“I am not Cleopatra; I am not in denial. I forgot.”
“Sure,” says my sponsor, “I’ve seen the headdress.”
“That’s not fair! I’ve heard women say they forget the pain of childbirth.”
“They’re kidding. You can’t just forget pain. It’s there waiting in the wings, looking for its fifteen minutes of fame.”
“And what if I don’t give pain its fifteen minutes?”
“You will be the worse for it,” she says with her smug way.
“What if I can’t drag it forward?”
“Honey, Baby, Sweetie, you need to let those things come up before they drag you back to a drink or whatever your new addiction of choice is. Just open your mind. You might be surprised what is waiting to see the light of day.”
“What if it kills me?”
“Darling you’re not that lucky. You don’t get to escape through death, either. Lean into this and you will get through it faster. Hold on to the program and you will get through it easier. Fight it and it will tear you up.”
Always the optimist, my sponsor.
Dispel assumptions, inhale willingness.
What is “offender” number 2?
I’m not looking for trouble, really I’m not,
it’s just that thanks to this program
I’m no longer plagued by resentment,
but I doubt that is the only stumbling block there is.
Possibly the remaining list is as divergent
as the alcoholics who make the lists.
Though I am guessing we have more in common
than that one thing.
I stare at the various and sundry bric-a-brac
measuring potential harm and formidability,
so many candidates with razor edges.
I take my combat pose as I lift the pen,
wondering if giving things status also gives them power.
I take comfort that acknowledgement is empowering for me.
Tell me the weights you lift
to strengthen your “Spiritual Muscle”
the things that crowd behind resentment
vying for their turn as perpetrator of downfall and misery.
You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault