Waiting at the Curb

I was running group that morning for 10 residents of an inpatient substance abuse treatment program.  It was a lovely summer morning, and as 11 of us sat in the living room of the treatment center talking about how substances had interfered with their lives, another cruise ship slowly slid by in the channel outside.

During the course of their stay at the treatment center clients were expected to complete a written first step, of the 12-step program of recovery, and present their first step to the rest of the group.  Essentially, they write and present their life stories in an effort to acknowledge that their lives have become unmanageable and that they are powerless over alcohol and drugs.

This particular morning, one of our group members was nervously presenting his first step.  He had reviewed it a couple of times with me during individual therapy sessions earlier in the week.  We had talked about his finances, employment, health, social life, relationships, family, and legal involvements.  All the areas of life so often impacted by substance abuse.  This morning it was his turn to present his life story to the group, and for the group to vote on whether they felt he had passed in his effort to admit that his life was unmanageable and that he was powerless of alcohol and drugs.

“Brian” was in his early 40s.  He was a big guy, over 6 feet, good looking, and had become a leader in the group in a short time at the treatment center.  He had just completed a jail sentence of several months for an alcohol-related offense. He was divorced, currently unemployed, and still had several steps to complete to be “off paper,” or out of the judicial system.  He spoke openly about his alcoholism.  And how much it had cost him.

But so far, in addressing the areas of his life which had been damaged by his alcoholism, he had maintained a fairly humorous approach.  Chuckling about how stupid he’d been to show up to work drunk and tell his supervisor to “f-off.”  He’d shaken his head, wiping his forehead, when talking about repeated minor altercations with the police.

He was saying all the right things.  Documenting how alcohol abuse had impacted his life.  But his approach was a little too nonchalant for me.

I looked around at some of the other group members.  Looking to see how they were reacting.  Most were smiling, listening attentively.  This was their friend and group member.  They had each either already presented their first step, or were working on it.  They weren’t going to be overly critical of anyone.  And yet, as group members, it was their job to either approve it or send Brian back to work on it some more.

Before Brian had begun presenting his first step, I spoke to the group. Reminding them of the importance of their role as group members.  They alone would be voting on approving or rejecting this first step.  They would be the ones to either pass Brian on to his second step, or hold him on his first step.  As the counselor, I wouldn’t have a vote in this.  This was their job as group members to help each other in the recovery process.  I reminded them that in recovery, people depended on each other for their very lives. This was an opportunity for them to begin exercising this very critical responsibility.

Brian moved into how his alcoholism had affected his relationships.  He talked about his wife giving up on him. Then he lapsed into talking about “all the other women.”  He made a few self-indulgent references to sexual exploits, trying to bolster an ego worn thin by the requirements of this particular exercise.  He acknowledged that his exploits were probably more egocentric than he’d realized at the time because he was usually so wasted that his concern over a night’s partner was limited.  Heck, half the time he was blacked-out and didn’t even know what had happened, much less who this woman next to him in the morning actually was.

Haha.  Members of the group smiled, some chuckled.  Yeah, they’d been there, too, a few said.

My discomfort increased.  There’s actually a very fine line between painstakingly admitting wrongs and weaknesses, and exploiting them as fodder for ego boosting and self-indulgence. See how bad I was?  I was SO BAD that one time I…..

I was just about ready to cut in and suggest he take a different tact when Brian turned a corner.

“I remember one morning in particular.  I woke up feeling like shit.  There’s this naked woman next to me.  I have NO IDEA who she even is.  I’m thinkin’, ‘What happened last night?’  I’m hung over.  I’m sick to my stomach.  I can’t stop shakin’.  I’m thinkin’ whatever I did last night, I must have had a good time!”

There was some chuckling from the group.

“Then my phone starts ringin’.  I can’t even find the damned thing.  I’m flippin’ through the sheets, trying to find my damned phone to shut it up before what’s-her-name wakes up.  I finally grab it, and it’s my ex-wife.  My morning just went from bad to worse.

“She says she’s callin’ to remind me that it’s my day to take my daughter.  I was supposed to be there half an hour ago. I start scramblin’ for some clothes, still trying not to wake up what’s-her-name.

“Then my wife says, ‘She’s been out waiting on the curb for over half an hour because you said you’d be here.’

“I tell her I’m on my way.  But by the time I get there, I’m almost two hours late.  And there’s my daughter…” His voice cracked.  He stopped talking for a second and tried to swallow.

I took in a slow, deep breath, thinking that he had finally arrived at a completed first step.  I glanced around at the rest of the group to make sure they were following this. Every group member was riveted to him. Most with tears in their eyes.

Brian cleared his voice.  “There’s my daughter.  Five years old.  All dressed up, with her backpack on, and her little purple umbrella…”

His voice broke again, and he stopped talking.  And the tears started to come.  He put his head in his hands and started to sob.  The rest of his group members remained silent, most with tears in their own eyes.

After a few minutes, he whispered the rest.

“There she is.  Standing at the curb.  Waitin’ for her daddy.”

Another pause, while his whole body shook with sobs.  Others were reaching for tissues.  I wiped the tears from my eyes.

“She’s standin’ at the curb waitin’ for her Daddy.  Whose nothin’ but a Goddamn drunk.”

I closed my eyes, and could see her for just a second.  Standing there waiting.  Knowing that her daddy would show up any minute.  Because he’d promised.  Not even suspecting that he was passed out in bed with someone he didn’t even know and had forgotten all about her.

A few minutes passed as everyone in the room blew their noses, and wiped their eyes. Eventually Brian looked over at me and said, “I guess I’m done.”

I asked him if he was clear that he’s powerless over alcohol and drugs and that his life had become unmanageable.

He wiped the last few tears from his cheeks and said, “Yeah.  I am now.”

The group voted unanimously to accept Brian’s first step.  He thanked every one of them for their support and encouragement. And together they all talked for a while about how they needed to actually do this.  They each needed to get clean and sober.  They needed to survive addiction.

And for the rest of the day I kept thinking about a little girl whose dad was working really hard at getting well.  And how instrumental she was in helping him get started.  She may never know that.  But she’s the one who did it.  The one who made him realize that he had a problem and needed help.  And all she had to do was stay where she was, waiting at the curb.