The Wonder Years
I was 16 the first time I went to detox. I'd skipped Lynnfield High School that final Friday afternoon and taken off for the weekend. Exacerbated, this was the last straw for my parents, and they'd filed a CHINs. I’d begrudgingly returned home that Sunday night to the police searching my bedroom, and I remember a cop showing up the next morning to escort me to court. I was completely incoherent after taking a bottle of Trazadone the night before.
Technically this would consider an attempted suicide, but I didn’t want to die, I just didn’t want to live. I imagine that sounds ridiculous to many people, but for some reason, the two have always held a distinct difference for me. I didn’t want to die, I just wanted to permanently anesthetize.
I left Élan in August 2002 and found myself at Saint Anslem College a few weeks later. Oversimplified, Élan was a scheme for money, my parents weren't aware of the abusive nature of the program, and so all my teenage caregivers (including the Élan staff) acted like the previous 28-months were totally normal. It was the ultimate gaslight. I compartmentalized my experience and took it to college with me.
With some ebb and flow, the next 9-years were drug-seeking, soulless, and broken. Similar to when I was 16, I just needed to anesthetize, and I found that in OxyCotin. At my worst, I averaged ten 80’s per day; one before every class, before the gym, before work, to wake up, to go to sleep, to love, to hate, to live. My entire world revolved around getting high. In Alcoholics Anonymous (AA) they call this a "hopeless state of mind and body." I believe that during this decade I was powerless against my addiction.
A Good Little Soldier: My Relationship with AA
Élan made us attend AA on campus, so I acquired my very first Big Book in 2002; AA continued to be my north star for the next two decades. It was all I knew. As I do with everything, I went hard and swung big. I got sober in August of 2011, spending more than a year in a woman's long-term sober house in Portland, Maine. I had home groups, service positions, sponsors, and sponsees. I worked the steps multiple times; at a 12-step retreat when I first got sober, again when I moved halfway across the world to work in Bangkok, again through Big Book Step Study when I returned home, and a final time in an AWOL format, led by one of the most salt-of-the-earth couples I've ever met.
I served my district and got a service sponsor. I was frequently sought after as a speaker, and always served conference committees, the pinnacle of which included a Round-up in Thailand and the Steering Committee for an international conference of thousands of young people who came to Boston to celebrate their sobriety. I remember both fondly. I formed beautiful friendships and was able to repair old ones. I learned how to live life honestly, and did my best to amend mistakes of my past. I rebuilt my credit. I rebuilt my career. I traveled the world. I fell in love. I buried the man I thought I'd marry and my life-long best friend. I lived life fully, remaining completely abstinent from drugs and alcohol for almost 9 years. l did everything AA asked of me, and for a long time, it served me well.
Why write this?
This isn’t meant to be an attack on the core principles of AA, but since I left, I’ve had dozens of people reach out to either share their similar concerns or condemn me for turning my back on the fellowship. I’m largely writing this for them. This is meant to explain my journey studying the history, infrastructure, and policy of AA. This is meant to justify how I eventually determined that for me, AA does more harm than good. My truth became that AA no longer served me, and it took me almost 2 years to admit that. I was terrified to leave.
My senses of self-worth and achievement were completely wrapped up in AA. I spent a decade examining “my part” and finding my fault for everything that ever happened to me. I maintained “the constant thought of others” to ensure I would be graced with another day of sobriety. In an average month, I devoted 20-25 hours to AA meetings, sponsorship, and conference committees.
It bothered me that the 4th step was written in a way that women are supposed to “find their part” in a sexual assault, guided by another woman who often has the best of intentions, but zero qualification to help someone deal with sexual traumas. The more time I spent in AA, the more antiquated the ideas became, especially as I started doing my own research outside of “AA approved literature.”
There are numerous historical figures whose reputations are revered, but true character is repugnant. From my perspective, this holds true for Bill Wilson. I had so much adoration for Bill and Bob. It’s worth mentioning that from everything I’ve found, Bob still seems like a stand-up guy.
Bill was a liar. A womanizer. A thief. Possibly a megalomaniac. Everyone in AA kind of laughs about Bill’s initial profit motive. He published the Big Book on the thickest paper he could find, reasoning it would be easier to charge more if it was presented as a medical textbook, so it needed to look big, hence the name "Big Book."
For those curious to learn more about AA’s early PR campaigns, I recommend reading US of AA: How the Twelve Steps Hijacked the Science of Alcoholism or interviews with Lois’s biographer. Bill was egocentric, bragging that he'd “chased Walter Hagan with the tan of the well-to-do,” omitting that he did so on his brother-in-law’s dime. He was awful to his wife, known for his extramarital affairs, even after he got sober. He repeatedly tried to monetize the AA movement. He was controlling, manipulative, and hypocritical. He said that AA should not be a sole vocation, but from the research I've done, I don't understand how Bill actually made a living in sobriety. He wasn't the first (or second) person to get sober with the help of the Oxford Group and he was among 100 people who authored the Big Book, yet positioned himself as the face of AA for decades. And lest we not forget, Bill made sure to include a neat little playbook to protect one's mistress, should he find himself in a pickle with his wife. Bill claimed a 50% success rate, but had to remove stories from the back as he published new editions, because previous contributors had relapsed, and he didn't want that to tarnish the propaganda he was promoting.
The Build-Up to my Departure
In 2018, I remember being overwhelmed with tears at work, certain that I was doomed to a life of relapse and despair. My sales department had a champagne Monday to celebrate a huge milestone, and made sure to include a non-alcoholic option. It looked like a Snapple bottle.
I took big gulps, and although it tasted funny, it didn’t register. I pulled the bottle away to read the label, and realized it was fermented. It technically didn’t contain alcohol, but the bottle said it shouldn’t be consumed by someone avoiding alcohol for pregnancy or religious reasons. I was DEVASTATED, tears pouring off my cheeks.
At that point, I bet I'd been to almost 2,000 meetings in my lifetime, with the repetitive, ritualistic mantras I recited in unison with other members, tens of thousands of times. I, like most long-term members, could recite lengthy passages, scriptures really, from the first 164-pages of the Big Book. For almost a decade it had been hammered into me over, and over, and over, that “to drink was to die.” I was well versed in AA's disease model which takes the stance that Alcoholism should be thought of as an allergy, and if an Alcoholic consumes Alcohol, the allergic reaction is triggered. The reaction comes in the form of an uncontrollable mental craving and compulsive physical consumption of alcohol, regardless of consequences. Intent is not a component of an allergic reaction.
At that moment I truly believed I was doomed. There were people near my desk at work who knew I was sober and felt awful seeing me silently bawling in the middle of the office. I look back at that now and it seems crazy. I had a few big sips of a fermented drink and unconditionally believed imminent failure was the only possible outcome.
I called some trusted advisors in AA who assured me that it happens to everyone now and then, but I would be ok because of how diligently I worked the program. This bothered me; suddenly, the very people who had perpetuated my teachings were giving me an out. This essentially meant that the allergy was only triggered if a person deliberately drank. As the wheels continued turning, I realized that for a bunch of us to have drunken accidentally and be ok, challenged my understanding of AA’s disease model. If “to drink is to die” is a false mantra, what other mantras should be questioned?
In late 2018, I started pursuing Harvard Kennedy School’s Public Leadership Credential, which consisted of six, 6-week courses spread across 18 months. For the certificate, each student got to pick a topic and immersed themselves for the next year and a half.
I choose to study Sober Living Homes, specifically the regulatory void with Sober Living Homes in Massachusetts. My research was broad, studying numerous forms of treatment, medication, the challenges presented collecting data on an anonymous population, and ambiguity of terms like “sober.” Is that a day? A year? How is success measured? How do we know when someone is recovered?
I spent 18 months studying the way addicts are commoditized. To be clear, there are many REMARKABLE sober living homes. I owe my early sobriety to the Grace House in Portland, Maine. But there are numerous sober living homes whose entire livelihood is contingent on addicts not getting better. Not being able to overcome their addiction. Intentional or not, it cannot be denied that financially, there is a symbiotic relationship between United States Treatment Centers and Alcoholics Anonymous. The profitability of the system thrives on relapse, and it is my belief that AA perpetuates this.
Breaking Ranks: How I Choose to Leave
For more than a year I devoured research. I discovered the book 'Brain Over Binge' to help improve my relationship with food. The author talked about her inspiration from the book 'Rational Recovery' which I also purchased. I found a study from the 1980s that served alcohol to unsuspecting alcoholics to see what would happen. They didn’t know they consumed alcohol. The allergy was not triggered.
I learned that there is no discernable difference recovering in or out of AA. It's just over a 5% recovery rate getting sober on your own, and just under 5% getting sober in AA. I watched the documentary the 13th Step. I read 'US of AA.' I sifted through the Orange Papers and joined social media groups that present conflicting views to AA. I talked to everyone I could, and asked all the questions I wasn't supposed to ask. I opened my mind to ideas that contradicted AA-approved literature.
There wasn’t any one study or statistic that turned the tide for me, but between my studies for school and the rabbit hole of research, I concluded that much of what I’d learned seemed to be tied to an AA agenda. That I’d blindly accepted everything AA presented to me, and upon further investigation, I was disheartened to conclude that I’d been misinformed.
I spoke at a YPAA conference the winter before I left AA and my heart just wasn’t in it anymore. Standing on a stage in front of all those people, I hated hearing myself. I no longer believed what I was supposed to teach my sponsees. I knew it was time to move on. I had bounced this off my therapist for more than a year and the severity of this decision weighed heavily on me. Based on what had been ritualistically pounded into me for a decade, to leave was positioned as gambling with my life.
I had lengthy conversations with everyone I was close to, including my boss. He’d seen me relish sobriety as my core identity for years, and as my direct supervisor for 40+ hours/week, he interacted with me more than anyone else in my life. If I was gambling wrong and could not actually drink in safety, I reasoned he’d be the first to notice, so telling him ahead of time was a failsafe.
My brother and I discussed a plan for a worst-case scenario. What if I got bad and wasn’t willing to listen to anyone’s concerns? I told him, and to this day still assert, that he should call Phil D. to kick me in the ass.
I was surprised that my parents seemed happy that I was leaving AA, but wanted me to meet with my Primary Care Physician before I drank. They didn’t love the idea of me drinking, understandably so, but I spent 2 years arriving at this decision and knew I was making the right choice for me. Telling them ahead of time, not lying, or keeping secrets seemed like the most graceful way to honor them.
I told my homegroup. We were always encouraged to admit to the room how we felt. I think the logic is that everyone thinks about drinking from time-to-time, and after you “rat yourself out” you feel better. But that’s not what happened at all; I felt liberated. For me, it wasn’t about getting to drink, it was about not being resigned to never drink again, and shedding the crippling labels that AA had bestowed upon me.
I told the room I believed I could drink in safety, and that I was questioning much of what I knew about AA. I remember someone asking me about it after, thinking I’d been “cured.” Instead, I felt like I was being honest with myself. That I’d finally told everyone the truth. In doing that, I didn’t have any shame or guilt about choosing to drink and could walk away holding my head high. I stepped down from all of my positions and told my sponsees. Circa May of 2020, I rented a beautiful Air B&B in the White Mountains of New Hampshire and poured myself a ceremonious glass of wine.
Life After AA
It’s now been more than a year since I’ve left AA and I am certain that I made the right decision for myself. At first, I spent many nights nervous that things were going too well, and it was just a matter of time before AA’s “if you drink promises” kick in.
I’ve finally started to do work on, and heal, the parts of me that were broken in Élan. I got into Reiki healing and I plan to get attuned. My entire life I’d either been in active addiction or active allegiance to AA. It was always my fault. I needed to find my part. I was never given the space to process PTSD and heal my trauma. I would go so far as to say it was exacerbated in AA.
I’ve built beautiful relationships. I’ve been to weddings, and parties, and drunken in a fun and beautiful way that’s about silliness and celebration. I spent a decade insisting I didn’t need to drink to have fun at a wedding, and that is true, but man, the dance floor is more fun after a few glasses of wine. I’m not sure why it was so important to me to try and convince people otherwise.
There are failures as well. I smoke too much pot, averaging 5 nights a week, allowing myself to get lost in a cocktail of television and fatty food, and I am the heaviest I’ve been in a decade. I’m not sure how much is the pot versus the pandemic quarantine, but I am uncomfortable in my own skin. AA taught me the importance of connecting with others, routines, and asking for help, so I recently started working with a life coach to rebuild healthy habits, a nutritionist to understand healthy eating (as opposed to diet culture), and I am getting back to the gym after a knee pain left me benched for a few months, not working out at all. Removed from AA, smoking a bowl at the end of the day seems pretty tempered. I don’t assign good or bad to it. I smoked too much, got a result I don't like, and am now taking steps to change it. I am in a season of being overweight. It is within my control to fix. I feel like it was never able to be that simple in the halls.
In the year since I left, I had to cut someone out of my life because of his active addiction, and it crushed me. I loved him very much and we’d just moved in together. I think he'll always have a piece of my heart, but setting and sticking to a boundary like that is also indicative of healthy growth for me.
All in all, I think my life has continued to get better, and I could even go so far as to say, that in leaving AA, I finally have time to work on myself. I finally have the time to pursue things that are important and meaningful to me. I was finally free from the shame, guilt, and selfishness that 'others' always need to be put first.
What if?
To be very clear, I am not advocating for people who are honoring their truth in AA to make any changes to their lifestyle. If it works for you, I celebrate your journey. Many of the women I am closest to today are active in the program, and AA still does right by them.
Since leaving, my experience has been that a bunch of super cool, supportive people, who want the best for me, have reached out to celebrate that I am honoring my truth. Conversely, a decent number of AA zealots have offered a barrage of insults and shame for challenging AA. I try to be polite and respectful when I publicly post “against AA” and have been met with attacks that tell me not to die with my sponsor's number in my pocket. When I explain that it’s been more than a year and I’ve gotten better, not worse, they ominously tell me to circle back with them at year two. I've always felt like AA changes the rules and logic to suit their agenda. If a year of sobriety is such a big deal, why isn't a year free from AA without consequence also a cause for celebration?
I had someone berate me, saying I am responsible for the death of the person who may read my words and doesn’t go to AA because of it. According to the 3rd Step doctrine, everything happens as part of God’s plan. Let go and let God. Wouldn’t it be God’s will that they saw my words in the first place?
The number of people who have reached out privately to say that they have the same doubts, but fear the shun and shame consequences within the fellowship, is astounding. I’m not saying you should make changes, but I spent 2 years asking questions, researching science, and looking for my most authentic self. I am saying to take a good, long, objective look at the truths in your world, and make sure they are truthful.
I remember the first time I saw an article in the Orange Papers, that very logically combed through AA’s numbers; AA says it has saved millions, but because it is an anonymous program, that’s a difficult claim to verify. Logically, it made sense to just pull numbers from World Services to see how many double-digit coins are sold each year. It seems that is the simplest way for AA to verify its real numbers. By World’s own count, there are not millions of double-digit coins dispensed each year. What is their assertion founded on? It seems convenient to make claims like that in this anonymous population; I question the validity.
Ultimately, all I’m saying is What If? What if good-intentioned as they may be, AA is lying to people? What if the guiding book published almost 100 years ago, void of science, is nothing more than propaganda? What if it's not an eternally hopeless disease? What if addiction is the manifestation of unresolved trauma or misgivings of reckless youth and it’s possible to grow into a healthy state of mind and body? What if solutions like SMART or harm-reduction recovery are a healthier alternative? What if I was a real alcoholic, but am no more? All I’m saying is, what if?
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