I didn’t think I could ever get sober. But “God could and [did when I sought Him]” (AA 60), and He does for [me] what [I] could not do for [myself] (AA 84). The White Book assures me, "...we started sharing at meetings, telling our story, bringing the inside out. And we discovered that the way to feel better is not only going to meetings but taking the risk of self-disclosure” (SA 65). This is my story in addiction and in recovery.
Dear ESSAY, I wanted to share these photos of an unconventional meeting location. I am a grateful member of the Žilina SA group in Slovakia. One of our fellows was instructed by his sponsor to attend at least two physical meetings per week. He sometimes travels to distant members who don’t have nearby meetings.
A while ago, a fellow in my home group went through a difficult time and wondered why God let it happen. This reminded me of something that happened for me about two years ago.
When I joined SA in the autumn of 2020, I was broken but willing to take direction. That’s because I was so desperate. Many years of experience in AA did afford me some advantages, though, including countless book study meetings and a good familiarity with the Big Book and the Twelve and Twelve. I even remembered some passages, like page 417 about acceptance, which I could still recite word for word. The stuff I memorised still serves as a kind of mental reference library.
Last weekend (early April 2024), about 20 SA members spent about 14 hours together for “Truro Recovery Day” in Cornwall, UK (Truro is a quant cathedral city in southwest England). One of the smallest groups in the UK (the Truro meeting) hosted this annual event of the southwest corner of England.
I love plants! I have plants in my living room, kitchen, bedroom…everywhere! All that greenery in the house makes me feel good, and since I'm in recovery, I can take good care of them, too. Before, all my plants were dying. I just wasn't able to give them what they needed, which isn’t surprising, considering I could barely keep myself alive.
Lust is ugliness disguised as grace. Lust is disgust staring into my face. Lust possesses my entire living space. Lust takes all my hopes to erase. Lust removes the beauty from life. Lust fills the room with unbearable strife.
Dear Porn, I gotta say that this is the weirdest thing for me to be doing right now, but I wanna thank you for lotsa stuff. Y’know, we haven’t been in contact now for like 126 days (but who’s counting), and I’m not gonna lie—I DO miss you. A whole lot. See? I even count the days! That’s how important you are were in my life!! And although I don’t want you in my life anymore, there was a time that you were crucial to my survival. We’ve been through a lot together and, although it’s time to say goodbye, I really must say thank you first.
For me, sexual lust started as a simple game that I played with the kid next door. I never imagined that such a game could develop into a "way of life." My family paid more attention to my beautiful, smart sister, and to attract their attention, I started stealing from them to get more attention. This didn’t work. I didn’t know how to say, “I’m here! See me! Love me! I need my father to hold me!”
I have been following a journey all my adult life toward what now, as a sober SA member, I think of as Step 1—and I am now almost 60. I am moved to write this article by The Real Connection reading for today, which at the time of writing is April 7. It describes a method of meditation which the writer felt could be useful to other members, that is, in silence paying attention to my breathing, and focusing on my breath as it goes in and out of my nose and mouth, letting go of my thoughts as they arise.
