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“You get drunk, yet?”
Every phone call I made to my sponsor started off with that question. He never said hello, just picked up and said, “You get drunk, yet?” I often wondered if he answered all of his calls that way and how many doctors’ offices, business associates and telemarketers were faced with the same question before they got to begin their spiel. Perhaps it was a greeting reserved for me. Why I never asked him about it, I can’t tell you. I think I secretly enjoyed the question because I always got to answer, “no.” And the next statement would be, “Well, what the hell you calling me for?”
I was calling my sponsor because he had told me to call. At first, I called every day, but as time went by, the calls grew further apart. That raspy voice questioning whether I had gotten drunk and the man attached to it showed me how to move from being chemically-free to being sober. And, that is exactly what I needed him to do.
If you have been around a 12-step group or if you are newly in recovery and want to add a 12-step group to part of your recovery plan, you are going to hear or have already heard a lot about sponsors. For my part, I was told I needed a sponsor as much as I needed a life raft on a sinking boat. A sponsor would be a guide through the pitfalls of early sobriety, lead me through the darkness into the light, and be the only way to ascend the 12 steps and slay the addiction monster inside me once and for all. Well, that’s what I understood from my time in treatment. And, I left treatment with the clues needed to find this mysterious sponsor. He had to have at least two years sober and had to have worked the 12 steps with a sponsor. It was suggested that my sponsor be a guy because I am a guy, but I have seen people with sponsors of the opposite sex.
When I showed up to my very first AA meeting in a small South Georgia town the same day I left rehab, I was full of hope, energy and enlightenment. I had two missions: find a home group and find a sponsor. I knew I was going to be right in the middle of AA because that way I would never fall off the wagon. (It’s hard to fall off the edge when you are in the middle). All of those great feelings lasted until I got out of my car at the meeting site.
I instantly forgot everything I had planned, and became a scared child who could barely shake the greeter’s hand, tried to sit as far from the meeting table as possible (One of the members told me to sit at the table, so I did.), and was absolutely sure I would not be able to find a sponsor. When I left the meeting, I had three possible sponsors’ names and phone numbers and felt like I was at home. As it turned out none of these men would become my sponsor, but all three would be essential in my sobriety.
What I found in my search for a sponsor and my time spent sponsoring others, is that nothing about this is as complicated as I like to make it. Essentially, my sponsor, like most sponsors, was a person who had been shown how to work the 12 steps with the help of another person. His task was to show me what he had been shown, period. No more. No Less. My task as a prospective sponsee was to find a person, who I thought I could get along with, who would agree to help me. Simple right. But, I am an alcoholic so I can’t let things be simple.
I began “researching” prospective sponsors, a process that would have been made easier if they would have just submitted resumes for the job when I first arrived at a meeting. Oddly, they don’t do that. My research was based in a good idea. I listened to shares of people who had time and began to pick out the people I seemed to identify with best. During this process, I also had several group members ask if I had a sponsor, and they would then suggest who they thought might be good for me. There were not a lot of options for suggested sponsors. I think I had the possibility of five people. I am not sure what all AA groups look like, but at the time, the ones in my small town were filled with old white guys. While this wasn’t necessarily a problem for me, I could see this being a difficulty for younger people or women.
As the weeks, and then a month or two ticked by, I became comfortable with not having a sponsor and not working the steps, which is not, I repeat NOT, a good idea. As problems began to crop up, I began to get a little closer to relapse. I knew I was getting closer because the idea of taking a drink safely, kept popping back into my mind. Only then, did I search in earnest for this elusive sponsor, which meant I finally got up the guts to ask someone.
My first attempt was met with a no, but a promise to be a temporary sponsor. To this day, that guy did as much to keep me sober as anyone I have ever met, and did it in a way that I never felt like I was in need of help. He passed away not too long ago, and I miss him every day.
I bailed on my second attempt, and looking back the guy would have been a great sponsor, but he was so excited about recovery it made me anxious to just talk to him. I literally felt like running away when I saw him coming toward me. Today he is a good friend of mine and I treasure our talks.
Finally, at an out-of-town meeting, I heard a guy who was totally speaking my language. I caught him in the parking lot and got a phone number and an offer to help guide me through the steps. The first thing I had to do was call him each day and hear his greeting, “You get drunk, yet?”
Because I’m a good alcoholic and one is never enough, I now had a temporary sponsor, a sponsor sponsor, and I added a low-maintenance sponsor a short time later. The last piece to my puzzle was a guy that I felt comfortable sharing my fourth step attempts and questions with while I was delaying actually completing my fourth step.
I also had a group of friends who were sober, and we would spend hours talking before and after meetings. If I had a question and couldn’t get my sponsor on the phone, I would call one of my other sponsors or talk to them at a meeting. I still have something similar in my life today, although many of those first people have moved away.
I’d like to say that from that point on, my work with my sponsor and the steps was a joyful breeze, but I try to be honest today. My work with my sponsor was much like the sputtering engine of an old car. I got to the destination, but there were some serious questions about whether I would, and it was more of an adventure than it should have been. At one point, my temporary sponsor, who was listening to me rant about some problem I didn’t want to deal with, waited for me to take a breath, and said, “When did you say you were getting that sponsor?” I started to respond but got the hint that I was not putting the work in with my sponsor.
My sponsor was like most sponsors I have heard about from others. He was always ready to answer questions and explain how he did things. I didn’t always like the answers, but with his guidance, and my honest effort at the steps, I am sober today. Often when I am at meetings I think about my sponsor’s wise sayings such as: “It’s alcoholism not alcohol-wasm.” “I’ve met people who were too smart to get sober, you should be fine, though.” “Take a hula hoop. Hold it over your head and drop it. Everything it touches on the way down is what you control.” There were many other pearls of wisdom that he shared. But what I remembered most is that he was an alcoholic who decided to help me find what he had found in sobriety, and never asked for anything in return.
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