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I was at a meeting on Tuesday night and we read from a very prominent piece of recovery literature in which the Fourth Step is discussed. Here’s the exact passage: “Resentment is the ‘number one’ offender. It destroys more alcoholics than anything else.”
I’ve read that passage 100 times—maybe more than 100 times. And it never quite dawned on me the directness and power of that statement. Our literature is specifically saying that resentments are at the very top of the heap of potholes alcoholics and addicts step in.
Okay, okay, okay, I know, you’re probably thinking, “Um… duh.” And I get that. But it didn’t ever completely sink in that our literature was so blunt, so specific, about the No. 1 thing impacting our addictions. I’ve found most recovery literature to be gentle, with more talk of suggestions and possible solutions than flat-out direct statements.
But not in this case, and I love that. It really helped me that night. I can work on 1,000 different things in my life, but I need to have my radar constantly zeroed in on resentments first and foremost.
Maybe that’s why I love the Fourth Step so much. In my recovery—and I am only speaking of my own recovery here—I think the First Step is the most important thing I’ve ever done. But the Fourth Step has been my MVP for the past 12 years. I find it relieves so much pressure to sit with why I am mad or frustrated about something, what it’s really tapping into deep within me, and what my role in that resentment is.
I’ll give you a common example from my life. I often will end up barking at my kids in the evening for something trivial, and I usually spot right away that I am overreacting to my 6-year-old being, you know, a 6-year-old. When I spend a minute with it, I’ll often find that I could trace my current aggravation back to a work email from earlier in the night, and then my irritation came out sideways and in the direction of my 6-year-old. My part in that? I gotta spot that immediately and try to avoid the barking—it’s misdirected and not fair.
I always think about one specific tough stretch in my life, maybe five years ago. I was butting heads with some colleagues, and it wasn’t a one-time deal. I had built up resentments over a few months and it was getting to be real anger and self-inflicted pain. So I ducked out for an hour one day at lunchtime, and I thought I’d go smash some Taco Bell. Don’t four soft tacos and a quesadilla always make everything better?
On my way, though, I called a close recovery friend, and he suggested I do a mini Fourth Step. And by mini, he meant, spend two minutes with pen and paper and write out what was going on.
I got my tacos and sat down, and I realized I was riled up enough about the work situation that I actually didn’t have an appetite at all. So I flipped over the Taco Bell receipt and did that mini Fourth Step that had been recommended. It took me about five minutes to run through everything, but at the end, I felt like maybe 75 percent of the pressure had dissipated. It really helped to see where I was at fault, where I was taking a minor thing and making it a major thing, where I was justifiably bothered by others’ bad behaviors but was responding with bad behaviors of my own. That is a big one for me—if someone acts like a jerk, I sometimes think I have the freedom to be a jerk, too. I don’t. That is not a good solution.
I called my recovery friend and ran through the big takeaways from my scribbled-in-tiny-letters-on-the-back-of-a-receipt work, we had a good chuckle, I felt better and suddenly my appetite was back.
So, Rest In Peace, four tacos and quesadillas. I crushed them and went back to the office feeling like a new man… who was disgustingly overstuffed, with fire sauce on his chin. But less resentful!
ALCOHOLIC/ADDICT JOKE OF THE DAY
This newsletter is a place of joy and laughter about the deadly serious business of sobriety. So, as I will often do, let me close with a joke.
One night, a newcomer took his daughter to dinner at a downtown restaurant. As they walked in the door, the first thing they saw was an enormous sign advertising what used to be his favorite beer. The man’s eyes immediately widened and he began remembering just how good the old brew tasted. Then his daughter interrupted.
“Oh, look, Daddy,” she said, pointing to the sign. “They have Your-Life’s-in-the-Toilet on tap.”
(Credit: AA Grapevine, January 2001, Doug R. from Manhattan, Virginia)
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