Written by, Anonymous
My journey into recovery starts as a pre-teen. I was a survivor of childhood cancer– a kidney cancer– and my parents were superstitious so they did not tell me about my cancer until my pediatrician shamed them about this when I turned 10, 6 years after my treatment. I did not know why I was too weak to participate in boys sports, why my hair was absent for many years of chemo, why I was so skinny. I was pretty awkward and my older sister encouraged me to start using pot to gain acceptance with peers. I used daily after school and throughout weekends, and developed friendships with other pot smokers. I went to the college where my pot-using friends also went. The friends were very toxic and I left for a year abroad to get away from them. While there, I had failing grades and after a period of suicidal ideation, I went to a psychiatrist and learned that I had bipolar disease.
To sober up and distract myself, I went into biology and research and later went for a medical education. I was functional and did not pursue a twelve step program, though I always knew there was something absent from my recovery. I barely made it through my training and went into the specialty that was possible with the impairment from my bipolar history. I kept it secret from my employers. I loved medicine and helping people genuinely but I joined a large, impersonal organization where I kept my disorder secret.
I lasted a long time before I burnt out and could not tolerate my workplace any longer. I tried to help others but started to need more and more help myself. I needed to take time off but could not disclose my secrets to many supportive colleagues. I hid my burnout and impairment by finding research and administrative positions to hide my inability to help patients any longer. In a brief time, suspicious colleagues started to resent what they saw as neglect of my work.
I restarted regular pot use which led to chronic daily use. I went into a privately defined world where I no longer felt safe with my family or sober friends. After retiring voluntarily rather than face my limitations or addiction, my son’s addiction and suicide attempts brought me to the knowledge that I needed to quit.
I was blessed to find a doctor who directed me to MA, where I went to 90 meetings in 90 days. I am now a grateful recovering addict, still attending daily meetings and working steps, forcing myself to find health coping mechanisms, and facing my past. It is bringing me the blessing of working through life on life’s terms and working the steps I did not work when I was a young addict— when I “white-knuckled” my way into my first recovery.
I am grateful for my journey, I volunteer to help others in medicine who also struggle, and I reconcile myself in the knowledge that I was able to help vulnerable patients in my early career. I find meaning where I can. I am eternally grateful that I found MA.
