SOBER WHY

Here's what we are going to do. You and I are going to get the why of sobriety before we get the sober how, and I'll tell ya why. Because we get the why of everything else, that's why. The way I saw it then (in the beginning of sobriety) and now (as a veteran) is that we know the whys surrounding most of the other major decisions we make in our lives.

You know why you are living where you are living, or why you aren't living where you want to be living!

Hopefully you know why you date/marry/have sex with the person or people (OH, you nasty girl) you date, marry, or have sex with.

I'll bet you can tell me more than I ever wanted to know about why you bought the car you did. It's practical… works for the family… the kids… the dogs.

Maybe you are one of those over-fifty guys who bought the car for their image… Of course, if you are, you probably can't tell me much about why you do anything, because there's a good chance you are lying to yourself and everyone around you.

Midlife males. Don't they know that young thaannng in the passenger seat of their sports car isn't there because of them?

A better question would be, sober why not?

God, giving up alcohol forever and not having a clue why you should? Doesn't make any sense, because giving up alcohol is a big deal. Just ask anyone.

Ask them if they would miss a glass of wine with dinner (don't ask an alcoholic, because we don't have one glass of anything) or a nice cold beer once in a while if they knew that it would never happen again. No more drinking, ever, in their lives? Miss it? Sure they would.

Anything that is this woven into our society (OY, when you hear how completely and absolutely entrenched in our thinking a drinky-poo is, the "Why you should know the sober why in order to stop and stay stopped" is gonna make a whole lot of sense) is gonna be missed.

And to us alcoholics? Come on!

Cut back, maybe. Deal with what's turned out to be "quite a problem recently," fair enough. But give it up forever??? That's one hell of a statement.

So we have to talk about why before we talk about how because that's the way it works—sobriety, that is—just like everything else in our life.

Let's find out what you want… why you may (or may not) want it… And what you have to do to get it (that would be how). And then you do the work necessary to maintain it. That's how it usually happens with most things. Don't see why sobriety should be any different!

There are two big sober whys. The first is my (and thousands of other alcoholics') opinion about "the reaping after the sowing," "the harvest after the planting," the "What am I getting in return for not drinking?" reasons why. Wait till you make the magic, peace, freedom, power, and control connections to sobriety that you may never have made, or even thought about until now!!! Fabulous stuff, and good, good reasons for sobriety.

Then there are the other whys. The "boat-rocking" whys of sobriety.

Why your disease makes you sooo socially unacceptable.

Why the government wants you to keep drinking no matter what the price.

What the "hospitality" industry has in store for you.

Why you haven't been given the treatment for your disease.

Why you would ever, ever, ever think you could get (and stay) sober given what's happening with the current recovery thinking.

So many whys and sooo many interesting answers!

I've got a little story for you. The story of my first meeting as an alcoholic with other alcoholics. The meeting was at my home. Rusty, my manager (so Hollywood, wouldn't you say?) organized a group of four or five women for me to meet with.

I had spent some time with one of the women at a restaurant a couple of days before the big meeting, Rusty, Ruth and I, talking about being addicted to alcohol—fun lunch! Not that Rusty and Ruth (sounds like a steak house) didn't do everything in their power to make me as comfortable as I could be. They did, but there was nothing in the world that could have taken the bottomless pit of shame and fear out of my stomach that day.

Rusty was at the table with Ruth when I arrived. Ruth couldn't have been (and couldn't be) a lovelier human being. But I knew that she knew, and I knew that her knowing was closer to having no way out. (That was not a misprint. It's exactly how I felt walking toward the table for my first confessional alcoholic lunch.)

I raced through lunch, half listening to Ruth talking about drinking, the pain, one day at a time. La, la, la, la… I made some urgent excuse to leave. Loved Rusty, thought Ruth was just wonderful, was really glad she was sober, never thought I would be—and couldn't wait to get the hell out of there.

It was during that lunch—don't remember at what point—that it was decided for me (wasn't exactly the captain of my own ship that day) that a meeting would be set up at my home with some other alcoholic women. Just a suggestion! A thought. Hey, why not? Sit around, have a chat with a bunch of alcoholic strangers. My idea of a fun afternoon. But apparently necessary and the first step in getting some help for what was "out of control" in my life.

A meeting at the house worked for me because it left me with one or two less things to worry about…

a.     I didn't have to go to a church basement to

meet with a bunch of alcoholic strangers.

b.     The afternoon time slot was good because of

the kids. My children were at school, so who was

to know anything about it????

Nobody would have a clue that this little meeting was about alcohol, addiction, or any other kind of a problem. Just a midday meeting of women.

Picture this. Five (fabulous) women, one well-known actress that I had grown up watching on tele, sitting in my den. As far as I knew at the time (sounds like I'm in a deposition, doesn't it?) no one there knew that it was the buzzed-cut fitness queen that was the drunk (could have been the agent—very discreet, this anonymous thing), and everyone was respectful or experienced enough not to ask, "Done this before?"

Thank you, thank you, thank you, to this day, to those wonderful women for acting like coming over to a stranger's house in the middle of the afternoon was a perfectly normal thing to do. Anyway, everyone sat down and started making small talk with Rusty for what turned out to be a very long, uncomfortable period of time because I wasn't in the den with them.

I was busy wiping the counters thin, polishing the dishes, refilling every snack tray the second someone took a bite of food. Closets were organized, more food was cooking on the stove (in case someone started to starve to death), the kitchen-herb seedlings were being placed in cheesecloth (germinating, you know) because I couldn't (I'm not talking didn't want to, that's couldn't) sit down.

My insides were aching with fear. I was too frightened to think. Too close to what I had been avoiding like the plague for years to even consider feeling anything. Of course it all fell into the category of

Once they know it's me, they'll…???

I'm on TV. What will they think?

Oh God, what happens if someone goes to the tabloids and says something? "Blah, blah, blah…" What's gonna happen when they know it's me with the drinking problem???

Like they didn't already? What, the manic cleaning wasn't giving it away? These experienced, sober used-to-be - drunks - like - yo u- never - who've - gone - through - this -process-helping-hundreds-of-other-alcoholics didn't see the neon sign flashing over my head?

susan's got the drinking problem and

she's just a little nervous right now!

After it got ridiculous enough, everyone sitting around talking, sitting in my den, eating my food, except me, it came to me, the answer! Sheer brilliance. The only thing that got me in the chair.

I don't have to say anything. This is anonymous. I could just he anonymous, or—my shifty little brain thought—I'll just say it's research for a book. Yeah, that's it. Research for…

Women, Wellness, and Addiction.

Or a coffee-table book! Women Having a Chat in the Middle of the Afternoon, by Susan Powter.

Women and something, research about women and something! That's the ticket.

That's what got me from the sink (thought it would be a good time to Ajax the hell out of the enamel) to the doorway of the den and almost to the chair, because by the time I got three feet into my walk to the chair, it had all changed. I went from the sheer brilliance of deception and lying to anger—from the world's sneakiest researcher/alcoholic to pissed off.

All because these women were alcoholics didn't mean that everyone who was drinking a little too much was.

Then I got defensive. There's no need to admit to anyone that this drinking thing has been a little difficult lately. You can control it, you just haven't put your mind to it. Dedicate the time and energy and you can beat it. You don't need to tell them anything.

And then? Fear. I got frightened. If I tell them I'm alcoholic, then I'm never gonna be able to say I'm not. Once you say it, then what?

"Listen, about that alcoholic comment the other day. Don't know what came over me. Silly me, what was I thinking? Alcoholic? Just kidding. Temporary insanity? And you know what we have to do with the insanity…" (Come on, you can't blame me for that one!)

Anything and everything was going off in my brain to distract me from what I was really feeling, which was scared to death. There was nothing in me that wanted to sit in that chair and tell these women that I was alcoholic, that I was more frightened than I'd ever been in my life, that I didn't know how to stop drinking, didn't believe I could, and needed help. I was scared to death, or close to what I'm sure it feels like.

*4\249\2*

Anti-alcoholism