The First Step of Alcoholics Anonymous (AA)
We admitted we were powerless over alcohol—that our lives had become unmanageable.
Alcoholics Anonymous (AA) explains that if you repeatedly drink more than you intend or want to, if you get into trouble, or if you experience memory lapses when you drink, you may be an alcoholic. However, the most important part is that only you can decide this for yourself. No one in AA will tell you whether you are or are not an alcoholic.
This excerpt comes from a newcomer's guide to AA. I shared it because I believe the most significant message is that no one else can define your struggle with alcohol. It’s not because others lack knowledge about alcoholism or haven’t seen the effects of your drinking, but because recognizing your own powerlessness over alcohol—and understanding how unmanageable life has become—is essential to recovery. Without the willingness to accept this truth, the chances of success in sobriety are slim.
On page 58 of How It Works, it states:
“Rarely have we seen a person fail who has thoroughly followed our path. Those who do not recover are people who cannot or will not completely give themselves to this simple program, usually men and women who are constitutionally incapable of being honest with themselves.”
The two key principles of the first step in AA are brutal honesty—admitting we are powerless over alcohol—and the willingness to do whatever it takes to stay sober.
Awaken:
I committed to lifelong Sobriety.
I first walked into an AA meeting at 24 because a family member had been sent to treatment. I attended family meetings to better understand his alcoholism. This particular meeting was an open AA meeting, where participants in the treatment center shared their experiences with alcohol. As I listened, I felt an overwhelming connection to their stories.
For years, I had sensed that something was wrong within me but couldn’t fully understand what it was. That night, however, everything clicked. I realized I was an alcoholic and knew I could never drink again. At that moment, I was able to be brutally honest with myself. I also knew, without a doubt, that I would do whatever it took to stay sober—not just for me, but to break the cycle of alcoholism in my family.
On October 3, 1984, I made a promise to myself—a promise as monumental as the task ahead. I committed to lifelong sobriety, not just for my sake but for the well-being of my entire family.
The Journey Begins:
Alcohol became my refuge, giving me the confidence I lacked and helping me feel comfortable in my own skin.
I first started drinking at 13. My first experience was sitting at a table with my mother, two aunts, and my older sister, playing cards and sipping wine late into the night. I remember feeling like I was part of something. A sense of calm washed over me with every sip of wine, and I thought I had found the answer to always feeling different. At that moment, I decided that if drinking was part of being older, then growing up was all I wanted. That summer, I became obsessed with the idea of adulthood.
I dressed provocatively to appear older, flaunting my fully developed figure at just 13, hoping to gain attention from boys who were legally of age. I believed adulthood would bring independence and fulfillment. At first, my drinking was sporadic, but as school became more difficult—marked by bullying, failing grades, and a traumatic home life—alcohol and drugs quickly became my escape.
By 14, I thought love could solve my problems. I started dating a 17-year-old boyfriend who seemed to offer the comfort I craved. Drinking with him became a regular occurrence, and I eventually lost my virginity to him. Alcohol became my refuge, giving me the confidence I lacked and helping me feel comfortable in my own skin.
Spiraling Downward:
My life became unmanageable
After high school, college was never an option. Instead, I worked at a local restaurant managed by my sister. My drinking escalated, leading to frequent blackouts and regrettable experiences.
During one of these blackouts, I was violated by someone I had considered a friend. For years, I blamed myself for what happened, believing I had invited it. It took a long time to accept that it wasn’t my fault and that I did not deserve it. This period of my drinking was marked by increased dishonesty, theft, and self-destructive behavior. I surrounded myself with people who shared my drinking habits, normalizing my behavior.
In 1982, I met my husband, and on November 12, 1983, we were married. Our shared love of drinking became the foundation of our bond. We partied with a large group of friends who drank just as heavily, making our lifestyle feel normal. However, our drinking frequently led to dangerous situations.
Eventually, our lives became unmanageable. Instead of this serving as a wake-up call to stop drinking, my life spiraled further out of control—losing jobs, lying, and stealing became my norm.
Getting Sober:
I accepted I am an alcoholic.
By October 3, 1984, just 11 months after getting married, there was an accident and legal consequences were now part of the picture. I felt a mix of fear, embarrassment, and shame. Growing up with an alcoholic stepfather, I knew the judgment society placed on people struggling with addiction. The shame I felt about people finding out how much I drank terrified me.
As I sat there in my first AA meeting, I accepted I am an alcoholic. I heard in the meeting that complete honesty was necessary for the first step and that I needed to be willing to work through the steps with that honesty.
Looking back now, I see that attending that open meeting as a family member of an alcoholic and as a result I got sober because of it, and that was the greatest gift I’ve ever received.
A New Perspective:
I “chose” this journey, as we say in the program, for the invaluable lessons it has offered me. I refuse to let my circumstances define me—I am the creator of my own reality.
My first spiritual awakening regarding my alcoholism came after the accident that led to legal consequences, forcing me to see how unmanageable my life had become. That experience pushed me into my first meeting and, ultimately, into facing life with complete honesty. Through that, I came to two vital truths: first, that returning to drinking could endanger both my life and the lives of those I love, and second, that I needed to break the cycle and the consequences of alcoholism as a generational trauma for my children. That was the moment my willingness to live a life without alcohol began.
Since that first decision to live a sober life, I’ve experienced many more spiritual moments. I’ve learned you absolutely must be willing to be present, take the time to sit quietly, and truly observe them. Someone once said to me,
“Don’t question why you forget who you are; just celebrate how glorious it feels to remember.”
Looking back as an adult in recovery, I often say I endured some of the worst traumatic experiences a child could imagine. At just five years old, I became aware that my father was unsafe. In that moment, it felt like something had been stolen from me—my ability to be my true self. Especially in my teenage years, I searched externally for that missing piece. I relied on the outside world—new friends, experiences, anything—to help me feel something, anything, while I operated in survival mode. I didn’t realize it at the time, but I was completely disconnected from my genuine emotions. Alcohol almost worked—it gave me a fleeting sense of calm.
But I refuse to let my circumstances define me—I am the creator of my own reality.
Today, I understand that my true self was never lost. She has always been there, patiently waiting. I do not blame my parents for my alcoholism. Instead, I believe I "chose" this journey, as we say in the program, for the invaluable lessons it has offered me. And it feels damn good to remember who I am.
I will close with the guidance of the serenity prayer that has been my affirmation since 1984: “God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.”
“God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.”