In the Twelve Steps and Twelve Traditions, published by Alcoholics Anonymous, on page 123, it states, “These distinguished men had the nerve to say that most of the alcoholics under investigation were still childish, emotionally sensitive, and grandiose.” Also, in the same book, on page 92, it states so wonderfully, “Finally, we begin to see that all people, including ourselves, are to some extent emotionally ill as well as frequently wrong, and then we approach true tolerance and see what real love for our fellows means. It will become more and more evident as we go forward that it is pointless to become angry or to get hurt by people who, like us, are suffering from the pains of growing up.”

At times, well, most of the time, those words only apply to newcomers and not those of us who have double-digit sobriety and even several decades attending meetings. When I’m honest and open-minded about my feelings, I fall into that category of being childish, emotionally sensitive, and even grandiose on occasion, although I rarely would admit it. 

As I grew in early sobriety, another member, who was only trying to help, said that I was arrogant. My thoughts were not pure the moment I heard those words. After the remark, I turned and walked away to pout. When the pouting stopped, I asked an elderly female member, who I trusted her opinion, if I was arrogant. Her remarks were so profound and right on the money that I still use her advice today. She said, “If people didn’t know you for being the gentle, caring person you are, they could perceive arrogance in how you speak.” She asked me to think about it for a few days. While stepping back, I found she was right. From that day to this, I try to think before opening my mouth. Am I perfect every time? No, but I’m much better now than I was before.

Even today, with 31 years of sobriety, working in many areas of service, and sponsoring other men, I can still revert to my old ways in any given situation. One came up recently at a meeting. The first person spoke of how someone called him late at night to tell him what they thought of him. He was distraught for several days, even to the point of getting physical. My mind jumped into program mode. I raised my hand, and someone jumped in before the chairperson could call on me. When they finished, I raised my hand again, and someone else started speaking again. This time, I knew the chairperson had seen my hand. Again, my hand went up, and again, another jumped in. By this time, I was starting to feel a bit less of a person and how what I had to say didn’t matter. I started the pouting process and didn’t put my hand up when that person finished. Finally, the chairperson recognized that I had wanted to speak from the beginning and asked what I thought. 

I said what I had to the individual who started the conversation by recognizing our sensitivity. I shared my feelings about not being called upon, and everyone laughed because they all had experienced it at one time or another. I guess those feelings don’t go away, and you know, I am grateful for those feelings as they were missing for most of my life. I recognize when the insecurities arise and see them for what they are, just feelings, and I have a say in what I feel today.