Recovery Is Not Linear

Some men see things as they are, and ask why. I dream of things that never were, and ask why not?

 Robert Kennedy

I think one of the things that has caused me to stumble in the past is the belief that recovery is some kind of linear process, where the patient marches firmly forward or upwards towards the broad, sunlit uplands of sobriety. Whatever it is, it’s not that, or not for me anyway, and I think here is one of the places I part company with Alcoholics Anonymous and other 12 Step programmes. Almost by definition, any programme that incorporates numerically designated steps into its defining structure is going to be linear in nature. We proceed, jittering and desperate, from Step 1 with increasing strength and spiritual resolve through to the middle bits, which are all about God until, by now frothing in a state of near-religious ecstasy, we reach the great summit point of sobriety, Step 12 where we are called upon to spread the Message unto others. Amen.

Now look, if all this floateth your boateth, and rocking the rickety ladder to success is your thing, then by all means go with God and do that. Me, I’m just a mere street sweeper on the great, thundering – and wonderfully linear – highway of recovery, standing graciously aside to let the presidential motorcade sweep grandly by. But here’s the thing: on your gilded procession, smiling and waving at the crowds as you go, beware incoming shots from the grassy knoll, book depository and whatever other concealed vantage point life uses to hide its many snipers.

But again, and more seriously, recovery is and can only ever be, a personal thing. We shape and mould it to our own needs, recrafting it as we go and, yes, as we stumble. For me, this is where the trap of ‘linear recovery’ lies. A recovering person is, by definition, vulnerable. We are open to many potential sources of pain, amongst which one of the most lacerating is the notion of failure, be it perceived or otherwise. Of course no one loves the thought of a setback, but for the ‘all or nothing’ mindset such things can herald doubt of the kind that may prompt a full emotional collapse, or worse. I’ve seen people in AA who’ve been sober for a good stretch of days, say 365 to pull a familiar number out of the air, turned into emotional rubble by a small lapse back into drinking, followed by the grim re-setting of the sobriety clock back to ‘0 days sober’. Year Zero, as it were, has always been a frightening concept, and whilst I’m loathe to directly compare Alcoholics Anonymous to the Khmer Rouge, there is a sense in which ‘The Fellowship’ glares sternly down at the party member sobbing before them, in need of forcible re-education.

A more radical, and I hope humane approach might be to suggest that failure is indeed not an option, but only in the sense that it doesn’t really exist; or at least not as we may have previously conceived it. If we start to consider that failure is really just an abstract concept rather than an absolute one, then perhaps we can start to see it for what it truly is: a mere aspect of life, a thing that deserves only to be treated on its own terms. Sometimes usefully characterised in sporting terms as a ‘curveball’, life comes at us fast and from unexpected angles. Forgive yourself if you miss a few because, hey, even the best and strongest batters in the league do that.

To a very large extent, we are what we think we are, or can be. We are able to set our own pace and tone in the moment, if we choose to. As such, recast harmful absolute notions such as ‘failure’, not as ‘success’ maybe, but simply as a thing to be worked with, an opportunity to do more, start over, do better: whatever you want it to look like, truly it can be.

And believe me when I say I know how hard this can be, but have a little faith in yourself and what you’re capable of. You’re stronger than you think you are – an enabling idea that you should never let go of.

For these and other reasons, I’ve recently abandoned the practice of counting the number of days I’ve had sober. That isn’t because the time we’ve spent sober isn’t important – it is – but because by counting it precisely you’re imposing a kind of false moral value onto time itself – a thing which really is an abstract concept.

Gotta say, deleting the sobriety counter from my phone wasn’t easy. I’ve clung onto that day count for dear life for the last three years, observing with quiet pride as it’s ticked its way forward to ‘success’, but then watching in absolute despair as it’s been reset to nothing, taking my pride, strength and hope with it.

Paradoxically, failure – or what we think of as such – is a great place to start, a new and exciting point from which to say, ‘Well, I fucked up, but that’s ok. Let’s go again’. Accept that it’s ok just being flawed, imperfect you, because at the end of the day, you is all you’ve really got. Forgive yourself and move on.

But all this talk of re-casting failure comes with an important proviso and one that, in your heart, you know you must do to make it all work. Trip up by all means, fail miserably, fail big, fail small, come back, fail again, pick yourself up, take a deep breath, smile and then do this:

Never, never, never give up.

Nick Jordan