| Subject: Tolerance |
Author:
Charles
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Date Posted: 11:49:46 06/25/02 Tue
TOLERANCE
Though we did not like their symptoms and the way these disturbed us, they, like ourselves,
were sick too. Alcoholics' Anonymous pg. 67.
I recently attended a Saturday morning meeting where there was a young man who openly
admitted he had a problem with alcohol and that he wanted help. He shared with us that he had
laid in a good supply of alcohol for the weekend just in case his first attempt at getting sober did
not work. As the meeting got into gear, men and women around the room shared their experience,
strength and hope, telling how it was, what happened and how it was at the present. But after each
person shared, the young man would almost inevitably inject additional remarks, (we call this
cross-talking) much to the chagrin of the old timers in the room who felt that a novice did not have
anything worthwhile to say.
When it came my turn to share, I told how it had been for me when I came into recovery, bringing
with me all the garbage and false beliefs of a lifetime. I told how I had attended a daily outpatient
group where I learned many things that impacted my life and enhanced my recovery. I told how I
had crossed talked everyone in my group, including the staff, on a regular basis. I told of the day
when the room became drenched in an eerie silence as I spoke and all eyes were upon me as I
shared what I thought was the great message of recovery. I told how I became self conscious
when I noticed everyone staring at me, and how the staff and group members burst into loud
laughter and started to applaud because, I was told, it was the first time in two weeks that I had
been able to put a sentence together that made sense! Everyone thought I was retarded! But I
thought I had been sounding like a Philadelphia lawyer.
I was just like the young man I saw in that Saturday morning meeting. I didn't know that I didn't
know a helluva lot, and I didn't know that I didn't know. I didn't understand that having two ears
and one mouth was a subtle indication that I should listen twice as much as I talked. But the staff
and members of my group were tolerant of me. They showed no piousness or anger that sprang
from a false sense of superiority. I'm sure I irked them to no end, but they allowed me to be exactly
where I was at that particular time in my life. And I could not do less for another suffering
recovering individual.
Tolerance was not, and is still not, my best suit. But I realize that in order for me to sustain a
worthwhile recovery, I must sometimes do those things I don't want to do, tolerate that which I
don't want to tolerate, go when I don't want to go and have faith when I don't have faith.
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