Interview with a 56-Year-Old Sober Person: Nadia Bolz-Weber
“Not only do I reliably know where I am when I wake up, I never wake up in pools of vodka vomit anymore. It’s so bad for your skin, you know . . . very corrosive.”
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Good morning. It’s the third Tuesday of the month so it’s time for another batch of wisdom from a notable Sober Oldster. Today’s guest: bestselling author and ordained Lutheran Pastor Nadia Bolz-Weber.
This bit jumped out immediately for, uh, normal reasons:
My first reaction to almost everything is “fuck you.”
But then! Importantly! The next sentence is!
I almost never stay there but I almost always start there.
Related: Here’s something I’m going to try and keep in mind during those moments when the guilt and shame of having an uncharitable first thought is preventing me from moving on from it:
I was at a meeting recently where a guy said, “I’m not responsible for my first thought.” I liked that. I’m responsible for my actions; my thoughts might never get cleaned up enough to take to anyone’s mother’s house.
Alright, let’s get after it.
The full interview with Nadia starts after the jump.
Thanks again to Sari Botton from Oldster for the collaboration. —TSB Editor
How old are you, and how long have you been in recovery?
I’m 56 years old and have been clean and sober for 33 years.
How did you get there?
Back in 1991 there was a protective bravado to my drinking. I was proud to be such a drunk, but since I mostly kept company with other drinkers, it all seemed normal.
My main drinking buddy at the time was named Alice and after a particularly messy night that involved a lot of vodka and a brief confession that she had been in and out of AA and thinks it’s time to go back, she looked at me and said, “Nadia, you know that you’re an alcoholic, right?” To prove her wrong, I stumbled into a church basement off 14th street in Denver. I remember not taking my sunglasses off even though it was already dark out. And I remember being glad since I cried the whole time.
It was the first time in my life I had heard anyone speak honestly about what it felt like to not be able to control your drinking. And the honesty of it all just sort of broke me down. I’ve been sober ever since.
What are the best things about being in recovery?
Not only do I reliably know where I am when I wake up, I never wake up in pools of vodka vomit anymore. It’s so bad for your skin, you know . . . very corrosive.
Truthfully, living life every single day for years on end without any chemical escape hatches, without ever blunting the pain, without checking out when it’s hard or painful, turns you into a pretty solid human. I guess they call it resilience. Or reliability. It just feels like having emotional core strength to me.
I always assumed I’d be dead by 30, so at times it has felt disorienting to still be standing while my closest drinking buddy, and my ex-boyfriend, and my cousin, and my nephew, and so many fellow addicts that I love are buried in the ground. And just to be clear, I have never found a satisfying answer to why them and not me. No one can convince me that the reason I am alive and Jimmy, who I loved with my whole heart, and who I ran with for years, and who was in and out of AA, drank himself to death is because I worked the steps harder than he did, or because he didn’t want sobriety as much as I did, or because “God wanted another angel in heaven” or anything equally facile.
What’s hard about being in recovery?
Nobody tells you when you get sober that if you have the grit and grace to stay that way, to accumulate not just days, but weeks, months, years and even decades of sobriety, just how many people you will bury. Not every addict and alcoholic gets to have and keep this gift. And so the cost of having it myself is that my heart has broken over and over again watching people I love die. The cost of long term sobriety is something akin to . . . survivor’s guilt, I guess. I always assumed I’d be dead by 30, so at times it has felt disorienting to still be standing while my closest drinking buddy, and my ex-boyfriend, and my cousin, and my nephew, and so many fellow addicts that I love are buried in the ground.
And just to be clear, I have never found a satisfying answer to why them and not me. No one can convince me that the reason I am alive and Jimmy, who I loved with my whole heart, and who I ran with for years, and who was in and out of AA, drank himself to death is because I worked the steps harder than he did, or because he didn’t want sobriety as much as I did, or because “God wanted another angel in heaven” or anything equally facile.
As a theologian, I also want to say that even while I find the words, “There but for the grace of God go I” on my tongue, I find it “problematic,” as the kids say. While I can attribute my sobriety to God doing for me what I cannot do for myself, the extension of that same thought is less helpful; that somehow God bestowed grace upon me and not Jimmy makes me want to never stop slapping God, so it might not (theologically) be the most sound sentiment.
How has your character changed? What’s better about you? What do you still need to work on? What “character defects” do you still wrestle with?
I’m more honest. I have tons more integrity. I try to be of service to others and trust me, that was in no way a priority for me before getting sober.
But to be clear, it’s not some sort of “I once was blind but now I see” story — it’s more of a “I once was blind, and now I just have really bad vision” sort of story.
(I once heard Dan Harris [founder of the meditation app 10% Happier] say that his wife likes to call it 90% Still An Asshole.)
My first reaction to almost everything is “fuck you.” I almost never stay there but I almost always start there. That hasn’t changed, which for a long time I found really disappointing. Like, how in the world do I still think such consistently horrible things after all these years of WORKING ON MYSELF. But in my case, progress doesn’t look like receiving a personality transplant. It looks like the fact that yeah, I still start with “fuck you,” I just very seldom STAY there. The time between my reaction (which is still pretty shitty) to my response has gotten real short. Progress is seen in the speed at which I move out of “fuck you.”
I was at a meeting recently where a guy said, “I’m not responsible for my first thought.” I liked that. I’m responsible for my actions; my thoughts might never get cleaned up enough to take to anyone’s mother’s house.
Truthfully, living life every single day for years on end without any chemical escape hatches, without ever blunting the pain, without checking out when it’s hard or painful, turns you into a pretty solid human. I guess they call it resilience. Or reliability. It just feels like having emotional core strength to me.
What’s the best recovery memoir you’ve ever read? Tell us what you liked about it.
I loved Whip Smart by Melissa Febos for several reasons.
I love that she was a dominatrix while high on heroin AND simultaneously an honors student at The New School. Febos, like the rest of us, is not just one thing.
Her writing is funny and visceral. I’ll never forget the way she describes how we addicts separate ourselves from ourselves.
For three years in the 1990s I was Febos’s Summer Camp counselor. Now we are just friends.
What are some memorable sober moments?
Too many to list, but the one that stands out for me is the first time I bought toilet paper BEFORE running out.
Are you in therapy? On meds? Tell us about that.
I’ve been on Wellbutrin for 30 years. Praise God. Alleluia.
For the last 16 years I’ve met regularly with a spiritual director; someone who pays attention to how I speak about myself and my life. I’m too close to see myself sometimes. Jane is in her 80s now and I can’t imagine anyone else being for me who she has been for me.
Sometimes I’ll be talking for a while and she’ll say, “That’s different than how you used to feel/act/respond,” and I trust her so much that I am willing to believe her. She is a reliable narrator in my life.
My first reaction to almost everything is “fuck you.” I almost never stay there but I almost always start there. That hasn’t changed, which for a long time I found really disappointing. Like, how in the world do I still think such consistently horrible things after all these years of WORKING ON MYSELF. But in my case, progress doesn’t look like receiving a personality transplant. It looks like the fact that yeah, I still start with “fuck you,” I just very seldom STAY there. The time between my reaction (which is still pretty shitty) to my response has gotten real short. Progress is seen in the speed at which I move out of “fuck you.”
What sort of activities or groups do you participate in to help your recovery? (i.e. swimming, 12-step, meditation, et cetera)
I am still to this day, an old school Twelve-Step girl. God help me, I love a group of drunks in a church basement. I know there are a lot of folks who are critical of it, but for me, I am who I am today because of relying on a power greater than myself, attempting rigorous honesty, having sponsors, taking responsibility for my shit, and trying to be of service to others. Microdosing and navel gazing may work for others but would never work for me. Give me a path toward pawning off my narcissism as a virtue and I’ll for sure take it. As I said, old school.
I am a Sacred Harp singer. It’s the oldest American musical form, and very “anti-excellence, pro-participation.” I sing for 2 ½ hours every Monday with a group of other people who just love singing with and for each other. No auditions, no performances, no commitment, no leader. I love everything about it and you just can’t beat the feeling of gladness that comes from your brain being awash in oxytocin and dopamine. And you know what? That shit is free.
Are there any questions we haven’t asked you that you think we should add to this? And would you like to answer it?
Nah. I’m good. Thanks for allowing me to tell my story as a Sober Oldster!
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Nadia Bolz-Weber is an ordained Lutheran Pastor, founder of House for All Sinners & Saints in Denver, Co, and author of three NYT bestselling memoirs: Pastrix; The Cranky, Beautiful Faith Of A Sinner & Saint (2013 and re-released in 2021), Accidental Saints; Finding God In All The Wrong People (2015) and SHAMELESS; A Sexual Reformation (2019).
She writes and speaks about personal failings, recovery, grace, faith, and really whatever the hell else she wants to. She always sits in the corner with the other weirdos. Nadia can be found a couple days a week inside the Denver women’s prison where she is a volunteer chaplain.
You can subscribe to The Corners to receive her writing in your inbox weekly.
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This monthly interview series is a collaboration between Oldster Magazine and The Small Bow.
ALL ILLUSTRATIONS BY EDITH ZIMMERMAN
MORE IN THIS SERIES:
Interview with a 56-Year-Old Sober Person: Richard Rushfield
“The shortish answer is, like so many, I grew up with broken tools about for relating to others and alcohol became the way I learned how to do that. Which was okay for a time, until that path required more and more of me, and the problem of not knowing how to get along in the world became bigger and bigger.”
Interview with a 50-Year-Old Sober Person: Laurie Woolever
“Life is so much simpler, in the best possible way. Nothing is perfect, but I can see things for what they are.”
Interview with a 51-Year-Old Sober Person: Sharon Silke
“I am so much more honest now than I was while drinking. I used to find it kind of fun/funny to lie to people. It was something I started as a kid to get attention, and then kept it up as an adult. I used to tell people I was in the Hungry Hungry Hippos commercial as a child. I totally wasn’t.”
Interview with a 59-Year-Old Sober Person: Seth David Branitz
“Monstrous thoughts still form, but I recognize them and move quickly past. I no longer do terrible things to myself or others.”
Interview with a 52-Year-Old Sober Person: Ana Marie Cox
“I think my behavior has changed more than my essential character. Like, I believe I’ve always been a sensitive, generous, and caring person—but too wound up in my own troubles to express that or to really be there for others.”
Interview with a 64-Year-Old Sober Person: Nick Flynn
“For a little while it felt like I had figured it out, how to be both sober and to be fucked up.”
Interview with a 54-Year-Old Sober Person: Kristi Coulter
“I’m so much less shy than I used to be! Sobriety basically forces you to work through or at least come to terms with your social anxiety. The idea that I ever needed alcohol to talk to a stranger seems bizarre to me now. I’m also more honest, though that was not a high bar to clear versus my drinking days.”
Interview with a 57-Year-Old Sober Person: Claire Dederer
“I had no idea, in my conscious mind, that I had a drinking problem. My shame was so profound that I was hiding reality even from myself—especially from myself. I get tired just thinking about it.”
Interview with a 70-Year-Old Sober Person: Jerry Stahl
“I have come to realize that everybody on the planet is recovering from something. And deserves our compassion. It’s pretty much the human condition. All our secrets are the same.”
*****
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A POEM ON THE WAY OUT:
Acceptance
by Robert Frost
**************************
When the spent sun throws up its rays on cloud
And goes down burning into the gulf below,
No voice in nature is heard to cry aloud
At what has happened. Birds, at least, must know
It is the change to darkness in the sky.
Murmuring something quiet in its breast,
One bird begins to close a faded eye;
Or overtaken too far from its nest,
Hurrying low above the grove, some waif
Swoops just in time to his remembered tree.
At most he thinks or twitters softly, “Safe!
Now let the night be dark for all of me.
Let the night be too dark for me to see
Into the future. Let what will be be.”
—Via Poets.org
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ALL ILLUSTRATIONS BY EDITH ZIMMERMAN
