We Don’t Shoot Our Wounded

There’s a saying in AA: “We don’t shoot our wounded.”

Meaning, we don’t turn our backs on the person who falls. We don’t shun the person who fails—or continues to fail. We don’t abandon someone simply because they couldn’t hold onto what the rest of us are desperately trying to hold onto ourselves.

Part of living in recovery circles is becoming connected to people who relapse, disappear, leave the program, crash and burn, and sometimes burn everything around them in the process.

And then, one day, they show up again.

Tail between their legs. Ashamed. Sheepish. Walking through the doors of detox for the umpteenth time. Sitting in the back row of a meeting they swore they would never need again.

And we say, “Welcome back.”

In much of the world, failure eventually exhausts people's patience. There are only so many second chances. Eventually, the prodigal son or daughter wears out their welcome.

But recovery is different.

We open our arms like a sibling coming home from deployment. We don't begin with, “Where the hell have you been?” We begin with, “Man, it's good to see you.”

Today I spoke with my sponsee. He, too, has relapsed. He has burned it to the ground more than once. I knew he was out there somewhere, and he knew I was looking for him. He had been ghosting me for weeks.

When I finally heard his voice, I wasn't angry.

I was relieved.

He was alive.
He was safe.
And maybe most importantly, he sounded willing.

That's enough for today.

Recovery has taught me that willingness doesn't always arrive looking heroic. Sometimes willingness is simply answering the phone. Sometimes it's walking back into detox. Sometimes it's admitting, “I screwed up again.” Sometimes it's sitting your ass back down in that folding chair and saying your name.

There is something beautiful about the fact that recovery allows us to begin again without pretending yesterday didn't happen.

We learn from it. We make amends for it. We take responsibility for it.

But we don't shoot our wounded.

We help them back onto their feet.

Maybe that's why, in recovery, we actually love Groundhog Day.

Wake up.
Be grateful.
Be willing.
Do the next right thing.
Go to bed sober.

Then get up tomorrow and do the same damn thing again.

Grateful. Willing. Rinse. Repeat.

Because sometimes the miracle isn't that someone never falls again.

The miracle is that when they fall, there's still a room full of people waiting for them to come home.

“For this son of mine was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found.” — Luke 15:24