Being a Conference Coordinator – A Personal Reflection
When I first agreed to be Conference Coordinator, I thought I was saying yes to a bit of admin.
A few emails. A couple of meetings. Passing on some paperwork.
What I didn’t realise was that I was really saying yes to a different kind of sobriety — one built on responsibility, patience, and trust in the group conscience.
Most of my service in A.A. had been visible: making tea, setting out chairs, Secretary for the Friday night meeting. This role felt different from the start. It happens mostly behind the scenes. No one really notices if you’re doing it right. But if you don’t do it, something important is missing — the connection between our home group and A.A. as a whole.
Early each summer, I arrange an open Group Steering Committee meeting and ask a simple question:
“Does anyone have anything they’d like to ask Conference?” usually followed by silence!
Then someone cautiously says, “I’ve always wondered why…,” and another adds, “Could we ask about…?” Before long, the room is alive with discussion. That’s when I remember Tradition Two — I’m not there to lead or decide. I’m there to listen and help the group find its voice, the feeling I get then, is what service is all about.
I help members shape their thoughts into clear questions, type them up, and send them off to GSO before the August deadline. I keep copies of everything like they’re precious documents, because in a way they are — they’re our group’s conscience on paper. If I don’t hear back, I follow up with a phone call. It feels ordinary, almost clerical, but it’s part of carrying the message in a way I’d never thought about before.
As the year moves on and Conference questions and proposals are published, my bag starts filling with papers: literature drafts, background notes, old reports, rejected questions from previous years. I work closely with our GSR so we can get everything to the group quickly.
Then come the discussion meetings.
These are some of my favourite moments.
We sit together, discussing Traditions, the Concepts, and the Service Handbook, trying to understand what’s best for A.A. as a whole — not just what we personally prefer. Watching our members, some with only months sober, carefully consider how decisions might affect alcoholics they’ll never meet… it moves me every time.
That’s when I really understand Concept One: ultimate responsibility rests with the groups.
Before the regional pre-conference meeting, I’m busy announcing dates, organising lifts, encouraging people to come along. I’ve learned that sometimes service just means making sure everyone can be there.
At pre-conference, I introduce myself as the Road to Recovery Conference Coordinator and hand our written responses to each delegate. I used to feel nervous speaking up. Now I remind myself I’m not speaking for me — I’m carrying the group conscience. If something hasn’t been heard or understood, it’s my responsibility to gently raise it. Not to argue, just to be clear. Love and tolerance is still our code.
When Conference actually happens, there’s nothing to do but wait.
And trust.
When the delegates return, I collect their preliminary reports, photocopy them, and get them out to everyone as soon as I can. Then we meet again, talk it through, ask questions at post-conference, and make sure there’s accountability. I feel grateful that i have been aboe to be part of something bigger than ourselves.
Throughout the year, I attend regional meetings as an observer, keep files organised for the next person, and read the Service Handbook and Concepts daily. I didn’t expect that part to matter so much, but it does. Those readings keep me grounded. They remind me that service is spiritual work, not just practical work.
Some days the role is nothing but chasing paperwork and sending reminders.
Other days I suddenly realise: this is how A.A. stays alive, not through grand gestures, but through trusted servants quietly doing small things consistently.
Bill W. wrote about trusted servants rather than governors. I feel that deeply in this job. No authority, no vote, no spotlight — just responsibility. It has taught me humility in a way nothing else has. I don’t get my way; the group finds its way.
And somewhere in all of this, my own sobriety grows.
I’ve become more patient. Less opinionated. More willing to listen. More aware that A.A. doesn’t belong to me or my group — we belong to it.
When my two-year term ends, I’ll hand over folders full of reports, notes, old questions, and phone numbers to the next Coordinator. But what I really hope to pass on is this:
Being Conference Coordinator isn’t about paperwork.
It’s about being a bridge.
A bridge between one meeting room and the whole Fellowship.
Between one alcoholic and the future of A.A.
Between gratitude and action.
And for me, it has been one of the most meaningful pieces of service I’ve ever had the privilege to do.
Becs, Road to Recovery Group, Plymouth, March 2026