In recovery, our early delight at feeling better and a burning desire to spread the word can lead to what I call the Guru Syndrome (GS). The GS can stem from a sincere desire to help others, but it can also hide a profound fear of getting the help we need for ourselves.

There’s no question that recovery programs can be transformative. Anyone who has been around one for long, whether 12-step or otherwise, can attest to that. We see remarkable changes in ourselves and others. If we take our programs seriously and do a reasonable amount of work, we start to absorb the attitudes and begin to make the changes that lead to healthy, long-term recovery. We begin to have hope for the future, and see how the changes we are experiencing could benefit others. (That sounds familiar; wonder where I’ve heard it before?)

There’s no question that recovery programs can be transformative. Anyone who has been around one for long, whether 12-step or otherwise, can attest to that. We see remarkable changes in ourselves and others. If we take our programs seriously and do a reasonable amount of work, we start to absorb the attitudes and begin to make the changes that lead to healthy, long-term recovery. We begin to have hope for the future, and see how the changes we are experiencing could benefit others. (That sounds familiar; wonder where I’ve heard it before?)

At around that point, some of us become crusaders. We see things about our programs that we perceive as imperfect and want to correct them. (Early on, I was going to rewrite the AA Big Book in modern language.) Like all addicts, we know The Way Things Ought To Be and so we charge off full-steam. We start a Ninth Step before we’ve finished Step Three. We proselytize our families. (That, by the way, never works.) We try to carry the message to those outside the program — and annoy the hell out of them. We decide that the whole world needs what we’ve got, and determine that it is our job to deliver the goods. It’s easy to lose track of our goal to make lasting changes in ourselves and direct our desire for change outward instead.

There’s nothing wrong with helping others, but we need to approach it from positions of strength, hope experience, and example. How can we sponsor someone if we don’t have (or don’t use) our own tools and sponsors? The purpose of a sponsor is to take a sponsee through the steps. Have we completed them ourselves? Did we read the book, memorize a few wise quotes, and decide to “carry the message” without having had the spiritual awakening that comes with the 12th Step? (The Steps are numbered in order for good reasons.) Did we sit in treatment and become a “junior therapist” when we actually had little insight into what was happening? Did we imagine that we ought to be sponsoring others when we’re only a few weeks or months from our last relapse? Did we become recovery gurus, legends in our own minds, without first developing the background and depth of understanding that insured we were operating from a solid base of our own?

Did we sit in treatment and become a “junior therapist” when we actually had little insight into what was happening? Did we imagine that we ought to be sponsoring others when we’re only a few weeks or months from our last relapse? Did we become recovery gurus, legends in our own minds, without first developing the background and depth of understanding that insured we were operating from a solid base of our own?

I did all of those things, with nearly disastrous results for my recovery and perhaps that of some others. I’ve been there, done that, and for many years I wore the dirty, ratty tee-shirt underneath the shiny halo that I imagined I was showing to others. I’m not saying I never helped anyone, but in retrospect, I’m sure that my guidance would have been much more effective if I’d assiduously practiced what I was preaching and straightened out my own head before taking up the guru’s robes.

The Guru Syndrome can even be dangerous for folks who are relatively well-grounded in recovery. Old Timers have seen it lead to problems, dozens if not hundreds of times. Newcomers with a few months of developing sobriety get jobs as mental health techs or with similar titles and let working with others distract them from their own recovery. Dealing with sick alcoholics and other addicts is dangerous for people in early recovery! Many of them don’t want to be there, and would be perfectly happy to take someone else with them when they leave. It’s like hanging out in a bar, shooting pool and drinking Coke. People in treatment speak our old language and are part of a culture with which we’re all too familiar. It’s not hard to slide back into the old ways of talking, walking and — finally — thinking and drinking.

I’ve seen (in addition to my own poor decisions) people with a few months in a program who changed their majors or began intensive graduate programs in order to become therapists. Some people aspire to the mental health field in an unconscious attempt to more comfortably resolve their own issues. Talk about something that will distract you from your program! As a result, we often see people working in the field who are still acting out — perhaps not in their primary addictions, but in others just as insidious. I could name half a dozen names right now, because I see them struggling in meetings.

The Guru Syndrome is dangerous. It plays into our codependency issues, our hope that helping others is all we need to do to get better, our tendency to charge ahead and try to right all our wrongs, and a desire to find answers outside ourselves and avoid the pain that goes with self-transformation.

There used to be a popular song called “Looking For Love” with a line about “looking for love in all the wrong places.” We could change love to recovery and that would pretty much describe the Guru Syndrome.

Of course this couldn’t possibly apply to you.

(Just like it didn’t apply to me. )