What took me so long to get here?
Despite having about a million reasons to attend Al-Anon, I always seemed to find a million and one reasons not to go:
- I don’t know anyone.
- I don’t like public speaking.
- I don’t know what to say.
- I don’t want to cry.
- I’m an introvert.
- So and so went and they didn’t like it.
- Another person said it’s hard to find a good group.
- If I just work harder/plan more/insert any controlling action here more, then my problems will go away.
- It’s not really that bad, I’ll be okay. I always am.
- It’s not me with the problem; I’m not an addict.
So Why Did I Finally Walk in the Doors?
I had hit my own rock bottom.
Nothing I did before worked, and I was in a crisis. My “qualifier” (the alcoholic in my life whose drinking affected me) went out of state and I was left alone with my two young kids. I was left with pieces of myself and my marriage and somehow had to put one foot in front of the other. I couldn’t even string together two cohesive thoughts; my mind was spaghetti. As someone who has always prided themselves on keeping everyone else together, I finally was falling apart and this time I couldn’t deny it.
A supportive friend and wise therapist casually said, “Just go to a meeting; try it out.”
I had been to more Alcoholics Anonymous meetings as a friend and family member than I could count. I even worked in a rehab facility as a student and did a research project at another. What could I learn in yet another type of meeting?
Pulling In for My First Al-Anon Meeting
The crunch of the parking lot seemed so loud as I pulled in for my first Al-Anon meeting. Despite the SC humidity, I felt a chill as I opened the door as if my insides were exposed to the whole world.
Gulp.
Here I am.
What I finally realized before walking through the door was that I had just been too scared to come in — that’s why I never did. I masked my fear with excuses and ego because I was too scared to have the focus on me for once, scared to be the one who admitted they needed to change. I had blamed my qualifier for everything for so long; I never could look at myself and see how I had contributed to where I was in my life.
After walking in feeling like a failure with my tail between my legs, I was welcomed by complete strangers. I started to shed my excuses to show up, one speaker at a time. I couldn’t string two words together to say “I’ll pass,” let alone my name, but that didn’t matter. That was okay. The group spoke for me.
They all knew what I knew.
They’ve all walked where I’ve walked.
And I never had to say a thing.
I remember telling myself every minute for the entire hour: “Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry.” Then when the first person was brave enough to speak, I saw the group collectively gather around them. I was struck by how much courage that took. There was no judgment, just pure support with no admission fee.
There is a common saying in Al-Anon called the “Three Cs”: I didn’t cause it, I cannot control it, I cannot cure it. Many also add “But I can contribute to it” at the end, and I realized for the first time that I needed to look at myself in the mirror. If not for me, but for my kids.
I learned that isolation is a common coping strategy for us and then realized how much isolating I had done in recent years. Becoming a mother during a pandemic didn’t help prevent the isolation either. How many times had my friends asked for a play date and I just couldn’t bring myself together to get out of the house?
I met others in a similar situation as mine, and I saw that they could laugh and smile again. They could show up for themselves and their kids in a positive way. I finally had hope again.
This group served as a life raft in a terrible storm when I couldn’t see in front of me. A place I felt accepted, no questions asked. A place that taught me that we’re all just a work in progress at various stages.
Keep coming back.
We’re glad you’re here.
Read more from our Anonymous Stories in Motherhood series.
