Help on the Way

I was six months sober and in the middle of taking my first Fourth Step, and it was not going well. While on a two-week business trip to the Pacific Northwest, I had decided to hole up in my motel room one Saturday and list my resentments. Remorse and fear seized me from the moment I set pen to paper. After remembering and writing about a person, place, or thing I resented, I would pace the beige-walled, beige-carpeted room until I was ready to write down the next one. I was working myself into quite a state, believing myself to be the worst, most disgraceful alcoholic ever to reach for recovery.