I HEARD MY BROTHER COMING OUT OF MY MOUTH

I couldn't begin to count how many times I have defended something I said or did while knowing I was wrong.

I have also apologized plenty of times simply to keep the peace.

Those aren't necessarily the same as taking responsibility.

Not long ago, my wife, Kris, and I were discussing this when she looked directly at me and said, “You never apologize when you’re wrong.”

I was shocked.

My immediate thought was probably that she was wrong about me never admitting I was wrong. 🤣

But I stopped and thought about it.

Then I apologized to her for not apologizing.

That sounds ridiculous, but I genuinely meant it.

I told her I would work on changing. When I know I am wrong, I will make a better effort to say so and apologize.

It just goes to show that it doesn’t matter whether we have been sober for one day or 38 years. We are first and foremost human beings.

We make mistakes. We can be selfish, inconsiderate and completely unaware of how other people experience us.

Some people are incredibly diligent about reviewing their behavior every day with a fine-tooth comb.

Honestly, I thought I was better at this than I apparently am.

So here I am, after 38 years of sobriety, still learning and trying to grow.

When I was first getting sober, it didn’t matter whether I was actually right. If I believed I was right, I would argue until the cows came home.

There was no possibility that you would convince me otherwise.

I could also be nasty and indignant while doing it.

Today, I can honestly say I have become a much better human being. I am kinder, more patient and more understanding.

I’m certainly no saint, but I’m also not the asshole I used to be.

Most of the time, I maintain a reasonably healthy balance in my behavior and temperament. I don’t have to apologize constantly because I have learned to keep myself in check.

Before I completely lose control, I can usually shut the fuck up.

Usually. 🤣

It wasn’t always that way.

I’ve already written about how I treated some of the men who worked for my landscaping company. I would fly off the handle, yelling and screaming like a lunatic because they had done something I considered stupid.

Unfortunately, my workers weren’t the only people who experienced that part of me.

I sometimes behaved the same way with my children—especially my oldest son, Peter.

Before anyone asks, yes, I am ashamed of it.

Yes, I have apologized for it.

And yes, I believe some of my behavior was connected to the abuse I experienced from my brother.

There was one moment when I was yelling at Peter and suddenly heard my brother’s voice.

Except it wasn’t my brother yelling at me.

It was me yelling at my son.

That realization stopped me in my tracks.

I felt absolutely horrible. For the first time, I clearly recognized that something was deeply wrong with the way I was behaving.

The abuse I had experienced might have helped explain my anger, but it did not excuse passing that anger on to my child.

I began discussing it with my sponsor and friends in AA.

I can’t honestly say it never happened again. Change rarely works that neatly.

But from that day forward, I worked to ensure Peter would never again see that part of me—or, at the very least, that I would never direct that rage and frustration toward him in the same way.

I apologized to him more than once. We also had several heart-to-heart conversations after he became an adult.

The subject still comes up occasionally because Peter now has a son of his own.

His son doesn’t deserve to see that side of him the way Peter saw it from me.

That is difficult to write, but pretending it didn’t happen doesn’t help anyone.

An apology cannot erase what a child experienced. It can acknowledge the truth, accept responsibility and become the beginning of different behavior.

That is where Step Ten becomes more than saying, “I’m sorry.”

It asks me to keep watching myself.

It asks me to recognize when old behavior is returning and admit it promptly. It asks me to stop defending the indefensible simply because my pride doesn’t want to be wrong.

Most importantly, it asks me to change.

I can apologize to someone repeatedly, but if I continue treating them the same way, eventually those apologies become meaningless.

Real amends are visible in what happens afterward.

Just because someone belongs to AA doesn’t mean they are suddenly all better. It doesn’t mean every character defect disappears or that they escape their shortcomings.

Sobriety doesn’t automatically transform us into the people we want to be.

It gives us the opportunity to do the work required to become those people.

Even after 38 years, Kris can show me something about myself that I didn’t see. I can either build a defense, explain why she is mistaken and wait for her to apologize for criticizing me—or I can listen.

I can think about what she said.

I can admit there is truth in it.

Then I can try to do better.

I never could have made these changes alone. AA gave me the tools, and my sponsors showed me how to use them. My friends in the fellowship helped me see myself when my own vision was distorted.

I owe my life and much of my sanity to Alcoholics Anonymous.

I’m still not perfect.

I still don’t enjoy admitting when I’m wrong.

But today, when I hear an old voice coming out of my mouth, I have the ability to stop, take responsibility and choose what happens next.

That is progress.