Who the f&@% is this guy?

Audio version now available.

Most of the active or sober alcoholics who listen to our Untoxicated Podcast or read our Sober and Unashamed blog are referred to our stuff by their partners. In most cases, the partner has tried to implement some of what she has learned from our experiences into her own growth and recovery. This means that the majority of the alcoholics who are introduced to our stories are already feeling the pain of emotional detachment and a lack of compassion from their partners when they first find us.

Most of the referred alcoholics greet our words with the same question: “Who the fuck is this guy?” Sheri is not met with this level of venomous aggression. Maybe it is sexism, or maybe her fearlessness and confidence are obvious even to new listeners. Regardless, I think the portion of our audience that we enflame is wise to direct their aggression toward me as Sheri takes having no more fucks to give to a whole different level.

From the, “Who the fuck is this guy?” stage, the alcoholics in our audience transition (or don’t) in one of four ways. Some stay angry and aggressive. I have heard husbands call our Echoes of Recovery program for the partners of alcoholics our, “divorce your husband club.” In my most insecure moments, I picture men drinking whiskey while loading old silver-plated revolvers from Clint Eastwood westerns before mounting their Harleys and navigating two-lane mountain highways to Denver to thank me for my interference in their marriages. It seems like an appropriate way for me to go – cowering in my boxer shorts in the corner of our living room while my wife’s guard cat curiously sniffs the ankles of the gun wielding drunk who just busted through our front door in the middle of the night. I can hear my wife’s voice from our room, not even bothered enough to get out of bed. “He’s drunk. He probably can’t shoot straight. Punch him in the throat like a man and get back to bed. Or better yet, sleep out there on the couch ‘cause I know you’ll want to talk about ‘how scary that was’ and I want to get back to sleep. Oh, and if he hurts Gordon (the aforementioned guard cat), I will drag him behind my car by his scrotum to the police station.”

While that is what I imagine in my many moments of weakness, including monthly recurring nightmares, what mostly happens for alcoholics who are referred to our podcast, book, or blog and stay angry is that they curse my name often, and only take self-destructive actions like drinking more and putting fists through their own drywall.

From the, “Who the fuck is this guy?” stage, the second group of alcoholics in our audience transition to remorse when they start to hear stories to which they relate. They see themselves in me. They relate to my alcohol-induced depression and anxiety, and the cold chill of detachment from their own partners who have, like Sheri, run out of fucks to give and have learned to reject their manipulation. Some of the ones who relate get stuck. They combine their own fruitless efforts for control of their drinking with my stories from ten years of relapses and realize their dream of moderation is hopeless. Hopelessness is like quicksand. It does not discriminate, and squirming and struggling (like by putting rules around their drinking in efforts to moderate) often only makes it worse.

But some work free from the quicksand. From the, “Who the fuck is this guy?” stage, the third group of alcoholics in our audience deal with their shame and guilt, and they face down the stigma. They embrace the difference between recovery and mere sobriety, and they take accountability for their own emotional, spiritual, cognitive, and biological growth. These warriors listen and read with designs on learning and implementation. They are humble enough to change decades old patterns, and adopt the philosophy that they are lucky to be on the leading edge of learning about societal changes to relationships between men and the women who are no longer dependent on men for their survival. They create environments of emotional safety, do the hard work of processing traumas caused by their addictions, prioritize their own recovery programs while making plenty of space for their partners to do their own independent work, and keep self-confidence as the goal leaving relationship status to work itself out as an outcome and not a controllable action to take. And they are patient. The ones that succeed find patience with the process that they did not previously think possible.

We recently concluded a year-long intimacy intervention trial study. There were 13 couples in the study – all of whom had one person in the relationship who was in sobriety from alcoholism. Results captured by surveying the 26 participants individually revealed that 31% of the couples experienced high levels of sexual satisfaction and general relationship satisfaction that improved over the course of the twelve-month study period. The success of the 31% was not because they implemented the eight specific intimacy interventions flawlessly. To the contrary, actually. The interventions themselves were cumbersome and embarrassing and implemented by study participants sporadically and often reluctantly. What led to the success of the 31% seems to be that both people in the relationship were fully engaged with the foundational concepts of emotional safety, trauma and resentment processing, and the importance of self-confidence growth through self-sufficient recovery work independent of the work of their partners. They embraced emotional detachment, and understood that healthy people look for areas of connection, not glommy and destructive codependence and barnacle-like attachment. And the 31% left lots of room for patience. Consistent emotional safety and trauma and resentment processing both take time. A lot of time. And between the time spent processing is time spent recovering in the peace of a safe, emotionally regulated environment.

I don’t fear the 31%. I don’t cower in the corner of our living room in my boxers counting to six while a drunk stumbles over Sheri’s curious cat firing indiscriminately through squinted, hazed-over eyes. Not with this group. They are the lucky ones who help me sleep like a baby.

From the, “Who the fuck is this guy?” stage, there is a fourth group of alcoholics in our audience. This fourth group scares me the most. The fourth group relates to our story. They accept the validity of our concepts of emotional safety and trauma processing. They are sober, many of them in recovery for many years. I am not afraid of their drunken, gun-wielding anger. With this fourth group, my fear is that they think they are doing what it takes to both grow individually and save their relationship. But they are scary because they are still compartmentalizing, and they can’t get over the hump of consistency necessary in a relationship that has experienced the trauma of alcoholism.

When we talk about a consistent, emotionally safe environment, we are talking about 99% to 100% of the time. Perfection. Something humans are not known for. But when we inflict active addiction on people we love, we use up all of our “get out of jail free” cards. Perfection is the ante for continuing to ask people to gamble by trusting us.

We can’t yell anymore. Ever. Does that seem impossible? Welcome to the fourth category of people who want to get better, but can’t.

Do you want to try to be emotionally stable for your family, but you can’t find a therapist or support group where you can unload your emotional baggage (so you occasionally unload at home)? Welcome to group four.

Do you take most of the accountability for the repercussions of your addiction, but insist that she does need to work on her side of the street a little bit? Like address her anxiety (that your addiction caused)? Welcome to group four.

I say often that I know Sheri loves our kids and her cats more than me. I say that I know she grew to not like me, and that I work every day to win her over like we are dating. Do you think I’m exaggerating? Welcome to group four. I have met so many partners of alcoholics. Almost all of them have at least one foot out the door. Consistently treating the most important person in our life like she’s the most important person in our life is the only remaining option if you want to stay together.

Do you believe in emotional safety and trauma processing, and pursue individual recovery with diligence and effectiveness, but still ask when everything will be back to normal? Welcome to group four. Relationship recovery doesn’t have an end date, and you can never go back to the way it was. You either get comfortable with working on growth leading to points of connection for the rest of your life, or you should start making alternative long-term living arrangements.

I hope I didn’t encourage anyone in group four to plan your retribution trip to Denver. Thinking you are making progress and actually making progress look cunningly similar. Just ask the 69% who participated in our intimacy intervention trial study with full intentions to improve their relationships and saw no improvement in sexual or relationship satisfaction. That is hard to acknowledge. I have a ton of empathy for group four.

I also have hope. To go from, “Who the fuck is this guy?” to successful relationship recovery is doable 31% of the time. It is not easy, but we will keep sharing what we learn in an effort to light the path. It is not easy, but the hard work and patience is definitely better than having Sheri drag you to the police station by your scrotum.

Are you ready for support growing toward the success of the 31% in group three? Please consider joining us in SHOUT Sobriety.

SHOUT Sobriety