I was in an AA meeting the other day where the topic was fear. We read a short story about fear and then people shared their experiences of how they related to what we read in the story. I thought about sharing because there were many things in the reading that resonated with me. If I speak in a meeting (any kind of meeting), I always want to go first or close to the beginning to get it over with. Otherwise I’m sitting there struggling to listen to what other people are saying because I’m so wrapped up in what I am going to say, getting more and more nervous about the idea of speaking in front of others. During these moments of anticipation, I get filled with self doubt. I don’t really belong here. If I say something it will confirm for folks that I don’t “get it”. Whatever I say about my experience will seem silly compared to what these folks have been through.
As all these ruminations were taking over my thoughts in the meeting about fear the other day, the irony was completely lost on me that what I was experiencing was actually fear. Fear of being vulnerable, fear of forgetting what I was going to say, fear of saying something stupid or offensive, fear of what people would think about me or how they might judge me. When it is happening, I can’t recognize these thoughts as fear. Instead, it feels like a perfectly rational and reasonable set of objections or questions that the voice in my head is sharing with me to protect me from the consequences of myself.
As the meeting went on, there were unusually long pauses between people sharing. Normally when someone finishes, someone else chimes in almost immediately. But in this meeting, someone would finish, and there would be a pause - sometimes uncomfortably long - before someone else would speak up. As I sat in these moments of silence, and as I listened to person after person share their experience, it suddenly occurred to me. I’m afraid. It felt revelatory. I’m afraid! Maybe this is an autistic thing, but I often have trouble identifying my feelings. Whether it’s physical or emotional, I struggle to name what I’m feeling or pinpoint where it is coming from. I know I’m feeling pain, but it’s hard to describe how bad the pain is or where exactly it is centered in my body. Or I feel some overwhelming emotion, but I’m not sure what it is or how to describe it.
Suddenly realizing that I was afraid was a relief. I couldn’t quite articulate why, but it felt like I suddenly “got it”. Something that hadn’t made sense to me before started to become clear. In the next moment of silence, which again extended for longer than usual, I spoke up. “I’m Sam, I’m an alcoholic.” I wasn’t sure what I was going to say. All the things about the story that I had wanted to touch on seemed unimportant. I hadn’t walked through the words in my head the way I usually do. I just spoke up knowing that I had to say something but not sure what. “As I’m sitting here listening to everyone share,” I said, “I’m just realizing that I have a lot of fear.” I talked a little bit about my fear and the realization that I was having at that moment, and I thanked everyone for being there.
The more I think about it, the more it becomes clear that fear has been the driving force in my life. Fear is why I drank. Alcohol suppressed the fear enough to enable me to participate in society. Ironically, before I discovered the benefits of alcohol, fear is why I didn’t drink (I knew there was alcoholism in my family and I wanted to stay away). Fear is why I isolate. Fear is why I run away from people. Fear is what drives me to act like a jerk. Fear is what prevents me from making commitments, or from keeping commitments when I do make them. Awareness of fear is an opportunity to reflect. Am I staying home because I’m afraid? What am I afraid of? With my level of anxiety, sometimes exploring my fear can make it worse. My brain can find too many reasons to validate the fear and reaffirm it. It doesn’t help to remind myself of the statistical unlikelihood that I’ll be attacked by a wolf in the park, or run over by a car, or robbed, or struck by lightning, or any of the other things that might happen to a person who leaves the house. But what if I encounter another human and have to talk to them? That feels like an entirely reasonable fear to have.
As I write through this, it also occurs to me that what feels like a major revelation to me is something that a lot of people probably understand instinctively. I’m sure my fellow English majors would roll their eyes at the trite nature of my epiphanies. But there is it again, fear - worry that what I’m writing, though useful to me, may be judged harshly by others. Why would I care what my college classmates of 25 years ago would think? Why am I still internalizing the embarrassment I felt in class when I would say something and my peers would chuckle silently at my lack of sophistication and understanding? And why did I, in turn, try to impose their judgment on others? Did that make me feel better about myself? Did it make me less afraid? No, but perhaps it made me think I was less afraid. Pretending to be in control is an attractive illusion that momentarily covers up the fear. This brings me back to the biggest revelation of my sobriety so far: it turns out alcohol was not my problem, it was my solution. Now that I’ve decided to remove it from my life, I need to find another solution to the fear. The problem with other solutions is that they are much harder and require a lot more sustained effort and deliberate action. I’m grateful that other people going through the same thing are eager to help.
I loved reading this Sam. Happy for you. And this made me laugh out loud: "Why would I care what my college classmates of 25 years ago would think?"
You're wonderful and I relate to you very much. I am stuck with fear again, but pushing through to the best of my ability. AA is a glorious place to learn things, especially how to do all the things you are afraid of and that booze 'helped' you to do. I'm excited for you and look forward to next installment x