Perspective: My Mom, My Sobriety and Me

My mother always knew when I was lying or trying to hide the truth, even when I didn’t know myself. Uncanny, really, how she could coax things out of me. As a matter of fact, she was the one who sent me a copy of our Twelve and Twelve with the inscription “Maybe this will help you, Love and Good Luck, Mom.”


Perspective: Working With Others

It was on this journey through the steps, in my home fellowship of Cocaine Anonymous, that I met a girl named Carrie. I first spotted her in the church basement of my home group one Saturday evening; dishevelled, scantily clad, frantically searching for something that I don’t think existed. Aha, now there’s my kind of girl. I approached her and shook her hand, welcomed her to the group.


Hell and Back

I had no idea who I was or who I’d been, but suddenly I was convinced that God was there with me. I knew that no substance on earth could change me permanently. At some point I would always come back to being myself. It felt like the choice was simple. I called someone I knew was sober, who had tried to help me before. Her name was Margot. “I’m ready to quit,” I told her. My sober life began on that day.