No, really, just tell me

The other day I made a horrible mistake. I made it unwittingly and without malicious intent, but I still made it. I relayed a piece of gossip to a friend, a piece of gossip that had them as the central figure and held them in a most unflattering light. My friend, suffering from one of the most human of weaknesses—curiosity—did what so many of us have done before when asked the question, “Do you really want to know?” She lifted her chin and lied, saying “Yes.” I should have never fallen for it.

The problem is, we feel so compelled to indulge our curiosity that we will invite in (and by invite I mean hold open the door, beckon, wave, and smile broadly, all while straightening the welcome mat with the tip of our shoe) all manner of mean-spirited, petty jibes. Curiosity is like a strange tickle, an itching that starts deep in the base of the mind, beyond fingers’ reach, a hot patch that demands attention. Like a sneeze building in the nose, all we can feel is the pressure of not knowing, all we can register is the un-answer seeking to expand its confines, until we achoo out the words, “No, really, just tell me.”

And then we know, and there is no undoing that knowledge. Information cannot be extracted or erased from the brain—except, of course, for high school math, which I managed to erase with a concoction of illicit substances taken over a prolonged period of time. Words, once they have traveled down the ear canal, do not make a return trip. They are not touring on holiday visas, with tiny velcroed sandals on their little serifs. They are emigrants, huddled together in their masses, striking out for a brave new world. They move in with the extended family and form little ghettos of knowledge and knowing.

No one, regardless of their clean time, spiritual enlightenment, or personal evolvement likes, to know that somewhere, someone is saying mean things about them. I believe this; and if I doubted it before, then the crestfallen look on my friend’s face and the question “Do you think that, too?” asked several times over the course of the conversation completely rid me of that doubt.

This is where I found my resolve, in that moment when I saw the sadness on my friend’s face and heard the hurt in her voice. This is where I found the internal fortitude and resolute conviction to no longer act as a conduit, the point at which I decided that I will never again act as a channel for gossip. I will become a bricked-in doorway, a vast, uncrossable moat, a ring of fire, a vigilant sentinel determined to keep
malicious, prejudicial, unfounded gossip from making it over the wall. I will do this for those I love—and I will do this for me, the one I am trying to love. And, in this most simple act, I will remember that those I cherish are worth more, that I cherish them for intensely personal reasons that transcend the silly whisperings of a faceless few, and I will remember that my hunger for esteem can be fed with small mouthfuls of esteemable acts. Finally, I will remember that, if nurtured and kept safe, the love I feel for and from them can eventually wash away the lingering residue of the petty, jealous nature of mine that offers them the information in the first place.

Ngaio C, New South Wales, Australia

Do you remember when you first “got” the NA message—when it was finally clear that you had real hope for recovery? And what about other experiences later in recovery when the clouds parted and everything seemed to come together like a bright ray of sunshine in your life? These are what we call our “ah-ha” moments.

Share your ah-ha moments with us by email at naway@na.org, by fax at 818.700.0700, attn. NA Way; or by postal mail at The NA Way Magazine; PO Box 9999; Van Nuys, CA 91409 USA.

A gift to hold onto

My “ah-ha” moment came when I realized that my daily craving for my drug of choice (or any substitute) was dissipating and would eventually become nothing more than a memory. The miracle of the program for me is that, even though my desire to use was present, I could choose not to pick up. After ten years of bouncing in and out of NA, I finally came to this realization. The “ah-ha” really happened for me when the cravings came back with a vengeance well into my second year clean, and I realized that the reprieve wasn’t only a gift, but a gift that I could hold onto. Sometimes we don’t realize or imagine what is missing until it returns.

Brenda W, Hawaii, USA

Love, respect, and acceptance

After I received the recovery message from an NA member, I had hope. I went to my first meeting, and a member told me that he would love me, respect me, and accept me until I could do all those things for myself. He touched my soul because, for a long time, I had not loved, respected, or accepted myself. The next day, he told me that he had attended that meeting only to make sure that I was there and that I was alright. 

Juan Carlos R, Santiago, Chile

Sharing
 

Eighty-four days

Editor’s note: Following the formation of the H&I subcommittee in Iran, Payam Behboodi (the Iranian NA community’s recovery journal) has been receiving letters from prisons across the country on a regular basis. The following letter has a different story. It is from someone who got to know NA while imprisoned, despite drugs being widely available in their jails at low prices.

My name is Habib and I am an addict. Greetings to all the addicts at the Central Prison of Qazvin, and to all NA groups around the world. I am writing this letter as I pass the final moments of my life. I am very close to death. I wish to send a message to all fellow members: I got clean through a Narcotics Anonymous meeting in jail, and through attending these meetings, I stopped using drugs. I have become very close to God, I feel good, and I am at peace with myself and the world. I have accepted the will of God. I’d like to ask you fellows to stay clean and be of service. Try to help other addicts stay clean physically, mentally, and spiritually. Please continue this path to save other addicts. I have nothing else to say. My name is Habib, and by dawn my life will end. I will be hanged for the crimes I committed, but I have been clean for eighty-four days beside you. I wish success for all addicts … members and non-members. God bless. Habib, Qazvin, Iran

Payam Behboodi,
the Iranian NA community’s recovery journal

For the last few weeks, my home group has had an attendance of three: myself, another addict, and a dog named Buster. Buster does not usually share, but he likes to participate in the group hug and Third Step prayer at the end of the meeting by barking and jumping on us.

Sometimes the other addict and I discuss whether keeping the meeting open is worth it, because we don’t seem to be attracting other addicts in the small town in which we live (population 5,000). It really doesn’t matter, because we continue to keep the meeting going, and that’s what counts.

We meet on Tuesday nights at 7:30 pm in a mental health recreational facility in a town named (you’re not going to believe this) 100 Mile House. We are pretty flexible with the length of our meeting; sometimes it’s shorter than an hour and a half, and sometimes longer. It all depends on what the need is for that meeting.

As I opened the meeting one night, I wondered if anyone else would show up. I was prepared to spend the meeting alone. The other addict in town who regularly attends was out of town and probably would not be able to make the meeting, which also meant Buster wouldn’t be there. Another addict who was in the area for hunting had called to say he would attend, but I was not counting on him showing up.

I contemplated what step I might read from It Works: How and Why during the meeting time. What a surprise when the hunter showed up. We were able to connect right away, and both of us knew some other NA members in various parts of BC. And then—lo and behold—a newcomer walked through the door to attend his first meeting! We finished the readings and were ready to read Step One from It Works when the other addict who had been of town for the day showed up. What a great meeting it was. For the first half of the meeting we read Step One; then, after a break, we all shared. The meeting lasted over two hours, and for me, it was like a convention.

The only one missing that night was Buster, who didn’t come with his human. I actually think that might be the only time Buster has missed our home group meeting. Oh well; as the meeting closed, I hoped to myself that he would stay clean until the next meeting.

He did.

Dave S, British Columbia, Canada

Service learning

I just read the latest NA Way Magazine and found myself thinking of all the hard work that occurs each day to create the magazine. As I thought about this, I was reminded of the service each member can bring to our fellowship and how much we gain individually and as a fellowship through service work.

 I would have missed out on so much if I had chosen not to take that early suggestion to be of service. There is a place for every member of NA to be of service, and the growth experienced in doing so is well worth the time and effort required.

Lorraine L, California, USA

Complacency

According to a dictionary, complacency is a state of contentment or self-satisfaction coupled with lack of awareness of actual dangers or deficiencies.

According to the Basic Text, “Complacency is the enemy of members with substantial clean time. If we remain complacent for long, the recovery process ceases.… Denial returns, along with obsession and compulsion. Guilt, remorse, fear, and pride may become unbearable. Soon we reach a place where our backs are against the wall.” (p. 80)

We become too busy for our recovery—until we slowly notice our lives have become unmanageable again. Until recently, I had no idea what this word meant, nor did I realize how something this simple could affect me in my everyday life and recovery. I was feeling “blah” in my recovery, and meetings no longer held much meaning for me. Daily routines became boring. I dreaded school, work, and even getting out of bed. My drug-court commitments were only something I had to do to stay out of jail. I was burnt out on college, something I had worked extremely hard to get going. My life seemed dull and boring, even though my schedule was packed with activities. I felt frazzled and forgot important things—like how many meetings I attended weekly, calling my sponsor, when I went to court last, and even my son’s dental appointments. I finally learned the word “complacency” from other addicts. They shared that complacency can be a danger zone, and that it is something many of us experience. We attend fewer meetings, stop working steps, and often alienate or isolate ourselves. Sometimes complacency sets in when we are approaching clean dates. After putting some clean time together, some of us get so wrapped up in life that we forget our most important priority. It happens gradually. We get jobs, start school, and reunite with lost family. The dog gets sick, or other things in life get in the way, and we go to meetings less and less. We notice we haven’t called our sponsor, shared at a meeting, or even attended any recovery events in quite a while. We become too busy for our recovery—until we slowly notice our lives have become unmanageable again. The unmanageability slowly grips our lives, and then we find ourselves struggling to figure out what is wrong.

The answer is right in front of us. We became complacent in our recovery and no longer went the extra mile for what we wanted so desperately in the beginning. It is at this point that we take notice and open our eyes to see that, without constant participation in our recovery, we will spiral out of control and end up where we started—or even worse.

I think I am starting to see the real meaning of this powerful word, “complacency,” and just how it has been affecting my life these days. Today I will be aware of complacency in my recovery and every part of my life, and recognize the signs before my life becomes unmanageable.

Shannon S, Washington, USA

The faces of recovery

Who do we see when we look into the faces of fellow members at a meeting? Do we know what hopes and struggles they contemplate? Maybe it’s something like this:

	I’m scared of what might happen next.
	I’m so confused, and I don’t know what to do.
	Would ya, could ya, will ya, can ya help me?!
	Can I trust you enough to show me “the NA way”?
	I know you think I’m paying attention to you, but my mind is racing so fast around something else that I’m really not even listening to what you have to say.
	I am telling you the honest truth. Not.
	Are you being honest with me?
	What am I supposed to do now?
	I’m trying my best to hide the pain I’m feeling.
	Do you really “believe”?
	How did I ever get myself in this deep?
	How can you be so screwed up with all that clean time?!
	I really do want to know exactly what it takes to get better, but don’t tell me I’m actually going to have to do something!
	What was it like for you?
	Are you a person I can follow?

Warren L, Florida, USA    

What do you see when you look around at the faces in your meetings? Do you even look at others—or are you focused on the clock or your cell phone screen as you send and receive text messages? Some say they spent much of their early recovery staring down at the shoes in meetings, mainly critiquing them and their wearers. Gradually, as they became more comfortable, they looked up at the faces of the people wearing those shoes—and found connections that helped them in their recovery.

We come to NA with different backgrounds, fears, and expectations, but we all share the experience of our disease and the hope of our recovery. Who were you sitting next to at the last meeting you attended? Is that person finding what he or she needs in NA? And when you look around, who do you notice is missing from your meetings? Do you see newcomers who have found NA as easily accessible and attractive? Do you see members with longer clean time still present and actively sharing their experience in your meetings? Or are newcomers and oldtimers absent? And who in your community has not found NA at all?

What stories do you see when you look into the faces of your fellow members at NA meetings? Write to The NA Way Magazine and tell us about the faces of recovery.