believed it myself) that there was a better way to live.

For that, I will always be grateful.