I’d been sober for seven months. As a recovering alcoholic, I knew how important it was that I make amends to the people I had harmed when I was drinking.

This was how low my disease brought me.

I’ve seen a lot of miracles take place in recovery, and I’d like to share a personal experience that I consider to be nothing short of miraculous: An amazing transformation between a mo

Out of all of the Twelve Steps, I think it was the Ninth Step that helped me start to grow in understanding and personal effectiveness. Someone once said that God stands for “Grow Or Di

I drank for 46 years. During those first few years, drinking was really fun and gave me a sense of belonging and made me feel accepted by my peers.

The writer of “Ready to Handle It” got sober four years after his wife died. He made his amends at her grave and planted flowers in her name.

When I was new to the program and would hear “How It Works” read at the beginning of meetings, I tried desperately not to listen when they said the Eighth and Ninth Steps.

A wonderfully talented woman I know from San Francisco, Jackie B., has been writing, directing and producing plays about AA history for a decade now.

I started attending AA meetings at age 44 while I was in a treatment center. Until that time, I was self-reliant to a fault.

When I first got sober, people in meetings urged me to speak. But I didn’t want to. I felt like I needed a T-shirt with the Third Tradition printed on it: The only requirement for A.A.

It was late October of 1978 in Novato, California. The weather was cold and frosty. The grandmother of my husband (now my ex-husband) lived nearby and she came over for a little visit.

I’m fortunate to be sober a long time—which is a good thing, considering what recently happened.

The two AA meetings I attend most frequently are Big Book meetings. In these meetings, we move sequentially through the book, front to back.

I’m one of those guys who got into AA by way of the probation department, except that I was on the other side of the desk.

A year and a half ago, my husband died after 30 years of sobriety and marriage. My heart broke. I didn’t think I would ever be OK.

It’s funny. You never know when a seed has been planted within you in this program, and you never know when it’s going to sprout!

Early last year, most of us had never heard of virtual AA meetings.

I always knew that being Native American and an alcoholic carries the burden of quite a stereotype about drinking, but I never knew how pervasive this stereotype is until recently.

Since getting sober in February of 1984, I have had to travel as part of my job.

I sat in the back of the musty church basement in Oregon in 1981, rigid arms crossed on my chest. A sullen sneer marred my face.

I was six months sober and trying to navigate the minefield of interacting with my teenaged daughter who was just learning to trust this new, sober version of her mother when we got int