Now that I’ve been in Al-Anon for a little while, I’m starting to find a lot of comfort not only in the steps of the program but also in the rhythm of the meetings themselves. I find that if I go more than a week without attending one (I usually go 2-3x/week) that I can feel the difference in my mood and attitude. I was explaining to my kids this week why I go, and what we talk about, and I realized that most people don’t know…so here’s a beginner’s guide to Al-Anon meetings. I’ve not found much about meetings and what they’re like anywhere online, and I wonder sometimes if more people might be willing to go if they had a better sense of what it would be like. (The official Al-Anon site does have information for newcomers, but the information is embedded in graphics that require javascript to display, which makes them pretty inaccessible. :/ )
Al-Anon is based on the same twelve steps as Alcoholics Anonymous, and there are some similarities to the way the meetings are run. Like AA, Al-Anon groups typically meet in churches—not because there’s a Christian theme to the meetings, but because the rent tends to be inexpensive, and there are lots of them around.
Here in the Rochester area, there are over 60 meetings a week. Unlike AA, which has many groups that meet daily, most Al-Anon groups meet once a week. The meetings I attend generally have between ten and thirty attendees, although occasionally there are fewer or more at a given meeting. Each meeting tends to have a core group who attend regularly and consider it their “home” group, and others who attend occasionally. Many people in the program attend meetings when they’re away from home, so it’s not uncommon to have an out-of-town visitor at a meeting.
Chairing the meeting is a responsibility that rotates among group members (one of the twelve traditions of the program reads “Our leaders are but trusted servants; they do not govern.”) Most meetings begin with the group reciting the Serenity Prayer, and the chair reading the organization’s suggested opening. Members then take turns reading the twelve steps and twelve traditions. After that, any newcomers are greeted and provided with a newcomer’s packet of literature, an up-to-date meeting list, and a phone list for the group. Then those in attendance introduce themselves by first name only (the phone list is first name only, as well). Most of the groups I attend then have a reading from one or two of the daily meditation books that Al-Anon publishes—One Day at a Time, Courage to Change, and Hope for Today (couldn’t find a link to it). The books are less expensive if you buy them at a meeting; most of the groups here sell the first two as a set for $16.
After that, if there’s a speaker for the meeting, the speaker will share their personal story, or some message of “experience, strength, and hope.” After this (or instead of it, if there’s no speaker), the meeting takes a somewhat Quaker-style approach of letting people speak as the spirit moves them. There’s an absolute rule about not interrupting or discussing while someone is sharing, and typically people don’t respond directly to each other with advice or suggestions—the sharing is a chance to talk about challenges or successes, more to air them and think about them than to ask specifically for help. Nobody has to share, either—there are a lot of people who attend meetings for months at a time without saying anything besides their name; there are others who speak regularly.
During the meeting, at some point a basket will circulate for donations to help pay rent and purchase the pamphlets that are freely available to attendees. Most people put $1 in the basket, but it’s a voluntary contribution, not a required one.
When I first started attending meetings, I assumed that attending Al-Anon—or AA—was a short-term crisis-oriented behavior, and that once we were “healed” that we wouldn’t need to go back. My assumption was that everyone attending was in crisis, so I wondered a bit at how they were able to help each other. And like many people, I started attending Al-Anon less to help myself and more to help the alchoholic in my life—to provide support and learn enough to help support their recovery.
What I found, however, was that each meeting had a mix of people whose friends and family were active alcoholics and in recovery, a mix of newcomers and those who’d been in the program for years, a mix of those dealing with spouses, with parents, with children, with siblings, with friends. When I was told early in the process that if I listened, I was sure to hear my own story, I was dubious. These people were all so different from me. How could their stories be anything like mine? But as I listened—really listened, in a way that most environments don’t foster—I began to hear people saying things that resonated with me. Behavioral patterns that sounded eerily familiar. Problems and frustrations that were echoes of my own experiences. But even better, I heard people talking about how they’d changed these negative patterns in their own lives—the tendencies to try to control people and things around them, well beyond the realistic limits of their own power. The tendency to lose themselves in other people’s emotions—“if you hurt, I hurt; if you’re happy, I’m happy.”
The more I attend meetings, the more I realize that some significant and beneficial changes are taking place inside of me. I’m becoming more tolerant of others—not just the alcoholic my life, but my family, my friends, my colleagues, and people I don’t know. I’m becoming less stressed by things around me. I’m developing a sense of serenity that used to be much more elusive for me.
I haven’t had too much trouble dealing with the first step of the program—admitting that I was powerless over alcohol and that my life had become unmanageable. I struggle a little more with step two, which says “Came to believe that a power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity.” I’ve written about some of my issues with a higher power and spirituality before, and this is something that I (and a lot of other people in 12-step programs) still struggle with. But at the end of the day, all that you really need to do in order to move forward in recovery is to acknowledge that you’re not your own higher power—that it’s something outside yourself. Some people start out by seeing the Al-Anon group as their higher power. Others see their sponsor in that role. It’s about letting go of sole responsibility for making the world go ‘round, for the way other people live their lives. It’s not a denial of personal responsibility. I’m still responsible for my own actions (and inactions, and reactions). But I’m not responsible for the behavior of the people around me—which is both a relief and a frustration.
One of the things we learn in Al-Anon meetings is that what we’re giving up is not control—it’s the illusion of control. At a meeting a few months ago, a woman whose experiences always seem to resonate with mine was sharing about her tendency to want to fix behaviors and situations for other people. She said that now when she finds that urge taking over she asks herself “And how’s that been working for you?” Everyone in the room laughed in recognition. We’ve all been there…trying to change the people around us, and failing completely.
At the close of the meeting (which lasts an hour), the chair reads a suggested closing, and then the group forms a circle, holds hands, and recites the Lord’s Prayer. For the first several months I stood in the circle, but didn’t recite the prayer—I’m not Christian, and it felt inappropriate. But I finally decided that I could recite it in the same way that I’d sing a Christmas carol…for the sense of connection to others and good spirit that it’s intended to foster in that context. After the meeting is over, members tend to stick around for 15-20 minutes to chat, follow up on things they heard that struck a chord with them, etc.
If the drinking in someone else’s life troubles you—whether it’s occurring now, or happened in the past—think about attending a meeting. In fact, think about attending more than one, because it sometimes takes a couple of different meetings to find one where you feel at home, where you’re hearing your stories. As the third tradition says, “The only requirement for membership is that there be a problem of alcoholism in a relative or friend.” Nobody checks your credentials at the door, or decides whether or not you “belong.” And while it doesn’t work for everyone, it’s an amazingly effective tool for many. My life is less unmanageable than it was, my sanity is real and much less fragile. And for that I’m very grateful.
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