In Our Own Words

Every other Wednesday I volunteer at a substance abuse treatment center for women, where I am an eavesdropper, listening in on the mystery of recovery from addiction.

This Wednesday when I arrive at the center I learn there’s a new gal so when we sit down at the table I go through my spiel: “This is the In Our Own Words writing group. We write to learn about ourselves. I give you a prompt, we write for ten minutes, then read out loud what we’ve written. Simple.”

The first prompt is: I WISH I COULD FORGET. A collective groan rises up. The timer set, I slide my notepad close and write: “I wish I could forget the image of my sister on the post office floor during a seizure. I wish I could forget what the ER doc said – that the seizure was a sign of advanced alcoholism – that if she didn’t get sober soon she would die.”

I glance up often to look at these women as they write. I love watching them, being with them. Because it was in a circle like this that my sister, holding the hands of other addicts, finally leaped out of the vodka hellhole she’d been in for a decade and walked forward into recovery.

When they first join the group, the women strain to write and speak the words. They parrot AA slogans, or write in the tone of “What I did last summer.” At some point, though, they slide into a voice unlike any of the ones before, a voice which they come to recognize as their own.

The timer beeps. “Linda, you go.” I say. Linda has muscular arms, a you-don’t-want-to-mess-with-me stare and a laugh that jingles. She wants to forget how she stole money from her grandma to buy meth.

Kim says, “I wish I could forget how the kids at school made fun of me. Even back then I knew I don’t got too much going for me in the looks department.” The women respond by saying “DING!” — it’s how they remind each other that self-loathing is no friend to recovery.

Next prompt: BEFORE I GET TOO OLD I WANT TO… . I feel the energy instantly and during the Read-around the dreams spill out and pool in the center of the table. “I want to go to college … travel … get my kids back and take them to Disneyland. I want to own my own home.”

The mystery of recovery is there in the words. So I play my role in helping the words squeeze out of constricted throats. Because I believe something comes unstuck inside when you say words like “hope” and “freedom” and “respect” and nobody laughs. I believe giving shame a name helps to send it into exile.

There’s something that crackles in the air when the women read their own words. Finding their voice is just part of the recovery process for these women, I know, but I never doubt its importance.