Learning to Trust

When I first came into FA, I didn’t really want a sponsor. I went to meetings for two weeks and mentally rejected all the available sponsors, eyeing them in light of a mental list of constantly changing criteria, defining the “perfect” sponsor I would hold out for. She had to be perfect, because I was operating out of fear. That one’s too aggressive looking. That one’s chin sticks out too far. The self-critical, judgmental thoughts I battered myself with were projected out onto the available sponsors.

One night, a fellow stood up, and I felt acceptance. I heard a voice in my head saying, There’s my sponsor, so I went up to her.

She was perfect for me—conscientious, kind, smart, and dedicated, but fear still gripped me. I didn’t want to tell her my problems. I knew she would think I was crazy. Or really, I knew she would figure out I was crazy. I was afraid of criticism, judgment, and of making a silly mistake that would be labeled a break. One day, I made a mistake with my food and was too afraid to call my sponsor. I called a fellow instead, and all she said was, “Oh, yes. We call our sponsors. Call your sponsor.” So I did.

Then the next day, I made the exact same mistake again and started yelling at myself, out loud, “You’re an idiot!” Calming down, I realized that’s why we call our sponsors. She’s not going to call me an idiot. And she didn’t. She listened, asked me questions about how I had gotten into the bind, and helped me figure out a plan to take better care of myself. She told me, “I’m not trying to control you.”

It’s so new to rely on someone else, to begin to trust and ask for help, and to have faith that someone else cares.