Over nearly 12 years, I’ve read through this book dozens of times.

Last Monday, we read “The Doctor’s Opinion.” If you don’t know, it’s the chapter dedicated to Doctor William Silkworth, the man who treated Bill W. at Towns Hospital. The purpose of the chapter is to tell the sober curious individual that he has a disease, not a moral failing. To underscore the point, Dr. Silkworth states that the nature of the disease is an “allergy” of the mind and body. According to AA legend, Dr. Silkworth initially withheld his name from the Doctor’s Opinion because he was concerned about sanction from the American Medical Association. It wasn’t a mainstream view at the time that alcoholism was a disease. This legend is repeated by Joe and Charlie and their Big Book Study Guides, where the two “shared the history of AA.”

But here’s the problem: In March 1937—two years before the Big Book was published—Dr. Silkworth published his theories under his own name in the Medical Record, a peer-reviewed medical journal. The article, ‘Alcoholism As A Manifestation of Allergy,’ and Reclamation of the Alcoholic presented the same controversial ‘allergy theory’ that appears in the Doctor’s Opinion, just in greater medical detail. His name and credentials were right there: ‘W. D. Silkworth, M.D., Chief of Staff, Charles B. Towns Hospital, New York, N.Y.’

If Silkworth was truly worried about AMA sanctions for his controversial medical theory, why would he have already published it in a medical journal two years earlier?

While the exact dates are unclear, Silkworth appears to have worked at Towns Hospital from around 1932 until his death in 1951.

I bring this up because I’m a stickler for facts, not just legends. I’m not wedded to the idea that the roman numerals through page 164 should remain as is. I believe there should be changes and additions as the facts warrant.

“But Matt! The book works! For nearly 100 years, Alcoholics Anonymous has gotten more people sober than anything else! Don’t fix what ain’t broken!”

If you went to your doctor with the flu and they prescribed the same treatment from 1939, would you feel confident in that care?

I’m not suggesting we delete Dr. Silkworth’s contribution—it was revolutionary for its time. But I’d love to see his work supplemented with an addendum containing current medical understanding of alcoholism.

I’m not going to hold my breath on this one. I know I’m in the minority. Scientific breakthrough is never based on something totally different but on the foundation of what we learned before. These breakthroughs are incremental progress. I’d hate for us to miss something that might make the 12 steps even more effective.

The irony is that Dr. Silkworth himself understood this principle. He built his allergy theory on the work of Professor Bechhold and other scientists who came before him. He would likely appreciate efforts to refine and improve our understanding of alcoholism based on newer research.

I don’t want you to miss the takeaway that Dr. Silkworth leaves us. Alcoholism is a disease. Something happens inside your body that makes you, the alcoholic, susceptible to addiction that doesn’t affect the normal drinker the same way. It’s not a moral failing. You are not a bad person because you can’t stop drinking. You need medical intervention and a recovery program. So don’t be hesitant to find help because you feel it is only reinforcement that you ARE a problem instead of the truth, that you HAVE a problem.

On that, we can agree.

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Can you relate to this feeling? You just don’t feel right. I can think about being at the ballpark early in my sobriety and feeling like that there was booze everywhere and I was very uncomfortable. Yet picking up that phone felt like the hardest thing I could ever do. Why does it feel this way?

We are taught in recovery to stay connected to other alcoholics as frequent contact can keep us sober. One of the first things I was told was to get phone numbers and call those in recovery every day.

It’s also a frequent share in meetings that the phone weighs 500 pounds and the buttons are hard to move as stone. If this is the magic recipe, I must be doing something wrong.

None of us are doing anything wrong. This is common and normal and I’m hoping reading this will help you feel more comfortable picking up the phone and having a conversation with another alcoholic.

I am not great at this. There have been times in my recovery where I was great at making phone calls. Today, I don’t do well. I got out of the habit and now I feel like I can’t start again. This is a lie I’m telling myself, so I’m hoping by writing this out, I feel more confident as well.

What goes through my mind is that the person on the other end of the line doesn’t want to talk to me. That person doesn’t like me and I’m bothering them. I’ve already built up how bad this is going to go and why I’m worthless. That’s where the alcoholic mind goes, why you are not worth anything. So what is the logical next action? No action.

As an exercise, it’s worth looking at why picking up the phone can be so hard and what you can do to get over it. It goes without saying, you are worth it and you have something to offer to another person in recovery.

Here’s what I want you to do right now. Get out a piece of paper or open a note on your phone.

Part 1: What’s NOT hard?

Write down the literal, physical actions that aren’t actually difficult:

• Picking up your phone

• Finding a contact in your phone

• Pressing the call button

• Saying “hello”

Part 2: What IS hard?

Now write down what’s actually stopping you. Be honest:

• Fear they won’t want to talk to me

• Fear they’ll judge me for calling

• Fear I’m bothering them

• Fear I’ll have nothing to say

• Fear my voice will crack

• Fear of rejection

• Fear they’ll think I’m weak or needy

Part 3: What good might happen?

Write down the realistic positive outcomes:

• They might be glad I called

• They might have been thinking about calling me

• They might relate to what I’m going through

• I might feel immediate relief after talking

• They might share their own struggle and I can help them

• I might strengthen a connection with someone

• They might feel honored I reached out to them

Now look at those three lists. List 1 (the physical actions) isn’t hard at all, is it? List 3 (the good outcomes) is probably more realistic than List 2 (your fears). But we let List 2 control us every single time.

I know this, because whenever I get a phone call from someone else, I feel better. I’m honored that someone wanted to discuss their issue and thought of me. So if I felt so relieved, it’s likely that another person feels the same way.

Now, I’ll be honest - I have extra social challenges that make this even harder for me. I have level 1 autism.

Here are some things that actually work for me. Sometimes I take out a piece of paper and map out the conversation I want to have. If this sounds overly prepared, remember: I have a fear that when the other person picks up, my voice will crack and I’ll have nothing to say. That’s a new level of embarrassment I’m not willing to risk. Writing it out gives me confidence to start.

Having expectations can also help. It’s not likely, but it is a possibility I’ll be met by a bad reaction by the person on the other end of the line. What happens if that occurs? Is that on me? Of course it’s not. I have to remind myself that I’ve done nothing wrong but what has been asked of me in recovery. Then I can take that person off the list.

I can remember the past great experiences I’ve had speaking to other people. More often than not, the other person has more to say about their own issue and I can do some active listening. Nothing brings my anxiety down faster than listening and helping someone else.

Calling others when I’m not in a good place has helped me maintain good sobriety and make better connections with other people. I needed to call several times a day when I first got sober. Reaching out to others, even when I’m not great at it always makes me feel better.

Here’s the thing I’ve learned: not calling someone today might not cause a relapse today. But it might cause one three weeks from now. But the anxiety, the resentment, the feeling of being alone in this - that stuff builds. It cascades. I talked about this on the podcast this week with Steve - how something that bothers you today can simmer for two or three weeks and then suddenly you’re pulling into the package store and you don’t even know why. The phone call isn’t just about feeling better in the moment. It’s about interrupting that cascade before it becomes dangerous.

When I worked in a physical office, we had these offsite events with an obligatory happy hour. This particular time, the boozy atmosphere was like an alarm bell. I knew I had to get the hell out of there. What I also did was call someone from the program. It’s a good thing I had a lot of numbers because the first 5 went to voicemail. On the 6th, I got to Tim, who had more to say to me than I had to say to him. It was ok. I just needed to hear someone else’s voice and I settled down and could continue on with my night.

How hard is it to make calls to other people when you need it? Does the phone feel like it weights 500 pounds? How do you overcome that? I’d love to hear what you have to say in the comments below. I wrote this for you, but I also wrote it for me. I know the phone works. I know calling helps. I know I need to do it more. So here’s what I’m committing to this week: I’m going to call at least one person from my list, even if it’s just to check in and say hello. No crisis required. Just connection.

What about you? Can you commit to one call this week? Pick someone from your list right now. You don’t have to call them this second, but write their name down. That’s your person for this week.

The phone might weigh 500 pounds, but we can lift it together.

He was talking about the Big Book—how he wishes he’d learned to use it earlier, how he doesn’t highlight his copy because he doesn’t want to “dirty it up,” but he knows others do. He was clearly frustrated with himself for not understanding it faster, for not being further along than he is.

And I thought: That’s me. That’s exactly how I think.

I’ve spent years wishing I’d learned the steps faster, understood the program better, gotten it “right” sooner. If only I’d highlighted my Big Book from day one. If only I’d gone to more meetings early on. If only I’d worked the steps more thoroughly the first time.

If only I’d been smarter, faster, better—I’d have better sobriety today, right?

But sitting there, listening to this person voice the same frustration I’ve carried for years, something shifted. I had a moment of genuine self-forgiveness.

I learned what I learned through experience. There was no way to speed it up.

When I first got sober, I wanted to be like the old-timers—now. I wanted their wisdom, their serenity, their decades of knowledge—but without the decades. I was impatient with myself for not understanding things immediately. Why couldn’t I just get it?

Here’s what I’ve realized: Sobriety doesn’t work at smartphone speed.

Everyone progresses at different rates. Some people grasp concepts quickly. Others (like me) need to study, sit with ideas, come back to them multiple times before they click. There’s no right pace. There’s only your pace.

The Big Book is genuinely hard to understand. I know as much as I do now because I’ve studied it for years—reading books about how it was written, attending study sessions to break down the text into something more digestible. I would have loved to have all the answers in six months. But that’s not how my mind works. And that’s okay.

In recovery, we talk a lot about character defects and making amends. We learn to take inventory of ourselves, to identify where we’ve fallen short, to make things right.

But we can take that too far. I hear people in meetings beating themselves up over not understanding something quickly enough, not working a step perfectly, not getting recovery “right” fast enough. And I realize: we’re applying the same harsh self-judgment to our learning process that we used to apply to our drinking.

That’s not what recovery is about.

The missteps? They’re learning opportunities. Not moral failures. Not evidence you’re doing it wrong. Just part of the process.

I’m not talking about major relapses or serious harm to others. I’m talking about misreading something in the Big Book. Misinterpreting a step. Taking longer than you think you “should” to understand a concept. These aren’t character defects. They’re just learning.

Here’s something else worth considering: What if we did pick up recovery knowledge instantly? Then what would we have to look forward to?

The joy and growth in recovery is in the journey. There’s no requirement to meet a certain speed. There’s no test with a minimum score. You can take the test over and over. You can learn at your own pace.

The only metric that proves success: Did I drink today?

If the answer is no, you’re doing it right. Everything else is just learning.

This wasn’t easy self-discovery for me. I’ve been hard on myself about my recovery pace for years. But hearing that person at the meeting—recognizing my own struggle in his words—gave me permission to forgive myself.

I learned what I needed to learn, when I needed to learn it. And I’m still learning. That’s exactly how it’s supposed to work.

So here’s my invitation to you: Be easier on yourself. Whatever pace you’re moving at, it’s the right pace for you.

What was your breakthrough moment in recovery? When did you finally give yourself permission to learn at your own speed? I’d love to hear your story in the comments.

You’ve probably heard the term ‘hitting bottom’—that point where you sink so low, you have no choice but to get sober. But here’s what no one tells you: the concept of hitting bottom can actually delay sobriety.

It did for me. I kept drinking far longer than I should have because I could always point to someone who had it worse. When I finally quit in 2014, I even questioned my decision in 12-step meetings because other people’s stories sounded so much more dramatic than mine.

So let me introduce a different idea: Why wait for the bottom? Why not get sober before you lose it all?

Spoiler: I quit drinking in 2014 and never looked back. Even when I questioned whether I really had a problem, even when I compared myself to others with ‘worse’ stories—I stayed sober.

Here’s the problem with ‘hitting bottom’: it creates an impossible standard. When I thought of hitting bottom, I pictured the gutter drunk—homeless, pushing a shopping cart. Anything better than that wasn’t ‘rock bottom,’ which meant I could tell myself I didn’t have a problem.

We alcoholics have a talent for comparison. We look for people who drink more so we can say, ‘That guy drinks more than me and he’s fine, so I must be fine too.’ Or: ‘That guy drinks more and his life is worse, so I’m definitely okay.’ It’s a moving goalpost we use to avoid the truth.

My idea of a ‘real alcoholic’ was someone who drank every day—a lot. I didn’t drink every day (except during spurts, but even then, never in the morning). Sometimes I could have just one or two drinks. Other times I lost control completely.

But this didn’t fit my mental image of a ‘low bottom.’ So I told myself I was a normal drinker. Everyone has drinking urges sometimes, right? And I had mine under control. (Spoiler: I didn’t.)

This level of drinking never fit the pattern of low bottom drinking in my mind. So it was easy to see myself as a normal drinker. I even told myself that other people had this drinking urges but like those other people, I had it under control.

If you’re stuck in this mindset, ask yourself: Picture a normal drinker—someone who sips a glass of wine all night, doesn’t even finish it, then doesn’t drink again for months. Do they spend time justifying or questioning their drinking?

Just asking that question tells you everything.

Just asking that question gives a lot of answers.

It took me a long time to realize: Why wait for things to spiral out of control? Why not get help before everything goes to hell?

Here’s the thing—there’s no downside to quitting early. I never got pulled over for not drinking. Never got arrested for showing up sober. Never lost a job for being clear-headed. Sobriety has zero consequences. Sure, it felt weird at first to show up to social events without alcohol, but I never insulted anyone or lost my inhibitions drinking a Coke Zero.

Early on, I felt like I hadn’t earned my seat in AA—I wasn’t as bad as everyone else. But the only requirement for membership is wanting to stop drinking. That’s it. I enjoyed meetings. I saw no downside to living alcohol-free. Even if I didn’t really have a problem (I did), my life felt better sober.

Here’s what I learned: You don’t have to wait to hit bottom. In fact, forget about ‘the bottom’ entirely.

If you can’t control your drinking when you enjoy it, or you can’t enjoy your drinking when you control it—that’s enough reason to quit. It doesn’t matter what your life looks like on the outside. Alcohol abuse isn’t about external outcomes. It’s about the mental anguish you feel.

For me, I just got tired of that pain. Maybe my threshold was lower than others’. But I chose not to sink any further—and that was the right call.

What about you? Did the concept of ‘hitting bottom’ help or hurt your journey to sobriety? I’d love to hear your story in the comments.

One last thing: In hindsight, I was worse off than I thought at the time. Aren’t we all?

This week’s episode is with Emily Redondo, author of Wife Mother Drunk: An Intergenerational Memoir of Loss and Love. I loved this conversation and we could have gone on another hour. What I could most relate to was her story of growing up, having alcoholism in the family and not seeing that it was different than what other families dealt with, because there was no point of reference. I think you’ll really like this story of growing up with alcoholic parents, developing her own addition and then fighting her way to recovery. Check it out, here.

Addiction, for many of us, is a family disease. Some of us progress to alcoholism despite having families who either don’t drink, or drink normally. For me, that was not the case. I was surrounded by booze. When you are so cornered by alcohol and drugs at every corner, it’s tough to see that it’s an abnormal experience.

How many of you can identify with this thought?

How do I have a problem? Everyone around me drinks more than me! Maybe they have a problem, but until I can drink as much as them, I’m fine.

I constantly pointed fingers at other people. I was very quick to point out other people who had problems. Even in my inebriated state, I noticed those who could not control their booze. Those who lost control and got loud, always made me feel really uncomfortable. I did not get like that (or so I believed) so I could not have a problem.

It was always in the back of my mind to never become an alcoholic. My father was an alcoholic and he never found recovery. He as physically abusive to my mother and abandoned us. From an early age, I committed to never being like him. When I had a family, I would be different and give my kids the experience I never had the opportunity to have.

At a young age, I promised myself I’d never drink. When that became, “impractical1” I was “careful” to only drink a certain amount. I was constantly thinking about not crossing the alcoholic line. When I drank, I always felt like I was in battle over this boundary. I was counting my drinks, especially outside of the home. I drank easier at home, where no one could watch me, but I was still careful to only drink so many. Sometimes I was successful, other times, not so much.

But here is the other thing, those around me drank too. Many of them drank more than me, so they were where I set my goals. I saw that family drank and they seemed like confident, successful people. Therefore, to be confident and successful, I needed to drink too. My step father would grab glasses of wine all evening from the fridge. I learned to top off my wine by watching him.

I have no memories of my father’s abuse, though I also have vivid memories I can trace back to being 2 or 3 years old. I suspect I experienced trauma, that I don’t remember from my father’s abuse. I have other symptoms of PTSD that seem to trace back to this period.

I do remember the verbal abuse of my step-father. Though he never struck me, he did menace and I was afraid of him. Even when I was in my early 20’s. I feel shamed being cowed by him when I was coming into adulthood, but I just had this feel that I could never fight back, and win against him.

I felt trapped in my home. It was a relief to be away at college and dreadful when I had to come home for vacations. Being in my own home, with my family, felt like I was in a prison were escape was impossible. It wasn’t all about the active drinking. It was about the alcoholic behaviors my parents exhibited. If you come from a family of alcoholics, I hope you understand. I wish I could explain it more coherently than that.

I did have my own family. I started it, boozily, but in 2014, I got sober for good. At first, I said I was getting sober for them. They would benefit, for sure, but I had to do it for me. You don’t get sober for others. You have to do it for you. Then others get the benefit as a side effect.

My son has fleeting memories of me drinking. My two daughters don’t. I’m very proud of that. In that way, I broke the cycle. They are having a far better childhood and family.

For the most part, I don’t socialize with people who are heavy drinkers. I have some family who drink in a way that concerns me, but look at their situation as something I can’t control. What I can control, is how I respond to them.

My kids would be horrified by the way I grew up. They would find it completely abnormal, based on what they see in my wife and me. When they see relatives, adult friends or even their own pals of their age drink to excess, they see it as weird and unnatural.

It’s seeing the effect on the family drinking through their eyes, that has really wised me up on what is normal and what is not. I certainly hope they’ve learned even a fraction of what I’ve learned from them.

What was it like in your family growing up? Can you relate to growing up in disfunction, but not really understanding it until later? Please add it to the comments below.

From pumping and dumping breast milk in rehab to uncovering family secrets that spanned decades, Emily shares what it’s like to live two lives—one for the world and one in the shadows. We talk about the shame that keeps us silent, the lies we tell ourselves, and the courage it takes to break free.

If you’ve ever wondered what recovery looks like when everything feels impossible, this conversation will hit home. Emily’s story is messy, real, and full of hope.

Listen now for a brutally honest look at addiction, resilience, and why telling the truth might be the most radical act of all.

Click here for Emily’s book at Amazon, Barnes & Noble and from Emily’s website.

Support the show

Last week, I received a message through my Buzzsprout page that stopped me in my tracks. A listener reached out asking where the show was and whether we were okay.

Moments like that matter. Many times, it feels like I am doing this podcast for Steve and me, two guys talking recovery into what feels like the void. The same is true for these Substack pieces. Sometimes it feels like I am simply working through my own thoughts in writing. Then something small and unexpected reminds me that the work reaches someone. It makes a difference.

And last week, I had to accept that we could not put out a show. Not because I did not want to, but because I physically could not.

The Tick That Changed My Week

At the end of October, I found what looked like a scab on my leg after working outside. I get ticks on me regularly, sometimes four or five in a day, so I did not think much of it. This time, I had the classic bullseye rash and was deeply imbedded.

Two weeks later, I spent my 50th birthday at Urgent Care. I was peeing constantly and felt discomfort in my lower abdomen. Then I suddenly developed the worst flu-like symptoms I have had in years. Overnight, I spiked what I am sure was a high fever, based on my Apple Watch showing a temperature three degrees above baseline. The next morning, I felt so sick that I asked my wife to drive me to the doctor. I have never felt so fatigued that I could not drive myself.

The doctor listened to my symptoms and asked one question that made everything click.

“Any tick bites recently?”

The bloodwork showed infection markers that were either very elevated or extremely low. Even though the Lyme test came back negative, every other indicator pointed to a tick-borne illness. Combined with the bullseye, we are treating it as Lyme.

That is when the real lesson began.

The Work of Acceptance

Recovery taught me about acceptance long before this. In early sobriety, acceptance meant acknowledging that I could not drink safely. Today, acceptance looks more like acknowledging the limits of my body and the limits of my control.

For the past week and a half, acceptance has meant:

• No gym

• No long dog walks

• Taking naps during the day

• Letting work and routines go

• Listening when my body says, “Stop”

And it has been difficult.

Last week, I was not just unable to record a podcast. I was unable to record one that would provide value. I had to accept that showing up half-charged was not the right move.

So instead, I talked about acceptance this week. And yes, I also complained about how lousy I feel, because sometimes acceptance looks like honesty.

The Impatience Problem

One of my biggest character defects as an alcoholic is impatience. It is tied closely to the rigid thinking that comes with my neurodivergence. When my energy crashes, something in my mind instantly says:

“This will never get better.”

“You will feel this way forever.”

It mirrors the same thinking that kept me drinking.

My old sponsor, John, used to say, “This too shall pass.” I hated hearing it.

“Not for me, John.”

But he was always right.

Lyme recovery is slow. Slower than the flu. Slower than COVID. I will feel great one day and wake up the next with total fatigue, body aches, dizziness and brain fog. That happened while writing this. I had to stop halfway and lie on the couch. The setback brought the same lesson back to the surface.

Acceptance is not passive. Acceptance is patience in action.

The Fear Behind the Fight

Acceptance is uncomfortable because it forces us to face uncertainty. If I cannot control something, I cannot predict the outcome. Uncertainty triggers fear, the same fear that once fueled my drinking.

I am not going to drink today. But I could become irritable, anxious or short-tempered if I am not paying attention.

Acceptance requires humility.

Asking for help requires vulnerability.

Both make me feel like I am failing, even though I would never think that about anyone else who needed help.

I have had to ask my wife to drive me places, help with cooking, help with cleaning and handle many of the things I normally do. She does it willingly. If the roles were reversed, I would be upset if she did not ask me for help.

Yet when I need help, my brain tells me I am a burden. Acceptance helps override that lie.

The Kind of Control That Is Healthy

One area of my life where acceptance came easily was taking care of my health.

Turning 50 pushed me to focus on:

• Regular checkups

• Preventive care

• Exercise

• Nutrition

• Weight management

In February 2024, I weighed 287 pounds. My doctor warned me that he did not want to see that number reach 300. I lost weight, gained some back and by June I was at 277.

Wegovy, with insurance coverage, along with support from a nutritionist, helped bring me to 229 pounds today. Lyme disease reduced my appetite, but the real progress came from steady work over the past year.

Health is one area where planning gives me real control. Listening to my body saved me. Going to the doctor saved me. Please, let my experience push you toward doing the same.

Letting Go, Even at Thanksgiving

I have to accept that my kids will help with Thanksgiving dinner this year. That is not my usual way. I take pride in doing everything myself.

But acceptance also means letting connection replace perfection.

Maybe the stuffing will not be packed exactly the way I do it.

Maybe the onions will be chopped differently.

But we will be together, and that is what matters.

Your Turn

I want to hear from you.

What does acceptance look like in your life?

Where do you struggle?

Where do you succeed?

What can you teach me, and others, about accepting what we cannot control?

Your experience might be exactly what someone else needs today.

I turned 50 years old today. I’ve been thinking a lot about this birthday as it has come closer. It’s been on my mind for the last few years, really since turning 47. It’s almost like I’ve had an internal counter in my head telling me that time was running short in my forties and that my fifties were coming. It’s given me anxiety.

Does it really make an difference between 48 and 50? Functionally, it’s the same. It’s just that as a kid, the age 50 screamed the passing of a threshold. That was the label of officially and irrevocably being old.

50 is an important milestone. It’s shocking how many of the people I graduated high school with are no longer here. Just because it seemed inevitable, there was no guarantee I would love to see this age.

This is as true of my sobriety as my age. I’m now 11 years sober. It can be easy for me to take for granted that my lifestyle does not include alcohol or drugs. But in 2014, that seemed impossible.

Milestones are important in recovery. We celebrate them with as little as a 24 hour chip to as many as ones with a long string of roman numerals. It got me thinking about this big birthday. How can I take stock of my own inventory at 50? How can I use this birthday to help out someone who is still struggling?

I got sober March 21, 2014, but I did not go to my first meeting until May of the same year. I never got a 24 hour or 1 month chip but I certainly was talked into a 2 month chip and a monthly one thereafter. Those small goals made a big difference for me. I learned a lot about realistic goal setting from the book Living Sober. The the book says something like, “don’t drink for another 5 pages.” That’s an incredible goal if you never have had the ability to stay sober.

It’s also worth looking back at each marker. AA Step 11 says:

“Continued to take personal inventory, and when we were wrong promptly admitted it”

I look at this step as more than just making something right, like Step 9, the sequel. It’s also about what you learned and what you did well. There is more to learn and emulate with what you did right than focusing on what you are not so good at.

What did I do well over one month sober?

• I went to meetings

• I stayed sober

• I talked to other alcoholics each day

• I got a sponsor

What about in the first year?

• I stayed sober a whole year

• I thought about my actions before acting, which improved the relationships I had with others

• I said no to activities that would take me away from recovery or my family

I think you get the picture.

So let’s go back to my favorite topic. Me. What inventory can I take at my 50th birthday? I am taking my health seriously, even more than in previous years. I’m seeing a nutritionist to help eat better, get healthy and lose weight. I fought hard to get insurance to cover Wegovy and it’s lead to my weight dropping from 277 pounds in June to 235 pounds today. I’ve increased the intensity of my workouts, doing interval cardio training, focusing on bursts where I keep my beats per minute at a certain level and then dropping down, improving my VO2 max. All of my labs have improved, especially my LDL and HDL cholesterol levels. HDL has been stubborn and has been stuck in the 30’s for years. Now it’s in the mid 40’s. That’s lower than I’d like, but much better than it was. I’ve finally addressed the tendonitis in my wrist, going to get a steroid injections to try and fix the problem.

These things may help me look better cosmetically. That would be great if it happens. More importantly, they help the internal machinery in my body. Turning 50, I’m applying behaviors that will make my life more enjoyable when I’m 70, 80 and hopefully beyond. It used to be easy to take health for granted but I can’t do so anymore. So I have to put in the effort. Also, I want to be there for those I love.

At 50, I’m focusing on the right decisions I’m taking and trying, very hard to not think of those things I did not accomplish, yet. One thing I did accomplish and its the hardest thing I’ve ever done, is continuous sobriety.

How do you think about milestones? Put it in the comments below!

I don’t think gratitude comes naturally. Our default setting seems to be selfish and negative. Maybe that was once a survival instinct, a way to stay alert when we lived as hunter-gatherers and had to look over our shoulders all the time.

As someone in recovery, I’ve learned that gratitude is how we keep resentments at bay. And resentments are the biggest killer of alcoholics.

I did not feel like I had much to be grateful for this week. Most of my grumpiness was about work, especially things happening at my company. Our quarterly earnings were being reported, and the final decisions on a corporate restructure were about to be announced. We were told our department would “remain as is,” but that didn’t exactly make me feel secure.

The layoffs came midweek and were wider and deeper than I expected. We’ve had some kind of layoff or restructure every year for the last five years, but this one dwarfed the rest. My department was told we wouldn’t be affected and that our work teaching leaders how to coach effectively to improve the customer experience would be leaned on even more.

You’d think that would make me feel relieved. It didn’t. I felt anxious and guilty. Survivor’s guilt hit hard. Even after hearing that the severance package was generous, I still felt uneasy. I made it through this time, but I kept wondering: when will they call my number? Next year? Next month? Tomorrow?

Sleep hasn’t helped. I’ve battled restless legs syndrome (RLS) for years and tried different medications to manage it. Gabapentin worked well for me until this summer when it suddenly stopped being reliable. Most nights, RLS wakes me around 11:45 p.m. The only thing that helps is lying flat and bending my legs toward my chest until it calms down. It works, but it eats into my sleep. I’ve been tired.

Friday was Halloween, and my youngest daughter had four friends sleep over. The dogs were restless, barking at every knock on the door. We had a plumbing problem that I had to fix and a pantry door that jammed shut. By the end of the day, I was exhausted and snapping at everyone.

When I finally went to bed, I thought about the scene in Return of the Jedi when the Emperor tempts Luke Skywalker to give in to the dark side. If I had been Luke that night, I wouldn’t have hesitated. I would have taken out Palpatine, Vader, and anyone else on that battle station. That’s how angry I was.

Then I came across a TikTok from Mark Scarbrough.1 Mark is an author and hosts the Walking With Dante podcast. He was diagnosed with early-stage pancreatic cancer and recently had a Whipple procedure, which is an incredibly invasive surgery. He’s been honest about his ups and downs, and in this video, he talked about his struggles with gratitude and why he still has reasons to be thankful.

I needed to hear that.

I don’t compare my situation to others. It’s easy to think, “If he’s dealing with cancer, my problems aren’t so bad,” but I don’t buy that. Your stubbed toe might be my broken leg. Still, what he said about gratitude hit home.

So here’s what I’m grateful for.

I’m grateful for a son who is about to go to college, an athlete and scholar beyond anything I could have imagined. He isn’t wondering if he’ll go to college but where he’ll go, and that’s something special.

I’m grateful for a middle daughter who teaches me perseverance every day, and for the services that help her navigate her dyslexia.

I’m grateful for excellent medical benefits and access to care that’s helped me lose 40 pounds since June. My insurance covers Wegovy, and that makes me part of a very small group of people who can afford it.

I’m grateful for a wife who listens, who stood by me through drinking and sobriety, and who parents our kids with strength and grace.

I’m grateful to be sober. Most people never get sober, and for those who try, few stay that way.

Most of all, I’m grateful for you. There are plenty of podcasts and newsletters out there, but you chose this one. That means something.

What about you? What are you grateful for this week? Tell me in the comments below.

This week was We Agnostics.

And man, it rubbed me the wrong way.

Really wrong. I got pissed. Typical alcoholic—I found myself with a fresh resentment.

Things started out fine. Bill tried to reach the scientific thinker, to help them get past their prejudices against God. He begins with this:

“The practical individual of today is a stickler for facts and results. Nevertheless, the twentieth century readily accepts theories of all kinds, provided they are firmly grounded in fact.”

I’m with you so far, Bill. Then he continues:

“We have numerous theories, for example, about electricity.”

We also have many facts. Even in the 1930s, we knew that spinning turbines produce electricity. It’s sent via high-voltage power lines to reduce energy loss and stepped down through transformers so it can be safely used in homes.

Bill continues:

“Everybody believes them without a murmur of doubt. Why this ready acceptance? Simply because it is impossible to explain what we see, feel, direct and use, without a reasonable assumption as a starting point.”

Then comes the pivot:

“The prosaic steel girder is a mass of electrons whirling around each other at incredible speed... When, however, the perfectly logical assumption is suggested that underneath the material world and life as we see it, there is an All Powerful, Guiding, Creative Intelligence, right there our perverse streak comes to the surface and we laboriously set out to convince ourselves it isn’t so.”

Here’s where he loses me.

Bill builds a straw man. He argues for a power greater than ourselves by saying: you accept electricity and ions, but you don’t accept God. You can’t see either, but you trust one because of science.

Here’s the problem: electricity can be measured. I can touch a nine-volt battery to my tongue and feel the jolt. There’s no voltmeter for God. These are not the same kind of belief.

I’m not here to say Bill is wrong because God doesn’t exist. I just think he could have made a stronger argument. He wanted to bring the suffering alcoholic to a higher power—and in doing so, he sometimes stretched logic to get them there.

Bill was a salesman. He told parables, not history. If you’re looking for a precise historical account of early AA, you won’t find it in the Big Book. Even Ebby Thatcher said that Bill’s recollection of their famous meeting didn’t match his own. Bill bent the truth in the service of helping another alcoholic get sober.

And maybe that’s the point. Bill had a singleness of purpose: get the drunk to sobriety, by any means necessary. Maybe a little embellishment was the cost of carrying the message.

I think Bill was genuine in his faith and in his desire to help others. My issue is that sometimes it feels like an ends-justify-the-means approach to God. He jumps between reason and faith, mixing the two in ways that don’t always hold up.

Still, he gets something so right with that quote often (wrongly) attributed to Herbert Spencer:

“There is a principle which is a bar against all information, which is proof against all arguments and which cannot fail to keep a man in everlasting ignorance—that principle is contempt prior to investigation.”

I use that quote all the time. It reminds me to keep an open mind. I wish that’s where Bill had stayed focused—not on Columbus sailing off to disprove a flat Earth or on invisible electricity, but on the importance of humility and curiosity. We can’t prove God, and we can’t disprove God. The key is to find your concept of a higher power—as long as that higher power isn’t you.

I am an agnostic. I love evidence-based science. I struggle with believing what I can’t prove, and I overthink everything. My power greater than myself is service to others. If there’s something that would help someone else that I don’t want to do, that’s my cue to do it.

I try to live by Maya Angelou’s words:

“People will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.”

I want to leave people a little lighter than I found them. That’s enough divinity for me.

Maybe belief doesn’t have to mean certainty. Maybe faith is just staying curious enough to admit you don’t know—but you’re still willing to help someone else along the way.

That’s where I find my spirituality today.

What do you think? If you have a strong belief in God, I’d love to hear how you see it. If you don’t, I want to hear from you too. I’m open to your arguments—no contempt before investigation.

Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the Big Book of Alcoholics Anonymous!

When I attended my very first AA meeting, a few members of the group called me over and wanted to know a little more about me. I was so terrified at the moment and it was exhausting just going through with attending a meeting, let alone participating and talking to people.

But it was a good feeling that people wanted to talk to me. I had told myself so many times that no one was interested in me and if they were, they’d discover who I really was and then I’d be rejected. These people were not like that. They said hello, listened and then introduced me to others. They made me feel important, valued and loved. I even walked away with a present! I received my Big Book. It was gently loved and it’s still the text I use today.

Being a wicked smart college educated gentleman, I KNEW that no one had to teach me how to read the book. I certainly was not interested in the introductions and forward. Who reads that? I also was not quite ready for the first 164 pages. No, I was still in the identifying stage so I needed to read the stories. And not the low bottom stories, because that was not me! I went straight to “They Stopped in Time.” By reading about people just like me, I could find sobriety.

Eventually, I learned the folly of my ways and in listening to people I respected at meetings, I learned that the first 164 pages were the program. I wanted to graduate early and be the greatest member of AA, ever! So I dove in and read that first 164 pages as quickly as possible.

The problem was, I didn’t understand or retain anything.

Were you like this? Did you start devouring the book, trying to absorb as fast as possible only to look back and say, I have no idea what I just read? This is something common I hear in meetings.

Then if these traps capture many in recovery, how do you read the book?

There is a saying I love about recovery. “If I could get sober on my own, I would have done so.” This statement goes for the Big Book too. For me, it worked best reading with others. That way there is an opportunity to read and then discuss the text.

For many, reading the big book is something you do with a sponsor. Many a sponsee sit in a sponsor’s living room and go chapter by chapter together, and then talk about what their impressions were. It’s not just a great way to understand this complex text book, but it’s a great way to bond with your sponsor and build trust. For a sponsor, it’s great 12th step work, sharing the message to another sick and suffering alcoholic.

What worked for me were two things:

• Going to Big Book AA meetings

• Attending Joe and Charlie study groups each year

If you don’t know, there are many types of AA meetings. You can find ones where there is a group discussion, a speaker sharing their story and literature meetings. My home group is a Big Book meeting.

I’ve learned the most by going to this Big Book Meeting for 11 years. We read through the Preface and Forwards and the first 164 pages, chapter by chapter each week. The last week of the month, we read one of the stories in the back.

The repeated readings, over and over, week after week, year after year is what gave me the insight I have now. I still don’t have it all figured out and I don’t think I ever will. For me, it’s a textbook.

So the message I can give to you, if you find the Big Book intimidating, is to do it with a group, your sponsor or best yet in a meeting. And be patient. It takes years to absorb it. Be open minded to what you hear from others. It just makes the material click.

What was your experience first reading the Big Book and how did it change over time? I’d love to read your thoughts in the comments.

Alcohol was never my real problem. It was the solution to all my other problems. Without alcohol, how could I function in life with everything I feared? Social situations felt especially scary. I could never explain it, but I just felt different. It seemed like everyone else had the confidence. When I was in a group, my ability to talk disappeared! Nothing came to me to say. Plus, it was so noisy! I could hear everyone all at once and I just couldn’t concentrate. I thought I was going deaf! Alcohol gave me courage and settled my nerves. It relaxed me just enough to find something to say and often, it stimulated me. Plus, if I got really bored, I had something to do.

Can you relate in any way? Have you felt different and alcohol or drugs made you feel comfortable enough, even if it didn’t make you feel normal? My story in today’s Dispatch is very personal and may resonate with you if you ever felt different.

I’ve talked a lot about my diagnosis about two years ago with ADHD. It was a long road to getting relief and trying different ways to manage it and only this year did I try a stimulant. The results have been life changing.

ADHD is classified as part of a family of issues under the neurodivergence umbrella. It's a blanket term for people who have their brains wired in a different way. I learned recently my brain is wired much more differently than I originally thought. This is a personal story.

The Diagnosis

In the last month, I was diagnosed with level 1 autism. This was previously referred to as Asperger’s Syndrome. For a long time, I felt like I fit an autism diagnosis. I struggled in social situations from even an early age.

What really opened my eyes was the concept of “masking.” When someone with autism is “masking,” they are consciously or unconsciously trying to appear “normal” to blend in. I saw that people who “mask,” do so by observing, analyzing and mirroring the behavior of others. This can be done by watching people in real life, on TV, books, film, etc.

I knew I did this. It was right under the surface but I learned how to better fit in by just acting like the normal people I saw. I could act like normal people right down to the lines I’d hear in a film. I always felt more comfortable by pretending to be someone else. That’s the only way I could get through uncomfortable social situations.

This tendency to “mask” and mimic others helped me navigate social situations, but it also came with other traits that I didn’t fully understand until recently. One of those was my intense focus on specific interests. I also found out why I was a fountain of useless information. As a kid, I actually sat on the floor and read the encyclopedia, like it was a book. If I was interested in a subject, I would go deep down a rabbit hole and learn all I could until I exhausted all knowledge. I knew I was alone in doing things like this.

So how does this relate to alcohol use disorder? For the social anxiety, a drink settled me down and broke down nervousness. I felt I could be normal when drinking. I could bust out of my shell and be the fun and witty person I always wanted to be. How the heck was I going to be able to function without fear if I gave up alcohol?

The Science

People with ADHD are 2 to 3 times more likely to develop addiction. Those with autism alone are actually less likely to develop addiction.

BUT…

If you have Autism with ADHD, anxiety and depression, the risk skyrockets. Substances are coping tools for sensory overload and social struggles.

Along with the social struggle I faced, with ADHD I also had sensory overload. I remember going to a crowded bar and the noise just made it more than I could handle. Why even go out when I’m afraid of people and when I’m there, I can’t think because of how much noise is hitting me in all directions. Well, at least alcohol settled that down.

Recovery as a Neurodivergent Person

With neurodivergence, you have both challenges and superpowers. I realized why meetings can be a challenge for me. I go to a Big Book meeting and I’ve read each chapter repeatedly. It gets boring for me. The pacing can feel too slow, which is why I can’t do hour and a half meetings anymore.

On the other hand, I have a superpower in empathy and curiosity, which makes me great at listening to people and hearing their struggles. I’m really good at not trying to solve people’s problems. I listen and empathize, which is pretty much what most people want.

For example, a friend in recovery recently shared how overwhelmed they felt returning to work after rehab. Instead of jumping in with advice, I asked questions and just let them talk. Later, they told me it was the first time they felt truly heard. That moment reminded me how powerful empathy can be in recovery.

My strength to focus on things that interest me, like the history of AA, helps me be a scholar and I can turn that into a message that’s easy to digest.

I’m Still Who I Was Before Learning I had Autism

In the end, nothing changed about me. I just know more. This reinforces what I learned in recovery. Alcohol was not the problem. It was my solution. I just had to find another solution to all the challenges facing me. My diagnosis is not an excuse. It’s a tool for self understanding and learning that teaches me tools for overcoming the challenges with ADHD and autism. That will help me keep the drink on the bar, and not in my hand.

You don’t have to be neurodivergent to relate. All of us who struggled with the bottle had something that kept us drunk. To stay sober we had to find a better and healthier solution and that takes a lot of work, but comes with a new level of satisfaction.

I’d love to hear your thoughts on your own recovery story. We all have different issues affecting us all. It could be neurodivergence and it could be something else.

I talked about it on this week’s Sober Friend’s podcast. You can listen by clicking here or see the You Tube version here.

I was at a Hibachi for my daughter’s 13th birthday. It’s what she wanted for her birthday. She wanted the full show—fire, flipping, and food tossed into our mouths. Suddenly, the chef said to me, over the noise of the crowd, his thick accent cutting through:

“Sake?”

I need a moment to clarify what he was saying and it would have been easy to just act reflexively and open my mouth. But I had enough wits about me to think and say, “no thank you!” I’m glad I did because he made a second pass.

I’ve learned so much about life and living in recovery, more than how to stay sober and one of the greatest lessons is this:

Be on guard for the unguarded moment.

We live in an alcohol drenched world. It’s not the job of society to bend to our sobriety. We have to make peace that This Bud’s for Them and not for you. Hibachi’s are especially soaked in alcohol. It seemed to me that everyone was hammered at the table. If you want to get sober, you have to get comfortable being around booze.

The Meatball Incident

Part of getting comfortable with booze being around is to be on guard for the unguarded moment. I’ll tell you a story that makes me think about this. A guy I know from the rooms once shared a Christmas story that stuck with me. They had a pot luck out and he grabbed some food. One of the things he popped in his mouth was a meatball and immediately could tell it was drenched in whiskey. He panicked and ran into an office and called his sponsor. He was terrified he just broke his sobriety. His sponsor told him, ‘You didn’t relapse—unless you went back for a second meatball.

Lessons from Seinfeld

Seinfeld handled this issue amazingly well, though for comic effect. Elaine’s boyfriend is in recovery and he has a glass of cranberry juice. Jerry is asked to “hold” Elaine’s cranberry and vodka and of course, Jerry can’t be bothered to be careful. Elaine’s boyfriend grabs the wrong drink and “falls off the wagon.” I think of this episode often when at a social gathering where booze is present because the risk is so real.

Mocktail Security Protocol

There are a few rules I learned in recovery about the unguarded moment. I go in aware of booze being around and often, I’ll bring my own soft drinks. No one is required to cater to my teetotalling. That way, I am sure what I’m drinking is alcohol free.

If you don’t bring your own drinks, guard your mocktail with your life. I don’t let my drink leave my hand and if I do, I watch it like a hawk. If for some reason I’m going to drop my drink and leave it outside of sight, I get a new one. It’s far better to be wasteful than to get wasted.

My wife is a normal drinker so if I’m concerned about drenched food, I ask her to try it first. If I have a concern about a punch bowl, I ask her to take a sip. I’m grateful to have that support. The best guide is, if you are not sure, avoid it.

Outside of controlled situations, like at a restaurant, there is so much margin for error. You have to go into each situation thinking you could get alcohol slipped into your drink. And you never know when someone wants to squirt something in your mouth.

Did I just write that? Okay, that sounded better in my head—but you know what I mean.

Your Turn

How about you? How do you stay on guard in social situations? Have you ever had a meatball moment like my friend? Did you “fall off the wagon?” I’d love to hear your experiences in the comments. They will help the new guy or gal.

How often have you needed help, but no one was around to read your mind? Have you ever been ashamed to ask for help? Have you been offered help, but been too bashful to accept or even offended? If you are reading this newsletter, you likely can relate. Those of us in recovery could not get sober without asking for help. But both asking and accepting is very hard.

For the first moment, I did not want to accept my neighbor’s help. Here is the thought process:

• Your yard is beautiful

• You must hate our yard

• How dare you say my yard is a mess!

• I work a lot and I don’t have your time

• You are right, I’ve failed the neighborhood!

You see, typical alcoholic thinking.

In the end, if we can afford what he wants to do, then I’m going to accept his help. I can’t think through the things that need to be done. He can. He’s really good at this. He knows the exact people to ask and the right materials to buy. I will gladly install everything too. I’m really good at listening to instructions.

I also know that I’m helping him. My neighbor retired from installing HVAC systems. He’s in remarkable shape and can’t sit still. I’m doing him a huge favor too. He feels engaged and I’m giving him the opportunity to feel better about himself. It’s a win-win.

That’s the key here, you help the helper more than the helpee.

So why is it so hard to ask for help and then accept it?

For me, it’s a pride thing. You are calling out my failure. The thing I want to keep from you. Therefore, I won’t ask for help because I don’t want to expose myself, but because I can’t ask for help, I can’t fix my problem. It’s a vicious cycle.

This is where the steps have helped me in long term recovery. At first, they were the framework of just not drinking. Then they helped me through rough patches when drinking used to be my solution. Now, the steps are not really about drinking at all. They are just the guides for how I should live my life.

I have become successful at work because I’ve embraced asking for help as a sign of strength, not of weakness. When I can’t figure something out, I ask a peer. I also ask Co-Pilot which is very helpful and then when I can’t follow Co-pilot’s instructions, I go back to my peer. This is not something I would have figured out on my own. I owe my success outside of AA to AA.

How do you feel about asking for help? Are you comfortable with it or do you still shy away? What if someone offers you help? Do you accept it or do you feel like you can’t? I’d love to hear your thoughts in the comments below.

Alcohol felt like the thing that got me through. Until it didn’t. Eventually, it just made me an asshole.

I thought a lot about what Marcy R said on this week’s podcast. If you have not listened, here’s the link. It’s a banger. Marcy discussed how the booze helped her slow her mind down enough to talk to people, helping her to overcome her shyness. She was not aware she had ADHD as an adult and knew no other way to overcome her introversion, so in her mind, alcohol was the magic elixir. If it ever did work, for Marcy, the day came when it’s powers fizzled out.

Talking to Marcy really made me think about my own story because there was so much to relate to. We both were diagnosed with ADHD late. We both had kids with ADHD. We both were introverts who had difficulty connecting with others.

There was so much I did not know about myself. Maybe if I had all these answers, alcohol would not need to be something I needed to get through social situations. But if I’m being really honest—that’s not true. There was so much work I had to do on myself to have the fog lift so I could really see what was happening.

I’m an introvert with social anxiety. Social situations? They baffle me. I’m in public and talking to someone one on one and I have no idea what to say to them! I’m lost! ADHD does not help because I start this process of overthinking and then I shut down. I never thought that alcohol slows my mind down until Marcy said something.

ADHD, especially when I was young, was looked at as an issue of hyperactive kids who lashed out and disrupted situations. What was not really known, at the time, is that there is another version where thoughts lead inward. So when your thoughts are internalized, you lash out at yourself, not others. You don’t get diagnosed at all.

This led me to think I had hearing problems because in social situations, it was so hard to hear. I thought I had hearing issues. I was hearing everything at once—so I couldn’t understand anything. With that low rumble going on, why even bother going out? I was terrified of people to begin with, it was hard for me to make conversation and then it was hard to hear someone if I made a connection because I could not distinguish all the voices.

You know what made it easier? Alcohol! It slowed things down. Even if I felt like vegging out in public, at least I had my bottle to make me feel better.

So the idea of quitting alcohol was an impossible idea. How could I socialize if I did not have my bridge to others?

The answer was that there was a better way. I had to learn about myself. What my strengths were. What were my defects? How to live a sober life and thrive in the world, not just manage. For that I needed a program and the 12 steps got me there. By clearing the fog it gave me a chance to then listen to my doctor about my health and to be an advocate of myself.

And I’m learning to be okay knowing I’ll never be a finished product—and that’s not a failure. It’s just being human.

If you’ve ever hit that moment—where the booze stopped working and the truth started knocking—I want to hear your story.

What did you do next? What helped? What didn’t?

Hit reply, or share your story in the comments. You never know who it might help.

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Burnout and Weather

I have two Substacks I write, this one and another on Gen X nostalgia. I have not written for either in two weeks and I’ve barely been able to get my shit together to even podcast. I just don’t feel like I’ve had the energy and it’s felt like a grind.

What I’m dealing with is both mundane and stressing. With the mundane is the weather that can affect my mental health. In New England, we’ve alternated between cloudy, cold, rainy and then oppressively humid. When it’s outside of the perfect low humidity weather, I have a tough time. I have an especially difficult time when it’s cloudy, like it is right now as I’m writing you.

The Weight Loss Journey

I spoke on the podcast last week about my weight loss journey and looking for help in the form of GLP-1 drugs, like Wegovy. I’ve learned a lot in recovery and one of the most important tools I’ve learned is to ask for help. I’m 6’2”. Over the past year, my weight has dropped from 287 to 249 points last fall, but has since crept back up to 270. I haven’t hit my high water mark, but I’m going the wrong way. I’m really tired of the struggle and asked my doctor for help in the form of Wegovy.

If you don’t know, Wegovy is a form of Semaglutide, first used as a diabetes drug. For diabetics, the drug is called Ozempic. There is another similar drug tirzepatide sold as a diabetic drug as Monjaro and as a weight loss drug Zepbound. It was discovered these GLP-1 drugs also have a side effect of slowing down digestion causing you to eat less. I’ve heard it described as noise cancelling headphones for your food thoughts. GLP-1 drugs also hold promise for addiction, quieting the desire to drink or use. I am a proponent of using the right medicine to jump start an addicts recover paired with a rehab program.

They are also extraordinarily expensive. Out of pocket, they are about $1,500 a month. With my insurance, I can get Wegovy for $50 a month. It’s hard to qualify and I do. I’ve been working with my doctor on weight for over 6 month, the drug will be used in conjunction with a reduced calorie diet and increased exercise and my BMI is above 30.

My stressor is that I’m getting rejections because my doctor’s office won’t give insurance the right docs they need, so I’m going back and forth with both.

The back and forth with insurance has been exhausting.

Financial Stress and Family Life

On top of that, youth sports have become a serious financial strain. If you’re a parent, you probably know what I mean. It feels like every tournament, uniform, and hotel stay comes with a hefty price tag. Sometimes I joke that youth sports are the most organized hustle out there. It’s a lot and it adds up fast.

We’ve had to spend money on travel for a soccer tournament this weekend and we are required to stay at the most expensive place. First week of July, we are flying to Orlando for a week for my son’s volleyball tournament. It’s a Nationals tournament, so it’s a big deal.

I’m lucky that we can get together the money to pay for this, but it’s a lot of money and we are stretched tight. Money is my greatest stressor and fear that I found in my 4th step.

Less stressing is an injury to my 11 year old daughter. She was playing in the driveway, doing a TikTok, jumping up and down and injuring her knee. It looked like the top of her leg went one way and the bottom another. She’s been unable to put weight on the knee since Friday. I was able to take her to urgent care and we have an appointment at our local Children’s hospital on Thursday.

You’d think this would stress me out, but this is the one where I’m putting it in my higher power’s hands. I have no control over her getting injured. Kids get hurt and this was a freak thing. If she needs surgery, we have insurance and at 11 years old, she will recover quickly. My daughter noticed and thanked me for not hovering.

Letting Go and Trusting the Process

That’s the ah-ha moment for me. I’m taking too much back into my hands and not putting it into a higher power’s hands. Although I don’t believe in God traditionally, I understand the principle that I can’t have control over everything. There is lots outside of my control and when I try to take it back, I am miserable. I don’t have faith that things will work out for the best and to be patient long term.

So if I don’t get the meds, another solution will pop up. I just can’t give up. For our trips, they are paid for, so why not enjoy the moments? We were forced into a travel vacation, something we never do. I can accept my daughter’s injury and that’s more impactful than the other issues.

You know what else I need to do? I need to reach out to my recovery buddies. I isolate myself. This is no good. So I’m going to work to making connections with others so my friends can help me reset.

Writing is hard. This is not an easy substack to write and yet I feel better. I hope you feel as helped as you reading this helped me.

What do you do when stressed, burnt out or out of control? How do you stay sober in times like this? I’d love to see your thoughts in the comments below.

Kindness is so attractive to us because it’s so foreign to our basic nature. I believe that we are negative by nature. When we believe all will go wrong, eventually, we will be right. It takes optimism to think that things will go well when all available evidence at the moment says otherwise.

I’ve come back to this topic again and again. When Steve and I talked about this on the podcast this week, we did not even hit all the points I wanted to get to! Fortunately, the newsletter allows me the freedom to veer off topic and to discuss things we could never get to on the show.

Kindness as a Recovery Tool

I always felt less than before I found recovery. I knew I had a sense of humor, but I never felt confident showing it. I also had a quick wit, which could bleed into a cutting comment. Because I was so uncomfortable in my own skin, I had to play a character. That character was good at protecting myself by saying the mean thing to someone else before they said it to me. I became really good at protecting myself at the expense of my long term relationships. Because I’m sensitive I felt guilty hurting someone. That led to a vicious circle where alcohol was a great tool. How could I stop drinking when I had no way to squash the feelings of self doubt?

Kindness can be reached with step work. Steps 4 and 5 let me self discover where I was less than kind. Steps 8 and 9 teach me how to make it right. Step 10 keeps me in check so I continue to be kind.

Being Kind to Yourself

In my years in therapy, a big area of development and work has been around being kind to myself. I am very self critical and fight with my own thoughts. I wish I could say I’m totally there. Recognizing my own flaws comes easily to me. Recognizing my accomplishments does not. I miss the good things I bring to the planet and it can be easy to just see things I don’t do well or missed. Learning to embrace imperfections without missing your own talents is part of self kindness.

Kindness in Action and the 12 Steps

For me, one of the kindest things you can do is service work. It makes you feel better about yourself and you have the opportunity to make someone else feel good too. I was really uncomfortable and shy when I first got sober and was sure the other people in recovery wanted nothing to do with me. I learned that you can connect with people by volunteering for service positions like giving out raffle tickets and greeting people at the door. Both jobs force you to talk to everyone at the meeting and if you do it for enough weeks, you are forced to get to know everyone. They also get to know you and you find that you’ve made other people feel seen and welcome. Now that I have some sobriety, doing service for others can make or break a newcomer's sobriety. It’s small to reach out your hand and welcome someone new to a meeting, but I remember every person who did so for me when I was new.

Final Thoughts

Kindness might seem small, but in recovery, it’s a powerful act of courage. It’s easy to tear others down—especially when we’re hurting—but choosing to be kind, especially when no one’s watching and nothing’s expected in return, helps us heal too. When I’m kind, I feel more connected, more grounded, and more human. And in today’s world, where kindness can feel rare, those small moments really stand out. How have you practiced kindness lately? What worked? Where did you struggle? Share your wins and lessons in the comments—someone else might need to hear exactly what you’ve been through.

Chaos doesn’t just stop because we’re sober. In fact, it often shows up in ways that test every tool we have in our recovery tool box. You know what would make my life even more chaotic? Having a drink. That will make things really go off the rails.

I thought sobriety would mean everyday would be sunshine and unicorns. I didn’t think it would be chaos. Am I doing something wrong?

If you are feeling like I am feeling right now, no you are not doing anything wrong. To skip to the end of the story, being sober does not mean that your life will be perfect. It means that when bad stuff happens, you’ll have the tools to get through it without having to drink. That is a huge gift recovery gives us.

On Sunday, my 12 year old daughter caught the leg of another player and sprained her ankle. She’s been hobbling around since. My wife woke up Monday morning with severe vertigo. I took her into urgent care to be treated. She’s ok, but she remains very dizzy and can’t drive safely. The kids have doctor’s appointments and other things so I’m a one man uber.

In the past, that kind of week would have driven me to a drink. Today things are different. It’s not because life is easier, it’s because I have tools to navigate life without alcohol. The first tool is acceptance and this is an important one for me. I have to accept what I can’t control.

How does acceptance help with this situation? It certainly helps me not build resentments. It would be easy in the past to resent my daughter and my wife. Why did they get into this situation and ruin my day? They did nothing wrong, but in the past, when I was drinking, I would have placed blame on them for the inconvenience they caused me.

I can accept that things happen like this. People get sick and they get hurt. What would they do if I got sick? I would want them to take care of me and provide me comfort. I would not want to feel like a burden and I would want them to tell me I was not. That’s what I can do for them. I can tell them that it’s ok and it’s my privilege to care for them. There won’t be as much time for things that I want to do, but that’s ok too. I’m being of service to them. I’m blessed with a family that I have the responsibility to care for. Those are the moments that mean the most to those receiving care and it always makes me feel better to care for others.

I can be grateful. So what’s there to be grateful for in all this? I have a family that cares for me. People get hurt and sick and I’m healthy enough to care for them. And I’ve been a good enough dad and husband that they allow and trust me enough to care for them. I have a job that allows me flexibility so I can drop everything and take people to the doctor or get their medicine from the pharmacy.

I’m pretty grateful it happened this week. I don’t have a lot going on at work so if it is a situation where I have to duck out, I’m not going to miss much and not going to put a burden on my peers.

Thank God it’s spring! There is no ice. What if this happened in winter and the stairs were icy outside my home. My wife would land on her backside, easily. That’s one issue I don’t have to worry about and there is no risk for her compounding the situation.

Sobriety doesn’t promise peace or perfection. It offers something better. It offers the strength to show up, the tools to stay grounded and the grace to get through anything, all without picking up a drink. Some days will be hard. But they don’t have to break you. With the right tools and mindset, you can stay sober and feel proud doing it.

I almost skipped our annual Joe and Charlie Big Book study this year. No one in the group wanted to do it, including John who hosted. (For newcomers: Joe and Charlie sessions are intensive workshops where we deep dive into the Big Book's wisdom together. You have to commit to doing this for about 16 weeks but it’s a boost to your recovery.)

We bend John's arm back every single year, and each time we do it, John is grateful we did. We are all thankful we did it and we’ll need to be convinced to get out of our comfort zones again next year.

The reason I dragged myself there is beause I felt isolated. I needed to be around people, even though it put me outside of my comfort zone.

When Social Anxiety Meets Recovery

By nature, I'm shy and introverted. I struggle to socialize, especially with new people, because I'm terrified of being rejected. When I am in a social situation, I lose the ability to speak and have a hard time thinking of things to say.

Part of this is ADHD. In a noisy room, I can't filter anything out. I can hear the words coming out of your mouth in front of me as clearly and unfiltered as the discussion going on across the room. I hear everything and nothing at the same time, and it causes me to shut down.

Then there's the whole situation of feeling like I'll be rejected because I'm not good looking enough, don't have enough money, I'm not smart enough. You get the idea.

But in the fellowship of AA, I feel those fears a lot less. Because we have the commonality of having a problem with alcohol, it's enough to start a conversation. I can't say I always feel comfortable talking to new people in AA, because I don't, but I feel more comfortable than anywhere else in the world.

Why I Needed to Show Up Anyway

Over the last year, because I've been busy with kids' sporting events and other family obligations, it's been hard to get to as many meetings as I feel I should. My connections were fraying. I knew going to Joe and Charlie would reconnect me to those I care about, even if it was the last thing I wanted to do.

On our last night of the study, something happened that confirmed I'd made the right decision.

We changed it up the last two weeks. The weather was excellent so we got to listen to the tapes and share outside by the fire. For the last night, we had a BBQ with John complaining his amazing ribs were just good enough. To me, they were the best ribs ever. We all got to eat like pigs and let our guard down. I didn’t feel like I had to be anyone but myself.

This experience reminded me why the fellowship is so crucial to my recovery. It gives us an opportunity to discuss what's going on in our lives and how we are (or aren't) working the program of recovery. It's where theory meets reality.

Safety in Numbers

There's a saying I heard early on: "Those in the middle of the pack don't get picked off." If I'm dead center of the fellowship, I stand a better chance of staying sober and getting through life's inevitable challenges without picking up a drink.

When I isolate myself, even for "good reasons" like family commitments, I'm drifting to the edge of the herd. I become vulnerable.

I feel better when I'm serving others. It's why I enjoy business coaching so much and facilitating training at my day job. When I can be a sounding board for others, I feel better because it gives me the opportunity to help someone else, which paradoxically helps me stay centered.

I'm not one of those 12 steppers who likes to lecture people. I'm more of a coach. I prefer not to give direct advice but instead ask questions that help others discover their own answers. This takes time and effort, but it's just how I'm wired. When I see a fellow traveler in recovery finding their own answer, I feel connected to something larger than myself.

The Comfort of Understanding

There's simply a comfort in being around other people who are just trying to find a way to stay sober each day. No offense to the "normies" who don't have a problem with alcohol, but I can't talk to others the way I can talk to people who have struggled with drinking. In recovery spaces, there's an expectation to be in touch with our feelings and share them honestly and that’s something that doesn't exist in much of the "real world."

Being in the middle of the herd helps me stay grounded, and the fellowship pushes me to do the hard work that keeps me sober. The fellowship isn't a replacement for working the steps, but it helps crowdsource the journey. We learn from each other's mistakes and victories. We remind each other of what's at stake.

Your Turn

How much do you rely on fellowship in your recovery? Have there been times when you've dragged yourself to a meeting despite resistance, only to find exactly what you needed? Or times when isolation has put your sobriety at risk?

Like this and reply in the comments. I read every message and find strength in our shared journey.