New Zealand's one-in-10 problem drinkers are warping the lives of many around them, and never more so than at Christmas. Offering hope to those affected by others' addictions are publicity-shy Al-Anon members, who say their paradoxical approach works best for those who want it, not those who need it, writes Bruce Munro.
''Right now there are people in this city, in this region, who are going, 'Oh my God, what is it going to be like'?''
The speaker, Sophie*, is a middle-aged woman with the air of a mother. She talks quietly but with conviction born of all-too-real experience.
On either side of her in the spartan newspaper interview room sits a woman roughly her age. Charlotte* has the look of a life lived in the outdoors.
Emma's* attire suggests a fusing of her inner artist with a business executive alter-ego. As Sophie continues, they both nod knowingly.
''These people are making some kind of plan for how to cope,'' she says.
''How to protect themselves, how to protect their children. How to protect their bank accounts.
''Other people are shopping for Christmas. They are disaster planning.''
The women are gathered to talk about Al-Anon, a self-help group that has all the mystique of quantum physics - many people have heard of it, few understand it, and its inner workings (they are about to reveal) often defy commonly held assumptions.
Sophie was confronted by Al-Anon in the weeks before Christmas, 2010.
''I was talking to an alcoholic who was three years into his recovery. I was complaining to him about my qualifier [the addicted family member or friend].
"He listened patiently and then when I paused he said, You need to go to Al-Anon, because you're as f***ing crazy as they are'.
She was offended, but went along. She didn't like it, but attended six meetings as suggested.
''It's now coming up to three years. It's been a real lifeline, '' she says.
Being close to an alcoholic, or, as is common today, someone with a grab-bag of addictions, affects you, Emma says.
Whether you are married to them, or in her case raised by them, you adapt to survive.
''But those adaptations are often unhelpful,'' she says.
''I developed my own addictive patterns. Not alcohol, but work and relationships.''
Emma was sent to Alateen - Al-Anon for young people - when she was 15. But it did not ''stick''.
Through the ensuing decades she dabbled in Al-Anon and read the organisation's literature.
In February, however, she began attending Al-Anon meetings weekly.
''I came back this time because I had run out of other answers,'' she states matter-of-factly.
Desperate and lacking hope. That is the way many people have been coming to Al-Anon since its inception.
In the early days of Alcoholics Anonymous (AA), 70-plus years ago, Annie Smith, wife of AA co-founder Dr Bob Smith, would comfort the wives of alcoholics joining the fledgling group.
''As I've been told the story,'' Emma says, ''she was in the kitchen with all the wives and a light bulb went on in her head when she realised `we're all as sick as them [the alcoholics]'.''
Al-Anon Family Groups were formally established in 1951 and the first Al-Anon meeting was held in New Zealand three years later.
Today, there are more than 90 groups throughout the country and about 28,000 worldwide.
Meetings attract a lot of first-timers and the answers they hear are often not the ones they expect or want to hear.
''Typically, people come along thinking this is how they will fix the addict in their life,'' Sophie says.
''They think, these people will tell me how to fix them.''
Instead they discover a programme designed to aid their own development, not that of the addict. Dunedin's four Al-Anon groups average about 12 members each, with about seven attending each one-hour, weekly meeting.
It is not many given the much higher number of first-time attenders, and minuscule in light of the damage being done by alcohol and other drugs in New Zealand.
In October, a new estimate by Prof Doug Sellman, of the University of Otago's Christchurch-based National Addiction Centre, put the number of problem drinkers who could be classed as alcoholic at 400,000, or one in 10 New Zealanders.
The rule of thumb is that for every alcoholic or drug addict, another five people are impacted.
But unless they are ''ready'', people may well look for easier solutions.
''It's not for people who need it, it's for people who want it,'' Sophie explains.
At Al-Anon's heart is the same 12-step recovery programme used by AA, Charlotte says.
AA is for alcoholics. Al-Anon is for their family and friends.
''We are affected by the disease of alcoholism and drug addiction as well,'' she says.
''We have been alongside the disease so we can't help but be affected.''
The idea that alcoholism was a sickness, not a moral failing, was one
Al-Anon and AA were arguing long before it became fashionable.
Charlotte was encouraged to go to Al-Anon by staff of Southern District Health Board's (SDHB) Community Alcohol and Drug Service, which was counselling her and her husband, as they had been drinking heavily.
She attended several Al-Anon meetings before telling her story.
''There's a lot of shame that comes with alcoholism. And I had tried to hide it for a long time.''
The first of the 12 Steps, and one of the most significant for Charlotte, was admitting her powerlessness.
Being told you did not cause the addiction, cannot control it, and cannot cure it, can remove a lot of guilt and regret.
But it also challenges deeply ingrained behaviours.
Those close to people with addictions are typically master controllers, adept at managing people and constantly trying to ''hold it all together''.
Instead, Charlotte was told she was powerless over the alcohol and needed to ''let go''.
''Because, then you can start looking after yourself. And you need to let them [the addict] look after themselves,'' she says.
The word detachment comes up more than once.
''It doesn't mean not loving your partner,'' Emma explains.
''But you are available to be in the relationship, as opposed to being glued into their tragedy.''
Charlotte says the recovery programme has helped her ''detach with love''.
''And helped me look after my family; which I wasn't doing properly.''
Every Al-Anon member is encouraged to have a sponsor - a mentor-like figure to help them ''work the steps''.
But in an organisation as pointedly anti-authoritarian as this one - ''Our leaders are but trusted servants; they do not govern'' - the sponsorship relationship is always initiated by the sponsoree.
The internet has made it possible for members to find sponsors in other towns, even other countries.
The growth of Al-Anon seems hobbled by its insistence on anonymity.
The three women, and a man spoken to later, do not want even their first names used.
Growth should be by person-to-person attraction rather than mass promotion, the self-help group's literature exhorts.
It has to be that way, the members say.
''Anonymity is the cornerstone of our practice,'' Sophie says.
''Everything that is said at a meeting or member to member stays there.
''How could you go along to a meeting and talk if you had seen a major breach of anonymity?'
'Take away anonymity and you might attract people along, but attract them to what? Nothing.''
If anonymity is the cornerstone, spirituality is Al-Anon's ground of being - an integral and distinctive element since its inception.
After admitting powerlessness, the second of the 12 Steps requires belief ''that a Power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity''.
Step three is ''a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of God as we understood Him''.
The next nine steps, which include making amends and personal development, are infused with a spiritual mindset.
Who or what exactly is their Higher Power is left to members to sort out for themselves.
About five years ago, Jack* was visiting his alcoholic parents in another city.
While there he had coffee with the wife of a drinking buddy who described her ''hellish experience'' living with an alcoholic.
''Other people have described my upbringing as horrendous. But for us kids it was normal, because we knew no different,'' Jack says
''But hearing her story gave me some perspective. I thought, well if that's what it did to her, imagine what it did to me.''
Through Al-Anon, Jack says he is learning to live a saner life by holding two apparently contradictory truths at the same time.
''It's taught me you can't beat yourself out of shape to suit other people,'' he says.
''And I have to abandon that tiresome self-centredness. Because you can't be happy unless you stop thinking about yourself and start thinking about others.''
For Jack, spiritual awakening came through a dream in which he was urged to leap into a flood - in essence to ''let go, and let God''.
Jack's wife, Olivia*, says the group gives him unique support and a different viewpoint.
''No matter how well meaning you are, you can't offer the same support because you haven't had the same experiences yourself,'' she says.
''It certainly helps me, being able to say, `Things are getting a little bit tangled. Time for a meeting, dear'.''
Prof Sellman says the National Addiction Centre has not conducted any specific research on Al-Anon but holds the group ''in high regard''.
Al-Anon members are regularly invited to talk to medical students learning about addiction medicine, he says.
The fellowship's long-term approach is crucial, he says.
''Group support from people who have gone through similar experiences over an extended period of time is a very powerful recipe for recovery.''
While the spiritual component puts some people off Al-Anon, well-regarded studies show increased spirituality which leads to personal renewal, new values and hope for the future has a part to play in addiction recovery, Prof Sellman says.
Sophie is sitting back in her chair.
All three women have just been asked what difference Al-Anon will make for members this Christmas.
Are they not left in the same terrible predicament, still having to formulate a disaster plan?
Often that is true, Sophie says, now leaning forward, eyes glistening.
''But your disaster plan is different. For one thing, you are not isolated any more.
''Instead you breathe, you think ... you ask for help from members or whatever spirituality you've become aware of.
''And your expectations are different. You don't expect the addict to deliver what they can't. It takes a lot of the emotional sting out of it.''
Serenity in spite of outward circumstances. The promise of peace on a troubled Earth made manifest one life at a time.
* Names have been changed.
