In AA, honesty is oxygen. You walk into a room full of strangers, and you survive by putting it all out there. The drugs, the shame, the lies — you say the things you never thought you’d say. And it works. In that space, oversharing isn’t oversharing. It’s survival.
But life outside those rooms is different.
I keep learning that the hard way.
Someone asked me a simple question the other day, and instead of giving a straight answer, I unloaded the whole backstory — every detail, even the parts nobody needed to hear. By the time I finished, I thought: Why did I say all that?
This is the AA reflex. In meetings, the more you share, the better. In the rest of life, it can leave you feeling exposed, like you gave away too much for free.
I don’t think the problem is honesty. I think the problem is dosage.
Here’s what I’m learning:
Ask: Is this person safe and ready for this part of me?
Ask: Why am I sharing this? Connection — or desperation?
If the answer is shaky, keep it simple. Simplicity is still honesty.
The truth is, people don’t need my whole book in one sitting. A sentence is enough. If they stick around, maybe they’ll read more later.
That’s not lying. That’s wisdom.
AA taught me how to speak. Now life is teaching me how to edit.
That’s the Gotham City truth.