p-5 - a.a. for the woman - alcoholics anonymous father did his best raising me and my two younger...

ALCOHOLICS ANONYMOUS® is a fellowship of menand women who share their experience, strengthand hope with each other that they may solvetheir common problem and help others to recov-er from alcoholism. • The only requirement for membership is adesire to stop drinking. There are no dues or feesfor A.A. membership; we are self-supportingthrough our own contributions.• A.A. is not allied with any sect, denomination,politics, organization or institution; does not wishto engage in any controversy; neither endorsesnor opposes any causes.• Our primary purpose is to stay sober and helpother alcoholics to achieve sobriety.

Copyright © by A.A. Grapevine, Inc.;reprinted with permission

Stories on pages 11, 15, 19, 20, 22, 23 and 30are copyrighted © by A.A. Grapevine, Inc.,and are reprinted here with permission.

Copyright © 1951; 1968; 1986 byAlcoholics Anonymous World Services, Inc.

475 Riverside DriveNew York, NY 10115All rights reserved.

Revised 1986

Mail address: Box 459, Grand Central Station,New York, NY 10163

www.aa.org

50M-06/17 (Ripon)

P-5_AAfortheWoman.qxp_P-5_AAfortheWoman.qxd 6/8/17 11:20 AM

3

A.A. for the Woman


4


Drinking Problem?

1. Do you buy liquor at different places so noone will know how much you purchase?2. Do you hide the empties and dispose of them

secretly?3. Do you plan in advance to “reward” yourself

with a little drinking bout after you’ve workedvery hard in the house?4. Are you often permissive with your children

because you feel guilty about the way youbehaved when you were drinking?5. Do you have “blackouts,” periods about

which you remember nothing?6. Do you ever phone the hostess of a party the

next day and ask if you hurt anyone’s feelings ormade a fool of yourself?7. Do you take an extra drink or two before

leaving for a party when you know liquor will beserved there?8. Do you feel wittier or more charming when

you are drinking?9. Do you feel panicky when faced with non-

drinking days, such as a visit to relatives?10. Do you invent social occasions for drinking,such as inviting friends for lunch, cocktails, ordinner?11. When others are present, do you avoid read-ing articles or seeing movies or TV shows aboutwomen alcoholics, but read and watch when noone is around?12. Do you ever carry liquor in your purse?13. Do you become defensive when someonementions your drinking?14. Do you drink when under pressure or afteran argument?15. Do you drive even though you’ve been drink-ing, but feel certain you are in complete controlof yourself?

From an Ann Landers column in Newsday;reprinted with permission of Field Newspaper Syndicate

5


6


You are not alone

If you think you have a drinking problem – if yoususpect that drinking may be one of your problems– then you will read in this pamphlet the stories ofwomen who once thought and felt as you do.

Different as each is from the other, they allfinally reached a point where they had to recog-nize that alcohol was seriously affecting theirlives. For all of these women – young,middle-aged, old, housewife, career woman, stu-dent, from affluence, from poverty, and frommany social and ethnic backgrounds – theanswer was the same. Through the simple pro-gram of Alcoholics Anonymous, they found a wayto stop drinking, to maintain sobriety, and tobuild in sobriety a life more rewarding and fullerthan any had believed possible.

The word “alcoholic” may disturb you. Tomany people it still suggests weakling or outcast.Applied to women, this misconception remainsparticularly strong. Most of society tends to lookwith tolerance or even amusement on a maledrunk, but to recoil in distaste from a womanwho is in the same condition. Even more tragic isthat the woman alcoholic herself often sharesthis bias. For her, the burden of guilt carried byevery alcoholic drinker is often doubled.

The women of A.A. have shed the cripplingweight of unjustified guilt. They have learned amedical fact for themselves. Alcoholism is not initself a question of morals or manners (though itcertainly affects both). Alcoholism is a healthproblem. It is an illness, described as such byboth the American Medical Association and theBritish Medical Association.

This definition is no longer revolutionary. Ithas been well-publicized, and most people acceptit casually, as a general statement: “Of course

7


alcoholism is an illness.” But when the focusturns to a specific person – co-worker, neighbor,friend, relative, or yourself, the old attitudesreturn: “Why can’t she drink like a lady?” or“Why can’t I drink the way other women do?” or“Why can’t I stop? I have no willpower,” or even,“I’m no good.” On a personal basis, the illness istoo often regarded in its earlier stages as abreach of etiquette, in its latter stages as a deepmoral failing.

Perhaps the strangest and most insidiousaspect of the disease of alcoholism is its ability tohide itself from the sufferer. Alcoholics areexperts at not seeing their own illness. They areoften the last to admit that they have a drinkingproblem.

If the illness is so hard for the alcoholic to rec-ognize, how can you tell whether or not you arean alcoholic? What is the measuring stick of alco-holism? Drinking in the morning? Drinkingalone? How much you drink? Not necessarily anyof these. The test is not when you drink, or withwhom, or how much, or where, or what (alcoholis alcohol regardless of what it’s flavored or dilut-ed with), or even why you drink. The real mea-sure is in the answers to these questions: Whathas drinking done to you? How does your drink-ing affect your family, your home, your job orschool work, your social life, your physicalwell-being, your inner emotions?

Trouble in any one of these areas suggests thepossibility of alcoholism. It need not be devastat-ing trouble at first. Some alcoholics start out associal drinkers, enjoying a large capacity forliquor and literally “feeling no pain.” Others expe-rience typical alcoholic symptoms from the verybeginning. If you are “functioning” – as a house-wife, student, working women, etc. – and cover-ing up the effects of your drinking, ask yourself:How much effort, how much sheer willpower isinvolved in the cover-up? Is the effect worth theeffort? Is there any real fun left?

Alcoholism is a progressive illness. Late start-ing or early, the drinking gets more and more outof control. Indeed, the very attempt to control itcan become an all-consuming preoccupation.Drinking only wine or beer, promising oneself todrink only on weekends, spacing drinks; theseare only a few of the methods devised by drinkers

8


to try to control their alcohol intake. Such “whiteknuckled” ruses are themselves as classic asymptom of alcoholism as the shattering hang-over or the frightening blackout.

There is a turning point, and you do not haveto reach it via a hospital bed or “rehab” or prison,although many women have come to A.A. onlyafter reaching these stages of the illness. At anypoint in the downward progression of the illnesscalled alcoholism, you can get off and stay off,simply by reaching out for help and becomingwilling to face your problem. It doesn’t matterwhether you are 15 or 50, rich or poor, collegegraduate or high school dropout, self-supportingor sheltered in a family household, a patient in atreatment facility, a prison inmate, or a street per-son. Help is available, but you must make thedecision to ask for it.

In A.A there are no application forms to signor admission fees to pay. You will not be asked tosubscribe to any formal “course of treatment.”You will simply meet men and women who havefound a way to free themselves from their depen-dence on alcohol and have begun to repair thedamage it has done to their lives. Such freedomand recovery can be yours, too.

In this pamphlet you will read no dry statistics,but rather the stories of individual women alco-holics. These stories were chosen to representthe common experience of women alcoholics andto show the wide range of types of women whorecover from alcoholism, what A.A. means tothem and could mean to you. After attending theirfirst meetings, some other women have reported:“A feeling of warmth at being with other peoplewho had the same problem that I did . . . .” “compassion and understanding. . . .” “an atmos-phere of unconditional love. . . .” “I realized I wasnot alone.”

9


“This breaking of promisesto my children . . .”

My mother died when I was 12 years old, and Iused to think that my life would have been differ-ent if she had lived. However, I now believe thatmy problem was already a part of me, even then.I was full of feelings of inferiority and extremelyshy. My father did his best raising me and mytwo younger sisters, keeping the family togetheruntil I went to college. He sent both my sistersaway to boarding school as well.

I can remember the overwhelming fear thatgripped me as my father got ready to leave me atcollege. I just knew I was not going to be able tocope with getting to know all those people. I wasa misfit from the beginning and felt like one. Somy years at college were years of hurt feelings,rejection, and anxiety.

I did finally get married. My husband was avery handsome man, and I thought I would losemy fears and no longer be so anxious with peo-ple. Unfortunately, this was not the case unless Ihad a drink. I had learned at college that a drinkor two made communication possible. And threedrinks made me forget that I wasn’t pretty!

Eventually, we had children, and they meanteverything in the world to me. Yet I would awakehorror-stricken to realize that I had been drivingthe car around the countryside in a blackout, thechildren with me.

Then my husband became ill. Lonely andfrightened, I needed to drink, even though thechildren – and now my husband, too – weredependent upon me.

We moved to a small town in Massachusetts,to live with my in-laws. I hoped that a brand-newsocial circle would solve the problem. It didn’t.

I can guarantee that one way not to endearyourself to your mother-in-law is to get drunkpublicly in a small community.

Our next move was to an old farmhouse, hardto heat and hard to take care of. My husband wasaway frequently, and my drinking accelerated.

One night, I went to a bar a few miles fromour house, leaving my 11-year-old son in chargeof his sisters. I took an elderly neighbor along.One of the men in the bar offered to drive my carhome, but I argumentatively told him I couldhandle it. When I was close to home, I speeded

10


up a bit and crashed into a stanchion. Both of myneighbor’s eyes were blackened.

Without my knowledge, the man who hadoffered to drive us home had followed us. Hearranged to have the car hauled out of the ditchand put in the middle of our driveway. He didn’tstay very long, but when he left, I went upstairsto find my son sitting beside the hot-air registerwith his BB gun aimed down through it.

“What in the world are you doing?” I asked. “Ididn’t know, Mommy,” he said, “but I thoughtyou might need help.” I thought I had reachedthe depths at that point. I do believe that therehas to be some motivating factor that makes uswant to get sober, and I am sure that for me themotivating factor was my children.

I will never forget my little girl’s fourth birth-day party. When the day came, the mothersarrived with their children, took one look at me,and stayed for the party. I was so drunk that theydared not leave their children alone with me.

It was this breaking of promises to my chil-dren that finally made me realize that I could nolonger live with myself, and I turned to A.A. forhelp. Like most other people, I was full of theusual misconceptions about what I would findwhen I got there. I thought that alcoholics wereall Bowery characters. At my first meeting, I wassurprised to meet people who I knew asrespectable church members.

More important, when I first walked into anA.A. meeting, I had that wonderful feeling ofbelonging. Talking with the people there, I dis-covered that I was not the only person in theworld who had done the kind of things I haddone, hurting the people I loved most. I had beenafraid that I might be going out of my mind. I wasgrateful to learn that alcoholism is a threefold ill-ness, that I had been ill mentally, physically andspiritually.

During my first few years, I had trouble get-ting to A.A. meetings regularly. The childrenwere small, and it was not always easy to findsomeone to come and sit with them.Nonetheless, I fell in love with A.A. from the veryfirst meeting and somehow knew that in this pro-gram I was going to find the answers.

Even though I didn’t find my answers all atonce, I have found them slowly. At the begin-

11


ning, I was still so shy, so self-conscious, sowrapped up in myself, that it was very hard toreach out and grasp the hand of friendship gener-ously extended to me.

In time, through A.A.’s Twelve Steps, I real-ized that if I would accept the love that was beingoffered to me so freely and try to share it withothers, I could learn through A.A. to be comfort-able with people. To me this was a wonderfulstep forward. And it led to one of the greatestgifts that A.A. has given me: no longer to beafraid. My life had always been dominated byfear – fear of people, of situations, of my owninadequacies. In A.A., I learned to have faith andso to live without fear.

12


“I thought that liquor was God.”

I was an adopted child, and by the age of seven Iwas put in an orphanage. The nuns in the orphan-age were always praying to God, but I couldn’tfind that God they were always speaking to.

When I was nine years old, I tasted somewine. I said, “So this is the God they’re talkingabout.” I thought that liquor was God.

I was expelled from school because I jumpedinto a conversation about ethnic groups. One ofthe girls swore at me: “You ____________ PuertoRicans!” and I jumped her. When I came to, I wasin a straightjacket. “Do you know what you didlast night?” the nurse asked. I said, “No.” Shetold me I had fought with the other girl. She wasunconscious, but I kept shouting that I wanted totear her heart out. I had broken a soda bottle todo it.

I wanted to get out of the orphanage so I gotmarried. When I was five months pregnant, myhusband left me and joined the service. I went tomy mother-in-law for help. She gave me a little bot-tle of Kentucky Gentleman and said, “You just takea little shot of this at night and you’ll sleep. You’llhave no problems.” I drank the whole bottle.

I went to the Red Cross to find out what to dowith my life. They told me the only way out wasto work, so I dedicated myself to working twojobs. And my little Kentucky Gentleman wentwith me.

I worked and saved money, and four yearslater my husband returned. He said we couldpick up the pieces and start all over again. Withthe money I had saved, we bought a candy store.We also sold booze and we got into a lot ofunderground, shady stuff.

There was something wrong with me. I keptthrowing my husband out of the store so I coulddrink all day long while he was gone. I was suremy husband didn’t love me, my kids didn’t loveme, that nobody understood me. I needed some-thing to make me want to live.

I got a job as a barmaid, where I had all themen and all the liquor I wanted. I thought I washappy at last. I wanted to get rid of my husband,so when the cops came looking for him, I toldthem where to find him. The detectives pickedhim up, and he was convicted of first-degreemurder.

13


While he was in prison, I lost my barmaid job.I couldn’t do anything except drink. I had to sur-vive, and the only people I could turn to were theregular customers at the bar. So I did a lot ofthings that weren’t right, but I thought they wereall right because my kids had food.

I felt I was not worthy of living any more, thatI had sinned against God’s law. I felt dirty. Itried to commit suicide three times. I tried totake my kids with me so they wouldn’t sufferwhat I had suffered. I turned on the gas stove,took my gallon of gin, and sat there waiting todie. But my neighbor broke open the door andtook me to the hospital. They told me I had aproblem with drinking, but I wouldn’t listen. Iwanted to die drunk.

When my husband came out of prison, hedecided to go with his mistress. I had to sell myhouse and move into an unfurnished apartment.Three times men in the street tried to rape me.The last time I was beaten up badly and was inthe hospital for three months. I wanted to geteven with all men.

I started walking the streets, daring some manto try to do something to me so I could kill himand go to jail. With pills and liquor I wound up inthe hospital again. The psychiatrist told me I hada drinking problem, and I should go to A.A. I saidI couldn’t live without liquor.

But I went to A.A., and when I walked into myfirst meeting, I saw all men there. I hated men – Iwished they were all dead. But I sat, remember-ing what the doctor said: “Go, sit, listen!” (Icouldn’t go sober – I’d had a few drinks.) Iremember hearing that alcoholism was a pro-gressive disease, that I had a good opportunity tomake a life for myself now.

I was in A.A. for three months, still drinking,asking myself, “Why can’t I stop? Maybe they’relying. They must be drinking!” One night – I’dhad three drinks that day – I was sitting in ameeting, and I felt my heart beat for the first timein years. I said, “If this is God, if this is Your pres-ence, let me hold onto a thread of Your hope andtake me out of this bottle so that I may be able towalk again among people.” I knew somethingwonderful was happening, and I left that meetingwith a beautiful feeling. That was July 3rd. I cele-brate my A.A. anniversary on Independence Day

14


– the day I got independent from the bottle.It wasn’t easy at the beginning, but my spon-

sor helped me through it. Then I started to doservice in my group. After two months, I went tothe intergroup office and answered the phones atthe Spanish desk. Today, I thank God I did thesethings because I was able to keep away from mydrinking friends. Now I am institutions coordina-tor for the Spanish Committee.

I am going back to school. I know there aremany women like me, especially in the Spanish-speaking nationalities. I have a beautiful life, andeach night I pray that I’ll be able to carry the A.A.message to another alcoholic.

15


“Guilt, fear, and remorse were my dailycompanions.”

Now that I enjoy a measure of sobriety, I am ableto see how blind I was for 20 years. I started drink-ing at 13. 1 drank a large quantity of port wine on abet, and became very sick and drunk andpromised myself not to drink wine like that again.

In high school I went around with an oldercrowd. They drank, and there was nothing Iliked better. I drank because I liked it, and onceI started I wasn’t ready to stop when the otherswere. If you liked to drink, I was glad for yourcompany. If you didn’t care for it, you didn’t seemuch of me.

At 19 1 got married. My husband drank. Heliked it and could hold it. I had a lifetime drinkingpartner, and our marriage started out as one longcelebration.

About a year after our daughter was born, Ibecame very ill. The family doctor suggested thatI stop drinking, that I was potentially an alco-holic. I laughed, and ignored him, my family, andfriends who complained about my drinking.

I did lose control more often now. Sometimeswhat started out as a few drinks for the eveningwent on for a week. To get off the hook, wemoved to a new neighborhood, and I went towork. I started finding excuses to drink moreoften. One day, on my way to work, I needed apickup and stopped for a drink. I remember hav-ing two more after the first one. The next clearmemory came three days later, and I knew fearfor the first time. I told my family that I must bementally ill for this to happen.

I started going to a psychiatrist. I never men-tioned drinking except to say I drank on occasion.I didn’t tell him I usually made sure I had an occa-sion to drink, and the occasions included him.

Years passed and I reached a stage where Icouldn’t cope with anything. My husband and Iseparated several times and when we reconciledwe’d hope that things would change.

They did. They got worse. I finally ended upin a hospital where the doctor told me I was aschizophrenic. I was pleased as could be. I wascrazy, a nut. I wasn’t an alcoholic.

When I finally stopped hearing voices and waswell again, I had to celebrate. He suggested that Idrink nothing but good Scotch whisky and no

16


more than three drinks. He didn’t say what sizeglass.

My husband and I separated for the last time.He gave me my choice: him or the bottle. I didn’thave any choice; by now I couldn’t live without adrink.

I lived the next two years in a nightmare.Guilt, fear, and remorse were my daily compan-ions, I no longer had any friends; they crossedthe street when they saw me coming. Most of thetime I was a sodden zombie. Finally, the day Iwoke up for the umpteenth time in a strangeroom with a stranger, I knew I couldn’t take itany longer. I was sentenced to prison for a crimecommitted in an alcoholic fog.

I finally learned how to live through the A.A.program. When I started attending A.A. meetingsin prison, my prayer for help was answered. Oneof the women used an expression which exactlyfits what happened to me in this Fellowship: “Istarted living when I stopped crying and startedtrying.” I tried to work the pattern given me byA.A. in the Twelve Steps – a model for today andall my days.

There are two things I’ve learned from thisprogram. First, to surrender completely. I wasfighting a losing battle with the bottle. I gave up,and through defeat I won. Second, to changemyself, because the world isn’t going to changeto suit “poor little old me.” It’s just this simplewhatever it is in me that led me down the alco-holic road to misery, I no longer want any part ofit. I spent 14 months in an institution because Icould not live without the bottle, but today I havelearned how.

Now I am another cog in the wheel of thisFellowship. I’ve been given a second chance tobe the kind of mother I’ve always wanted to be.Yes, I have the greatest of all gifts: the return ofmy daughter and her love. Yesterday I only exist-ed, without hope, without anything but misery;today I live with hope because I carry a messageof hope to other alcoholics. This program worksfor these reasons: You want sobriety badlyenough, and once you have it, you share it.

17


“By the end of my drinking. . . I had threatened patients, been drunk on duty, contemplated murder...”

I’m an alcoholic. I am also a registered nurse, asingle woman who enjoys many activities. Butthis was not always the case.

I have been sober in Alcoholics Anonymousfor a little more than five years now, and theyhave been the happiest years of my life. Prior toseeking A.A., I was “dry” for a year, out of fear ofanother bout with the DTs. I had sworn I’d nevertake another drink because I couldn’t again comeoff a drunk the way I did the week betweenChristmas and New Year’s of 1977.

Early on Christmas morning, driving drunkand under the influence of narcotics, I snappedoff a telephone pole and demolished my car, notfor the first time. Abusive and uncooperative inthe emergency room (I was still in uniform), Irefused care until the following morning, when Icould be admitted free of alcohol and othermood-changing drugs.

At that time, as well as I can remember, I wasa day drinker and user of whatever chemicals Icould obtain with or without prescription. After Iwas discharged, my increasing irritability, ner-vousness, and tremors went to full-blown halluci-nations accompanied by a growing horror ofwhat I was experiencing.

I couldn’t go back to the hospital thatemployed me and my family could no longer tol-erate my antisocial behavior. For another fullyear I continued to hit successive bottoms, onesubstance at a time, but there was no change inmy essential outlook on life. Recovery for mebegan when I stopped taking drugs and began tomake active efforts to get better. It began withattendance at my first A.A. meeting.

I had been a bashful child, oversensitive, over-weight, and unsure of myself. I sought solace inbooks and in the role of “little mother.” I remem-ber feeling important when Dad let me beg sipsof his drinks. I liked the effect. My first realblackout and passout drunk occurred when I was13. It felt as though the only way I could shut offmy sense of inferiority and nagging consciencewas to be drunk.

In school I was considered a good-naturedpartner who would give anyone “the shirt off her

18


back.” People-pleasing caused me much grief,especially in my profession, until I learned to sayno to the first drink.

For me, putting on that white uniform and capmeant unleashing Wonder Nurse. Out of uni-form, I was heavily into the hippie countercul-ture. To offset that, I needed to be FlorenceNightingale. I was always angry at the incompe-tence all around me, convinced that I was theonly one doing the work.

With all that anger and martyrdom, I had toget drunk after work to let off steam. I neededmy job to support my habit, and nursing was theonly respectable thing I had.

By the end of my drinking, which lasted 12years, I had threatened patients, been drunk onduty, contemplated murder, dealt drugs to chil-dren, overdosed, had two abortions and passedout in bars in my uniform. I smelled bad and hadcheated on my most loyal – and last – friend, withher husband. I’d drive when I was too drunk towalk. I demolished several vehicles and wasstopped many times by the police, without hav-ing any memory of it.

I loathed drunks because they were visibleproof of what I was beneath my facade – manipu-lative, dishonest, fearful, and lonely. I’ve spentmost of my life pretending to be something I’mnot. I did not know until I got sober that I amexactly the person I always wanted to be.

In A.A., I have been shown how to reallychange – from within, not just the externals – bypeople who now laugh at their troubles, cry intheir joy, and enjoy life.

Today, I’m working as a flight nurse on a heli-copter transport team, an opportunity for profes-sional growth that I wouldn’t be able to handlewithout sobriety. I have a reputation for honesty,although I’m not always diplomatic about it. Thebeauty of sobriety is the ability to admit mywrong if I’ve harmed someone by unthinkingword or deed, and then go on from there. Whiledrinking, I had a horrible fear of anyone findingout I made mistakes. Therefore, I was unable tolearn by my errors and continued doing the samethings that didn’t work, over and over again.

I can now learn and grow with the peopleplaced in my life, without putting unrealisticexpectations on them or myself. I’ve gone back

19


to my childhood church with an adult faith, andI’m active in A.A. service as well as other commu-nity and professional affairs.

One area of continued struggle for me in theprogram is the ability to see myself realisticallyin relation to those around me. Acquiringself-esteem and self-acceptance have probablybeen the hardest tasks I have faced. Out of adver-sity, in many uncomfortable living situations, Ihave found some self-respect and peace of mind,whether or not I’ve received approval.

I appreciate so much the gift of an honestself-love. I’ve always wanted to be able to helpothers and be useful but was incapable due to mycrippling addictive needs. Now free, I am livingthe life I never dreamed possible and realizemore fully each day that I am only limited in lifeby my lack of faith. A walking zombie is emerg-ing as a capable, complete, caring woman.

20


“I can do it by myself.I am more intelligent.”

She is sleeping in my home, my new A.A. friend.When she was brought here, she was drunk andunconscious. A nearly empty bottle of sleepingpills had been found close to her body. She wasbrought to me because I am a doctor and analcoholic.

I am not sure when I became an alcoholic. Inmy teens, I went to dances. My brother’s friendstold him to invite me, because I needed only afew drinks to be merry. But most of the time,when people around me were happy, I was sad.

After I got my first job as an intern in surgery,I was invited to a party with other hospital staff. Igot so drunk on one glass of wine that I fell overa little table. My best friend was shocked andtold me that a lady had to drink two glasses ofwine; if she can’t she is not a lady. I asked what Ihad to do, and she said I had to practice.

I did that every evening, mostly at home,where my mother said, “A lady who drinks somuch is not a lady.” But the wine seemed tomake my efficiency greater. I could work longerat night, when I wanted to read or write. I wasambitious and wanted to be the chief of my hos-pital. When I was drinking, I was the chief. Morethan that, I was the most intelligent doctor, themost beautiful woman, the best daughter, thebest friend.

My career actually did skyrocket, though Ikept on drinking. I was never drunk, but neversober, either. Then, during an unusually busyday, a colleague said she was going into the com-mon room (where doctors spend off-duty time)because she needed a drink. That day was thebeginning of the end for me. She drank only a lit-tle, but within six months I was drinking a waterglass of vodka every morning. My work gotworse and worse, and I let others do it.

My mother had been ailing, but I could alwaysfind a reason to drink. I knew I had a problemwith alcohol. I read medical books about the sub-ject and knew what could happen to my brain. Iwanted to stop but didn’t know how. I only knewI had to get away from the hospital before mydrinking was discovered. When the opportunityarrived, I bought a private practice and left thehospital.

21


My mother died at this time. There were nomore questions when I came home: “How muchdid you drink? How much did you spend onliquor?” I was my own boss. I drank and drank –alone, because my friends had left me. I was nolonger the most intelligent doctor, the mostbeautiful woman. I was alone with my fears. Ihad to drink.

My desperation intensified, and I could see noway out. Finally, a patient reported to the boardof health that I had been drunk. As a result I hadto see a professor who followed up on such mat-ters, and it was there that a miracle happened.He understood the hell I was living in and gaveme a book about alcoholism. Even though I wasdrinking while I read it, I saw a light of hope. Itold him a few days later that I would like to meetthe members of Alcoholics Anonymous dis-cussed in that book.

A week later I had a phone call from a collegefriend who had become a psychiatrist. “A.A. is inour town,” he said, telling me where and whenthe meetings were. I found my way to a meetingabout two weeks later, but only after taking adrink. I opened the door, and there were sixmen. I listened hard to what they said.

“What shall I do?” I asked. “I have half a bottleat home, and I drank the other half before I camehere.” I was being honest about my drinking!What had happened?

One of the men said, “You can do with thatbottle whatever you want to do, drink it or pour itout. It’s your life.” For the first time I was notbeing forbidden to drink. I finished the bottlethat night but went to the next meeting sober.

A new life started. Friends in my group under-stood me. I felt at home. I found happiness out-side my group, too. I could do my work, and mypatients began to love and respect me; my oldfriends returned.

For 19 months I was happy, but did not workhard on the program. I did a lot of Twelfth Stepwork, helping other alcoholics, but only toescape myself. One day, I had an emotional upsetand took two tranquilizers. The next day four,and more in the days after that.

I didn’t go regularly to meetings. “I am a doc-tor,” I told myself. “I know enough about A.A.; Ican do it myself. I have too much work to do. I

22


am more intelligent than the others. I am a spe-cial alcoholic.”

All the lying and fears that went with drinkingcame with the tranquilizers. I changed to sleep-ing pills.

One day the bottle was back. My bottle. It wasso easy to start. After all I had heard in A.A.about “the first drink,” nothing happened for sev-eral days. “So I’m not an alcoholic!” I decided. “Itwas a mistake. I do not belong with the people inA.A. I can handle it...” I drank more and tookmore pills.

And then I hit bottom. After a suicide attempt,I awoke in my home and found myself still alive. Iknew I was an alcoholic, and I phoned A.A.friends.

Two days later, I met another A.A., the doc-tor who is now my husband. I have started tolive again. I go to meetings and work the pro-gram, which has taught me how to have peaceof mind without alcohol or pills. I have againestablished a relationship with my HigherPower. Without Him, I could not have becomesuch a happy alcoholic.

While I have been writing my story, the newA.A. friend I mentioned at the beginning hasawakened. She is alive and has been without adrink for 24 hours. A.A. works.

23


“I assumed my drinking was onemore symptom of neurosis.”

I drank for more than 20 years without beingaware of any compulsion to do so. I could leavealcohol alone, and frequently did.

But I had other problems – quite deep emo-tional ones. I suffered from depressions fromadolescence on, perhaps even before. In my earlytwenties, after my child was born, I had severepostpartum depression and began a process ofpsychotherapy, which was to continue, withinterruptions, for many years. I would experiencerelief – good times when I functioned well andwas productive – but it always seemed to me thatthere was some invisible barrier between me andthe life I wanted.

During this time I had two marriages whichfailed. Alcohol played no part in either failure.

Ten years later I knew I was in trouble with thebottle. I’d just had a professional success, but inthe midst of it I came down with a case of mumps.When I got well I found myself plunged into asevere depression which had no obvious causes,except that my doctor told me that virus diseasesoften left patients depressed. I don’t think I toldhim then that besides the depression, which wasfamiliar, I was experiencing another thing whichwas strange; my drinking had entirely changed itscharacter – it had become compulsive.

My son was in his teens, and if the solitarydrinker hates herself, the drinker who is a parentand responsible for the welfare of a child feelsunspeakable guilt and self-loathing. And of course,the way to get rid of guilt was to drink systemati-cally until I passed out – and woke up again; drank– passed out again. It was a nightmare.

But somehow I was getting meals on the table,sending out laundry, seeing my son off to school.He and I loved and hated each other simultane-ously – it was hard to tell which was the morepainful. He was the one to whom I first admittedthat I was alcoholic. He said to me, “Why do youdrink so much, Mom? It makes you smell.”

My answer was, “I drink because I’m an alco-holic.”

But I didn’t know what being an alcoholicmeant. Accustomed to thinking of myself as aneurotic person, I assumed that my drinking wasone more symptom of neurosis and that what I

24


must do about it was to delve yet deeper into myunconscious to find out what was making medrink and then I would be able to go back todrinking as I used to. So I again began to trekfrom one psychiatrist to another.

The last crazy twist of my drinking came aftermy son went off to college. One weekend when Iwent to visit him, I took all the money I had leftand bought a motel outside his college town. Itwas a “geographic cure”; I hoped, by changingmy residence and my way of life, to leave myselfbehind.

In the first year, when I was involved in fixingup the farmhouse and the seven cabins that wentwith it, I actually managed to stop drinking.However, something else was now happening tome, When I went back to New York for a visit, Iwent to my doctor, who was pleased to see I’dlost 30 pounds. “What have you been doing?” heasked.

I said, “I think I’ve changed addictions.”“What do you mean?”“I’ve shifted from addiction to alcohol to addic-

tion to tranquilizers.”“Nonsense,” he said. “You can’t become

addicted to tranquilizers.”Tranquilizers were relatively new at that time;

now doctors know what I had already found outthen. I was incapable of limiting the amount ofmedication I took to the amount prescribed bythe doctor.

My road downhill was steep. There was onehospitalization in a coma brought on by a combi-nation of alcohol and tranquilizers. Another, in afutile attempt to break my addiction to tranquiliz-ers. And, at last, a third from an overdose of bar-biturates.

This time I was in the care of a psychiatristwho got me into a New York psychiatric clinic fora six-month stay. But when I left the hospital Istill had no idea that I was an alcoholic. I was toldnot to drink, but not why I shouldn’t, so I onlyresented it and, of course, drank.

Then began a three-month vicious cycle offirst drinking until I was terrified of alcohol, thentaking tranquilizers until I was equally terrified ofthem. I called a friend who had been in A.A. fornine sober months, and said I was ready to try.Within a week I was at my first meeting, with the

25


tremendously moving and releasing sense that Ihad come home, that I was where I belonged. Ilooked around the room and felt the difference inthese people. Though I had known many sickpeople in the past, they were almost always try-ing to adjust to their sickness. These A.A.s weresick people trying to get well. I wanted that, too.

I continued to take tranquilizers for a weekafter my first A.A. meeting, but during that weekI grasped the idea that, as an alcoholic, I had bet-ter not take anything which would change mymood chemically.

At first I fully expected that, having been adrunken depressive, I could now expect to be asober one. The greatest miracle of my sobriety forme has been my almost complete freedom fromdepression. Insights I had gotten through psy-chotherapy were helpful, but it was the A.A. pro-gram that set me free to make full use of them.

I threw myself into A.A. with a kind of hunger.I went to a great many meetings and became soabsorbed in the program that I found it difficult toconcentrate on anything else for a while. But as Itried to work the program, it began to showresults in my life – in terms of peace of mind, rela-tionships with people, a slow resumption of pro-fessional proficiency. I am particularly grateful formy relationship with my son, who seems to havegained a new faith in life and himself by seeingme get well. “If you can do it, Mom,” he saidonce, “anyone can!” A little left-handed, but nice.

I truly have a sense of having been born againsince coming into A.A., of having broken throughthat invisible barrier I always felt between me andthe life I wanted to live. I want to live the life I amliving now – a life based on the principles of A.A.

26


“I was the typical housewife‘lace curtains’ drunk.”

My name is Doris and I am an alcoholic. I wassixty-five years old when I came to A.A. – quite abit older than most when I decided I must getsober or end my golden years a drunken motherand grandmother.

I was the typical housewife “lace curtain”drunk. Alcohol must have been interfering withmy life and causing many problems for manyyears; I didn’t know that was happening untilabout five years before I came to the Fellowshipof A.A.

I had to make three attempts to get sober inA.A.; by the third time, I had no choice – not toomany years left to get sober.

I grew up in an alcoholic household. Myfather was a chug-a-lug drinker, and I took afterhim. I was not one who could sit sipping whiskeylike my mother.

By the time I was 16, 1 had quit school andmarried a man 12 years older than I was. We hada good life in those days. I didn’t drink becausewe didn’t have any liquor. It was simple.

I lost my first baby after three years of mar-riage, and it was four years before we had ourson, John. The first time I got drunk and sick wasjust before John was born. We went out with acouple of relatives and I got tanked up on beer,sang on the top of the table and danced aroundlike a fool. I threw up all the way home. My hus-band laughed.

Our daughter Linda was born in 1937. Duringthe war years we were having lots of fun, and Ibelieved I could stop drinking anytime I wantedto. I had gotten violently drunk again, and startedhaving hangovers.

I can’t really say when I passed over the line,and I don’t remember when I started to sneakdrinks either. My husband was a social drinkerwho could have one drink and go to sleep. His ideaof a drink was a thimbleful of Scotch and a glassfull of soda. I couldn’t imagine drinking like that.

After our third child was born in 1947, 1 wouldcome home from my job at a major departmentstore and have a glass of Metrical, the diet drinkof the time. That was an effort to fight weightgain (which I still do), but I would add a coupleof shots of booze to it. I was having a lot of trou-

27


ble but wouldn’t admit it.We moved, eventually, and the first thing I

learned fast was where the liquor store was. Ourtwo older children were perfect little squares,doing what they had to, keeping good heads ontheir shoulders. Our youngest son, David, mayhave been the most affected by my drinking. Hegot into drugs, and that gave me a good excuse.Our son was as sick as I was, and I was as sick ashe was, and my husband was in between, forwhat were 19 years of hell.

David turned out to be another kind of mes-senger. He was going to a methadone centerwhere he met a lady who was in A.A. Here wasthis drug addict telling his mother that sheshould see this recovered alcoholic lady. So I goton the bus and went to the methadone center,where Lerisa was and I talked with her. She gaveme the Big Book. That night she and her spon-sor took me to my first A.A. meeting. That wasfive years before I was ready to stop drinking. Iseemed to be ready to hear something but I was-n’t ready to do the work. I would go home anddrink after the meetings.

It took me a long time to see it, but the evi-dence was pretty obvious. I was drinking on adaily basis, and I knew I was in deep trouble.Going out to dinner one night after my firstround of A.A. meetings, I staggered out to thecar and told my husband, “I have to go to a treat-ment center.” The trip was arranged. I don’t havea great deal of memory about what happened. Ijust knew I had to go.

One problem I had, and didn’t want to face, wasthat I was very embarrassed because I was older.There were youngsters 14 and 15 years old and alot of women in their thirties and forties. Anotherthing really hit me: I was told that my daughterhad answered an inquiry from the center, and toldthem that her dad needed someone to talk to.That was the first time I realized my husband washurting. It hurt me terribly, and I was determinedthat I would make a go of sobriety.

I got out and found that no one was payingattention to me in A.A. meetings. I stayed soberfor a year, but I still had this feeling that I didn’tbelong. I said to myself that they were all lookingat me, this sweet little thing. I was feeling verysorry for myself. They didn’t know a thing about

28


me because I wasn’t about to tell them anything.I was a know-it-all who was sliding away.

It wasn’t long before I took a drink. I felt bad,but I immediately called two A.A.s who came andtook me to a meeting. Then I went to an A.A.meeting on my own. Now I have a home groupwhere I can remember my last drink.

When I came to the Fellowship to stay I feltvery much out of place, with my white hair, etc. Iwas older than most and those that were any-where near my age had been in the Fellowship agood many years. So, consequently, I felt like aten-year-old in kindergarten.

It took me time to catch on that I would haveto give if I wanted to survive in this program.We have a strong A.A. group where we supporteach other and I can spend time with womenfriends in their fifties; I’m 72, but I’m right ontheir level. Serving as secretary for my groupwas the turning point in beginning to feel a partof things. I’ve enjoyed being general servicerepresentative, attending the A.A. assembliesand conferences. It’s important for me to notjust sit but to do something – and A.A. servicework gives me that opportunity. Through ser-vice, I’ve met so many wonderful people. Mysocial life is well-rounded, too – the frosting onthe cake – and I wish a lot of people could havewhat I have.

My A.A. friends love me for who and what Iam, grey hair and all. My family loves me and mydaughter is my friend, too. My grandchildrenknow I’m an alcoholic and see to it that Grandmahas her ice water or pop. At first it bothered methat they knew, until I thought about how I don’twant to be a drunken mother or grandmotheranymore. Now I’m a great-grandmother, andsomehow that would be worse. And I’m blessedthat the family trusts me to take care of thatgreat-grandchild.

My husband died three years ago. My A.A.friend Phyllis lost her son the day after my hus-band died and she and I met in the mortuary. Itwas a sad time for us. When you cry togetherand embrace at a time like that, you are deepfriends.

The program and the Fellowship are here foryou too. A.A. members will come and get you ifyou cannot get to a meeting on your own. It’s a

29


great way to find love and sobriety and I willnever be lonely again. The golden years are real-ly golden – and no tarnish.

30


“I was insatiable, empty inside, lookingfor happiness at the bottom of the bottle.”

My name is Cathy and I am an alcoholic. Thanksto Alcoholics Anonymous and God’s grace, I havenot had to take a drink of alcohol in 21 years.

I took my first drink when I was 16 years old,which happens to be the day that I got married. Iimmediately liked the effect that alcohol had onme. I am naturally a quiet, shy person, but thealcohol let me do things I wouldn’t dream ofdoing sober.

Growing up in Queens, New York, in an inte-grated neighborhood, the realization that I wasindeed a black woman became apparent when Imoved to Chicago. Not that I could change thefact, it only made me more determined to besomebody.

I drank for only five years, but looking back, Idrank alcoholically from the start. When I drank,another person took over. A person that I didn’tlike very much. I have three children. One wasborn during the latter stages of my disease, and Ican see the difference today in her personality.

I was unfaithful to my husband during mydrinking years. I blamed my unhappiness onhim, or the fact that I had married too young. Iwas insatiable, empty inside, looking for happi-ness at the bottom of the bottle.

I didn’t drink in bars. Most of my drinkingtook place at home. My husband’s job took himout of town a great deal and I would give himapproximately a half-hour, then would go to theliquor store, buy my supply, come back anddrink continuously until I passed out. I would getin what I later learned to be a “self-pity bag,” callmy drinking partners over and have a party.However, the feeling only lasted a short whilebefore the remorse and guilt took over. I had noidea that I was an alcoholic. I didn’t know whatan alcoholic was. Again, I thought that all of myproblems were caused by my husband, and atthat point I made up my mind that I was going todivorce him.

One afternoon, while I was sitting on the sofalistening to the radio or the TV, I don’t rememberwhich, I heard a voice say, “If you have a prob-lem with alcohol, call this number.” I had beentold that I drank too much, so why not? If theannouncer had said “If you are an alcoholic . . .” I

31


would never have called. Out of curiosity I called.A lady, who was very polite, asked me if I neededhelp with a drinking problem; she also asked meif I could stay sober for 24 hours, and I said no.She said that anyone could stay sober for 24hours. I felt insulted and hung up the phone.

I was also one of those “crying drunks,” sonaturally I cried some more. The next day I gotup, started to drink again and remembered that Ihad called A.A. the day before and decided to callagain. I spoke with the same lady; she offered tohave someone call me and take me to a meeting.I refused to go, hung up, cried and drank somemore.

I called again, and she asked if she could mailme some material. She did and I read the materi-al, called her back again and she told me where ameeting was.

It was an open meeting. I asked a neighbor togo with me that night. There was a gentlemanspeaking. I don’t remember anything that wassaid, except a lady gave me a “beginners kit” withnames on it and asked me to call someone beforeI took my next drink. She also told me to “keepcoming back.”

That was 21 years ago. I have always believedin God. In A.A. we refer to God as a HigherPower, so it was easy for me to accept that part ofthe program. I was told to ask my Higher Powerfor help in the morning and thank Him at night.There are only suggestions in A.A., no rules, andthis is good for me. It seemed that I have alwaysbeen told what to do. That didn’t work very wellfor me.

I go to the meetings today to remind myselfthat although I have been sober a number ofyears, I am still only one drink away from adrunk. Alcoholics Anonymous allowed me theopportunity to go back to school, something Ihave always wanted to do. In a few months I willhave my masters degree in psychology. That canonly happen in A.A.. The tools are there; I onlyhad to stay sober, reach out and get them.

Today, again, as a result of AlcoholicsAnonymous, I am responsible. I have a good jobthat allows me to share a part of myself with therecovered as well as the still-suffering alcoholic.For me it still works – one day at a time.

32


What Is the A.A. program?

The most enlightening introduction to AlcoholicsAnonymous and the most valuable means ofmaking its program work are one and the same:A.A. meetings. Held regularly in communitiesaround the world (now in over 180 countries),these meetings fall into three types, although notall areas have all three: open, closed, newcomers.

Anyone, alcoholic or not, may attend an openmeeting; you may take along a relative or friend,even if your companion has no drinking problem.Look around you at such a meeting; by appear-ances alone, you won’t be able to tell the alco-holics from the nonalcoholics.

Going to an open A.A. meeting involves no com-mitment; just sit quietly and listen to the A.A. mem-bers share their personal histories and explain howthe A.A. program of recovery his altered their lives.You will be better equipped to get the most out ofsuch a meeting if you arrive in as sober a conditionas you can manage, with an open mind ready toconsider ideas that may be new, and willing tolearn more about yourself through identifying withothers. A.A. meetings are never mere lectures;they are always sharing sessions.

While open meetings are open to anyone,closed meetings are limited to those who knowthey are alcoholics and those who think theymight be. In the informal discussions that are themajor part of these meetings, the participantsexplore ways to achieve and maintain a happysobriety, as well as how to handle both everydaysituations and the inevitable occasional crisiswithout the use of alcohol.

In newcomers (beginners) meetings, discus-sion focuses on the primary task – how to stayaway from the first drink one day at a time. Youwill hear useful, practical suggestions from peo-

33


ple who have been exactly where you are nowand have lived through many sober days since.The shared experience of sober A.A.s is the life-line to sobriety. However far away from the lastdrink a member may be, an A.A. always says “Iam an alcoholic.” A.A.s accept the fact that theyhave a chronic illness and cherish theFellowship’s help in the ongoing process of theirown recovery.

34


Where to find A.A.

Help is within easy reach in most towns, sub-urbs, and big cities (where there are often manyneighborhood A.A. groups). In rural areas, mem-bers willingly drive long distances if a meeting isnot nearby.

For those who are physically unable to attendmeetings, and for those who are far from anyA.A. group, help is still available. A member inthe Midwest thought she was stranded followingan accident: “I was confined to a wheelchair andknew I would be for many months. So I wrote tothe A.A. General Service Office and asked forcorrespondents. Letters started pouring in! I did-n’t think I had even one friend in the world, andhere I had them all over the world. It is the mostwonderful thing that through God and A.A. wecan extend the hand of fellowship by mail. Manywomen bring up personal problems, and we talkthem over. We are helping each other – in fact,I’m receiving the most help.”

A.A.’s Loners (or Lone Members) rely uponletters, the Loners Internationalists Meeting – ameeting by mail, and sometimes the spokenword (via tape recordings), as substitutes formeeting with the rest of the membership. Theyalso enjoy another important resource, A.A. liter-ature, which is listed in this pamphlet, most espe-cially the books Alcoholics Anonymous (the BigBook) and Twelve Steps and Twelve Traditions.

The Twelve Steps (printed in full on p. 37)often mentioned in the personal stories you havejust read and regularly discussed at meetings,are the heart of the A.A. program. They are notbased on mere theory; early members of theFellowship analyzed together what they haddone to get sober and stay sober. The Steps are asummary of their experience, and are a guide

35


toward the spiritual recovery that is now workingfor more than a million other alcoholics.

Yes, A.A. is a spiritual program, not a religiousprogram. Although the Steps do mention God, Hisname is followed by the words “as we understoodHim,” leaving the interpretation entirely up to theindividual member. When you hear A.A.s thank aHigher Power for giving them the sobriety thatthey could not achieve on their own, most of themdo mean God, but some simply express gratitudeto the higher power of their A.A. group or to theFellowship as a whole for empowering them to dowhat they could not do alone.

In other words, attitudes on religion have nomore bearing on A.A. membership than haveage, sex, race, or nationality. At the opening ofmost meetings, you will hear words that meanjust this: “The only requirement for membershipis a desire to stop drinking.” For an active alco-holic, the immediate need is to stop drinking. TheA.A. program begins with that essential – andgoes far beyond.

How do women find their way to A.A.? If youhave picked up this pamphlet at a meeting, ofcourse you are already with us and heartily wel-come. In many communities there is an A.A. list-ing in the telephone book, so you may call andget local meeting times and places. Many womenattend their first A.A. meeting in the hospital,prison, or treatment center where they may findthemselves. Other find their way to A.A. throughschool or job counseling programs. Manywomen are referred by their doctors, psychia-trists, or clergy; others are put in touch byfriends acquainted with the program. (Whilemembers are called on to respect each other’sanonymity scrupulously outside the Fellowship,most of them want to tell their families and clos-est friends about their own membership in A.A.)

If none of these contacts is available to you,you may write to Box 459, Grand Central Station,New York, New York 10163. This is the mailingaddress of the A.A. General Service Office, whichwill send you specific information about A.A. inor near your community.

36


THE TWELVE STEPSOF ALCOHOLICS ANONYMOUS

1. We admitted we were powerless over alco-hol—that our lives had become unmanageable.

2. Came to believe that a Power greaterthan ourselves could restore us to sanity.

3. Made a decision to turn our will and ourlives over to the care of God as we understoodHim.

4. Made a searching and fearless moralinventory of ourselves.

5. Admitted to God, to ourselves and toanother human being the exact nature of ourwrongs.

6. Were entirely ready to have God removeall these defects of character.

7. Humbly asked Him to remove our short-comings.

8. Made a list of all persons we had harmed,and became willing to make amends to them all.

9. Made direct amends to such people wher-ever possible, except when to do so wouldinjure them or others.

10. Continued to take personal inventoryand when we were wrong promptly admitted it.

11. Sought through prayer and meditationto improve our conscious contact with God, aswe understood Him, praying only for knowl-edge of His will for us and the power to carrythat out.

12. Having had a spiritual awakening as theresult of these steps, we tried to carry thismessage to alcoholics, and to practice theseprinciples in all our affairs. dec04

37


THE TWELVE TRADITIONSOF ALCOHOLICS ANONYMOUS

1. Our common welfare should come first; personal recovery depends upon A.A. unity.

2. For our group purpose there is but oneultimate authority—a loving God as He mayexpress Himself in our group conscience. Ourleaders are but trusted servants; they do notgovern.

3. The only requirement for A.A. member-ship is a desire to stop drinking.

4. Each group should be autonomousexcept in matters affecting other groups orA.A. as a whole.

5. Each group has but one primary pur-pose—to carry its message to the alcoholicwho still suffers.

6. An A.A. group ought never endorse,finance, or lend the A.A. name to any relatedfacility or outside enterprise, lest problems ofmoney, property, and prestige divert us fromour primary purpose.

7. Every A.A. group ought to be fully self-supporting, declining outside contributions.

8. Alcoholics Anonymous should remainforever nonprofessional, but our service cen-ters may employ special workers.

9. A.A., as such, ought never be organized;but we may create service boards or commit-tees directly responsible to those they serve.

10. Alcoholics Anonymous has no opinionon outside issues; hence the A.A. name oughtnever be drawn into public controversy.

11. Our public relations policy is based onattraction rather than promotion; we needalways maintain personal anonymity at thelevel of press, radio, and films.

12. Anonymity is the spiritual foundation ofall our traditions, ever reminding us to placeprinciples before personalities. dec04

38


A.A. PUBLICATIONS Complete order forms available fromGeneral Service Office of ALCOHOLICS ANONYMOUS,Box 459, Grand Central Station, New York, NY 10163

BOOKS ___________________________________________________________________ALCOHOLICS ANONYMOUS (regular, portable, large-print and abridged pocket editions) ALCOHOLICS ANONYMOUS COMES OF AGETWELVE STEPS AND TWELVE TRADITIONS

(regular, soft-cover, large-print, pocket and gift editions) EXPERIENCE, STRENGTH AND HOPEAS BILL SEES IT (regular & soft cover editions)DR. BOB AND THE GOOD OLDTIMERS“PASS IT ON”DAILY REFLECTIONS

BOOKLETS ___________________________________________________________________CAME TO BELIEVELIVING SOBERA.A. IN PRISON: INMATE TO INMATE

PAMPHLETS ___________________________________________________________________FREQUENTLY ASKED QUESTIONS ABOUT A.A.A.A. TRADITION—HOW IT DEVELOPEDMEMBERS OF THE CLERGY ASK ABOUT A.A.ALCOHOLICS ANONYMOUS AS A RESOURCE FORTHE HEALTH CARE PROFESSIONAL

A.A. IN YOUR COMMUNITYIS A.A. FOR YOU?IS A.A. FOR ME?THIS IS A.A.IS THERE A PROBLEM DRINKER IN THE WORKPLACE?DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DIFFERENT?MANY PATHS TO SPIRITUALITYA.A. FOR THE BLACK AND AFRICAN AMERICAN ALCOHOLICQUESTIONS AND ANSWERS ON SPONSORSHIPA.A. FOR THE WOMANA.A. FOR THE NATIVE NORTH AMERICANA.A. AND THE GAY/LESBIAN ALCOHOLICA.A. FOR THE OLDER ALCOHOLIC—NEVER TOO LATETHE JACK ALEXANDER ARTICLEYOUNG PEOPLE AND A.A.A.A. AND THE ARMED SERVICESTHE A.A. MEMBER—MEDICATIONS AND OTHER DRUGSIS THERE AN ALCOHOLIC IN YOUR LIFE?INSIDE A.A.THE A.A. GROUPG.S.R.MEMO TO AN INMATETHE TWELVE CONCEPTS ILLUSTRATEDTHE TWELVE TRADITIONS ILLUSTRATEDLET'S BE FRIENDLY WITH OUR FRIENDSHOW A.A. MEMBERS COOPERATEA.A. IN CORRECTIONAL FACILITIESA MESSAGE TO CORRECTIONS PROFESSIONALSA.A. IN TREATMENT SETTINGSBRIDGING THE GAPIF YOU ARE A PROFESSIONALA.A. MEMBERSHIP SURVEYA MEMBER'S-EYE VIEW OF ALCOHOLICS ANONYMOUSPROBLEMS OTHER THAN ALCOHOLUNDERSTANDING ANONYMITYTHE CO-FOUNDERS OF ALCOHOLICS ANONYMOUSSPEAKING AT NON-A.A. MEETINGSA BRIEF GUIDE TO A.A.A NEWCOMER ASKSWHAT HAPPENED TO JOE; IT HAPPENED TO ALICE

(Two full-color, comic-book style pamphlets)TOO YOUNG? (A cartoon pamphlet for teenagers)IT SURE BEATS SITTING IN A CELL

(An Illustrated pamphlet for inmates)

VIDEOS ___________________________________________________________A.A. VIDEOS FOR YOUNG PEOPLEHOPE: ALCOHOLICS ANONYMOUSA NEW FREEDOMCARRYING THE MESSAGE BEHIND THESE WALLSYOUR A.A. GENERAL SERVICE OFFICE,THE GRAPEVINE AND THE GENERAL SERVICE STRUCTURE

PERIODICALS __________________________________________________________A.A. GRAPEVINE (monthly)LA VIÑA (bimonthly) jan 07


p-5 - a.a. for the woman - alcoholics anonymous father did his best raising me and my two younger...

Documents