It took most of us months, or even years, to complete Steps One through Nine for the first time. Beginning with Step Ten, however, our recovery is no longer a series of thresholds we cross and actions we complete. The final three Steps are ongoing and timeless. We are to practice them every day of our lives—which is why the subtitle of this book ends with the words Every Day.
This chapter offers an array of practices and activities that can help as you work Step Ten day by day and moment after moment. A handful are my own invention, but I learned most of them from other folks in recovery, and from my participation in Twelve Step groups, workshops, and other gatherings. I’m deeply grateful for all of them.
I think of these activities as recovery aerobics, because they strengthen our emotional and spiritual muscles, and because their regular practice tends to bring continued, positive results.
Most of them require no planning or preparation, and are practiced in the moment, as events unfold. Some take only a second or two. You can think of this brief, in-the-moment practices as prayers, or mantras, or simple reminders. There are also a handful of more detailed reflections, which appear at the end of this chapter.
Each activity is a variation on one or more of these themes:
• being fully present, with your internal receptors alert
• stepping back from self-centeredness
• serving other human beings
• asking for spiritual help or guidance
• allowing the universe to reveal to you a much better solution that you could ever have created on your own
Some activities will naturally resonate with you more than others. Use the ones that are helpful to you; adapt or let go of the ones that don’t.
Spot Checks
These will help you better handle the things that pop up suddenly during the day—impulses, emotions, conflicts, misunderstandings, and so on.
• Observe your own actions. If you realize you’ve just done something unwise, stop yourself immediately. If necessary, work Step Ten on the spot—apologize; make amends; retrace your steps; begin again.
• Observe your thoughts. If you have a potentially harmful thought, catch it before it turns into a decision to act. If a thought is about the future, ask yourself if it’s practical and helpful. If a thought is about the past, ask yourself if it’s compassionate. As the old-timers say, “If you’ve got one foot in tomorrow and one foot in yesterday, you’re pissing all over today.”
• Observe your impulses. Recognize that they’re not internal mandates that need to be followed. They’re just momentary urges that may involve money, sex, food, or safety—or, in some cases, power, praise, status, or acceptance. Evaluate each impulse carefully. Then consciously choose how—and whether—to act on it.
• Observe your emotions. Often these will be generated by your thoughts, actions, or impulses. In particular, watch for resentment, fear, anger, and shame. These are the emotions most commonly associated with unsustainable behavior. Remember that you always have a choice: you can act on the emotion in a sustainable way; you can act on it in an unsustainable way; or you can simply feel the emotion without acting on it at all. You can simply let it go, and observe it as it moves through you and blows away like clouds after a storm.
• Observe any hopes for the future as they arise. Is the hope associated with sustainable thoughts, feelings, or actions? If so, feel free to make the hope a goal. If not, consider amending it or letting go of it.
• Watch for shoulds and shouldn’ts. Any time you tell yourself I should _______ or I must not ________ or I have to _________, examine that thought carefully. Most shoulds and shouldn’ts create shame, disappointment, and failure rather than better results. Try reframing them as likes, preferences, goals, or more positive outcomes. For example, I shouldn’t procrastinate can become I’ll be happier and more productive if (or It would be better if) I didn’t put things off.
• Notice your discomfort. Your discomfort is a sign that something significant is happening—or about to happen. Don’t reflexively try to end the discomfort ASAP. Instead, investigate its source. Then ask yourself what you can learn from that discomfort. Is there something you need to do differently? If so, do it. Or would it be best to simply accept the discomfort for now, and let yourself feel it fully and relax into it?
• Notice if you’re too comfortable. Let yourself briefly enjoy the good feelings that come with compliments and accolades. Then let go of those feelings. If you cling to them, they can lead to arrogance or laziness—or otherwise get you into trouble.
• Notice any spiritual lapses. These lapses are normal and can take many forms. Essentially, they’re periods when you have lost your connection with your design for living, either by what you’re doing (such as acting out of self-will) or not doing (such as neglecting practice of Steps Ten through Twelve). If you’re honest with yourself, when a lapse occurs—or threatens to occur—you’ll quickly notice it and catch yourself. You can then return your focus to the Steps, and to the here and now.
• Give your full attention to what you’re doing. Are you unfocused or scattered? Are you holding something back for no good reason? Bring all of yourself back to this moment.
Arvette: Nobody’s immune from embarrassment
I’m a psychotherapist who has written some well-received self-help books. I give talks, lead workshops, and occasionally appear on radio or TV shows. I’m also an alcoholic with thirty-two years of recovery.
In my AA group, of course, I’m just Arvette C. In some ways I’m not very anonymous, because I mention my addiction and recovery in my writing, and there aren’t a lot of Arvettes around. When new people show up to the group, some of them recognize me immediately.
On the other hand, in some ways people don’t really recognize me. What they see is the respected elder and therapist and author with three decades of sobriety.
What they fail to see is the flawed human being who is wired exactly like they are, and who is every bit as dependent on a Higher Power.
My husband Don and I have been married for over forty years. He was a therapist, too, until he retired a few years ago. Our marriage is a good one, but that doesn’t mean we don’t have problems. People think therapists lead charmed lives, that we don’t struggle with the same crapola they do.
Last March, Don and I were at the annual state AA roundup. I was one of the scheduled speakers. Don and I were having breakfast in the hotel restaurant about an hour before I was scheduled to speak. I noticed the people a couple of tables away—a pair of young men—looking at me. One of them pointed briefly at me and then spoke to his partner. I’m used to people occasionally recognizing me and pointing me out, so I just smiled at the couple and returned to eating and chatting with Don.
Then, a minute later, one of the young men got up and came over. I assumed he wanted to thank me for my books, so I put on a big smile. When he got to the table, he leaned down close to me and whispered, “Ma’am, your dress is tucked into your underwear in back.”
My face must have turned the color of a tomato. I reached around and, sure enough, in back, the hem of my dress had gotten tucked into my panties. I stood up partway and fixed things as surreptitiously as I could. I thanked the young man, who said, “No problem,” and went back to his table.
At that point I was totally flustered, totally off balance. I looked at Don, who had raised both his eyebrows.
I said to him in an angry whisper, “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Don spread his hands. “I didn’t notice.”
“How could you not notice?” I said.
“How could you not notice?” Don asked.
I threw my napkin at him and said, “Screw you.”
Don’s eyes went wide. I hadn’t said anything like that to my husband in decades.
Two words echoed in my head: Step Ten. I reached across the table and took his hand in mine. “Oh, my God,” I said. “Darling, I’m so sorry. So sorry. That was totally wrong of me. I was flustered and upset and embarrassed. I imagined the whole restaurant staring at my butt in my granny panties. What amends do you need me to make?”
Don took a sip of coffee—one of his standard ways to buy time. He frowned and said in a very serious tone of voice, “Two things. Number one, next time you tell me to tuck in my shirt, I’m going to giggle, and you’re not going to say a thing. Number two, I want you relax and enjoy your breakfast, and then go and give an inspiring talk.”
Let me tell you something. It doesn’t matter how long or solid your recovery is, or how completely you’ve turned your life over to a Higher Power. You’re still going to have problems: with your character flaws, especially as they surface with the significant people in your life, and sometimes with your clothing. There’s nothing in the Big Book that says all your problems will go away.
Internal Reminders
These are quick, simple phrases you can use whenever you’re in doubt, in pain, or in trouble. Recite them silently to help you ground yourself in a spirit of service—and in the here and now.
• Listen up or Pay attention. Recite this to yourself when you’re bored, or when you catch your mind wandering—especially if it’s wandered into obsessive self-interest.
• How can I be most helpful right now? This is another quick, effective antidote for self-centeredness. Another version is Do the next right thing.
• Let’s get to work. This is shorthand for I realize there’s something I need to do—an effort or change I need to make. I’m willing to shoulder that responsibility, and I’m not going to procrastinate. I’m starting right now.
• Keep it simple. This classic AA slogan is especially helpful when you’re confused or overwhelmed.
• Don’t play God or simply Not God. Use this internal wake-up call when you’ve put self-centeredness before service—or before the will of your Higher Power.
• There I go again. Maybe you just caught yourself doing something unwise. Mentally recite these words, preferably with a forgiving smile, not a shameful accusation. Then stop and work Step Ten. Or maybe you were able to catch yourself just before doing something you’d have regretted later. Recite this phrase silently, take a deep breath, give yourself a quick mental thumbs-up, and return to the here and now.
• Don’t go there. Saying this mentally, or even out loud, will help you nip many potential problems in the bud. Stop where you are and say this phrase aloud to wake yourself up.
• Pause . . . Relax . . . Take it easy. Silently repeat this sequence—a variation on the AA slogan Easy Does It—whenever you feel tense or anxious. Then follow that prescription.
• Let go. Gently say this short version of the AA slogan Let Go and Let God to yourself—and then do it. Let go of your fears, your anxious hopes, your wanting to control what happens, and your desire to know or understand everything or get all the answers. Above all, let go of your self-centeredness. Stay open and present, and live into the next unfolding moment, and the next, and the next.
Bob: Healing can take time
It’s been eight years since I stopped drinking and nine since my divorce. I’ve got a son, Dylan, who lives with my ex in Stockton, about 600 miles away. Dylan turned eleven last fall.
I was a binge drinker. My addiction cost me my first career, and it was a big factor in my divorce from Meghan. I wasn’t a very good husband. Until I stopped drinking, I wasn’t much of a dad either.
But Dylan was and is my son. And until recently, Meghan did everything she could to keep me away from him.
Our divorce was ugly. Meghan told her lawyer, “Bob is a no-good, useless drunk. The hell with him. I want the house; I want everything in it; I want whatever money we have left; and I want sole custody of Dylan forever.” The judge said yes to everything, and Meghan took Dylan 600 miles away.
At that point, I had no wife and no son and no job and no house. That’s when I hit bottom and knew I had to either jump off a bridge or change my life. That’s also when I went to my first Twelve Step meeting.
My first year of recovery was very rocky. But once I was back to work—I started fresh with selling cars, and now I’m the assistant manager of a large dealership—things began to improve steadily. I have plenty of regrets about how I used to be, but I’ve got a new life, a girlfriend I’m crazy about, and a great home group.
But I still feel a big hole in my life. Dylan.
We talk a couple of times a week, and I see him three or four times a year. It always means flying or driving to Stockton. I’ve tried to get Meghan to let him come to Boise, but she always says no.
Dylan was so young when we split up. He doesn’t really remember his old, drunk, messed-up dad. All he knows is this sober, loving guy who his mother says terrible things about. Part of him doesn’t understand why his mother talks such trash about me. Sometimes I have to remind him, “Your mother has every reason to resent the man she was married to. I don’t like that guy either.”
I did the necessary Step Nine work with Meghan. She was clear about what amends she needed, and I made them all. I’m still making them. I send her a generous amount of child support every month—more than the court requires. She’ll talk to me about Dylan when there’s something we need to discuss. Otherwise, she keeps her distance.
The thing is, I want more time with my son. Meghan knows I’m a very different person from the man she married and divorced. But she absolutely refuses to let Dylan come out here. She says, “Ed, I can appreciate who you’ve become. But alcoholics sometimes relapse. If that ever happens with you, I don’t want Dylan to be there by himself, 600 miles from home.” I can’t really argue with that. But for a long time I resented it.
The story I want to tell happened a couple of months ago. Dylan called me—which is unusual in itself. We usually talk at times we set up in advance. He was crying. He and Meghan had an old rescue dog, a collie they named Hercules. Hercules was dying, and they were going to have to put him down within the next few days. Dylan was very sad.
We spent over half an hour talking about Hercules, who had been part of their family from the time they moved to Stockton. I asked him to tell me stories about his favorite times with Hercules. I let him talk, and mostly listened, and told him how sorry I was that he was losing a family member.
Dylan asked, “You don’t mind that I’m crying, do you?” and I said, “Of course not. People cry whenever those lose someone they love.” He nodded and said, “Mom’s crying too. She’s been great about Hercules, but she’s also sad. Mom, are you okay? Dad, I need to go now. Thanks for talking.”
After I hung up, I was filled with conflicting emotions. I was pleased to be able to connect with my son, and to be available when he needed me. But I was also a little angry that I couldn’t be there to comfort him in person. And I know this isn’t fair, but I also kind of resented poor Hercules, who’d been able to spend most of his life with Dylan. And I was angry at Meghan for keeping Dylan and me so far apart. Mostly, though, I felt sad for my son. He was far more important than my anger and resentment. Over the next few days, whenever those feelings bubbled up, I’d refocus my attention on Dylan and his grief.
A week later, Dylan called again. He still sounded sad, but maybe a bit more thoughtful. He said, “We took Hercules to the vet yesterday and had him put to sleep. Not like sleep at night. The vet injected him with something that killed him and put him out of his misery.”
I asked him to tell me what had happened, and he told the story in detail. They had set Hercules on an examining table, and he and Meghan had held the dog while the vet gave the fatal injection. Hercules had licked Dylan’s hand just before the needle went in.
Dylan and I talked for almost an hour. I asked him if his mother would get another dog for the family, and he said, “I asked her that question too, and she said, ‘When we’re both ready.’”
Eventually he was talked out, and we got ready to say goodbye. Then he said, “When are you coming to visit? I miss you.”
After we hung up, I started crying.
When I was done, I emailed Meghan. I thanked her for taking such good care of our son, and for being so loving and supportive with him during Hercules’ illness and death.
An hour later, I got an email back from her. She’d cut and pasted my line about her being loving and supportive with Dylan. Underneath it she wrote, Back at you. M.
After that, my resentment toward Meghan was gone.
I called my sponsor and said, “Roy, something really good just happened, but I can’t figure out exactly what.” I told him the story I just told you, and he said, “It sounds like you worked Step Ten without even realizing it.” I said, “Is that bad?” He said, “Hell, no. That’s the best way to work the Steps. It means they’re in your blood.”
External Reminders
Sometimes you need to reach out more than you need to reach in. Here are some phrases to help you quickly connect to the spiritual guidance of your Higher Power:
• I need your help or Please help me or just Help!
• Please guide me or Tell me what to do.
• Thy will be done or I’ll do whatever You say.
• Thank you: a quick and easy way to remember to be grateful for whatever you have, even when there’s trouble.
When Someone Is Treating You Badly
No life is free of conflicts. As we work the Program, we try as much as possible to resolve conflicts through listening, loving and mindful discussion, compromise, or a blend of these.
Inevitably, though, conflicts with some people will persist or seem unresolvable. Here are some helpful practices for navigating them:
• Show the other person the same tolerance, pity, and patience you would cheerfully grant a sick friend. If you have trouble doing this on your own, ask your Higher Power for help. (You’ll recognize this practice from page 67 of the Big Book.)
• Ask yourself, How can I be most helpful to this person? If necessary, ask your Higher Power the same question. Once you know the answer, act on it.
• If a harmful emotion or impulse bubbles up inside you, ask your Higher Power to remove it. This is the purest, simplest form of using Step Ten to work Step Seven.
• If you’re about to say something you know you’ll regret, physically intervene on yourself. Literally bite your tongue. Or inhale and exhale quickly instead of speaking. Repeat as necessary.
• Follow Emmet Fox’s advice and focus on God. Imagine the other person as a manifestation of the Divine All. Or picture that person bathed in love and Divine light. Or hold in your heart that person’s pure spiritual nature. Or simply beam love in that direction. It may also help to simply ignore what the person is saying.
• Follow the lead of the recovering addict who wrote “Freedom from Bondage” in the Big Book (pages 544–553). Think of all the good things you would like for yourself. Then wish—or pray—that the person you’re in conflict with would get all of those good things. Do this repeatedly, if necessary.
• If things keep getting worse, quickly remove yourself from the situation. Say, “Could you hold that thought? I need to step away briefly and take five.” Or “I’m not at my best right now; let me take a minute to collect myself . . . I’ll be right back.” Then leave. Take a few minutes to mentally review what just occurred and do a quick inventory, say one of the slogans or the Serenity Prayer, or do a quick Step Ten if you need to, and then return. If it’s clear that further interactions with the person won’t help, go back and say, “I don’t think we’re getting anywhere; I need to go and maybe we can pick this up another time when we’re both in a better place.”
• When all else fails, end the conversation. Say “I need for us to just end this and move on” or “Let’s just agree to disagree.” Then walk away. This doesn’t solve the conflict, but it usually keeps things from unraveling further.
Jenny: In early sobriety, a moment of truth
I drank and did coke for four years before my partner Andrea said, “That’s it. It’s either me or the drugs and the booze. You choose.” That’s when I went into treatment.
I was in an inpatient program in Arizona for almost four months. Our insurance only covered the first sixty days. Andrea wasn’t very happy about that.
The program was a good one. At first I tried all of my standard bullshit, and none of it worked on anyone. Which was a relief. It had worked on Andrea up until a few months before she laid down the law.
I went through the usual resistance and denial and withdrawal, and I completely fell apart. My counselors helped me through some dark days. At one point I was ready to kill myself, and they talked me down.
A few weeks into treatment, I started seriously working the Steps.
By the time I went home and shifted into an aftercare program, I had worked the first eight Steps, and was well into making amends in Step Nine. I was feeling better than I’d felt in many years. My sanity had returned.
So I get back, expecting a big welcome home, and maybe even a booze-and-drug-free party. But I get nothing of the sort. At the airport, Andrea gives me a peck on the cheek and says almost zip. When we get home, she lets me in, tells me she has errands to run, and takes off again.
At first I figure that maybe she’s having a bad day, so I unpack, do some laundry, and make myself comfortable. I tell myself that things will get better.
But they don’t. Andrea is distant and suspicious. She obviously doesn’t believe I’ve changed. She thinks I’m either faking it or that the changes won’t last, and any day I’ll turn into my old asshole drunk and coked-out self again.
When I try to talk about it, she just says angrily, “Not now, okay?” or goes into the other room. As for sex, after four months of celibacy I’m more than ready but Andrea isn’t interested.
I mean, I get all this. She’s still angry at me for four years of bullshit. She’s entitled to her anger. But she’s also giving me zero credit for who I’ve become. It seems to me that she wants me to go back to drugging and drinking.
I talk to Tori, my aftercare counselor, about this. She says, “Jen, you can take the booze and the drugs out of a home, but you can’t take the history out of it. Andrea is probably very scared and very confused. You’re no longer the person she lived with for years. She adapted to your addiction and your unpredictability. Now that you’re sober, clean, sane, and predictable, she has no idea how to act around you. Because you’ve changed, she has to, too, if she’s going to be in relationship with you. It probably scares the hell out of her.”
So I say to Tori, “Here’s what I don’t understand. If I’d come back exactly the same person I was before treatment, Andrea would be angry and resentful because I wasn’t any better. But now, because I’m better, she’s angry and resentful.”
Tori just laughs and says, “Welcome to recovery. Are you working Step Ten?”
At this point I feel like working Step Ten 24/7. I’m trying hard to walk the line between responsibility and codependence. Every time I do anything wrong—forget an item at the grocery store, misplace my keys, leave the basement light on after I come back upstairs—I say to Andrea, “My bad, hon. I’ll make it right.” Usually she just shrugs and says, in a robot-like voice, “It doesn’t matter.”
So now I’m starting to get pretty pissed off too.
Finally, after about two weeks of being home, we’re sitting on the couch watching a movie—it was Moonstruck, with Cher and Nicolas Cage—and I reach over and take her hand. She quickly pulls it away. And then something opens up inside me.
I grab the remote, turn off the video, and stand up in front of her. I start to talk, in a voice I barely recognize—strong and calm and 100 percent serious. I have no idea what I’m even going to say. The words are just coming, without my thinking them.
I say, “Baby, for years I treated you like crap. I’ve told you that several times, but maybe I haven’t told you enough. For all those years I was a total self-centered jerk. I have no idea why you put up with me for as long as you did. You deserve much better.
“Now I’m trying as hard as I can to be the person you deserve. I’m working the Program day by day, going to meetings, and trying to be a decent human being. I’m going to screw up sometimes, but when I do, I’ll hold myself accountable and make amends. Maybe it’s already too late. Maybe I’ve hurt you too much, done too much damage. If that’s what’s going on, just tell me, and I’ll pack up and clear out.”
Then I shut up. I just stand there, breathing hard. I’ve got no more words.
For a couple of seconds, it’s like we’re both frozen in place. Then Andrea starts to sniffle. Then she leans over and starts to sob. Then she starts to howl, like a dying animal.
I’m standing there in shock. Andrea is bent over, tears pouring out of her eyes, making noises I’ve never heard a human being make before. Meanwhile, I’m thinking, It sounds like someone’s being murdered. The neighbors must have called the police by now.
Andrea falls on the floor, still howling. She starts shaking so hard that I wonder if she’s having a heart attack. That’s when the question forms in my head: How can I be of service right now?
I get down on the floor beside her, wrap my arms around her from behind, and hold her hard and close for the next five minutes, while she cries and shakes and makes animal noises, until finally the pain has worked its way through her.
And that’s what it took for things between us to begin to heal.
At the Beginning and End of Each Day
A variety of Step Ten inventory sheets are available for recovering people to fill out at the end of each day. These ask questions such as How was I selfish? How was I resentful? How was I dishonest? How did I demand control? Who did I hurt and how? Did I keep any secrets? What could I have done better? and so on. (For samples, type “Step Ten inventory” into your search engine.)
These inventories can be very helpful, especially for people just beginning to work Step Ten. But this programmed approach can also limit how people view the Step.
Here are some other options for making the most of predesigned inventories:
• Add some personalized questions and create your own process for working with them. For example, if one of your character defects is excessive self-sacrifice, you might add to your inventory How many times today did I say “I’m sorry?” If you tend to dominate conversations, add the question How many times today did I interrupt people? If you’re quick to focus on self-interest, add the question How many times today did I ask myself, “What’s in it for me?”
• Each morning, review your inventory questions—not as a review of your own past actions, but as a way to help ground and orient you for the day. Then mentally walk through the day to come, reviewing your goals, hopes, and plans. Note any potential trouble spots and reflect on how you plan to handle them.
• Post your inventory in a prominent place in your kitchen, or above your desk, or as your screen saver. Each day, simply review it for thirty to sixty seconds. Let the questions sink deeply into you, day by day, until they become a part of you.
As you continue to grow into the Steps—and as they take deeper root in you—even the words every day will take on new meaning. You will move from working Step Ten daily, to working it whenever it can be helpful, to living the Steps at all times. Eventually, living the Twelve Steps will become as natural and automatic as breathing—something you do not just every day, or day by day, but moment by moment, in every moment.
Your life will then no longer be your life, but a life shared with others. It will be an ongoing, ever-unfolding spiritual experience.