Super Ball Syndrome by William Moyers on Creators.com

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Super Ball Syndrome

Not long ago, I met with a group of women and men in treatment who are fresh in recovery. They are all eager to convert their hope-fueled enthusiasm to fix the people, places and things that were shattered by their addiction to alcohol or other drugs.

"I hurt just knowing how many people I hurt," says David T., a veterinarian from Pittsburgh. "When I get back home, I've got a lot of amends to do to make things right, not just so they feel better but so I can, too."

Nobody noticed Trina L.'s addiction to pain medication until she was fired for pilfering petty cash from the back office of the grocery where she worked in Elkhart, Ind. Drug-free for 35 days, she vows to go back to her old job to prove she's "not a bad person," that she "can do good."

Ditto Marty C., a retired architect. "I may be older than the rest of you, but I've still got a lot of good living to do, and I deserve to live it clean and sober. I'm pretty sure life's got a lot of promises ahead for me."

I call these sentiments the "Super Ball syndrome." It's endemic in people who quickly bounce back from the shadowy depths of their addiction to suddenly discover a heightened sense of optimism that there is life without mood- or mind-altering substances. Alcoholics and addicts are a remarkably resilient bunch, and I've been there and done that, too.

Early in recovery, I couldn't wait to get out of treatment so I could make right all of my wrongs and reassemble what was broken. I wanted to prove to everyone else that my sobriety made me a worthy person. I needed to prove it to myself, too.

There's nothing wrong with that "up and at 'em" approach. Personal responsibility for past behaviors, making amends and dealing with defects of character are all important steps in recovery. But rarely are the people we hurt ready to start healing when we tell them it's time. Sometimes it takes a long time, and not everyone is willing to forgive. Like a vase that falls off the mantel, our own broken lives, once repaired, never fit the way they once did or the way we want. And those character flaws? We're all human. All these years later, I still am working on mine.

The risk for people early in recovery is that the bounce back is soon tempered by this harsh discovery that recovery isn't perfect. Unrealistic expectations can evolve into bitter disappointments. As my colleague John MacDougall at Hazelden reminds me, "Expectations are resentments waiting to happen." And for people like us, resentments can drive us to drink or drug again.

William Moyers is the vice president of foundation relations for the Hazelden Foundation and the author of "Broken," his best-selling memoirs, and "A New Day, A New Life." Please send your questions to William Moyers at wmoyers@hazelden.org. To find out more about William Moyers and read his past columns, visit the Creators Syndicate Web page at www.creators.com.