A word before I begin: This post is not about trying to tell anybody how to sponsor another alcoholic. If anything, it is an invitation for those of us who sponsor, myself included, to occasionally take a look at how we sponsor, why we sponsor the way we do, and where some of our ideas about sponsorship actually came from.

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Sponsorship has evolved tremendously since the earliest days of Alcoholics Anonymous. Some of that evolution has been wonderful. We have accumulated decades of shared experience about helping newcomers. We have learned things about boundaries, relationships, trauma, mental health, different learning styles, and the importance of recognizing when something is outside our experience and expertise.

But we have also accumulated something else: A whole bunch of rules that aren’t actually rules.

• “Call me every day.”
• “Go to 90 meetings in 90 days.” (found nowhere in our literature)
• “Don’t date for the first year.” (found nowhere in our literature)
• “Call me before you make any major decision.”
• “Don’t make a decision without talking to me first.”
• “Take these commitments.”
• “Call three alcoholics every day.”
• “Do what your sponsor tells you.”

Some of those suggestions may be terrific suggestions. Maybe you’ve said them (I know I have). Some may have saved somebody’s life. Some may have saved my life. But that still leaves us with an important question: Which parts of that are Alcoholics Anonymous, which parts are shared experience, and when does guidance become governance?

I think that’s a question worth asking. Especially if we sponsor other alcoholics.

Sponsorship Didn’t Start With a Rulebook

Interestingly, the current A.A. pamphlet Questions & Answers on Sponsorship reminds us that Alcoholics Anonymous began with sponsorship before anybody even called it sponsorship. Bill needed another alcoholic. He found Dr. Bob. One alcoholic shared his experience with another alcoholic.

The pamphlet describes sponsorship today in essentially the same way: an alcoholic who has made progress in recovery continuously shares that experience with another alcoholic trying to attain or maintain sobriety. And then it says something I think deserves much more attention: “In A.A., sponsor and sponsored meet as equals.”

• Equals.
• Not teacher and student.
• Not boss and employee.
• Not parent and child.
• Not spiritual director and disciple.
• Not parole officer and parolee.

Two alcoholics. One has some experience that may help the other. That’s an important distinction. The pamphlet even describes sponsorship responsibility as “unwritten and informal.” Yet somewhere along the way, many of us have managed to make it pretty written and pretty formal.

Where Did All These Rules Come From?

Take something like: “90 meetings in 90 days.” Is that a bad suggestion? Of course not. For somebody newly sober whose entire life has revolved around drinking, immersing themselves in A.A. meetings for three months might be enormously helpful. But is 90-in-90 the A.A. program? No.

Or: “Call me every day.” Again, there may be tremendous wisdom in that. A frightened newcomer who has spent years isolated inside their own head may benefit enormously from learning to pick up the telephone and connect with another alcoholic. But is calling a sponsor every day one of the Twelve Steps? No.

Then there’s the famous: “Don’t date for a year.” Maybe that’s exactly what somebody needs. Maybe jumping into a relationship three weeks sober would be disastrous for them. A sponsor who knows that person’s history may have very good reason to say, “Based on my experience, I’d strongly suggest giving yourself some time.” But there is no “one-year dating rule” in the Big Book.

That’s the distinction I think matters. There’s nothing wrong with A.A. customs. There’s nothing wrong with accumulated experience. There’s nothing wrong with saying: “Here’s what worked for me.” Or: “I’ve watched a lot of alcoholics do this, and here’s what I’ve seen happen.” Or even: “If you were asking me what I would do, I wouldn’t do that.” That’s sponsorship.

The problem begins when: “Here’s what worked for me” quietly becomes: “Therefore, this is what you must do.”

Our Own Literature Draws a Pretty Interesting Line

I went back and reread the current General Service Conference-approved pamphlet Questions & Answers on Sponsorship, and frankly, some of its language stopped me in my tracks.

It says a sponsor makes their best effort, within the limits of their own experience and knowledge, to help another alcoholic get and stay sober through the A.A. program.

It talks about introducing newcomers to other members. Taking them through the Steps. Helping them understand the Traditions. Getting them involved in the group. Helping them become familiar with A.A. literature. Being available when problems arise that may affect sobriety. Sharing experience.

But it also says a sponsor: “Never tries to impose personal views on the newcomer.” And perhaps even more importantly, it says the sponsor emphasizes that it is the A.A. recovery program, not the sponsor’s personality or position, that is important.

The newcomer is supposed to learn to rely upon the A.A. program and God. Not the sponsor. That is a significant distinction.

The pamphlet even says a good sponsor shouldn’t be offended if a sponsee asks other A.A. members for guidance or decides to change sponsors altogether.

And when the pamphlet asks: “Is there any one best way of sponsoring a newcomer?” the answer is wonderfully uncomplicated: No.

• Some sponsors are blunt.
• Some are patient.
• Some are intensely involved.
• Some are relatively hands-off.

The pamphlet actually encourages flexibility because different alcoholics may respond differently to different approaches. Imagine that. The alcoholic is an individual.

Firm Isn’t Necessarily Controlling

I want to be careful here because I don’t think the opposite of controlling sponsorship is passive sponsorship. A sponsor who never challenges me isn’t necessarily doing me any favors. My sponsor has said things to me that I absolutely did not want to hear. Thank God.

Sometimes love sounds like: “You might want to take another look at that.” Sometimes it sounds like: “That’s not what I heard you say yesterday.” Sometimes: “Where are you in this?” And occasionally: “Rick, I think you’re full of shit.”

There is room in sponsorship for firmness. There is room for challenge. There is room for uncomfortable truth. The sponsorship pamphlet itself says that tested A.A. principles can be disregarded at our own risk. But immediately after discussing firmness, it warns that firmness can be overdone and says it should be tempered with compassion, empathy, patience, respect, and trust.

Then it asks another fascinating question: “Can a sponsor be overprotective?” The answer is yes. The pamphlet warns that a sponsor can become so involved in helping another alcoholic that the newcomer begins depending upon the individual rather than the A.A. program and God. And then it makes what I think is one of the most beautiful distinctions in the entire pamphlet: “There is a difference between helping someone get to their feet and insisting on holding them up afterward.”

Ouch.

I Had to Learn This at 37 Years Sober

I wish I could tell you I’ve always understood this. I haven’t.

At 37 years sober, I had something of a meltdown around sponsorship. Something wasn’t working. I got to the point that most every time when I saw the caller ID on my phone display one of my sponsees names, I cringed. I was frustrated with some of the people I sponsored. I was frustrated with their decisions. I was frustrated when suggestions weren’t followed. I was frustrated when somebody would tell me about a problem, we’d talk through the spiritual principles involved, and then they would go right back out and do exactly what they wanted to do.

And eventually, working with my own sponsor and doing some inventory, I discovered something rather inconvenient. On the phone with my sponsor, after I dumped this hot mess on his plate, he said, “Are you done?” “Yes” “You realize THEY are not the problem, right?” UGH!

“They” weren’t the problem. I was.

For years I had carried a misguided belief that part of my job as a sponsor was holding my sponsees accountable for the practical application of spiritual principles in their lives. That sounded noble enough. Except underneath it was something considerably less noble. Pride. Ego. I had somehow begun measuring the quality of my sponsorship by the emotional and spiritual health of the people I sponsored.

(Read that again.)

If they were doing well, perhaps that meant I was doing a good job. If they weren’t doing well, perhaps that reflected poorly on me. How selfish and self-centered is that? Their recovery had somehow become partly about me. And once I saw it, I couldn’t unsee it.

So I wrote inventory on it and read it to my sponsor. When I finished, he gave me a suggestion, “Now, I want you to set an appointment with every single one of your sponsees and read that to them.” Excuse me?

I don’t read my inventory to my sponsees. I read my inventory to you. His response was essentially: “Not this time.” Well, crap.

So I made appointments with each of my sponsees, all 163,000 of them (lol) and one by one, I read them my inventory. I told them what I had discovered about myself. I told them where my ego had gotten involved. I told them that I had confused helping them with being responsible for them. And something remarkable happened. The outcome was glorious. It changed my sponsorship. More importantly, it changed me.

I Am Powerless Over My Sponsees

Today my sponsorship begins, and ends, with a realization that should probably have been obvious to an alcoholic: I am powerless over how another person participates in their own recovery. Imagine that. Apparently Step One still applies after I’ve become somebody’s sponsor.

I can carry the message, share my experience, open the Big Book, walk through the Steps, ask questions, point out something they may not be seeing, tell them what happened to me, tell them what I have watched happen to others, challenge their thinking, lovingly tell them when I think they’re walking toward a cliff, be available, and I can pray for them.

What I cannot do is make them want recovery. I cannot make them practice spiritual principles, make them tell the truth, make them go to meetings, make them call another alcoholic, make them pray, make them make amends, make them surrender. And I certainly cannot make them have a relationship with God. Those things belong to them.

I heard somebody say once: “I cannot work harder at your program than you do.” BAM! That centered me.

Guidance or Governance?

So where is the line? I’m not sure there is a universal one. But I’ve developed some questions for myself.

• Am I sharing experience or issuing instructions?
• Am I explaining why I’m making a suggestion or expecting compliance because I’m the sponsor?
• Can my sponsee disagree with me without fearing I’ll stop sponsoring them?
• Can they ask somebody else for another perspective without me feeling threatened?
• Am I pointing them toward God and the A.A. program or gradually making myself indispensable?
• When they make a decision I disagree with, can I allow them the dignity of experiencing the consequences?
• Do I secretly feel successful when my sponsees look spiritually healthy?
• Do I secretly feel embarrassed when they don’t?
• Do I need them to follow my suggestions so that I can feel effective?

And perhaps the most uncomfortable question: Am I helping this alcoholic develop dependence upon God and the program, or dependence upon me?

Those questions aren’t accusations. They’re inventory. Mine first. Maybe yours if they’re useful.

Maybe Sponsorship Is Supposed to Make Itself Less Necessary

The pamphlet says something else that I find fascinating. When discussing overdependent newcomers, it warns that dependence carried beyond the earliest stages of recovery can become damaging to both people. Why? Because ultimately, we’re supposed to learn to stand on our own feet and make our own decisions.

• Not alone.
• Not without counsel.
• Not without meetings.
• Not without other alcoholics.
• Not without the Steps.

And certainly not without God as we understand God. But perhaps mature sponsorship gradually changes from: “Tell me what to do.” to: “Help me see what I’m not seeing.” That’s a very different relationship.

My sponsor doesn’t need to run my life. I already have a Higher Power. What I desperately need is another alcoholic who knows me well enough to recognize when I’m getting in God’s way.

Perhaps We Should Occasionally Ask Ourselves Why

So I’m not proposing new sponsorship rules. That would be rather ironic, right? I’m not suggesting that sponsors stop saying “90 meetings in 90 days.” I’m not suggesting that daily sponsor calls are bad. I’m not suggesting that sponsors shouldn’t caution newcomers about relationships. I’m not even suggesting that a sponsor shouldn’t occasionally be very firm. I’m suggesting something much simpler.

Know the difference between A.A., A.A. custom, your personal experience, and your personal preference.

And when possible, identify which one you’re sharing. “This is in the Big Book.” “This is something I’ve seen work for many people.” “This is what my sponsor suggested to me.” “This is something our local A.A. community commonly does.” “This is simply my experience.”

“Experience and opinion are not the same thing. You can debate my opinion all you want to, but you can’t debate my experience. Why? Because it happened to me.” (thank you Chris D.)

And maybe we do newcomers a tremendous service when we don’t pretend they are. The current sponsorship pamphlet describes sponsor and sponsee as equals. I think I understand that better today than I did when I first started sponsoring people.

I don’t stand above the alcoholics I sponsor.

I stand beside them.

I have experience I can share. They have decisions they must make. We have spiritual principles we can practice. And ultimately, each of us has a relationship with a God of our own understanding that the other cannot manufacture, manage, or control.

My job isn’t to govern another alcoholic’s recovery. My job is to carry the message as faithfully as I know how. What they do with that message belongs to them.

What I do with my reaction to what they do with it? Well… That sounds suspiciously like my inventory.

In love & service,