I served as treasurer/literature person for my home group for 17 months — too long.

From the outset, I enjoyed service. I found (as some had said) that it was good for sobriety. When tempted to act out, I held self-conversations on how “I can’t … or I won’t be able to continue service.” Sometimes, it was more my obligation to the group than to myself that kept me sober. Fine: a day … a technique at a time … whatever it takes. I learned, however strong despair, it will pass — and once gone, I would feel okay — the urge would come back, but I could endure again. No one ever woke up on the sunny side of sobriety regretting having acted out one time too few.

I decided, arbitrarily, that a year would be a good length of service. [This is typical of me — a lifetime of conversations in my mind.] Meeting attendance climbed … one night to a high of 19; then gradually slipped to a low of four or five. Newcomers came and mostly went; several established members drifted, appearing infrequently. I feared some might view me as a person of experience. “Not me!” I’d declaim in one of my habitual self-conversations, “I’m still a beginner.” Being responsible was a difficult conception at best … a trait that, through all prior years, I both avoided and felt I didn’t merit.

Some nights I led, collected contributions, sold literature. “Too much,” I’d dialog with myself, letting wonder and resentment evolve. Being still a “beginner,” I had my excuse to avoid seeking change.

By pattern, I was accustomed to obscurity. The cloak of anonymity, in various guises, was how I evolved my dealings with life. There were a few (and these were outside the program) who had known me for many years who had observed I could tell amusing stories, but they didn’t know how I felt … didn’t know who I was. I’d spent my life isolating, devoting myself to fantasy where responsibility can be imagined, success entertained, communication pretended. And when reality introduced the disconnects, I would dive deep — into depression, lust, drink, work, antisocial actions — to get lost inside myself.

As a year closed I looked at attendance — judging. Who with enough sobriety was coming regularly to take it over? Without revealing my thoughts, I occasionally talked with someone. [I heard a story about someone doing service who, on not finding a replacement, finally left the literature and money behind at the end of a meeting.]

A year was up. I started feeling trapped, thinking twelve months might have been a disservice, preventing others from serving. I imagined some relied on me being around. If a member observed how something might be changed, resentment germinated [the inside reply — “Why don’t you do it, not just carp?”]. But on the outside I wasn’t saying what I felt.

I began to announce: “I’ve been serving for 15 months; that’s too long. I’m offering this up to interested members.” [An overtone of indecision.] One member asked whether I was offering because I wanted to or because I felt I should. I avoided a direct reply. Because I hadn’t spent hours analyzing, I didn’t know what my “right” feelings were. I was uneasy; I had imagined a volunteer, a business meeting, a rescue to save me from taking a stance. [My expertise was in being indefinite.]

In following meetings I repeated the announcement … no takers, no discussion. I felt confusion about responsibility and commitment. I took silent inventories, of myself and others, tinkering with memory … and conscience. I fall into this pattern when I’m avoiding issues, seeking to bury something with denial. In this case, it was finding a constructive way to move for change.

I began to view service turnover differently — trying to keep resentment and self-imposed responsibility out — the group can take care of itself. Perhaps any disservice was my doing — how many are going to say, “step aside.” I looked at myself … and considered. Boundaries have been a major problem for me. I would set them in my mind, but not tell others. When they were crossed, I would let resentment grow until, surprising “trespassers,” I reacted out of proportion.

I set a goal. I would announce my intent to resign by the end of the month. If no one picked up, I would resort to “option B.” With all planned in advance, I announced, eliciting some surprise, but no discussion. A member I’d consulted told me after the meeting that I omitted my resignation date. This was forcing me out of fantasy … into self-expression. I rehearsed, next time specifying the date.

We were ten at the next meeting. After our regular meeting, five members quickly left. One, no longer attending regularly, suggested I wait to next week. I let that go. I was learning to let go of more in the business meeting that followed … of worry, of projecting my failings onto others, of imagining the future through a series of isolated thoughts.

We managed a transition and agreed to take steps to involve more members in service and rotate more frequently. This was growth in the group and, individually, for myself. It was another step out of my head.