Recovering

I am an enthusiastic neighbor, an incessant reader, a wife, a mother, a daughter, a friend, a school volunteer, an aspiring librarian, a business owner and an avid lover of banana pudding. I dislike most uses of the Oxford comma because in a list, a comma replaces the word and, so we shouldn’t be saying “and and”. Some uses are okay, because my parents aren’t John Kennedy and Richard Nixon. I have ADHD and generalized anxiety disorder. I was born with a rare genetic condition that, frankly, should have killed me as a kid, but I got the best possible version of it and so I am 37. Sometimes I think I really love ice cream, but at the end of the day, I know deep in my soul I think of it as a sprinkle + whipped cream delivery method. 

I am also both a recovering alcoholic and a recovering “Nice White Lady”. 

None of these things, some more controversial than others, individually define me — I’m more than the sum of my parts. None of these make me “better” or “worse” than anyone else. They are just pieces of my identity that make it easier or harder for me to make choices that cause the least harm, for both myself and others. 

While we often think of the term “White” in the context of racism alone, I am a White lady and I can tell you with certainty I’ve been dismissed, dehumanized and belittled by other White ladies.  I’ve absolutely done the same to others when I’m not getting what I want, despite the fact I vote for all the “right” people and talk about inclusion and am firmly entrenched in trying to live a life grounded in collective liberation. 

This is ultimately what I mean by “Nice White Lady”: totally on board for an inclusive, just world, as long as it is not terribly inconvenient and doesn’t make us uncomfortable. 

For those of you unfamiliar with the term “Nice White Lady”, it is gaining traction, alongside “Nice White Parents”, as a way to describe a specific kind of White woman. Not quite a “Karen” all the time, - though we certainly can escalate to that – we’re liberal, progressive White women who would immediately say we support and love all humans no matter who they are. We vote for Democrats, implore others to vote, try to teach our children the “right” lessons of being kind and inclusive. We share information, we “listen and learn”.

This is because, as White ladies (in the US + Canada most specifically but generally everywhere), we’re socialized with some very specific beliefs, which spill over into ALL of our interactions and relationships.

White women receive deeply conflicting messages about how to connect with others and be in community from the time we are very young. Raised in a system that makes rugged individualism and maintaining the status quo the gold standard, we often don't have the skills necessary to make decisions that honor our own humanity, the humanity of others and our collective humanity. 

While I could expand upon the following for days, here is the short version: On one hand, we are given the message that everyone should stop and cater to our fears, feelings and needs when we are upset (even though this is actually about White men and our bodies as their property, but I digress). On the other, we are asked to give up everything for our families and (religious) communities. The cognitive dissonance on this alone is staggering. 

At the same time, as a group historically marginalized based on gender, we also are taught that if we want to retain the power we have, we can’t rock the boat, make mistakes or create awkward situations, because of our socialized role to be perfect (and uphold the supremacy of White men.) Because of this, even when we recognize that our actions are upholding oppressive systems, we are either hesitant to act OR don’t have the skills to make a different decision.

I know the comparison between being an alcoholic and being a “Nice White Lady” isn’t perfect. 

The truth is no comparison is. I know a lot of people don’t even feel comparisons are necessary because we should just believe what other people tell us. 

And I agree – but I also know that my ADHD brain *needs* comparison and analogies and metaphors – not because I don’t believe it, but because I need to be able to contextualize what you are telling me.

This specific comparison works as well as it can – there’s an unreasonable amount of overlap. 

In June 2023, right around the time I started to write the first draft of this essay, seeing Myisha T Hill do an “Addicted to Whiteness” series helped me solidify the comparison. But even before I saw that, this idea had already been cooking in my brain after conversations with friends. The semi-popular phrase “Whiteness is a hell of a drug” doesn’t hurt either. 

Once it clicked, every few minutes for several hours, I was able to find another parallel, and that list eventually turned into that first draft. I realized that my sobriety from alcohol is the secret sauce of how I view the world and why I am so hellbent on seeing *everyone’s* humanity.

Before I go further, it’s important to note that, especially recently with the rise of more and more discussion of the danger of alcohol, within the broader sober community there’s lots of discussion about language- alcoholism, substance use disorder; people-first language or identity-first language. I personally find it most useful to say that I’m an alcoholic, which is somewhat confusing to people. 

I can count on one hand the number of times I was truly drunk, and I was never particularly destructive when I was drinking. When I look back, I think ultimately the worst thing I did to someone else while drunk was steal some sweet tarts. I didn’t like the taste; I wasn’t necessarily physically addicted – but I drank for all the wrong reasons. An adamant people pleaser, I wanted someone to take care of me for a change; I wanted to forget the world and all my anger. There is absolutely no doubt I have an unhealthy relationship with alcohol. 

And so, I got sober at 23, and 14 years later, I still deeply understand that if I have even one drink, that will be the end of it for me. But I know that for others, it’s more helpful to use person-first language and think of the physical conditions as a disorder. And that’s okay. Absolutely no group is a monolith – all members of marginalized communities do not agree on absolutely everything, ever. So please know that while I use the terms alcoholic or alcoholism, please respect the needs and feedback of others in recovery or still struggling with active addiction if they tell you they prefer other language.

As I said, there’s been a lot more discussion recently about the idea “not everyone hits rock bottom before they stop drinking.” More and more, people are recognizing that alcohol is not something society should be as willingly accepting and lauding as we typically do. Dry January, “gray drinking”; more and more, people are questioning their relationship to alcohol, long before they cause any permanent damage. 

It is the same with Whiteness. 

I don’t have some wild rock bottom story about divesting from Whiteness either. But just as I use the term “alcoholic” despite not fitting the clinical definition, I also don’t have a problem saying that, because it is the water we swim in, I’m definitely racist: in my case, the type of racist who is a “Nice White Lady”. Because honestly, with the centuries of social conditioning we’ve received, we all are. 

(For many of you, that will seem like a very controversial remark. There’s a lot of really smart and nuanced discussion about how racism is actually about actions and power, and so this is absolutely the least cut and dry assertion I am making. However, the point I am trying to make in this moment is based on looking at “racism” simply as the idea that, as a society, we often judge the people who are not deemed as “White” based on the color of their skin, because of the millions of messages over our lifetimes we’ve gotten saying that we should. It’s likely “better” to say we are all prejudiced, but it’s also not quite enough to say that – especially when so much of today’s racism is quiet and often legitimately unintentional and systemic, and yet…no less dangerous or frustrating than the overt kind. And so I am using the word “racist” the way I am using it, and look forward to many discussions about it before Version 2.0 of this essay. And now, returning to the conversation at hand:) 

White folks and our culture of judgment and individualism and oppression are the dominant presence; the “standard”. 

People have continued to assimilate into it when invited - just as many see no problem with the alcohol culture around us - at the expense of losing the fullness of their ethnic cultures and forgetting that everyone is another human being worthy of humanity, just like they are.  

I was raised in a very-progressive-for-the-1990s household and have just always tried to treat people like human beings, even with massive mistakes along the way. And that’s because, well, not everyone is burning crosses or beating up trans folks or making billions of dollars before they have to stop being oppressive. 

While I’ve thought through and realized why these terms work well for me, I know that it often doesn’t feel particularly great being called either an alcoholic or a racist or even a “Nice White Lady”. 

These terms have all been stigmatized in specific ways – but that doesn’t make them less true. It also doesn’t say anything about who I am (or who we are) as people – good or bad. They’re just “neutral” terms about a part of who we are, even when they don’t feel good to hear. They aren’t “moral failings”, no matter what someone trying to belittle you may say. AND (this is the important piece) – there are reasons that they are both stigmatized! 

Being an alcoholic or a racist, even one who is a “Nice White Lady”, ISN’T the problem. Taking action based on those parts of you is when we start to cause harm. 

Over time, alcoholics and racists – and yes, that includes Nice White Ladies – have done an amount of damage with their choices that cannot possibly be added up. (Especially Nice White Ladies, because we often don’t even see it as harm or damage). Not because we are alcoholics and racists, but because we let those parts of us make the decisions. 

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So having spent 1329 words setting up my premise, let’s get to the actual point: Yes, we do, in fact, have to “recover” from Whiteness. 

We have been told by marginalized groups for decades, centuries even, that the color of someone’s skin or who they love or their gender isn’t actually “the problem”; it’s the way other people react to it. 

But as a society, we rarely admit that. 

Because just like people who have a problem with drinking alcohol responsibly, we’re in denial. Until we’re not. One day, we see it. We see the way alcohol is killing us and everyone around us. 

Just like we wake up one day and see how Whiteness is killing all of us – which does not change the fact it’s killing some of us faster than others.

This goes back to the idea that Whiteness is not actually *all* about racism, as we typically define it. It’s a bigger problem that we bring to our everyday interactions. Anti-racism is only one segment of the field known as DEI (Diversity, Equity and Inclusion). DEI is about changing the ways that all of us “other” or marginalize each other, even within the same marginalized or privileged groups. 

Whiteness disadvantages White people, too. Change will only come when we embrace collective liberation - I am not “saving” you because I am privileged and you are not; we are all working in community to free all of us, for as Fannie Lou Hamer famously said, “Nobody’s free until everybody’s free.” 

Getting sober and/or living a life grounded in collective liberation are both disruptive. Neither fit in with the status quo – alcohol and oppression are basically the cornerstones of our dominant culture in the United States. 

Recovery from both require a total lifestyle transformation. It’s not just showing up at a meeting once a week, or reading a book about anti-racism or donating to a pro-trans folks organization or trying hard not to shop at Amazon. 

It’s all of those things and so much more.  

“Okay, Samantha,” you may be thinking. “You’ve convinced me. I am a ‘Recovering Nice White Lady.’ So now what happens?”

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There is a story from the West Wing that lives with me always.  (There are lots of things Aaron Sorkin gets wrong, but this is not one of them.) 

As the story goes in the show, a man is in a hole. (I’m gonna change it to a lady, because, well, I’m telling it, so this is my story now.) 

Anyways, a priest walks by and the lady asks for help. The priest throws a prayer down the hole and walks away. Then a doctor walks by, same thing – throws a prescription down the hole and walks away. Finally a friend arrives, and the lady calls up and says “hey! I’m down in this hole, can you help me out?” and their friend jumps in the hole. And the lady says, “Samantha, what are you doing? Now we’re both in this hole!” and I answer: “Yeah, but I’ve been down in this hole before, and I know the way out.”

And yet, the fact I once found my way out doesn’t mean I couldn’t get stuck trying to help you out, or that I won’t eventually be in my own hole again. But right now, I’m in a place where I can jump in your hole with you. 

In the language of sobriety, you can consider me your “Nice White Lady” Sponsor.

Just like in 12 step programs, your sponsor is someone who has been in the hole before. They understand what it *feels* like, more than just observing it as with many substance abuse counselors, or the person on the receiving end of the harm a person deep in the throes of addiction causes. Your sponsor knows what it feels like to cause harm, because they have done it and are trying just as hard as you are not to do it again.

The fact I have been here before does not mean I know all of the answers, or that I am leading the movement or that I am trying to “take over” from lots of experts + folks with lived experience in marginalized communities, all of whom know way more about history and solutions and how it feels to be the victim of oppression. 

It’s actually really, really critical that there are a lot of people shouting directions down into the hole or explaining how if we put our foot just there, it’ll actually set off an explosion above ground or whatever. 

It’s also really, really critical that we’re in these holes together, trying to figure out whose directions align with our values and our need to get out of the hole while still mitigating harm. 

Recovery is about listening to both the people asking you, for the love of all things holy, to stop fucking up and causing harm AND listening to the person standing next to you who says “I get it. I’ve been there. We can process our own pain and feelings and socialization together, while engaging and collaborating and dreaming and building and centering those we’ve harmed, in broader community.”

That last part is important, because your sponsor isn’t there to enable you or coddle you or tell you that you don’t have to change. It’s exactly the opposite. They’re there to support you, in a way that holds you accountable to yourself and the choices you’ve made to change how you show up in the world. They will absolutely listen judgment-free and tell you that it’s okay that you relapsed and that you didn’t “fail”. They will hug you and let you feel badly about your own pain. 

Then, (and this is the critical piece of recovery in affinity) they will pivot to the bigger picture and ask you if you are working the steps and if you’ve tried to apologize and tell you that tomorrow is another day to try and stay sober. They will also likely help you make a plan to go to your next meeting together, because this isn’t just about you; it’s about their knowledge that they, too, are working on this and tomorrow is another day to try and stay sober. 

As White ladies, we will fuck up all the time. In fact, the one place where the metaphor really, truly falls apart is around how to define “sober.” I have 14 years sober from alcohol. I know this because I have not had a drink. 

There is a possibility I don’t even have 14 minutes “sober” from Whiteness. I likely haven’t done anything massively destructive, but it’s the water we swim in and it’s much harder to know how our actions will affect others. But where it comes back together a bit is that it’s really really hard being sober – until it’s not.

Yes, I will not lie and say this is easy. It’s absolutely really, really hard work to be in recovery -- until it’s not. One day, you look around and realize your life has changed and things are just second nature and you really don’t have to spend every moment actively trying not to make a choice that will end your sobriety. And yet, no matter how many years you’ve had sober or how much work you’ve done to try and divest from Whiteness, the ability to relapse *never* goes away.

For alcoholics, there is a deep visceral need to take a drink. I can remember it. I didn’t like it. I also know that as time went on, I didn’t feel it nearly as often. After fourteen years, I rarely feel it at all.

For White women, especially those who haven’t yet started to explore the difference between comfort and safety, there is a visceral need to keep ourselves safe. 

Every single day, we have immediate reactions that have been socialized into us about our safety. Walking on streets, taking buses, interacting with other humans. The problem is, of course, that we have been taught to conflate safety and comfort in many situations. 

Every day, just like I actively choose not to drink, I try to actively choose not to take the action that goes with my oppressive, patriarchal, capitalist conditioning rooted in anti-Blackness and xenophobia and all kinds of bigotry. 

I actively choose to work towards other kinds of power, not just replacing the people we have now with “better” options we think will make different choices based on their gender or skin color or sexual orientation, even when we have decades and centuries of examples that show the systemic problems and our dominant culture perpetuate, no matter who has power. 

Even after almost nine years of deeply and actively working to change the way I show up in the world as a White woman, I still have moments where I think about the action I could take that would keep myself “safe” or comfortable. I know that even if I have twenty-nine years of doing this internal work to ground my life in collective liberation, my instinct will likely be to keep myself comfortable.  

I don’t self-flagellate or worry it’s all for naught, I remember it’s the world we live in and I’m taking it one moment, one step, one day at a time. And then, I focus on what’s important - the situation at hand. I consider whether I’ve actually been harmed or could be; I try to quickly analyze the power dynamics; I do my best to make the choice that supports collective liberation, moving towards the world I want to live in. 

Then, I repeat the process again at every moment of every day, knowing that even when I make the best choice in the moment, it might turn out to have unforeseen consequences I have to adapt to, which will mean acknowledging harm, trying to restore the relationship and repeating the process again and again. 

Saying this —  that I am actively working on my “Nice White Lady” recovery — doesn’t mean I think I’m better than you or that I’m removing myself from other White ladies. 

It doesn’t mean I’m “cured” or that “I’m one of the good ones”. 

It means that I know it gets easier and easier to make “good” decisions that honor my own humanity, the humanity of others in a situation and our collective humanity. 

It means that even though I know I will cause harm, it will likely happen less and less, and when it does, I will have the skills to work towards restoration. 

It means I know that I’m a small, tiny part of working together with others who share my commitment to justice and equity to co-create the world we want to live in, one where we have the chance to live our own best life, whatever that means to us, and we respect that, as long as they aren’t harming anyone, everyone else gets to live their best lives, too, whatever that means to them. 

It means I know I stand on the shoulders of everyone who has come before me. It means I learn from, and create relationships and community with, people with lived experience, especially Black and Brown women. 

It means I am grateful every morning that I wake up to everyone who has ever taken a chance on me. It means I try my hardest every single day not to let them down, and to take responsibility and work through restorative justice practices when I do. 

More than anything, it means I know that I will always be a recovering “Nice White Lady”. 

And if you’re a recovering  “Nice White Lady”, you’ll always be one, too. And that’s okay, because we’re in this hole together, and slowly but surely, we’re going to find our way out.