Episode 230 -- July 21, 2022

Learning about our defects of character is one thing, learning how to let them go is another. For many in early recovery, figuring out how to actually change the parts of our lives that led to and supported our substance use can feel like an insurmountable task. This is where supportive programs and small steps can make all the difference.

In his book Undrunk: A Skeptic's Guide to AA, recovering alcoholic A.J. Adams shares insights and wisdom from his own story of skeptic spirituality—especially how Alcoholics Anonymous became a surprising source of support and direction. He describes what the program taught him about real humility as well as the type of action that produces change on the road to recovery.

In the following excerpt, Adams describes his experience with Step Six, "Were entirely ready to have God remove all these defects of character" and Step Seven, "Humbly asked Him to remove our shortcomings."

This excerpt has been edited for brevity.

When I drank, I was an action-oriented person. I wanted to be where the action was. I wanted to get into the action, whatever was happening. And on Saturday nights, I was usually looking for action. Hard to believe taking action about my drinking eluded me for so long. AA fixes all that. It is above all else a program of action. Perhaps the single most important chapter in the Big Book is called "Into Action" not "Let's Think About It." We work the Steps; we don't meditate on them.

There is another AA trick in all this action, in my view. While we are energetically marching through the Steps with our sponsor, the larger attraction of the program and the AA way of life is subtly showing itself to us. My sponsor says that AA looks a lot like a bootstrap program until the moment when we get a glimpse of the possibilities of actually living sober. I didn't get motivated into action in AA. It was the reverse. Tackling AA resulted in motivation. Like riding a bike— you can only get somewhere if you pedal. Conversely, if you stop pedaling, you fall.

If you let it, Step 6 can open the way to the life we all seem to be seeking in one way or another. It worked that way for me. While I was drinking, I always wanted to be self-assured, fearless, serene in the midst of chaos, confident about the future, loved, and respected. A few drinks usually set me at peace about all that, but doubts and fears would return each morning. As my drinking increased, my worries got bigger and felt more real, while my ability to overcome what scared me diminished. The answer was always to go to the gauzy world of alcohol.

As I looked at Step 6, I thought I saw a way out.

Remember, how I defined God was entirely up to me, as long as I accepted that there was a power greater than myself that could help me get to where I wanted to go. To get started, my sponsor suggested that I go to a quiet place and review my work so far, with special attention to thoroughness and honesty. This was a good idea, and I recommend it. The first five Steps are a wild ride for most of us, and a psychic time-out was just what I needed at this point. I was pretty satisfied with my effort so far, and the prospect of shedding a few weaknesses and picking up a strength or two was good motivation.

I was probably jumping the gun a little—the process of re-moving defects is a lifetime journey. The AA doctrine is that Step 1 (admitting we're powerless over alcohol) is the only Step we must accomplish 100 percent and right now. The other eleven are ideals toward which we strive. My old impatience kicked in at the idea of wasting time being "ready," but my sponsor came to the rescue. He suggested that I simply add a three- letter word to the end of Step 6: "now."

Were entirely ready to have God remove all these defects of character... now.

Asking God to make me a better person was such a personal departure that even preparing to start down that road was a high-order spiritual experience. My prior spiritual life had been all about seeking divine intervention on my own behalf. Mainly, I wanted help getting stuff. By the time I'd finished lining my head up with Step 6, I was not only ready to see the end of some of my character defects, but I also had come to believe that this was actually going to happen.

Then came Step 7 (Humbly asked Him to remove our shortcomings.)

I have a friend who's a nun. When I first met her, I asked what order she was in. Without missing a beat, she answered, "Sisters of Humility and damn proud of it!" While I was drinking, humility had absolutely no role in my life. As far as I was concerned, it was the refuge of underachievers and cowards. Funny, when I drank, I became both.

Step 7 seemed to throw a monkey wrench into my plans for a quick return on Step 6. Humility was clearly the price of admission. My first reaction was determination to become more humble than anyone else in AA so I could have my defects removed without delay. I was clearly missing the point.

My problem with humility is shared by many AAs— it sounds too much like humiliation. But with the power to jettison my defects so near, I knew I had to try to work out a distinction. I settled on this: Humiliation is something I feel when other people think I'm an ass. Humility is something I feel when I know that I'm capable of being or not being an ass. In AA, humility is sought because it is essential to place us in the proper relationship with our Higher Power and with others. Humiliation is something most alcoholics are pretty familiar with, but it doesn't lead to humility. It just leads to low self-esteem and usually more drinking.

I was ready to start asking for some relief from my personal case of spiritual leprosy. This is where I learned how to ask nicely. Having grown up in organized religion, I thought I had mastered prayer at an early age. My technique was the "letter to Santa" method. I invariably prayed for something concrete: a promotion, fame, acceptance, a flatter tummy. In return, I promised either to do or not do something. I also sent up the occasional foxhole prayer asking for an emergency bailout. It was usually a plea not to get caught doing something, in return for a postdated promise to be good.

Step 7 brought me to a very different place. Here I was asking for the removal of character defects so that I might become a better person. Of course, I believed that a better person would have a better life, and that included some of the things I had asked for before. AA is okay with this view. But I no longer felt the urgency for the material things. I was starting to assume that whatever I needed would come along if I focused on being a better AA. That's the way it works. And it's much less fuss than trying to figure out what I should have and then petition for it. For example, what if you prayed for a Ferrari, got it, and then got killed in it. Wouldn't you feel silly?

About the Author:
A. J. Adams, a recovering alcoholic, consults, writes, and teaches. He lives with his wife in the Southwest. A. J. Adams is a pen name.

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