Tonight I told someone close to me that I am 12-stepping. I have been really guarded about who I tell, even been quite vague about it on this blog because I feel- not ashamed- but very private about it. I’ve told certain friends with relative ease, because they knew how bad things had become and because several of them had been hurt by my behaviour when I was drinking.
Family is a whole different ball-park. Sure, I have hurt family members indirectly through my behaviour, and I have done more-than-many things I am not proud of. But in the last nine years I have mostly lived away from home so most of my drinking has either been away from home, or hidden at home. On the whole, family have not been subjected to the same extent to my violent mood swings or alcoholic melodrama. I think at least some of them would be very surprised by what I am doing now and their disbelief would lend some credibility to the voice inside me that says I don’t really need help. That’s what it is: self-protection, because I know even the tiniest seed of doubt could drag me away from what I am now realising I need.
On the other hand, though, “coming out” to family about this might help me keep my resolve when I find it faltering. It might strengthen me and it might help them to understand what I have been going through, what I have put other people through. It might give them a better grasp on what’s been wrong… and it might make it more real for me. At the moment, meetings still feel a little surreal, a little removed from my real life. If I, and others, could accept them as being an everyday part of my life, maybe I would find it easier.
I don’t know. Just putting thoughts out there.