I learned a new acronym in ACA last week that might help me with my control issues: WAIT, which stands for “Why am I talking?”

That felt huge. After ten years of sobriety, it’s like I’ve finally discovered that the majority of my personal chaos can be avoided simply by saying absolutely nothing—to ignore my feral first impulse when I’m insulted or humiliated. Next time I’m overheating, I shall not break windows or walls, or attempt to flee the town, or exit the planet entirely, as a way to fix an unfavorable outcome or punish a disagreeable human. Don’t talk—WAIT. That’s so good, right?

And I’ll add my own twist: Why am I talking to myself? (WAITTM—not a great acronym, but hang with me here.)

Just last week, I spent four hours on a Tuesday in the kitchen with no one there with me besides the dogs, and even the dogs were confused by my yelling and throwing elbows at imaginary heads. I realized one of the windows was open, and I’m positive the neighbors heard the commotion and the yelling. I didn’t want any cops involved, so I did the only sane thing: I took my full-throated argument with no one into the shower to finish it off. I’m well aware Normal People would stop arguing with phantoms entirely, preserve some billowing shred of dignity, but nope, not me, not on Temper Tantrum Tuesday.

I’ve had this self-regulation problem my whole life, and it’s only grown worse in sobriety: how do I stick up for myself without self-destructing? I’m still waiting to teleport to some high-EQ destination where I don’t have to feel like I’m fighting for my life in every confrontation (real or imaginary), but I’m realizing it won't happen on its own over time. The meds help turn down the volume, for sure, but they weren’t strong enough to keep me quiet on Tuesday.

The best advice I’ve received so far came from a guy in the program who had similar issues. “I always tell myself that the best way to end any sort of disagreement is to show them how much recovery you have—to remind yourself how much recovery you have.”10 years, four months, and today to stay quiet.

Behind the paywall: we have a few more mini-essays about Bukowski and Joan Didion, plus all the usual Sunday rundown routines to compare and despair against your own emotional sobriety. It’s $5, but my goal is to help both of us here. Race you to the bottom? — AJD