Bonney R’s Story

Bonney R’s Story 

Sobriety Date May 28, 1993 – 32 Years of Sobriety

Please tell me a little about your life before you found A.A. When and where were you born? What kind of childhood did you have?   

I grew up in Okanagan Falls, BC. My dad immigrated to Canada from Russia in 1947 after the war, and my mom was a prairie girl from Saskatchewan. My parents were daily drinkers, and for as long as I can remember, there was a moonshine still running in our garage. 

When I was about four years old, my mom was in a car accident that left her with severe brain damage. Life changed after that. I was a gifted child—music, art, academics came naturally to me—but they were not the gifts I wanted.  My brother and I were not the popular kids.  I learned to fight at an early age.   

When I discovered drinking, it felt like the answer. Alcohol gave me all those things. It made me feel beautiful, funny, and popular—all the things that seemed so important to a teenage girl trying to survive her world.  I was angry, defiant and full of self-pity. 

How did you start drinking?                                                                                                                            

My first real experience with alcohol was around twelve years old, and from the very beginning I drank until I blacked out. That became my pattern. Every time I was invited to be part of something—every party, every gathering—someone ended up having to carry me home. My relationship with alcohol took over my life before I had a chance to grow up.   

When and how did your drinking get out of control?                                                                   

When I moved out of my parents’ house around seventeen, I became a daily drinker. I felt free, and I took full advantage of it. I moved to the coast with my cousin, which would implode within months.  I went to nightclubs every chance I got. I bounced back and forth between BC and Alberta, always trying to outrun the trouble I had created—but trouble has a way of traveling light and keeping up. 

By nineteen, my bad behavior had escalated to the point where I ended up doing time in the Calgary Remand Centre. You’d think that would have been enough to wake me up, but it wasn’t. I kept drinking “to forget” for another five years, trying to bury everything I didn’t want to face.   

When did you know you had hit bottom? 

It wasn’t the worst experience of my drinking, but it was the last. I woke up in a foreign place in Oliver, BC, crawling out of a motel window with no idea how I’d gotten there. I didn’t know where my car was. I ended up running up the highway to my workplace, sneaking in the back door, and sitting in an empty bar with my head in my hands. It had happened again. 

That was the May long weekend of 1993, during a baseball tournament—and that was the moment I finally knew something had to change.    

When did you first hear of A.A. and from what source?                                                              

My employee knew something wasn’t right and called to check on me. She had found AA a couple of months earlier and gently suggested that I might want to try a meeting. She told me I could call her if I was interested. 

It took me a couple of days to work up the courage, but eventually I picked up the phone. AA was advertised everywhere back then—I had even called AA three different times when I lived in Calgary, but I never made it to a meeting. This time, something was different. I was finally ready to try. 

Where did you go to your first meeting? What did you think of it?                                    

 My first meeting was on a Monday night in Osoyoos, BC. I couldn’t stop crying. My employee—who had become my lifeline at that point—took me there. I told her, “If one of these people speaks to me, I will never come back.”  She spread the word and no one approached me. 

What I remember most was the laughter. I couldn’t understand it. How could these people possibly find anything funny? My life, as far as I could see, had just ended. I didn’t know yet that what I was hearing wasn’t laughter at life falling apart—it was laughter from people who had found a way to live again.   

Can you tell me about your early sobriety, your work through the Steps, and problems you had in those first days of learning the A.A. way?  

In my first year of sobriety, I kept working in the bars because everyone told me not to make any big decisions. My early goals were simple: stop lying—if I could even figure out what the truth was—and get 10 years of sobriety. When I asked the old‑timers about doing the Steps, they told me to focus on learning how to live sober first, not to be quick to stir up all that garbage again. 

After I took my one‑year cake, I finally found the courage to quit my job. I convinced the govt that I qualified for retraining, and that’s when I found a female sponsor and truly began the Steps. She took me through the Big Book in a way I could understand. She told me that the answers to all my problems were in that book. 

When I couldn’t pay my rent, I asked my landlord if I could pick apples in their orchard to make up the difference. My sponsor reminded me that God doesn’t hand out money, but He might give me the opportunity to earn it—and then she offered to help.  So there we were: the two most useless women in the entire Okanagan Valley. We’d pick one apple and eight would fall. I complained nonstop until she finally told me I needed “an attitude of gratitude.” I hung up on her. 

That night, driving to a meeting in Penticton, I passed my church and saw the reader board out front: “Always have an Attitude of Gratitude.” I called her right away. A few weeks later, we went to the Round Up in Penticton, and as we walked into the banquet room, a fifty‑foot banner stretched across the wall: “An Attitude of Gratitude.” She looked at me and said, “Is that big enough for you?”      

 Did you have a sponsor when you first came in? What type of sponsorship did you have?   

My first sponsor was a man. He bought me my first Big Book and was also sponsoring the woman who brought me into the program.  Later on, I would work for him in his family catering business while I waited for my retraining to begin. His name was Terry J. 

That first year, I just white‑knuckled it. I went to meetings, stuck close to the old‑timers, tried not to kill anyone, and stayed sober. That was my whole job back then—don’t drink, show up, and hang on.     

How many groups or meetings were in existence?                                                                        

In the Southern Okanagan, there was one meeting a day in every town. We crossed the US border on Wednesdays and Sundays to go to meetings. Penticton was the largest centre-it had meetings twice a day and even an Alano Club. 

When I moved to Burnaby at three years sober, it felt like a whole new world. There were meetings everywhere. I became a member of the Middlegate Group, surrounded by old‑timer legends like Tubby, Blaze, Gordy Pound, Irma, and Burt. They were the kind of people who carried the history of AA in their stories and in the way they lived. 

I was made the Intergroup rep and sat in the meetings that eventually led to Langley forming its own Intergroup Office.  Langley’s very first office was directly above where the current one is now. I volunteered for the evening phone shifts.   

Can you recall the formats used at some of these early meetings? How were they run?  

 My Home Group in Oliver also hosted a weekly Step Study, which was common for groups back then. These were table‑discussion meetings. Ben Sr. would hand someone the Big Book.  Often we just went around the room, each person taking a turn.  No podiums, no secretary or visual positions.   

Members could smoke in the meetings, and coffee was always on. My homegroup tables were set up in a U‑shape, and every four people had their own little station: Coffeemate, sugar, and an ashtray. That setup was perfect for someone like me—I couldn’t sit still, so I kept myself busy filling coffee cups throughout the meeting.   

We had literature for sale, though some of it was Hazelden and not AA‑approved. We carried pocket meeting guides. There were no cell phones, no Google, no internet. No chips, either. The group bought your first‑year medallion, and on your cake meeting you were given the last five minutes to speak. After five minutes, the old‑timers would stand up and leave. There was no going over time.    

Which individuals were especially prominent in your sobriety?    

I’ve been blessed with incredible sponsors over the years—Terry J, Candy, Cheryl O, and currently Marian – whose relationship I cherish. And along the way, so many old‑timers shaped me into the woman I am in recovery. Racetrack Mary convinced me to quit smoking for the last time. Jack Donnelly always reminded me to “keep it simple.” Ben Sr. would look me straight in the eye and ask if I was “willing to go to any length.” Herb W from the Kingsway Group had known my parents at the Alpine Club. Bill and Sharon H were some of the best life mentors I’ve ever had—I was even married at their house.   Ed, Peter, Hardev, Joe, Cheryl, Laurel, Doug M, so many more. 

At my five‑year cake, I reconnected with Sheila, the sister of one of my childhood friends (she used to babysit me and my brother). We’d grown up just a few houses apart in the Okanagan.  She was also five years sober and a member of the Discovery Group. Eventually, we shared a basement suite and lived the program of recovery every single day. Our living room became a gathering place for sponsees, step groups, fifth steps, and fellowship. She gave me my fifteen‑year cake before she passed away, and I miss her deeply. 

The members of AA believed in me in a way my own family never had. They loved me long before I could love myself.     

Would you tell me about your experiences sponsoring others?  

I’ve married people in this program, and I’ve buried people in this program. One gal insisted I be in the delivery room when she gave birth to her second child. What a gift!  I wore a catchers mitt and saw the entire miracle unfold.   

I can’t begin to tell you how many women I’ve sponsored over the years, or how many I’ve taken through the Steps one‑on‑one. There is no greater joy than watching someone get sober and then seeing them carry the message to someone else—watching them step into service, give back, and become part of the same life‑saving chain.  We get to help someone else find their way home.   

How and why did you get into service work?  

All of my sponsors were deeply involved in service work, and they dragged me right along with them. I remember Cheryl O telling me that I “owed AA” and needed to give back what had been so freely given to me—and I believed her. 

In those early years, I went on 12‑Step calls to women living up in the hills of Washington State. I picked up old‑timers on my way to meetings. I chaired groups in the women’s maximum‑security prison. That work forced me to face my own demons, and through it I eventually found self‑forgiveness. Staying busy wasn’t just helpful—it was essential.   

I don’t question any of it anymore. Service is simply part of who I am. God puts me where I’m supposed to be and gives me the chance to be useful wherever I can.  

What service positions have you held? During what years?   

I’ve held just about every service position in my Home Group. I’ve been GSR, Alt‑GSR, Alt‑DCM, Grapevine Chair, and served in multiple Intergroup roles. I’ve been Alt Chair, Chair and the main speaker for D43 Gratitude Day.  Every year, I try to volunteer for something. I’ve spoken in schools, been the Police and Fire liaison for PI/CPC, worked on the website, accepted countless speaking invitations to name a few.  Service has been the backbone of my sobriety.  

What special occasions do you recall during your time of A.A. service?  

 The International Convention in Vancouver was incredible. I had the chance to volunteer for several days, and a couple of my sponsees came to town so we could experience it together.  Saving me a seat at the Big Meetings, soaking in the energy of thousands of people celebrating sobriety under one roof. I even hosted a dinner with four generations of sponsorship. 

Right after the Convention, we boarded a sober cruise to Alaska. There were over a hundred people in the daily AA meetings on the ship. In fact, the Quebec members broke off and held a French‑speaking meeting an hour earlier—which had another hundred people in it.   I’ve been to meetings in Rio de Janeiro where our shares were translated into Portuguese.  They were thrilled to meet people so enthusiastic about living AA way of life. 

How has A.A. changed (if it has) since you first found it?   

When I first came into AA, the members were much more involved in the community. Treatment centres were only just starting to become popular. There were no cell phones, no internet, no social media. Anonymity was sacred—you didn’t dare bring a camera to a meeting. Recovery wasn’t something people talked about openly. In fact, being in AA was still considered shameful, and I kept my program completely separate from my work life for many years. 

It wasn’t uncommon for newcomers to be sleeping on your couch. The police and hospitals would call AA members directly and ask us to come speak to someone who needed help. Twelve‑Step calls were simply part of your week. We travelled to a different meeting in a different town every night. There was a meeting on the way to the meeting, and a meeting after the meeting. That was just how we did it.  I sobered up in a small town, so maybe things were different in the city.  I sobered up in the only place I could have.