“We share with the alcoholic one common enemy: self-deception. The recital of a troubled Al-Anon prospect may be full of gruesome details of suffering; the story told by the alcoholic spouse may be equally harrowing, and to those who hear both sides, it seems they are describing totally different relationships.
Each reacts in his and her own way to what is happening. Each unconsciously suppresses facts that might reflect badly on him and her, and exaggerates the other’s faults. Although the situation may sound unendurable, it appears that neither has any intention of getting away from it! Neither is in any state of mind to see it rationally until there is a change of attitude.” (ODAT, 29 June)
Any story anyone tells (including my own) has an angle. Even
the most credible reporters will not portray the facts as they are. In my
day-life I’ve worked on enough cases where numbers of professionals in a
particular field with no axe to grind will provide radically differing
eye-witness reports of the same event. There are a hundred reasons for the gap
between the reality and the story told.
When I’m told a story, it is usually safe to assume that ‘something’
is going on, because it usually is, and suffering is suffering, whatever is
producing it, and, for that, one has compassion.
But I never take a story (including my own) at face value.
Every time I go through inventory with a sponsee, by the
time the inventory process is finished at the end of Step Nine, it turns out
the first version was a laughable distortion of the truth, and that’s in the
eyes and words of the individual.
In my case: too.
Turns out my childhood was not horrific but was largely
entirely neutral with some very good things and some very bad things. For years,
I made a patchwork quilt of the bad things and slept under it.
Although I’m capable of spinning narratives about literally
nothing, there is usually a set of events about which the story is a narrative,
but, in the moment of perceiving those events, I’m already interpreting them,
and by the time the picture is my mind’s eye, the picture has taken the place
of the reality. Every further recollection simplifies and refines, getting rid
of nuance and eliminating conflicting data, to reveal a single idea. That idea
is then carried into the next interaction with the person, and, whatever is
actually happening, I will simply re-experience the past idea projected onto
the present interaction.
This happens over and over, here, there, and everywhere.
The answer is to be present to what actually is and to
manually refrain from telling stories about what is happening as it is
happening.
But two further points.
Pointing out the above produces at times very aggressive
responses.
I understand that.
When the above was first pointed out, I responded
aggressively.
Why?
Without the unreal reality I had built, I had nothing.
Terrifying.
Turns out I would rather have a hellish story than realise I
did not know how to perceive reality calmly and dispassionately.
Secondly, when how I feel is your fault, I am free of guilt,
responsibility, and the obligation to work and change.
If how I feel is my responsibility (which it is), I have to
do something about it. What to do? Uncertain at times, so potentially
frightening. And change always requires pain, effort, and sacrifice.
A last point. Because none of the stories are entirely true,
no specific, categorical advice can be given. One simply doesn’t have the data.
The 1% missing data in a 99%-true story can change the whole story.
So I refrain from giving advice and then, when the full
facts emerge, I discover the advice I was tempted to give was based on a
partial or entirely false picture and would have made matters worse.
Where does this leave talking and discussion?
Well, almost nowhere. Just, let people talk (and talk
myself). But not with the illusion that anything is really being said. The talk
has to be gotten out of the way to clear the mind a little and reduce me to the
process of the Twelve Steps.
The truth comes from God via the process, not through
hammering on the anvil of chatter.