From the first moment I met another person I recovery, I found the life for which I had been searching. I had never felt such an ease of conversation. We connected on a level that was in some way more intimate than I had felt with my closest friends. For the first time in my life, I felt like I belonged. I was finally in the in-crowd. Now, over 8 years later I have begun feel like an ugly duckling. I know that I’m just in a growth period, but the change reminds me of my socially awkward days before I got sober.
In my mind, I always wanted to be the cool person. You know, the guy that wears the leather jacket and t-shirt, has the perfect smile, and says the right thing at the right time. He is the guy that everyone wants to be around, and he easily moves between friend groups. That same guy never seems pressured. This guy knows the right people in all levels of society, and all the people he knows are cool, too. That’s the guy I wanted to be.
In reality, I have always been the guy that is barely accepted. If you look though a collection of pictures, you will see me. I’m the hand on someone’s shoulder but the rest of my body was cropped from the edge of the frame. Occasionally, I’m the turned head in the background. That picture from school where you can name everyone but that funny looking kid in the back row? That’s me. I manage never to quite fit. Don’t believe me? Maybe a few examples will help.
I currently work with two people whom I attended high school and spoke to every day. Neither of them remembers me. My face was plastered five-feet wide on an electronic billboard. (Not a pretty sight.) In the small town where I reside, no one noticed. When I was a sports editor, my picture was on every newspaper stand in the entire county for months. When I walked out of the newsroom, I became instantly anonymous. That all changed, oddly, when I joined an anonymous group.
Part of the In-Crowd
In treatment and in the groups, I was one of the cool people. We were all the cool people, but I was one of them. People shook my hand and called me by name when I arrived at meetings. They were interested in what I had to say, and I listened to every word they shared. I reveled in the glow of being part of the in-crowd.
After meetings, the group of newcomers, of which I was an integral part, would settle into hours-long discussions about all kinds of topics. If I missed a meeting due to work or travel out of town, people called or texted to check on me. I felt important. Like the cog on a watch wheel, if I wasn’t there, something was out of sync. Even as I grew in sobriety, the feeling remained.
My first years in recovery flew by. I spent every Friday night chairing an A.A. meeting, and looked forward to helping anyone who walked through the doors. Several people asked me to be their sponsor (none stayed sober, but still they chose me), and I built a huge list of friends who I texted daily. Before and after meetings, people would come up to me, ME, just to talk or discuss a problem they were having in recovery. A few times complete strangers approached me to ask if I could help their loved one who had an addiction problem. How they figured out I was a member of an anonymous group, I wasn’t sure. Still, I felt accountable and dependable for the first time. I was on the verge of becoming Mr. A.A., well at least in the small groups I attended. (Secretly, I thought about getting a leather jacket.)
Recently, though, I noticed a change. At the meetings I attended, I no longer heard bits of my previous shares folded into someone’s own share. Worse, I started to get the greeting, “Hey there,” instead of hearing my name. No one seemed to stick around on the porch after meetings to talk with me, but admittedly, after Covid, most people don’t stick around too long. At first, I thought it might just be a result of a busy schedule.
Change is Inevitable
With work and school schedules dominating my daily life, I don’t make as many meetings as I used to make. Old-timers are happy to see me when I show up, but I can’t remember the last time anyone has asked me where I have been. It’s like they didn’t notice I wasn’t there (gasp). Worse, newcomers and newer members have trouble remembering my name.
Then, the death knell tolled. I saw a group of newer guys trading numbers with my sponsee. They were laughing and talking, completely, and utterly, without ME! (I didn’t think it possible, either.)
It dawned on me that I had become an ugly duckling of sorts. When I first arrived in A.A. fresh out of treatment, I had the fuzzy, downy-feather look of a young, cute duck. You know the kind you see on TV during Easter. Those ducks kind of chirp instead of quack, and you want to hold them. That was me in early sobriety. I was a cute fluffy duck. I still had a lot to learn, and I spent a lot of time sharing my own problems and learning from everyone. Unfortunately, those cute fluffy ducks begin to grow. I began to grow as well.
An Ugly Duckling
The cuteness of those ducks begins to wane as they lose their fuzzy feathers, and grow adult, water-proof, new ones. Instead of a cute, fuzzy duckling, the teenage duck has tufts of big feathers and patches of fuzzy ones in a random pattern that is hideous. It is not by any measure a smooth transition. That’s where I am now in recovery. I am transitioning from a newer member to the status of old-timer. For those who don’t know, an old-timer has stayed sober one-day-at-a-time for 15 years or more.
In my view, old-timers are those who spend most of their time listening to newer members. Admittedly, those old-timers often get a sheepish grin on their faces when they hear a new person like me explain how their latest problem is soooo different from anyone who has every gotten sober. (Pro Tip: It never is different.) After listening, old-timers gently point out flawed thinking or share their wealth of experience in living sober. For me, it is like climbing a mountain to me the wise guru who mostly has things figured out, but waits for you to ask the questions to life’s secrets instead of teaching them.
Acceptance is the Answer
For now, I’m not that. I’m more like a stopgap before you get the real answer from an old-timer. I am in a growth stage. No longer am I incredibly excited about being sober, and at the same time, scared that I am seconds away from a relapse. Instead, I’m comfortable living life in recovery, and I enjoy the sometimes boring, but always serene daily life that comes with being clean and sober. While I have a lot of lived experience, I don’t have the sound or wisdom of an old-timer, yet.
I’m no longer the cool newcomer, but I’m not quite the time-tested, older member who is sought for answers. Suddenly, I’m back to being the disembodied hand in the photograph. I know I’m not alone. In my home group, there are two or three of us who fit that category, and I’m married to one of them. Still, for now it feels lonely.
The duck and I will eventually get to a new level of growth. It will have smooth feathers and glide across the water without seeming to be in motion. I hope that I will be viewed as a wise old-timer, who knows a thing or two because he’s lived a thing or two. For now, I’m the ugly duckling, and I am still not sure how I feel about it. However, the thing I have learned in my time in recovery is that feelings do change. Perhaps one day, I will look back on this time and remember it fondly. For now, I know that I can be comfortable being uncomfortable until the next stage of my development.
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I have find it so useful thank u once again.
Nqobile,
Thanks for reading and thanks for letting me know that something I write is helpful to others! I thought that once I got sober, all the rest of my life would be rainbow filled. I have found that life and growth is not always easy, and even with time in sobriety, my biggest challenge is me. Thanks so much for taking time to comment. It means so much to me!
With gratitude,
Stan, A Grateful Nut
I see you. I know you. I like you. I really think this piece shows that the feathers have filled in. The next time you come across your reflection you just may notice a little strut.
Fly Stan. Most create a false character to draw attention. Those geese end up viral on YouTube in a bad way. Thanks for being you, because look at you now.
Thanks so much for your comment, Peter! I am always amazed out how growth in sobriety comes in fits and starts. The reminder that the highest degree we achieve is human is one that I have to take to heart each day. It means a lot to me that someone like you who has quality sobriety can relate to this article. Thanks for reading and thanks for sharing your thoughts with us!
With gratitude,
Stan, A Grateful Nut