3rd Step

RECENTLY, I stood in the middle of my kitchen floor and prayed, "God help me," as I frequently do, and as I learned to do some twenty years ago when I got sober in AA. But on this occasion, the prayer was inspired by the galling, gnawing, incessant outrage I felt at a problem that has threatened to overwhelm me for the past fifteen years. "It's unfair," I said, and I realized as I said it that I sounded like my fourteen-year-old daughter.