The Weight of the Label “Alcoholic”
Changing my perception of addiction
I was 331 days sober when I attended my first AA meeting. In my mind, there was no need for AA at the beginning of my journey to get sober because I had a solid support system in place. However, sobriety brought about the realization that many of the people I thought of as support truly did not understand how addiction worked. The urge to drink would randomly creep up in the back of my mind like an old, unwelcome friend. In those moments, I longed to be around those who truly understood that part of me.
That night, I felt like I was drowning in my own head trying to keep the all too familiar ebb and flow of my urges to drink at bay. That’s how I ended up sitting outside a church trying to find the courage to finally drag myself inside. My keys rattled as I shut off my car and stepped into the frigid air. The February weather had been matching my mood lately, as if Mother Nature truly saw me and was hurrying me along to reach the point I was in. Standing in that parking lot, I resembled an ordinary young woman on the outside. What the folks passing by did not know is that my oversized hoodie shrouded years of sadness, along with years of attempting to drown that sadness away with alcohol.
I shrunk down in shame as I passed by a mother pushing her daughter on the dingy gray swing set. The sounds of innocent giggles and squeaking of rusted metal followed me, drowning out the thumping of my heartbeat in my ears. Glass doors stretched before me, reflecting my frightened eyes back to me, and I all but catapulted through them to find safety from my shame.
I had accepted the label of “alcoholic” in how I thought of myself. However, allowing strangers to know that part of me seemed bizarre. I held that label cradled against my chest as if it were a baby bird with a broken wing I was trying to nurse back to health. The fear of anybody outside of me, my boyfriend, and my therapist knowing how deep of a rock bottom I had managed to hit in my alcoholism terrified me more than most things. To me, the idea of admitting it at an AA meeting was more frightening than when I took the plunge and decided to lead a life of sobriety.
On that day, 331 days after hitting my version of rock bottom, I was welcomed into that room of women filled with warm smiles and lukewarm coffee. In that space, I did not feel the need to convey myself or my journey to anyone because every pair of eyes I looked into revealed a deep understanding.
I only go to meetings occasionally now, whenever I am feeling particularly alone in my struggles. Despite my personal reasons for not going frequently, AA served a purpose in my ongoing journey of sobriety vastly different than my preconceived notions of it had me believe. That group of women provided me with the feeling of being seen in my hardships and efforts to overcome them that I had so desperately yearned for.
I heard stories of betrayal and fear, but I also heard stories of hope and serenity. Some were very similar to mine, while others could not be further from my reality, yet none were met with the pity or judgment that I so frequently experienced outside of that room. There was a fragment of myself in every word flowing from their lips, and in every tired nod of acknowledgment, I realized they saw parts of themselves too.
That singular experience allowed me to view my addiction as a fundamental part of the woman I have become, rather than a label that I carry around in disgrace. I may be a recovered alcoholic, but I am so much more than that. For that realization, I am eternally grateful for it has only made me stronger and more committed to staying sober.
