Sobriety Without AA

Last fall, I privately marked the passage of a quarter century since taking my last sip of anything stronger than tomato juice and my last whiff of anything more potent than a scented candle. Quitting all that was an essential turning point that paved the way for a future filled with joy and wonder. Now, at the 26-year mark, I have decided to reflect on that choice and my sacrifice of a most sacred cow. 

Looking back on my old life, I perceive a different person. I don’t know how he could ever have been me. Many writers – from the late journalist Pete Hamill to the fabulist who lied to Oprah, James Frey – have chronicled and cataloged the ravages of drink. Another confessional chapter in the annals of self-destruction this is not. 

What I do wish to say after twenty-six years is that I did it my way. Those two little words, “my way,” are censured in orthodox recovery circles. I had help and support, for which I am grateful. But I needed to carve a unique and authentic path based on self-determination, not conformity. 

My initial, involuntary efforts to make this big life change transpired at an idyllic retreat in Connecticut, one with the dubious distinction of having once treated Michael Jackson as well as members of Andy Warhol’s inner circle. We all saw how well it turned out for Michael Jackson. One Warhol groupie had killed so many brain cells that permanent residency was her only option.

Citing a programmatic slogan, a practiced group leader told recalcitrant 35-year-old me to “take what you like and leave the rest behind.”

And I did. 12-step jump-started my recovery, but I have never been a fan or close adherent. I have been leaving most of that program behind with demonstrable success for more than two and a half decades. 

I harbor no misgivings about the benefits of foregoing drink. I do object to big books, religiosity, groupthink, facile slogans, and brainwashing. 

I see certain similarities between AA and textbook cults. “The program” relies on indoctrination, self-referential thinking, simplistic beliefs, and ecstatic events (meetings). Its members abhor logical questioning of their ideology.

AA did not want me to think for myself. “Your brain is what got you into this in the first place,” they told me. That is a manipulative and specious thing to say to someone who is at his most vulnerable. 

They also told me that smart people struggle the most with the program -- as if that is the smart person’s problem and not theirs.

One of the greatest deterrents to my falling off the wagon has been the prospect of ever having to return to those rooms or facilities. Some of the methodologies I encountered were beyond the pale. In the '90s, Cleveland's foremost addiction specialist was a sadistic drill sergeant who made patients wear signs that proclaimed them losers.

And while spirituality has played a part in my recovery, piety has not. My greatest strategy has been to use the brain that 12-steppers consider a liability.

Sobriety affords me greater health, mental focus, and my crowning achievement: my 22-year relationship with my husband. Old pessimistic me didn’t have any of those things. He wouldn’t believe the happiness that is now mine. 

I wish everyone well on their respective journeys. If 12-step programs are your thing, you do you. It works if you work it. 

If not, take heart: there are other roads to Rome. For me, using my intelligence to stay happy and sober was the only way I could have achieved 26 years.