- After college, I realized I had a drinking problem and needed to get sober.
- I joined AA and struggled to connect with the organization's religious teachings.
My road to recovery from alcoholism, like so many others, is defined by its potholes. The first pothole was the deepest; in fact, it was the one I got stuck in for years. It was also one that marked the beginning of a new direction, for if I hadn't hit it — if I hadn't sunken into despair — then I wouldn't have quit drinking.
The other potholes are harder to pinpoint. I started drinking excessively in college — nearly every night of the week. Once I graduated, my drinking problem became apparent outside the college-party context.
When I decided to quit drinking, Alcoholics Anonymous seemed like the most obvious choice. I'd heard about it in movies, TV, and comedy specials. It was a cultural juggernaut. It also didn't work — not for me, at least.
From my first meeting, I felt uncomfortable. Perhaps it was the pressure to speak in front of 100 people, or maybe it was the passive-aggressiveness of a member who brought the cookies "for the second time in a row."
It was the presence of God that made me most uncomfortable
As an agnostic person, I couldn't help cringing every time I had to read or recite a passage about God. The Serenity Prayer — "God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change," etc. — was the worst. Sure, AA often changes "God" to a "higher power" to make room for people like me, but it felt like a mere cosmetic change.
The founders of AA were devout Christians, and their intentions to draw from the Bible have become evident in every section of AA's "Big Book."
That's not to say that non-Christians can't flourish in AA's 12-step program. Plenty of people do. It's just to say that I couldn't.
In AA, I often had the sneaking sensation that I would never get better — mostly because AA kept telling me that I would never get better. I had a disease without a cure, they said. I had to tell my family I was sick, they said. I had to repent every day and accept my grim future, they said.
For me, this all led to low self-esteem and despair. So I quit, and then I started drinking again. Then I rinsed and repeated.
When I finally decided to quit drinking a 3rd time, I took a new approach
Since I was living in New York City at the time, I suspected there might be decent alternatives to AA. That's when I discovered the LGBT Community Center, which offered a state-licensed outpatient program specifically for queer people in recovery. I'd have to pee in a cup every week, but I could do it for free, and I'd get my own private therapist.
In the end, it worked quite well: After a few months of this regimen, I was happily on my way to a booze-free life. It didn't hurt that I could do it surrounded by queer people.
In fact, my success at the LGBT Community Center inspired me to look for other queer recovery groups, which led me to a wonderful organization called Gay & Sober. The organization hosted an annual conference in New York City during Pride that brought together sober queer men from all over the world. I attended and had a blast. There were, of course, people at the conference who followed the 12-step program. However, just as many didn't, blazing our own trail. This helped me respect and better understand AA.
Queer community helped me get and remain sober
In the end, finding a community of fellow sober queer people inspired me to remain sober.
It didn't matter that some of those people chose a different approach to sobriety from mine. We had the same struggles and the same urges, the same joys, and the same pain. That's why, to this day, I credit queer support groups with keeping me sober.
That's also why I've gone six years without picking up a drink. Here's to many more.