Estimated read time: 9 min
You can’t give away what you don’t have…
I do NOT have a green thumb, so go ahead and get that thought out of your mind. I am no plant guru, flower connoisseur, botanist, or whatever other plant people term that would lead anyone to believe I can keep anything green alive for any length of time. In fact, until recently, I couldn’t even keep a succulent alive for more than 6 months before it wilted, shriveled, and crossed the rainbow bridge to wherever murdered plants end up. ve
I will, however, acknowledge that I have, somehow, someway, managed to keep a phew philodendrons, and anthuriums, alive, in the house, and still green for a few months now. That is quite a feat for me I assure you. Regardless, I don’t have a green thumb and surprise, surprise this post isn’t really about plants anyway, so there.
I came across a quote the other day (am a big fan of quotes), and it said something to the effect of “You’ve done enough watering, it’s time to be the garden for once.” The quote automatically spoke to me and really got me thinking about all the different interpretations and implications such a quote could hold. Rather than going through the exhaustive list of theories and suppositions my little brain came up with, I’ll spare you the details and let your own imagination run its course. I trust that you’re smart people, you’re here, aren’t you?
While I believe the quote was intended to speak to the importance of self-care, giving yourself a break, and avoiding burnout, I’d like to propose a different approach. See for this grateful nut, my brain immediately went to thoughts of early sobriety, newcomers, old-timers, and all the little witty slogans that 12-step programs have queued up and ready to roll out at a moment’s notice.
Admittedly yes, some of the slogans can be a bit…. abrasive, smug, rude, harsh? Old-timers hold on to your pitchforks and big books, it’s an honest program and I’m simply sharing my experience, strength, and hope here! Yeah, some of the slogans aren’t the sweetest smelling flowers, but typically, in most cases, they are helpful and full of wisdom if one can set aside his or her ego and pride. “Take the cotton out of your ears and put it in your mouth.” Or, “You don’t know jack sh!t about staying sober,” and a personal favorite of mine, “In about six months you’ll hear a big pop, don’t worry it’s just your head coming out of your a$$,” are just of few of the sayings I have heard in the rooms.
Another popular phrase you might hear in my home group is, “You can’t give away, what you don’t have.” This of course is kind of in reference to new comers or “white chip clinicians.” You know the type, the newcomer or retread just in after a big relapse who has all the wealth and wisdom to bestow on the people in the meeting who just couldn’t possibly understand how smart they are and how well they have this recovery thing down (bless their little hearts). It’s a thing, and if you’re not sure who that person is in your group… well, I’m not really sure how to tell you this, soooo, I won’t (Ha!).
I digress. Back to the point at hand, “You can’t give away, what you don’t have”, seems simple enough right? Maybe, but even the simplest of concepts in early sobriety could be baffling to me, so I’ll elaborate for those, like me, who need a little nudge in the right direction. Essentially, if I don’t have anything, I very well can’t give you anything, now can I?
Storytime. I was about 3 months out of rehab, right, living with an incredibly kind, loving, and compassionate old-timer from my home group who was generous enough to let me stay there till I could find a job and get back on my feet mentally, emotionally, and financially. I hadn’t been able to get hired on anywhere for work at this time, and really only had about $200 to my name (more than some people have the luxury of, I realize), but between the gas money spent from living 20 minutes out of town and cigarette purchases, $200 wasn’t really going to last very long. On top of the fact that I was running dangerously low on funds with no hope of a job in sight, my debit card had also gotten frozen due to some sick ba$tard trying to steal my banking information and what little money I had from my checking account.
Too prideful and embarrassed to ask for help from anyone I was without cash and stuck with a frozen debit card, an almost empty tank of gas, and no cigarettes on this particular day. As was the normal schedule for me at the time, I was headed to town for a noon meeting. Knowing that I would have to get gas, I pulled into the nearest gas station and started searching through the trunk of the car. I was sure I had a roll of quarters stashed away from my brief stint of homelessness the previous summer, when I was living out of my car and doing laundry at a local laundromat. To my relief, there was one roll of quarters left, and luckily no leftover liquor bottles were found in the process.
I made my way inside to the register and asked for five dollars on the pump and one pack of cigarettes. Quite satisfied with myself for planning ahead so well (obviously a great planner that’s why I was fresh out of rehab, essentially homeless and unemployed). I was making my way back out to my car so I could get to the meeting. As I’m walking to the car, a man stops me, and asks for a couple of dollars to get something to eat from the gas station. I was mortified. I had literally just spent every cent I had access to just seconds ago. I had nothing, monetarily, to offer this man.
See normally, I’m the type of person to offer rides, a few dollars, or even pay for the meal of a person who has fallen on hard times; especially after my experience over the summer, but even before that. I normally have no issues doing so and have at least a dollar or two to spare. This time, I definitely did not. Totally ashamed, I told the guy I was sorry, but I didn’t have any money as I had just spent what little I did have. He was kind enough, said he understood and started to move along. I offered him a ride to someplace else in town if that would help, but he shrugged and walked off. It’s here that I quickly understood the symbolism of “you can’t give away, what you don’t have.”
Empty-handed is how I walked into the rooms of alcoholics anonymous, rehab, and the home of the old-timer who so graciously offered me a safe place to lay my head. Empty-handed but willing to grow, learn, and receive the tools and suggestions it would take to help keep me sober. I had nothing to offer the people there; I had no money to donate, no knowledge or wisdom to share, no advice or experience on how to get or stay sober. All I knew how to do was stay drunk and miserable. My watering, can so to speak was always filled with booze, and now it was empty of even that.
That is the memory that was thrust to the forefront of my mind when I first saw the quote about having done enough watering and being a garden for once. Where I found myself in that phase of my development was not conducive to being a watering can; I had nothing to give that would help anything grow. I needed to be the garden. I needed to sit still and be watered. I needed to absorb the sunlight, the fresh air, and water that was being provided in surplus in the rooms. I needed to be nurtured, loved, encouraged, and sprout all the little seeds that had been planted in me thus far.
I was used to caretaking, people-pleasing, and self-imposed martyrdom of the woes of the world around me. I was arrogant, broken, prideful, humiliated, and stunted; I couldn’t grow myself, never mind help anyone else trying to do the same. I had to stop lying to myself about being the watering can, and finally accept that right now, at that moment, I needed to be the garden.
With time, patience, and the constant pursuit of progress, I’d like to think I made a pretty decent little hobby garden, like the one everyone seems to have started during the COVID-19 lockdowns anyway. Nothing terribly special, not anything that would feed a village, or stock a grocery store, but at least like a little tomato garden or something that brings a sense of accomplishment.
I’m still practicing being a garden today, but with time, patience, and a willingness to put in the needed work, I also became ready to pick up a watering can as well. After all, as a person in recovery, I have learned that one never really stops being the garden anyway. We just learn to multitask, and are able to water others who come after us, just like those who came before did for us.
Hopefully, I never get to the point where I feel as though I’ve done enough watering or enough growing. If I have, I hope a few of you will remind me that eventually, I’ll hear that little “pop” again, and that maybe, just maybe, you will have the tools to help me get my head out of my own a$$.
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