‘Connection is the opposite of addiction’
Coming into the program, I didn’t even realize how isolated I was. I knew I was alone, I knew I felt stuck in my obsessive food behaviors, but I didn’t really understand how blocked my heart actually was, and how distant I had become from others.
I quickly learned I was not so unique. My addiction was nothing new or different, and this was reflected in the stories of those fellows whom I met in the rooms. I also learned how judgemental I was, and how, rather than finding myself alone due to external circumstances, I was actually—and actively—playing a part in my isolation: through not being open to others, through thinking I was better than them, or simply believing that I had nothing to gain from connecting, so why bother?
I went to meetings every day and shared even when I didn’t want to.
Soon I started to see a glow in others and in myself: The glow of recovery. The glow of taking Steps, even when they are difficult. The glow of us coming together as a community. Of holding one another up and being in a program where we are all equally imperfect. People started to notice not only my physical body, but my glow. People in my life started to comment that something in me had changed, and I felt it when they said it, which was important because I was having a hard time really seeing the change on my own.
But I could see it in others: In the fellows I watched move through the Steps. In the people I was gratefully able to help sponsor. I saw ups and downs, difficulties, and tears, but I also saw amazing accomplishments in this program. I saw people find a new way of being, and it helped me recognize and affirm that yes… I had found a new way as well.
And I did it with others, not alone and not through my own self-will. Not through my own clenching and forcing. I went to meetings every day and shared even when I didn’t want to. I broke the cycle of being alone with my compulsive thoughts by sharing them and my defects with a sponsor every day (sometimes many times a day). I meditated and prayed, but I also reached out to other OA members and connected. Every time I felt myself swinging around in self-pity, that familiar song and dance, I stopped the record and then picked up the phone. Sometimes I called to share what was bothering me. Sometimes it was just to say “Hi, how are you?”
I am always coming back to that soft and beautiful glow—of others, of family, of recovery, of home.
