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My Journey with Alcoholics Anonymous: The Truth I Discovered
Another significant milestone in my life happened recently. While I didn’t scale a mountain or witness a life-altering event, something profound took place in Burlington, Vermont—I attended my very first AA meeting.
For the past six months of my sobriety, I had resisted the idea of going to a meeting for countless reasons. “That’s not for me,” I thought. “I won’t enjoy it. Those alcoholics are different.” I convinced myself I was simply someone who stopped drinking; I could manage this alone. Typical excuses, right?
Reflecting on those lies that kept me in the grip of alcohol, one stood out: “Life would be too simple without hangovers.” I believed that, time and again. The list of justifications I crafted for myself was endless—longer than the circumference of the Earth!
This morning, however, I met individuals who have confronted their own struggles to live with greater honesty. Admittedly, the reason I hesitated to attend this particular meeting—highly recommended by a friend—was the early 8 a.m. start time. Usually, I’m still in my pajamas, nursing my coffee due to low energy from Hashimoto’s disease. But today, I managed to get out of bed at 7 a.m.
In an unexpected turn, I even found myself cleaning the toilets while my coffee brewed (yes, really!). With a groggy mind, I didn’t have the chance to talk myself out of going or fabricate an excuse based on my thyroid issues.
As I sat among the members during the hour-long meeting, their authenticity enveloped me. I realized how alcohol often breeds dishonesty. I used to claim that writing was my excuse to drink and drinking a reason to write—“I’ll just start writing early tonight!” Six months into my recovery, I’ve grown to appreciate writing more than ever and enjoy the results much better. And about that lie: life is not easier without a hangover. It’s challenging, but I can face those challenges with my heart and eyes wide open.
During the meeting, I even uttered the words I promised never to say: “Hi, I’m Alex, and I’m an alcoholic.” To my surprise, it was harder to hold back those words than to let them flow freely.
I listened intently as stories of hardship and humor unfolded in the group. It struck me how I truly belong among them. When I left at 9 a.m., I walked away with a blue chip representing my six months of sobriety—a token I previously deemed “stupid.” I cradled it in my hand on the way home, treating it like the Holy Grail.
Later that day, I decided to share my experience with my 11-year-old son. He was curious and supportive, but he also expressed the painful truth about how my drinking made him feel like second place to wine. Hearing that was hard, and writing it down is no easier. But my love for him is as vast as the equators of the universe, and I must confront that truth.
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In conclusion, attending that first AA meeting was a transformative experience. I confronted my fears, faced my truths, and discovered that I am not alone in this journey.