It’s Time to Make Those Hard-to-Keep Promises to Yourself

‘Tis January, and willpower springs ephemeral . . .

“I feel like everything is sinking,” says Kathleen McCafferty, an “over-40” antiques dealer pumping away at a stationary bicycle at the Downtown YMCA. “I’d like to get back to like I was two or three months ago.” One other resolution: to “meditate more.”

Gary Meyer, a 39-year-old attorney, reads the sports section as he pedals. After the long workweeks of ‘92, he wants a “better balanced life. . . . More exercise. More time with my kids.”

In a weight room, Patrick Gibson, a 32-year-old engineer, strains to add muscle to his string-bean frame. His goal?

“I want to be a sex god by summer.”

It is a rite of winter. In this darkest and coldest of times, people for some reason believe that the sunrise on Jan. 1 lends can-do spirit to decisions that could be made just as easily on, say, April Fool’s Day. New Year’s resolutions can always be counted on to crowd gyms, health clubs and weight-loss programs with people who swear that this year they’ll stick to it.

But say you’re burdened by something more than a few inches around the middle. Say you abuse alcohol, drugs or your credit card. As it happens, January is also the busiest month at the California Self-Help Center, an obscure clearinghouse inside a warren of offices at UCLA that is designed to hook people up with support groups and recovery programs. Last January, the Self-Help Center’s volunteers and staff fielded 2,988 calls for assistance--more than double the number of calls the previous month.

Just the other morning, somebody out there dialed (800) 222-LINK and connected with a grandmotherly volunteer named Jackie. The caller was a woman who expressed fears that she had become addicted to sex. Jackie pecked at her computer terminal and provided contacts for two groups, one called Sexual Compulsions Anonymous and another called Sex and Love Addicts Anonymous.

Jackie fields another call. This time it’s a divorced man who has custody of one of his sons. Now his ex is sending their two other boys to come live with them. He’s glad they’re coming, but he feels a bit overwhelmed. Jackie puts him in touch with a singles group.

The network of support groups includes the obscure. Its computer files list two trichotillomania support groups for people who suffer a nervous disorder that makes them pull at their hair. People who have trouble dealing with life’s material debris might consider Clutterers Anonymous, Messies Anonymous or Pack Rats International. For people trying to escape fundamentalist Christianity, there’s Fundamentalists Anonymous.

Some calls are poignant. Jackie remembers the middle-aged woman who called to ask about Alcoholics Anonymous, only to later confide that she had learned that her husband liked to dress in women’s clothing. Statewide, there are several support groups for cross-dressers and their loved ones.

Sometimes people call to talk of suicide. In those instances, a staff member such as Roger Cantu, trained in suicide prevention counseling, will take the line.

Some calls are just plain bizarre.

Cantu said he recently handled a call from a man who said he had attended school with Bill Clinton and knew for a fact that Bill Clinton was dead. The body of the President-elect, the man insisted, was now occupied by an alien from outer space.

In Cantu’s line of work, you’re not supposed to laugh at people’s problems, so Cantu tried to pass the buck. “Maybe you should call the police,” he recalls saying.

“I already did,” the man told him. “They said I should call you.”

Sometimes it seems like the ultimate California cliche: In this touchy-feely state where there seems to be a support group for everything, the California Self-Help Center is a support group for support groups.

But in slash-and-burn budget battles of Sacramento, the Self-Help Center suffered deep cuts in its funding from the state Department of Mental Health. As officials decided to concentrate scarce dollars on the mentally ill, funding for the center last year went from about $970,000 to less than $200,000.

Two offices were closed, leaving six to cover the state. Staff who helped set up support groups were let go. Hours were shortened. A check by the phone company showed that 70% of callers get a busy signal.

And that’s too bad, says Fran Dory, executive director of the Self-Help Center, because it will mean that many people won’t connect. Dory believes in support groups. When she learned that her son had learning disabilities, she says, she found a group in a computer listing and the results were terrific.

Her own New Year’s resolutions?

“I actually promised a friend I would go with her to Overeaters Anonymous,” she says.

That, and she also means to keep a closer eye on her personal finances.