The following articles from the May 2010 issue are reprinted with permission of The Forum,
Al-Anon Family Group Hdqs., Inc., Virginia Beach, VA. For more articles, check The
Forum archive.
In My Story (pp. 8-11)
A physician's journey into healing
By Anonymous, North Carolina
I am a very grateful member of the worldwide fellowship of Al-Anon. I am also a psychiatrist. The alcoholics in my life include my father, a brother, and many others.
I was familiar with the family disease of alcoholism as a clinician and in my personal psychotherapy for years before I stepped into the rooms of Al-Anon.
My childhood was colored dramatically with my father's mental illness and alcoholism. He was a terrifying figure at times, pathetic at others. I wanted to love him, but it was so hard.
There was neglect of my four siblings and me, sporadic violence, sexual abuse by a grandparent, my father's premature death--so many of the tragic things that accompany this terrible family disease.
My mother was anxious, steeped in denial, emotionally inaccessible, and ever concerned about "what would the neighbors think?" My roles were that of the good child, the caretaker, the peacemaker, and the family hero.
I recall around age nine getting into the middle of a physical altercation between my parents, trying to protect my mother. What would the neighbors think? I mastered looking good while feeling bad--worthless and flawed.
While blessed by a churche home that provided some structure, nuture, and positive role models, I never felt like I really belonged anywhere. I felt if others really knew me, they would despise me, as I despised myself.
I excelled at school. My perfectionism was rewarded. I was thrilled to leave for college and escape my family. I did well in college and proceeded to medical school. I really didn't plan to go into psychiatry, but I got so much praise and encouragement from my supervisors in this area, it seemed like what I should do. I was a natural. Wel of course I was; I'd been in training my entire life!
I married, completed my psychiatry training, and became a mother, juggling multiple roles and never feeling I was doing any one of them well enough.
Years passed. I struggled with depression, anxiety, low self-esteem, and marital challenges. I was in individual therapy for many years, and couples therapy for my two marriages to rigid, self-absorbed men with little to give emotionally.
In my psychotherapy, I gained insight, learned valuable skills, and had the steady, caring presence of a wonderful therapist. A lot of healing occurred. I evolved from victim to survivor. I began trying to shed some old roles and try some new ones. I tried ever so hard to be the kind of parent I wished I'd had, and to provide a stable home for my children.
But then my younger brother's divorce and downhill spiral into the depths of alcohol and drug addiction brought back intense feelings of guilt. I thought I should not have gone to college, but stayed home instead to take care of him--that somehow I could have and should have protected him.
I felt guilty for being the one who somehow escaped. It was at this point that I retured to The Forum; it served as a good anchor for me. I welcomed its arrival each month and read it cover to cover.
I was comforted to remember that "I didn't cause it, I can't control it, and I can't cure it."
I considered going to a meeting, but I was too scared and too proud. What if I saw someone I knew? What if I saw one of my patients?
As a psychiatrist shouldn't I be expected to figure it all out for myself and for those I loved? Wouldn't others think less of me? Wouldn't I think less of myself if I couldn't do it alone, without help?
During the holiday season, my brother went to jail for his second DWI in a matter of months. There was a flurry of family activity about what to do to help him.
I was trying to be detached, but the family dynamic was forming a vortex that was threatening to pull me in. I feared that--alone--I couldn't resist the pull. I needed a meeting and I knew it. I confided in a friend who was kind enough to go with me to my first Al-Anon meeting.
I remember feeling that I'd found my real family--a family that hadn't been present with me in my home, but they'd been there. We spoke the same language. They really understood what I'd been through and how I was struggling. They welcomed, even encouraged me, to share about my experience. And I was received with compassion and love that I didn't have to earn. I was no longer alone.
And yes, I did see people that I knew from other settings. They welcomed me. I ran into two former patients at meetings over the course of several months, and it was okay. In Al-Anon, we share as equals. I don't have to be a perfect anything in these rooms, not a perfect daughter, sister, mother, wife, doctor, or Sponsor--just perfectly human.
Three years into working the Al-Anon program, I find I am healthier emotionally, spiritually, and physically. I now try to care for myself well, as well as care for others. My relationships with my Higher Power, myself, and others are healthier.
As a result of my Fourth Step work, I have some genuine pride rather than a proud facade. I'm more able to see my strengths and accomplishments as well as my flaws. I am more open and honest with myself and those close to me.
I can better separate what I want for myself from what others want from me. I've gone from feeling like a weary survivor to feeling like a worthy human being actively engaged in my life. It's been an amazing journey, one I look forward to continuing.
I tell my patients that I'm a big fan of Twelve Step programs and regularly recommend them.
There is an element of profound healing in these rooms that I have not experienced or witnessed elsewhere.
In Features (pp. 12-13)
When I listened with my heart, the color of my skin no longer mattered
By Noreen S., Florida
Sometimes when asked to share my story, I mention my initial reluctance to join the Al-Anon Family Groups. I was in a lot of pain, but not enough to overcome the discomfort of being the only black person in a meeting of predominantly white members.
I drove across town, sometimes miles away from where I lived, in search of meetings where there were other members of my ethnicity, somehow believing that I would get more out of an Al-Anon meeting if I were surrounded by people who looked like me.
Much to my disappointment, I couldn't find a meeting anywhere in the city with more than one other black person. Greatly discouraged, I stopped trying Al-Anon meetings.
My situation deteriorated to the point where I didn't care what Al-Anon members looked like, as long as they could offer me hope and make the pain go away.
The next time I reluctantly tried an Al-Anon meeting, I sat in the back, closed my eyes, and listened with my heart. It was then that I started to feel the help, hope, and healing I needed to put my life back together.
Over the years, we have had Spanish-speaking meetings started in our district, and we have had some outreach efforts targeted to predominantly ethnic areas of Jacksonville. Ever so slowly, I have started seeing a few regular members who whare my ethnicity. But today when I open the door to an Al-Anon meeting, I don't really notice the color of the members who are there.
When I look across the tables and around the rooms, I see long-timers full of experience and strength, and newcomers desperately in need of hope. I see caring in the faces of my Al-Anon family who loved me even before I had the capacity to love myself or to love them back.
To me, it no longer matters what the members look like, only what they have to share. I grow from the experience of others and I can use the tools I learn in the rooms. I take what I like and leave the rest. Certainly, some of my experiences in life have been different because of my ethnicity, but my experience with alcoholism has not. It has only been affected by my willingness to listen, to learn, and to change.
We all share as equals with one factor in common--living with, and recovering from the disease of alcoholism.
In Features (pp. 16-17)
A man makes pease with alcoholic mother and grandmother
By Rufus C.
When I walked into my first Al-Anon meeting I was completely stunned to see a room of more than 30 women--and no men. As a guy, I was so intimidated that I immediatly turned to leave, as if I wasn't already ashamed of not being able to fix my wife--an active alcoholic.
Luckily, one of the women at the meeting caught my hand and invited me in. As I nervoulsy listened, I was amazed to see that as each of these women shared, they told my story as the spouse and child of alcoholics.
I wish I could say that after the meeting I immersed myself in Al-Anon, but I guess I needed to suffer for a few more months before seeking recovery. Today, I'm grateful to have ten years worth of meetings under my belt.
However, being the only male or one of a handful in a meeting is a common occurrence and has its ups and downs. For instance, though there's no rule requiring a Sponsor of the same sex, I wanted a mail as my first Sponsor and that took some doing. The one I found was amazing.
As I gew in recovery, he helped me to see that my uneasiness with women had a lot to do with my feelings toward my grandma who raised me and my mom who abandoned me, both of whom were untreated alcoholics.
I've come to believe that my Higher Power has a great sense of humor and an even better sense of what I need, as he put the only cure for my disease in the hands of a roomful of kind, caring women. Because of this I've been able to build a relationship with my mom, even though she hasn't found recovery, and to let go of the hurt caused by my grandmother even though she passed away long before I got recovery.
My Higher Power has taught me to let go of my macho male ego in order to embrace healing. I've learned that humor heals and builds fellowship.
Through service work, I was able to overcome my sense of not belonging. I chaired meetings, sponsored Alateens, and even served as a Group Representative. Through it all, I've been able to slowly but surely move past my resentment towards women.
I've also seen things from the perspective of newcomer women who awkwardly struggled with my presence as a man in meetings where there is a great deal of vulnerability. And sometimes I found it daunting, and even awkward, as these members avoid making eye contact or went out of their way to tell me that they sit far away from me on purpose--because of my gender.
But one day one of the women in my current home group told me, "I'm so glad that you're here. It means so much to me to see that men struggle with the effects of alcoholism as I do, and I love that those little girls in Alateen get to see what a kind and loving man looks like."
I remember stepping outside for a bit as the tears came. I realized that I am truly where I belong.