In my addiction, I harmed many people whose names I don’t even remember. As I was considering how to make amends to these people, my sponsor pointed me to a passage in the White Book: “There is always some way to make an amends, even when the injured person is dead, lost, or nameless. …
Recently, while sitting in an SA business meeting, I began feeling uncomfortable. It seemed that others were not sufficiently valuing my opinion! I began feeling hostile, but I was unwilling to admit it to myself. In that moment, a lust image I thought I had given up came to the forefront of my mind.
I like to look up definitions of key words used in the Twelve Steps. I use a 1934 Webster’s Dictionary that was current when the Big Book was written. Key words and their definitions have become the subject of my artwork.
To the women I objectified and used, How can I make an amends to you? I don’t know you. I can’t track you down; it would be wrong for me to even try. So I am writing this letter, and I will put the rest into God’s hands.
My addiction caused me to lose my business, my reputation, and my home. While addiction devastated me, it was inevitable that my family would suffer. Toward the bitter end, everything had gone so far down that I doubted I could ever make things right again.
I like to look up definitions of key words found in the Twelve Steps, using a 1934 Webster’s Dictionary, which was current when the Big Book was published, and then create drawings for them. Step Eleven has lots and lots of words! I could see a lot of important words in there, but for me the two most important words were “conscious contact.”
The Third Tradition is a bringer of many gifts. It makes me a member of the Fellowship. It identifies “lust” as my problem. It is the spiritual link that joins me to other recovering sexaholics and ensures that the meeting will be a safe haven where I can bring lust to the light.
When I started working the SA program, I really didn’t know anything about the Twelve Steps. I was relieved to find that Step One appeared to be so self-explanatory. It asked me to admit that I was powerless, and that was easy. I had already lost my marriage, my business, my house, and the care of my children.
On Halloween Day 2010, I stood at my father’s bed and held his hand and forehead as he passed on at age 90. It was time. His life had not been what he had wanted for the past three years—since a large heart attack—and his health had become gradually and steadily worse. So this was peaceful and a time of appropriate ending.
In recovery, I’ve learned to make prompt amends. In the past, when I wronged someone but did not make amends right away, the wrong would haunt me for days. A quick amends, however, can erase the toxicity of what I’ve done, and often creates a new connection with the other person (as well as with myself).
