I am Not Anonymous!

As far as being able to predict future alcoholism goes—

Let’s just say, if there was a surefire sign, I should have seen it coming.

Alas, I, in fact, did NOT see it coming… like at all! One would think that after all the hours of Blue Clues, Scooby-Doo, and later Criminal Minds and murder mysteries I have watched in my lifetime, I would have a keen sense of foreshadowing and context clues. That’s the mystery of it all, though; I didn’t.

On the bright side, despite the horrors, I put myself through, the anguish of alcoholism, and the absolute shit show that was my detox experience… I bring you this lovely little story. A “coming out” story of sorts. Not nearly as significant, impactful, or as loaded with adversity as those in the LGBTQIA+ community experience, but a coming-out story of sorts either way.

I recently wrote another post regarding the beginnings of my drinking career. For those of you who might have missed that, it’s actually a two-parter. Part one: “Young and Sober: An Old Soul in A Young Alcoholic” and Part two: “Young and Sober: Too Young to Care” In Part one, I tell the story of my very first drink at the age of sixteen. If you are wondering where the clever and borderline offensive theme for this post comes from– the answer is quite literally that I had my first drink alone, in a closet (and it helps that I like double entendres).

Because I can tend to be a bit long-winded, and because there is no need to rehash the story of my very first encounter with alcohol as a child of non-drinking parents, I’ll spare you the details. What I will share, however, is the story about the first time I admitted, out loud, to a non-recovering “Earth Person” that I am, in fact, a recovering alcoholic.

Wait a minute… Did I just see you wince… through my screen… in real-time? Yikes… this is about to get interesting!

As many of you already know, I base the foundation of my recovery on the twelve-step program of Alcoholics Anonymous (the irony of this situation is not lost on me, I assure you.). As such, it is common knowledge, and stated in the name even, that as recovering alcoholics, members of the fellowship practice anonymity. Anonymity then of course, refers to the state of being anonymous, meaning “shhh, it’s a secret!”

Typically, the whole anonymous thing in A.A. refers to personal anonymity. Personal anonymity more or less refers to someone else disclosing that (a) you’re an alcoholic and (b) you attend Alcoholics Anonymous.

This is especially important in rural communities where it’s not uncommon for someone such as myself to maybe end up at a meeting with the local elementary school principal in attendance. Technically he/she hasn’t done anything wrong and in fact, is doing something incredibly right by staying sober, but it turns out parents aren’t fond of the whole “alcoholic principal being around their kids” idea. Who knew!

Personal anonymity is primarily for the protection of the alcoholic his/her/themselves, the group, and the program, as a whole. There is hardly any reason, with the exception of a few very compelling reasons, that it would be pertinent for anyone to know who was attending a meeting of Alcoholics Anonymous.

Anonymity is pretty important stuff with us alcoholics. It is common practice at the beginning or end of a meeting for the chairperson to say something to the effect of “In keeping with the 3^rd tradition; which states: Anonymity is the spiritual foundation of all our traditions…” My personal favorite version of this is “I can say that I was here. I can say what I said here. I cannot say that you were here, or what you said here. Here Here?”

I should probably note that not everyone always keeps this tradition or remembers it when they see you in the cat food aisle at Wal-Mart… (another story for another time, I suppose) but typically people respect the whole anonymous idea.

I gave you this background in case you are unfamiliar with the whole concept of anonymity, what it means, why it exists, or who it’s even for. Now, let me share how I let the alcoholic (me) out of the bag.

The term alcoholic or sober, particularly when used as an adjective to describe one’s self, is not usually met with much applause or excitement, especially when talking to “Earth People.” There are usually a few awkward glances or verbal exchanges, probably even a rumor or two if it’s a co-worker or other non-familial person on the receiving end of this fun fact about yourself. “I’m an alcoholic” is not typically the icebreaker you use on the first day of class or at the beginning of a work presentation… people don’t tend to like that for some reason. This is exactly why I had made it to almost four years sober without telling an “Earth Person” that I am a sober alcoholic. The risk has always seemed too great.

If you’re anything at all like me, though, being a sober alcoholic is a pretty large chunk of who you are as a person. It’s not that being in recovery is your entire identity or even the most interesting part about you, but it is somehow linked to everything you think, say, or do. For me, I did everything drunk, so doing or re-doing things sober is a big deal for me.

Making friends, for instance. I wasn’t very good at that before or even during my time in active addiction. I have a tragic case of RBF, I tend to overanalyze each and every word spoken to me, and I find it difficult to relate with others. It’s something I am learning to work on.

The biggest problem I create for myself when developing friendships is that I either under share or way overshare about myself, and I almost always do this entirely too early in the budding relationship.

I would like to present to the court exhibit A. (Ahem… Nina, um, it’s not that serious.)

Right, so here I am, working on becoming a more social person. I recently have begun connecting with a fellow student in my college courses. While she is still a few years older than me, I have found myself able to relate to her a little more easily than the other students in our cohort. She, too, like me, is not the typical traditional college student. She has been married, divorced, has a child, and currently cohabitates with her ex-husband in order to co-parent their child effectively. Her life is a little complicated, too…

She, too, grew up in a troubled home environment and now lives with a fairly significant mental health diagnosis. While she tends to be a little more open about her diagnosis in class discussions and casual conversations with our classmates, as someone who has also lived through traumatic experiences, I can read between the lines and see a glimpse into what she’s not saying.

She and I have talked briefly on multiple occasions but have more recently begun delving deeper into personal conversations before and after classes. We’ve both shared interest in meeting up before class to have lunch or coffee together or to socialize beyond our shared classes. The other day, we went out for a quick lunch run between classes, and she began sharing some pretty personal information.

Some of the things she was sharing about her life sounded very familiar to things that I had experienced or heard from others in the rooms of Alcoholics Anonymous.

Conveniently, I remembered a class discussion we had in a previous semester where she shared with everyone that she doesn’t drink alcohol… I was curious.  So, I asked her, “I remember you saying you don’t drink. If you don’t mind, can I ask why?” Her response was very simply that she no longer drinks because alcoholism runs in her family and that, with her psychiatric history, it was a decision she made a few years ago to protect herself and her son.

I politely nodded and listened as she shared more. Then, she asked me the same question. I panicked for a moment, somehow in all my thoughts and scheming on how this conversation would go, I never anticipated her returning my question!

I thought about her question for a minute and decided to just go for it. “Alcoholism runs in my family too, but it also runs in me.” is the first muddied response I gave. In her defense, it was not a very clear response, so she excitedly commented how we’re the same, to which I then yet again stuck my foot in my mouth. “Well, we’re not exactly the same; you decided on your own to quit drinking and just did it; I like… needed rehab. I’m an alcoholic…”

“Oh… I didn’t know that about you,” she said, totally non-judgementally, I might add. We talked a few more minutes about her alcoholic parents and my journey since getting sober and coming back to school; then we went back to class.

I was convinced that this would be the last conversation I had with her. I was also convinced that our whole BSW program would get wind of this new information and that I would be getting silent stares and whispers for the rest of my academic career at this institution. I was embarrassed, worried, and ashamed of myself for having the audacity to share something so personal and secret about myself! “Nice knowing ya,” I thought to myself, and I’m still not sure if that thought was in reference to her or me…

After all the catastrophizing, overthinking and berating myself for this massive breach of my own personal anonymity… something amazing happened! We’ve actually grown closer! She still reaches out to talk casually, we have more plans to go out for coffee later in the semester, and she hasn’t told a single soul in our program. I have… an ally? Dare I say… I have a friend? An “Earth Person” friend who knows something deeply personal about me as a person in recovery, and it’s not even a big deal?!?

It may not seem like much, but trust me when I say this was HUGE for me. I have been so worried for so long that I would have to stay in the closet about my recovery, as I did with my drinking through active addiction. Until this new budding friendship, I was under the impression that I would always have to hide a huge piece of my life, dodging invitations for a meetup at the pub, over-explaining my commitments to “prior engagements” (aka meetings) in the evening, or finding a safe way of explaining why my focus is on addictions counseling in our Social Work program.

Just like coming out of the closet about my addiction when I finally reached out for help, coming out of the closet about my recovery has changed me for the better as well. Is it scary? Did I take my time about it? Was I apprehensive and careful about who, when, or how I shared this deeply personal information? Was it uncomfortable? Hell yeah, it was! But the alcoholic is out of the bag now… so watch out!

Perhaps the biggest lesson I have learned and continue to learn from this experience, is that as a person in recovery, I don’t have to be anonymous. In fact, recovering out loud is one of my favorite things about being sober. So maybe you’re not ready to share your sobriety journey with friends, family, or complete strangers on the internet, and that’s okay, too. For me, however, moving forward, I am not anonymous.

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