Recovery is…
To bring back. 
To make good. 
To recapture. 
To salvage. 
To rescue.
To restore.
September is National Recovery Month and all of these things—and more—come to mind when I think of my own recovery from alcohol addiction. 
Becoming an alcoholic is certainly something I never wanted to be, and yet that’s exactly what I became in spite of being raised in a good home by good people. It retrospect, I was well aware during my early teenage years that I was different, and I tried to think myself into becoming “normal” like everyone else. I tried so hard to fit in, but I was a square peg trying to fit into a round hole. 
I even went to college and majored in the special ed areas of emotional disturbance and behavior disorders, thinking that, with any luck, somewhere in all those psychology classes I just might discover what MY own problem was. And what the heck, why not earn a degree while I was at it. Like a lot of alcoholics, I thought myself an over-achiever, and was proud of the fact that I worked hard to not only pay my own way to a private school and complete my studies in three years, not four. Over-achiever, maybe. Delusional, definitely. 
I went on to become a teacher, marry a great guy, raise a family, and have an incredibly blessed and adventurous life…all while in active addiction. Nothing too terrible ever happened (unless you take into account that pesky DUI) and for the longest time my family put up with my apologies and promises not to drink ‘that much,’ ever again. Even God Himself knows the sincerity in which I begged Him to just let me drink like a normal person. I never asked for His help to actually stop drinking. Instead, I went to a psychiatrist and asked what it would take for me to learn how to drink normally. He looked at me and said, “You just don’t get it, do you?” No, I really didn’t.
I was smart, or so I thought. I had a religious upbringing. I had morals. I knew the difference between right and wrong. I hadn’t lost my health (yet), my family (yet) or my job (yet.) 
What was wrong with me?!? 
My house of cards began to come down with a crash when blood tests revealed that my triglycerides (“bad” cholesterol) levels were off the chart (upwards of 800…130-159 is borderline.) Of course, when my doctor asked me if I drank I denied it, but eventually everything caught up with me and I could no longer keep up the double life I was living. It was suggested I go to AA (Alcoholics Anonymous), and while at first I did so to appease others and get them off my back, I soon realized that it was exactly where I needed to be. 
At my first meeting I was surprised to find people of all ages and from all walks of life. No one there fit my image of an alcoholic: a disheveled bum underneath a bridge, clutching a brown paper bag that concealed a pint of some cheap liquor. They were lawyers, and medical personnel, and business people, and educators, as well as factory workers, mechanics, and patients from the treatment facility nearby. They smiled at me. They kindly walked up to me and introduced themselves, and told me they were glad I was there. They seemed sincere and accepting of me, though I felt completely unworthy of their attention. I felt so low.
After a few readings were read and some announcements were made, a topic was brought up for discussion, and for a full hour I listened to people share feelings and experiences I could totally relate to. Before speaking, each one said, “My name is so-and-so, and I’m an alcoholic.” They weren’t at all ashamed of it, and that blew my mind. They were simply stating a fact: they had the disease of alcoholism. For the first time in my life I felt comfortable in a room full of people. I was just like them. 
Some of them gave me their phone numbers and encouraged me to ‘pick up that hundred pound phone’ and call them before I even thought picking up a drink. They said things like, “You never have to be alone,” and “Keep coming back,” and “You never have to drink again.” That last one I couldn’t even imagine since liquor was a part of my everyday existence.
That was five years ago. I haven’t drank since. And while that’s quite a milestone, I know that my sobriety is a one day at a time process. I know I am by no means “cured,” because alcoholism is an incurable disease. But as long as I don’t pick up a drink today, I have a daily reprieve. Working my AA program is my daily medicine.
Currently I’m in the process of repainting all the closet doors in my old house, and the process reminds me so much of my AA program, which has become a vital part of my life and one that I have embraced. Each door is covered with layers upon layers of oil-based paint. I could take the easy path of just slapping on a few coats of latex paint, and there’s a chance that they might look okay for a little while. But I know it wouldn’t take much for the latex to chip off, or possibly peel in long strips, revealing the ugly underneath. 
So even though it’s time-consuming, I’m taking the time to strip off all the oil-based paint and taking each door down to the wood. The multi-step process involves a lot of stripper and patience and scraping, and just when I think I have it all, I find that there’s more to be scraped. Scraping off all those layers is messy, and sometimes a little bit of stripper gets on my skin and it burns! But the process is so worthwhile, because eventually I begin to see beautiful wood grain. I’m inspired to just keep plugging along. While I’m doing it, I’m reminded of all the “layers” of me that had to be removed before my authentic self began to shine through.

It may be coincidental that I’ve decided to tackle this project as my five-year anniversary approaches, but I don’t think so. I believe it’s a God-thing. In my clear headedness and sobriety I’ve become more aware than ever before of how my Higher Power and how it works in my life. Like the closet doors, my recovery is a step-by-step process that takes time. One day at a time.