Ask a Sober Oldster #23: Nadia Bolz-Weber
"Not only do I reliably know where I am when I wake up, I never wake up in pools of vodka vomit anymore. It’s so bad for your skin, you know…very corrosive."
This monthly interview series is a collaboration between Oldster Magazine and The Small Bow, A.J. Daulerio’s excellent newsletter about recovery and mental health, and will appear in both newsletters. Learn more about this collaboration in this Oldster podcast/videocast episode.
is an ordained Lutheran Pastor, founder of House for All Sinners & Saints in Denver, Co, and author of three NYT bestselling memoirs: Pastrix; The Cranky, Beautiful Faith Of A Sinner & Saint (2013 and re-released in 2021), Accidental Saints; Finding God In All The Wrong People (2015) and SHAMELESS; A Sexual Reformation (2019).
She writes and speaks about personal failings, recovery, grace, faith, and really whatever the hell else she wants to. She always sits in the corner with the other weirdos. Nadia can be found a couple days a week inside the Denver women’s prison where she is a volunteer chaplain.
You can subscribe to The Corners to receive her writing in your inbox weekly.
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How old are you, and how long have you been in recovery?
I’m 56 years old and have been clean and sober for 33 years.
How did you get there?
Back in 1991 there was a protective bravado to my drinking. I was proud to be such a drunk, but since I mostly kept company with other drinkers, it all seemed normal.
My main drinking buddy at the time was named Alice and after a particularly messy night that involved a lot of vodka and a brief confession that she had been in and out of AA and thinks it’s time to go back, she looked at me and said, “Nadia, you know that you’re an alcoholic, right?” To prove her wrong, I stumbled into a church basement off 14th street in Denver. I remember not taking my sunglasses off even though it was already dark out. And I remember being glad since I cried the whole time.
It was the first time in my life I had heard anyone speak honestly about what it felt like to not be able to control your drinking. And the honesty of it all just sort of broke me down. I’ve been sober ever since.
What are the best things about being in recovery?
Not only do I reliably know where I am when I wake up, I never wake up in pools of vodka vomit anymore. It’s so bad for your skin, you know…very corrosive.
Truthfully, living life every single day for years on end without any chemical escape hatches, without ever blunting the pain, without checking out when it’s hard or painful, turns you into a pretty solid human. I guess they call it resilience. Or reliability. It just feels like having emotional core strength to me.
I always assumed I’d be dead by 30, so at times it has felt disorienting to still be standing while my closest drinking buddy, and my ex-boyfriend, and my cousin, and my nephew, and so many fellow addicts that I love are buried in the ground. And just to be clear, I have never found a satisfying answer to why them and not me. No one can convince me that the reason I am alive and Jimmy, who I loved with my whole heart, and who I ran with for years, and who was in and out of AA, drank himself to death is because I worked the steps harder than he did, or because he didn’t want sobriety as much as I did, or because “God wanted another angel in heaven” or anything equally facile.
What’s hard about being in recovery?
Nobody tells you when you get sober that if you have the grit and grace to stay that way, to accumulate not just days, but weeks, months, years and even decades of sobriety, just how many people you will bury. Not every addict and alcoholic gets to have and keep this gift. And so the cost of having it myself is that my heart has broken over and over again watching people I love die. The cost of long term sobriety is something akin to … survivor’s guilt, I guess. I always assumed I’d be dead by 30, so at times it has felt disorienting to still be standing while my closest drinking buddy, and my ex-boyfriend, and my cousin, and my nephew, and so many fellow addicts that I love are buried in the ground.
And just to be clear, I have never found a satisfying answer to why them and not me. No one can convince me that the reason I am alive and Jimmy, who I loved with my whole heart, and who I ran with for years, and who was in and out of AA, drank himself to death is because I worked the steps harder than he did, or because he didn’t want sobriety as much as I did, or because “God wanted another angel in heaven” or anything equally facile.
As a theologian, I also want to say that even while I find the words, “There but for the grace of God go I” on my tongue, I find it “problematic”, as the kids say. While I can attribute my sobriety to God doing for me what I cannot do for myself, the extension of that same thought is less helpful; that somehow God bestowed grace upon me and not Jimmy makes me want to never stop slapping God, so it might not (theologically) be the most sound sentiment.
How has your character changed? What's better about you? What do you still need to work on? What “character defects” do you still wrestle with?
I’m more honest. I have tons more integrity. I try to be of service to others and trust me, that was in no way a priority for me before getting sober.
But to be clear, it’s not some sort of “I once was blind but now I see” story - it’s more of a “I once was blind, and now I just have really bad vision” sort of story.
(I once heard Dan Harris [founder of the meditation app, 10% Happier] say that his wife likes to call it 90% Still An Asshole)
My first reaction to almost everything is “fuck you.” I almost never stay there but I almost always start there. That hasn’t changed, which for a long time I found really disappointing. Like, how in the world do I still think such consistently horrible things after all these years of WORKING ON MYSELF. But in my case, progress doesn’t look like receiving a personality transplant. It looks like the fact that yeah, I still start with “fuck you,” I just very seldom STAY there. The time between my reaction (which is still pretty shitty) to my response has gotten real short. Progress is seen in the speed at which I move out of “fuck you.”
I was at a meeting recently where a guy said, “I’m not responsible for my first thought.” I liked that. I’m responsible for my actions; my thoughts might never get cleaned up enough to take to anyone’s mother’s house.
Truthfully, living life every single day for years on end without any chemical escape hatches, without ever blunting the pain, without checking out when it’s hard or painful, turns you into a pretty solid human. I guess they call it resilience. Or reliability. It just feels like having emotional core strength to me.
What’s the best recovery memoir you’ve ever read? Tell us what you liked about it.
I loved Whip Smart by
for several reasons.I love that she was a dominatrix while high on heroin AND simultaneously an honors student at The New School. Febos, like the rest of us, is not just one thing.
Her writing is funny and visceral. I’ll never forget the way she describes how we addicts separate ourselves from ourselves.
For three years in the 1990s I was Febos’ Summer Camp counselor. Now we are just friends.
What are some memorable sober moments?
Too many to list, but the one that stands out for me is the first time I bought toilet paper BEFORE running out.
Are you in therapy? On meds? Tell us about that.
I’ve been on Wellbutrin for 30 years. Praise God. Alleluia.
For the last 16 years I’ve met regularly with a spiritual director; someone who pays attention to how I speak about myself and my life. I’m too close to see myself sometimes. Jane is in her 80s now and I can’t imagine anyone else being for me who she has been for me.
Sometimes I’ll be talking for a while and she’ll say, “That’s different than how you used to feel/act/respond,” and I trust her so much that I am willing to believe her. She is a reliable narrator in my life.
My first reaction to almost everything is “Fuck you.” I almost never stay there but I almost always start there. That hasn’t changed, which for a long time I found really disappointing. Like, how in the world do I still think such consistently horrible things after all these years of WORKING ON MYSELF. But in my case, progress doesn’t look like receiving a personality transplant. It looks like the fact that yeah, I still start with “Fuck you,” I just very seldom STAY there. The time between my reaction (which is still pretty shitty) to my response has gotten real short. Progress is seen in the speed at which I move out of “Fuck you.”
What sort of activities or groups do you participate in to help your recovery? (i.e. swimming, 12-step, meditation, et cetera)
I am still to this day, an old school Twelve-Step girl. God help me, I love a group of drunks in a church basement. I know there are a lot of folks who are critical of it, but for me, I am who I am today because of relying on a power greater than myself, attempting rigorous honesty, having sponsors, taking responsibility for my shit, and trying to be of service to others. Microdosing and navel gazing may work for others but would never work for me. Give me a path toward pawning off my narcissism as a virtue and I’ll for sure take it. As I said, old school.
I am a Sacred Harp singer. It’s the oldest American musical form, and very “anti-excellence, pro-participation.” I sing for 2 ½ hours every Monday with a group of other people who just love singing with and for each other. No auditions, no performances, no commitment, no leader. I love everything about it and you just can’t beat the feeling of gladness that comes from your brain being awash in oxytocin and dopamine. And you know what? That shit is free.
I walk outside for at least an hour every day—sometimes 2 or 3. I feel less neurotic, and less like everything is awful when I am walking through the park by my house. I try to listen closely to see if birds are singing. They usually are and I am usually too in my head to notice. So noticing birdsong is a form of contemplation for me.
Are there any questions we haven’t asked you that you think we should add to this? And would you like to answer it?
Nah. I’m good. Thanks for allowing me to tell my story as a Sober Oldster!