The First Word

I walked into my first meeting holding my breath, hoping to be invisible. I sat in the back row, arms crossed, protecting the secrets I had carried for years. Then a woman began to speak, and she told my story. She didn't know me, but she knew my terror, my obsession, and my exhaustion.

Suddenly, I was crying. Not a polite tear, but a messy, heaving release I couldn't control. I was mortified, but no one looked away or judged. They passed me tissues and kept talking. In that room, I realized I wasn't crying from grief; I was crying from the shock of being understood without having to explain a word.

The First Step doesn't begin with "I admitted." It begins with "We." That single word shattered my isolation. It meant I didn't have to carry the weight of the family disease alone anymore. The group could hold what I could not. I learned that day that recovery isn't a solo project; it is a shared journey.

I will lean into the “We” today. If a burden feels too heavy, I will reach out to a program friend, understanding that I don't have to carry it alone and that sharing can lighten the load.