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Team Us & Other Tall Tales

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“A power greater than any human being helped make this decision.” – Herbert J. Steifel

My husband and I started referring to ourselves as “Team Us” early on. He tells me he was sold on the prospect halfway through those grilled cheese sandwiches we had our (second) first date way back in 2016. It was definitely an upgrade on “Hannibal Lecter” at the Galleria, c.1992.

I have been blessed throughout my life to see good relationships modeled, and to know what friendship means. I’ve only been in a wonderful marriage for going on four years now, but he and I were always friends. The letters he wrote me while I was on Western Tour with Young Life in 1993, on notebook papers and folded into squares, tucked in with another 17 year old guy’s note to a girlfriend, were special. Turns out, he still had the postcard I sent him from Italy while he was at school in Scotland and we found it in a box when moving. Friendship is the foundation of our love. Trust, romance, the kind of laughter that touches your soul, generosity…everything circles back to Team Us.

And sometimes, I’ve learned the hard way that a good person with a sweet soul can screw the hell up. We are support-seeking people, whether in recovery circles or with the caring and wise pastoral counselor we saw for team building in pre-pandemic times. We have boundaries: I don’t yell; he doesn’t walk out. We have learned what words to say and when, or when to stay quiet. I often refer to us as “perfectly imperfect,” and can’t imagine being more fortunate than we are.

I recently screwed up with a different kind of friend. A person I care about and have spent a lot of (remote) time with in the past year. Near daily humor, mutual support, dumb memes and a lot more runs through our relationship. Maybe it will again; we both know the importance of making amends, i.e. Step Nine in AA land, and I have made them. He’s not interested. Recovery is meant to be guided by grace and forgiveness. My friend hasn’t hurt me, but I can guarantee you he has hurt others in his life. It’s just human.

I’ve referred to this place in my life, at five years and change sober, as a time where I finished undergrad with a double BA, and went to the real world with a good bit of confidence. Mistakes don’t derail me; I shared in a meeting last week that nothing can break me if I keep on the path I’ve begun. It is miraculous to know that second part. As a result of my reaction-not-response to something that upset me greatly – because of My Own Stuff – I’m facing interpersonal consequences. There were some rippling effects of my behavior that blindsided me. Shit happens; I caused it. Other egos are involved in the resolution; meaningful work and commitment is at stake. I get that part. On that note of knowing when not to say things,” I’ve gone the route of handling some adjacent tasks with dignity. A dear friend of mine told me recently that I have the tools to behave better.* (*My Google translation of his correct observation)

I can confirm that neither relationship wins nor losses are tall tales. That my husband was the first person I told about what was going on (he actually overheard a lot of it). That the first thing he asked me when I got a phone call related to the matter yesterday was “What do you need?” It will either be OK, or it will be OK. Acceptance is indeed the answer to all my problems.

There are more conversations to be had with all my friends, whether today, tomorrow or on the regular at home. My best girls and my work husbands know what’s going on. The details and any drama going on are being handled with dignity by me; that word matters because that is what sobriety has given me.

The world keeps spinning on this beautiful spring morning in Atlanta, which is some of the best time of year in this city. My dog pals got to try my first attempt at homemade treats today and Team Us will probably catch up on current events then switch to one of our have mini Netflix binge tonight. I am content, I am hopeful, and I am capable.

Life is beautiful, and I am grateful.


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