Asking Your Sponsor to the Prom

I went through the first three months of my sobriety without a sponsor.  I don't recommend this.

In the early days of my recovery, I was bombarded with directives regarding my lack of sponsorship, "You MUST find a sponsor.  You MUST have someone walk you through the steps.  You MUST be mentored by someone who has what you want.  You MUST ask someone to help you on your spiritual journey through recovery."

That last directive killed me every time.  "Ask?  I have to ask someone?"  My pride snuck up and whispered in my ear, "What if you ask someone and they say no?  Then what?  How will we ever recover from that?  These people are supposed to be here to help you.  They should be offering to help.  You shouldn't have to ask!" Unfortunately, I listened to that destructive little voice for 3 months... and for 3 months I struggled to hold onto my sobriety by a thread.

Few things in this world get my knees to knocking.  "Fear of rejection" ranks close to the top of my list of things that may incite spontaneous involuntary urinary emission (translation: 'makes me pee my pants').  I have spent my entire life avoiding situations that require I unfold my ego and lay it on the ground like a potential doormat.  My fragile pride simply can't take the abuse.

Eventually, I wised up and went in search of a sponsor.  I had to find someone I respected, someone who had what I wanted, someone I could emulate.

After pouring a great deal of thought into my dilemma, I finally set my sights on a prospective sponsor. He was a bright guy with 12 years of sobriety.  He was married, had a nice home, and we shared the same profession (though he was fairly successful and I had managed to drink away most of what was left of my career).  "That's it!" I thought, "He's the one for me."  All that was left was to ask.

I pondered my method for days with painstaking obsession.   Eventually, I summoned the courage and approached him like a schoolboy asking a girl to his first prom.  "Uh ... hey..." I stammered.

He turned to face me, "What's up?"

"Oh, nothing.  I just ... uh... I was wondering..." I felt the warm sweat dripping from my palms, bile creeping up the back of my throat. "Would you... maybe, uh... consider sponsoring me?"  I held my breath and awaited inevitable rejection.

"Sure," he said. "Give me a call and we'll talk about starting you on the steps."

"That's it?" I thought.  "That's all there was to it?  That was a piece of cake!"

My sponsor turned out to be a great mentor and friend.  This was a man who had walked in my shoes.  He had ventured down the very path I now trod and knew where all the landmines were.  By listening to him and working an honest program I was able to side-step many of the hazards that should have taken me out.  To this day I'm not sure what I was so afraid of.

Reaching out and asking for help is tough.  I've been there.  I get it.  In as such, whenever approached for sponsorship I always accept without hesitation.  Each prospective sponsee receives the same spiel, "Yes, I will agree to be your sponsor.  I will not, however, agree to be your mother, your girlfriend, or your parole officer.  I will not hold your hand, nag you, or keep tabs on you.  My only responsibility is to walk you through the steps and show you what I did to stay sober.  It's your program.  How much, or little, you choose to work it is up to you.  Only you can keep you sober.  If you don't follow my advice and suggestions, that's on you.  If you go out, that's on you.  I'll go on with my life and won't lose a wink of sleep over it.  Understand, I'm not doing this for you.  Helping you along your spiritual path is how I stay sober.  I'm doing it for me."

If you're working a program without a sponsor, you're not working a program.  You MUST stop what you're doing a get one and you MUST do it now.