Through the Red Door Blog

“From the beginning, communication in A.A. has been no ordinary transmission of helpful ideas and attitudes. Because our kinship in suffering, and because our common means of deliverance are effective for ourselves only when constantly carried to others, our channels of contact have always been charged with language of the heart.”

In my early days in the fellowship, I attended a particular meeting where, on a regular basis, an individual from the local jail was invited to tell his story. After the third or fourth time I heard his story, I mentioned it (complained) to the chairman that “all he talks about is his damn feelings.” To which he replied, “Seamus, you wouldn’t know a feeling if it sat on your lap.”

How could he say that to me? I was a counselor at the local hospital treating young addicts how to identify and own their emotions. I could name those emotions, fear, anger, jealousy, love, etc. etc. etc. The problem I later discovered was that I had never owned an emotion other than anger for a long time.

“The language of the heart was simple, tell someone “I love you.” There it is. I said it. I had no idea as to what it meant I said it to my daughter in the morning, at noon and night. She knew I loved her, but I had no real idea that I didn’t love myself. God forbid I should go to a male counselor and tell him I don’t know what my feelings are. He would laugh me out of the room and tell everyone. That was my projection. I got a book.

I not only got a book, I got a number of books dealing with emotions, feelings and I got a notepad and began to write, “I am caring” “I am loving” I am gentle” I am sensitive” (overly sensitive), I am angry, I am jealous, I am kind, I am… I am… I am… Every feeling mentioned in the books I wrote down as though it were mine. This was not me. I’m indifferent, I couldn’t care less. I am useless. I am worthless. I hope nobody discovers just how stupid I am. These were feelings with which I was comfortable. If someone else mentioned these emotions, I could acknowledge it in my head and yet there was no way I was going to say it out loud. No wonder these folks were alcoholics. They had very low self-esteem. I was in denial.

About this time in my journey into recovery, someone left me a book on Adult Children of Alcoholics. I read it. I went to a therapist working with this seemingly newly formed group. She had me write “God is…” No problem there. I had four years of theology and twelve years of Catholic school. “God is angry, vengeful.” There was another god who was “good, kind, patient, gentle, generous, etc. etc.” But I did not believe he knew I existed otherwise why have I got such bad luck?”

Then she refined her task. At the top of the page, I had to write to words; “God Is…” Then underneath that I had to write the emotions: kind, merciful, patient, generous, loving, sensitive, huggable, loveable, sexy, sensual, beautiful, creative. And the list went on into the second page. “Now, she said, “What I want you to do is to erase “God is” and replace it with “I am.” No way.

Then I had to say it aloud. “I am loving” “I am kind” “I am…” till we went through every emotion not once, but three times. I knew “The kingdom of god is within you” at least in theory.” But now, it was becoming a reality, God was becoming a Real Presence, or rather, over time, it became a Real Presence I could and can acknowledge. The dark side is that, being human, I behave the opposite of the person God created me to be and become. Now I was learning that “becoming’ was real. I was becoming the person I was meant to be.

Why was I not taught this in elementary school? Upon reflection, I realized that, throughout my childhood and adolescence, my father had told me stories as we worked in the gardens, flowers, fruit, vegetables, and when he was creating something out of wood. Dad was a spiritual person, mom was religious and an alcoholic who never drank.

I was now tapping into the spiritual legacy of my dad who, in song, story, and poetry, laid the foundation for my spiritual journey into wholeness in the fellowship of Alcoholics Anonymous. For him, and for A.A., I give thanks for the language of the heart.

Séamus D.
Séamus D is a retired episcopal priest in the diocese of Louisiana.

*AS BILL SEES IT p 195.

Step Three: “Made a decision to turn our will and our life over to THE CARE of God as we understood that.”

I grew up in a fearful home. Anger, Alcohol, Abuse. I was afraid most of the time. When I came to step three – I said, “Hell no! I ‘m not turning my life over to the scary God of the religion I grew up in. Then it was pointed out to me that I was asked only to turn my will and my life over to the CARE of God. Could I trust God when my experience of grown-ups and God was scary and hurtful. I couldn’t trust anything, so I had to trust myself. Part of me knew that I had no idea how to live life and not be afraid all the time. Alcohol was an answer, not a problem. I had to take care of everything, not because I wanted to but because no one was there for me. I got tough so others wouldn’t know how afraid I was. And I got pretty good at it.

Then it all fell apart and I went to AA. I was confronted with my fear of trusting anyone, especially God.  I had to find a god of my own understanding. The image I used was of a babysitter we had when I was small, Miss Connie. She was British and old. I thought of her like the queen. When she held me on her lap I could snuggle into breasts and I feel safe. Here was an image of a higher power that I could turn my will and my life to the care of.

“Once we placed the key of willingness in the lock and have the door ever so slightly open, we find we can always open it some more. Though fear and self-will may slam it shut again, as it frequently does [for me!], it will always respond the moment we again pick up the key of willingness.” I have kept using that key of willingness many, many times since I got sober. Trust is still hard some days – That’s why my license plate is TRUSTHP – to remind me. When I look at the faces in my homegroup, I feel a trust I can borrow when I need it.

I few days ago, I went out for my morning walk on a trail I walk most days. As I got on the trail I looked down and saw – a puzzle piece! I was so surprised. How did it get on this trail? Then I thought of the key of willingness and remembered all the times I had finally found the last piece of a puzzle I was doing and when I placed it in the puzzle, I was so happy. I now keep that puzzle piece to remind me of the joy that comes with having the final piece of the puzzle – willingness.

I didn’t make myself sober, AA and God made me so. The piece I needed was the key of willingness.

Is this 12^th Step mandate part of your “working of the Program”? What did Bill and Dr. Bob mean? Is there any ambiguity in that phrase?”

At pages 101-116 of the Circus volume (published on the 75^th anniversary of the Big Book) Bill and Dr. Bob tell us how we are to “Work with Others.” They tell us how to reach the alcoholic. It’s not a complicated discussion prepared by a task force at a university; it was prepared by Bill and Dr Bob as they walked their own paths through their own alcoholism.

Look at it this way: something was said which they remembered, it reached out to them. It’s the simplicity of it all, their experiences, good and bad. It’s based on what worked for them, what struck them and stuck with them.

Occasionally I’ve encountered inquiries, sometimes friends who are merely curious, others are serious inquiries. There are opportunities with friends such as in some corner at a social event. They say quietly, “Oh, I’m fine, but I worry about the habits of my brother Charlie…” Another approach is an invitation for lunch at a quiet place—quietly, maybe ashamed, there’s a mention of a drinking difficulty.

There are a few opportunities for public speaking. Talk to your local AA office and school systems for both may supply speakers for outside groups.

Bring it up as a topic at a discussion AA meeting:

“I have a friend who asked me about the Program, the drinking of someone in the family, and I’m asking you, What should I say?”

I’ve had two experiences worth noting: My County Jail has a program for the 100 or so confined prisoners guilty of public drunkenness. The County permits AA folks to speak to the prisoners, to tell their stories of recovery, a lead if you please. In exchange, the prisoners who have satisfied the Jailor’s requirements have a certain amount of time reduced from their sentence. I had the chance to speak once a week for several months, fortunately not because I too was a prisoner. I’d spend 45 minutes or so passing along my own experiences. But “yes,” the prisoners like to game opportunities like this, and one shouldn’t expect standing ovations. But one never knows.

And seven years after I had spoken one evening at the Jail, I was attending my usual meeting. As the meeting ended, a gentleman approached me. I didn’t recognize him, but it was clear he remembered me and immediately said to me,

“I should have listened to you seven years ago when I heard you speak at that County Jail program. I was serving time for one of my many jailings for drunkenness. I should have listed to you and your story. Now I work the Program.”

He quickly slipped away before I could say anything.

You never know when an opportunity opens the door. Here’s one: One Saturday I was in my front yard fiddling with my cantankerous lawn mower. My good friend and next-door neighbor was, as usual, cutting through my yard and stopped to chat. After some give and take about the Reds’ loss the night before, he paused, then said,

“Jim, I know you don’t drink any more. What’s that all about? Why so?”

I paused. Then I said, “How bad does it have to be before acting? I didn’t like what I had become” and I continued with just a bit about the !2 Steps.

The raw fact is that you have a few seconds to say something meaningful that might stick and perhaps move the discussion deeper.

Bill and Dr. Bob ask for more than your good attendance at your home group…they ask us to reach out and “carry this message.” Some would say that you can’t keep it unless you try to give it away.

Jim A, St X Noon

For a really long time I had this idea of Step Three being an inner action, something interior, a moment when we surrender internally--maybe from a holy instance or maybe from hitting a wall of some kind--sort of a loud "Uncle!" moment. 

I have had those moments and those surrenders. But this week, reading the Twelve & Twelve book, I see that it says, "It is only by action that we can cut away the self-will which has always blocked the entry of God into our lives."

Now I have read this book many times. I still have my first copy and it is underlined, dog-eared and scribbled in--and I bet there are tears soaked into those pages. But I had never grasped this part about Step Three being action.

I’d always questioned: "How?" How do I take the Third Step?

But on page 34 it says, "Like all the remaining steps, Step Three calls for affirmative action." It just goes to show how language and the meaning of terms can change over the years.

So what is the action? The next nine steps have us writing, calling, meeting, making lists, setting up chairs, going to meetings, confessing, sharing, praying, meditating, and lending a hand in many big and small ways. So what is the action of step three? We can't just think, or even feel our way through it; we have to act, and affirmatively.

What some of the actions might be, I think, are changes to daily behaviors. Things like not fighting everything and everyone; allowing others to be right; accepting situations and decisions that we don’t like; acting like a person with long recovery even when we don’t feel like one.

Yes, in Step Three we surrender. We take a leap of faith. Something that has helped me grasp what that leap of faith means is a scene from a movie that I love. I like to watch the Harrison Ford movie Raiders of the Lost Ark.

Near the end of that movie Harrison Ford, as Indiana Jones, has to leap across a too-wide void in search of the grail. As he stands on the edge of the great crevasse he looks down and he says, “Oh sh*t” before he steps into what he believes is pure emptiness. And then--then--the bridge appears.

Step Three is always inspiring and uplifting after the bridge appears. But it is also an “oh, Dang!” moment when we decide to take the first action.

Diane C, Albany, NY

Lent is a season that speaks the language of recovery. It is a time when the Church tells the truth about being human: that we are beautiful and broken, hopeful and hurting, capable of love and also in need of healing. Lent invites us to slow down, to look honestly at our lives, and to turn again toward the grace that is always waiting for us.

In recovery, we know this path. We know what it means to take stock, to let go of what no longer gives life, and to trust a Higher Power with the next right step. We know that healing happens in community, not isolation. We know that new life often begins in the places we thought were lost.

The Recovery Ministries of The Episcopal Church invites you to walk this Lenten season with companions who understand the courage it takes to begin again. Whether you are new to recovery, have been on the path for years, love someone who struggles, or simply long for deeper honesty and hope in your spiritual life, you are welcome.

Together we will remember that recovery is not about becoming perfect, but about becoming free to live in grace, truth, and joy. As Bill Wilson reminded us, we are not a glum lot. Even in Lent, even in recovery, hope and laughter still have a place. The promise of this season is that resurrection follows even the hardest journeys.

Come as you are.

Bring your whole story.

You are not alone.

• Visit www.episcopalrecovery.org and join us in a community of healing and faith.
• Join us each Wednesday @ 8:00 Eastern for the All 12-Step Meeting on Zoom. 

Email info@episcopalrecovery.org

“….We will not regret the past nor wish to shut the door on it….. No matter how far down the scale we have gone, we will see how our experience can benefit others. That feeling of uselessness and self-pity will disappear.”

I read the promises and smiled. I really could not bring myself to believe them. What I was missing was the opening phrase “If we are painstaking about this phase of our development we will be amazed before we are half-way through. We are going to know….”

I was too busy trying to impress those in the meeting, and, more importantly, my boss and my counselor, with just how good I was doing. I let them know how many meetings I was attending, doing 12step calls, chairing meeting, and, at meetings, I was quoting the Big Book as much as possible, that is, until one day I was told to “shut your mouth and take the cotton out of your ears. You have two ears to listen twice as much as you talk.”

I was like the proverbial cat on a hot tin roof. I was running from myself in a dry drunk as fast as I was running from myself under the influence of alcohol and other drugs. I didn’t like myself when I was drinking and I still did not like myself. I desperately wanted to please people and make myself look good. That’s hard to do with people who can see through you and care enough to tell you to listen more than talk.

“We will not regret the past nor wish to shut the door on it.” I regretted the past and I wanted to close not just any door but a steel door on it. I wanted to look back just enough to write a fourth step and then close that door for good.

When I finally got serious about sobriety, I discovered the importance of keeping the door to my past open. As I looked back at my life while under the influence of mood-altering chemicals, I realized just how far down the scale I had fallen. I was holding on to what I had not lost as ‘proof’ that I was not really an alcoholic. However, as soon as I opened the door and took a good look at my past, I realized that the emptiness I felt was due to the fact I was not living up to the values I proclaimed to hold.

When I got the courage to share my past, I realized that I am human, that I was not rejected for what I had done. And then I did not want to forget it because that remembrance was my ticket to sobriety. I did not want to be in a situation where I would not remember the next morning.

“No matter how far down the scale we have gone, we will see how our experience can benefit others.” I never thought of my story as being of any benefit to others until the night I received a telephone call and learned just how my story had encouraged someone to go into treatment. It is fascinating how different we all are and yet just how alike we are.   

Step by step my head began to clear. Slowly I began to deal with my emotions as I confronted my past and the thought of my past helping another strengthened my commitment to sobriety. “That feeling of uselessness and self-pity...” began to disintegrate.

“If we are painstaking about this phase of our development we will be amazed before we are half-way through. We are going to know….” Amazed for sure. As I became more serious about working the steps and living the program on a daily basis, knowing that I am powerless over people, places and things, was a tremendous sense of freedom and I was still working my way through the steps.

“Painstaking” is the correct work for this phase of our development. It is painful to look in the mirror and be honest with oneself. It is painful to reflect on how my words and actions hurt others. It is painful to think that, because of alcohol and drugs, I do not remember so much of the life I have lived.

“We are going to know a new happiness…” the promises came true for me, and I have been able to face my past, confront my past, let go of my past and live in the present with peace and serenity. For this fellowship, for forty-seven years of serenity and sobriety, I am truly grateful, and for all those who walked this path with me.

Séamus D
Séamus D is a retired Episcopal priest in the Diocese of Louisiana.

When I was just 36 years old (birthday on January 6), the new year was not a happy one. I had made a fool out of myself at Christmas dinner with my family. My marriage was falling apart. The months before my birthday had me having my first black out and throwing up at a friend’s house – something I never thought would happen to me. I passed out and my husband had to take our toddler home as I slept in the guest room. My life was completely unmanageable!

Two women in my life were sober. One sister and one dear high school friend. They listened and my sister invited me to visit her outside of Boston, so I went. I watched “Hello my name is Bill” while she was at work and I went to my first AA meeting. I cried through it.

One of my character defects is envy. I wanted years of sobriety from the start. When I asked my sponsor about how she got 7 years, of course I heard her say” One day at a time.” I celebrated each month for the first two years. When I had 24 years, I marveled that my months had turned into years. I prayed to reach the number of years that would be half my life. I only had to go to meetings, help others, do the step work, make amends, and not die before I got there.

On January 6^th this year I turned 72 years old.  On February 1, 2026, I celebrated 36 years of continuous of sobriety. Now I have been sober half my life!  My life now exists of two halves. Before sobriety and in sobriety.

The other day I realized a few things. On February 1 in Seattle, where I got sober, many people celebrate because the sun sets AFTER 5PM – a sign that the days are getting longer and winter is going to end. February 2^nd is Ground Hog Day when we wait to see if the ground hog will give us hope or go back undergrown. I remembered the movie Ground Hog Day when Bill Murray lived the day over and over again until he could change his life for the better. I lived ground hog day for many years while I drank. Over and over again I wanted to change but didn’t, wanted to stop drinking, but didn’t. The fellowship of AA, especially the women, held me and taught me how to live a sober life so I could make it to the second half of my sober life. It is a life worth everything. Thank you.

Libbie S.

I have lived in an assisted living home since July 2022 and, since prior thereto I have worked the AA Program and continue to do so. I have come to believe that in some ways the two share several similar, sometimes identical, characteristics. I speak from personal knowledge of both; it’s not an academic exercise but my personal reflections of some the principles of each organization. I have grown to love both for each sustains my life and provides strength to go forth. Here is what I mean.

Perhaps most important is the union of why people avail themselves of either AA or an assisted living facility. People who come to assisted living because they are hurt, have difficulty handling the basic elements of life, and are at an older age-usually at least 80, some near or over 100 years of age. They may suffer from an illness, perhaps one which is incurable, progressive and fatal. Many are crippled; some must be fed every meal. Daily care for these folks calls for high levels of medical and nursing assistance, and complexity beyond the capability of family members.

AA provides a way for people who have faced the disease of alcoholism and are working to beat their addiction and change their lives. As with assisted living, AA involves a broad commitment to its Program, for both, there is daily commitment to work the Steps of the Program or as with the assisted living facility, its commitment to the daily medical support, activities, and regular organized physical education exercise.

Perhaps surprisingly, both deal with management of the pain of those seeking help. For the alcoholic, that pain is the harm carried by the families, the work persons, friends and others harmed by the alcoholics’ drunken behavior. Assisted living emphasizes the importance of accepting the dire health condition of folks living in the facility. But the question of both is “what’s next,” how do I live with my alcoholism for that disease never gives up and always seeks a return to alcohol. For the assisted living person, life is better, more positive, made possible by accepting the situation and moving forward utilizing the best possible supportive medical assistance staff, and recreational and physical assistance. We know in the Program that the past can’t be changed, but an amend can be made and much time is spent on how and when to do it or not.

Both provide a spiritual aspect. AA provides an express spiritual life, a life requiring daily handling and reacting thereto. It’s all set forth clearly, specifically, in the Steps and we are called to maintain a spiritual life. Assisted living offers me three or four weekly Bible Study gatherings lead by clergy volunteering for the task, some of whom lead regular church services. Yes, my experience living through deaths of folks here who have become close friends is that people here reach out and provide support and guidance and remind us that Jesus is here for that person, reaching for him or her.

Similarity? I see and feel it walking around the halls of my home.  I encounter folks I’ve come to love and assist when needed. I felt the same warmth when I entered a regular noon meeting of my home group, “St X Noon”.

Both are critical parts of my life. I accept the teachings of both, while I am living in my assisted living facility and working the Program of Alcoholics Anonymous.

Jim A, St X noon, Cincinnati

After many years of recovery I can still feel shame when this happens. I get caught by my envy of a newcomer.

And it happened again just this week: A man in my home group celebrated 6 months and he was glowing. Everything was new and he was excited. His life was transformed, he had found a deep and complete faith in his Higher Power, his surrender was total; he had completed his step work and was quoting the Big Book. His “share” was more lecture than personal story, but still I bit.

I was jealous.

I know better. I knew better. But I could feel myself become envious and annoyed. I knew that I should be happy for his newcomer’s pink cloud and his new life but my own smallness revealed my envy. After all these years and all this work—I’m still trying to surrender, have absolute faith, and be a perfectly perfect person.

I know, I know.

This is also why I write about recovery and attend four meetings a week. I want to face the awkward things, the difficult things and even the embarrassing things that can happen to us in long-term recovery. And envying a newcomer is just one of them.

It is times like this that I wish for meeting for people who have 15 or 20 or 30 years. Not to leave other people behind but to be able to say, “Does anyone else feel like this?” and to laugh at something like my envy of the newcomer.

I know better. You know better. We all know better. But still.

I know that I did exactly what he did when I was new to recovery. In fact, I was the young woman bringing recovery pamphlets to my family at Thanksgiving dinner and passing them around like hors d’oeuvres.

So you’d think I’d have more compassion.

But what I know now—and what I write about is this: life happens to all of us, and that we need those pink clouds and happy days to give us the ground under the harder parts of our recovery. And as we stay in recovery a long time those harder parts will come on their own. Life just happens, and we age. With aging comes many changes.

My red-faced humility is this: When I hear those newcomers speak of their rapidly transformed lives and the perfect, lasting peace that recovery has given them, I still want what they have.

That’s why I keep coming back.

Diane C, Albany New York

St. Paul, in his letter to the Romans, writes: “Be transformed by the renewing of your minds.” When I entered the House of theology to begin my final three years to ordination as a Roman Catholic Priest, I had my New Jerusalem Bible. Of course, I hadn’t read it as Catholics were not encouraged to read it, except for stories from the four gospels. But that did not stop me from thinking “I know my bible.”

Then we began biblical exegesis and my mind got turned so far around I could not think straight. This was supposed to be the “Word of God” Every word, comma, chapter and verse, were dictated by God to holy men who wrote it down. Oh, did I have a lot to learn?  

After a week or so of listening to professors talk about why this was put here and that was put there and…and…and. I took my JB and threw it almost the full length of the library and walked out. “There is no God. Any idiot could write these stories” I said to myself and audible enough for a couple of classmates to hear.

Six weeks went by before I got the courage to go to one of the professors and tell him what was going on. He was patient, funny, and knew how to draw me out. Slowly I began to open my mind to the possibilities he mentioned and they were making sense.

Then came my mentors, Jack Daniels, Johnny Walker, and John Jemison and they loosened my mind more than I wanted to think. Now I was able to be myself. I had ideas and they needed to be heard. I was reading everything and anything I could get my hands on. I had become a sponge that could not get enough information.

Time passed. Life with my mentors was becoming “fun.” What I was unaware of was that my thinking was becoming stinking. Yes, stinking thinking. Judgmental, resentful, indifferent, angry, and it was everyone else’s fault if I was told I had made a mistake. I was becoming a failure. I am a failure.

“I always do….” “It will never happen to me”  “You know, you should….”            “You couldn’t have been more stupid than …”  Assuming. Making an Ass-u-me. Mostly myself. I couldn’t be nice to or about myself and few others. Sometimes I was clear-headed enough to know that there was something wrong with my thinking, the way I was behaving, but I never attributed it to my mentors. They were my friends. Or so I thought.

“Be transformed by the renewing of your minds.” I went through treatment and learned little. I was a priest and counselor. I knew myself better than they did. I told them what they wanted to hear. What I didn’t know was they saw through me and they loved me.

Four and a half years on a dry drunk did nothing for me except that I did not drink, I read everything about alcoholics anonymous, its history, its spirituality, its need for anonymity.          

One day it became clear to me “I am an alcoholic.”  I began to work the steps and live the program. I was and am powerless over people, places and things. My moral values had vanished like ice in a cup of hot water. Now that I was living the program I found my values. I found myself and I was not the person I had judged myself to be. I was transformed. No more stinking thinking.

The Bible, the Big Book, sacred texts from different faith communities, philosophy, good novels were transforming my mind in a healthy manner. I was being renewed and I was overjoyed as I liked and loved this new me. Thank God for recovery and the fellowship.

Séamus D

Séamus D is a retired Episcopal Priest living in New Orleans