A Story of Recovery:
Surrendering to Experience, Strength, and Hope
Day 39 of shelter in place and month 13 since my world truly turned upside-down after losing my eighteen-year-old son. I felt I had no “experience, strength, and hope” to share with the online gathering of fellows set for that evening. I consider not showing up and just taking the night off.
As I prepare my abstinent food for that evening’s dinner, I make the decision to get some outreach calls done. Who to call? The first two are simple, return calls to fellows, both of whom have lived through many things in program and have an abundance of “experience, strength, and hope” to share. These fellows also have the wisdom to be genuine about the strange new world we are all living in while trying to be a part of the solution of not spreading COVID-19. As we speak about how we are feeling and the tools we are using to deal with those feelings, I begin to feel stronger and more able to at least consider being a part of the evening’s fellowship.
By the second call, I remember that I do not always have to bring the “experience, strength, and hope,” that as a fellow I can be the one to receive it. These calls lift me from the place that my addict brain sometimes goes when it gets weary from “life on life’s terms” and the unimaginable pain that profound loss can bring into one’s life. These calls remind me of the gift that can be found when sharing the load with understanding fellows.
Call three—now that is a bit trickier. Who to call? As I scroll through the extensive list of fellows who have become a part of my safety net in recovery during the last two years I have been in FA, it hits me. Why not call the lovely 94-year-old with two decades of experience in program? The two of us had attended meetings together twice a week up until the abrupt changes that occurred when our state’s shelter in place was declared. Her kind encouragement and honest sharing had carried me through some tough moments when I first joined the program, as well as in the months and years to follow.
She had recently been unwell, and this call would be an opportunity to both give and receive some caring and cheer. Ring one, two, three, four…I am sure the answering machine is going to pick up. Just as I resign myself to that outcome, the line rings out with her lovely strong sounding voice. She greets me with a vibrant hello, using my name with deliberate care. The familiarity with which she greets me feels so normal, so natural, so sweet. For a brief moment, all seems right in the world. I can hear she is doing better. Through this final call I am filled with hope and the possibility of better times to come, and I am anchored in a way I thought I couldn’t get to today. Before we hang up, I tell her how this call has shifted my energy and she too sharesthat the call has lifted her spirits.
I am renewed again by the idea that sometimes I can bring the “experience, strength, and hope” and sometimes I can be the one to receive it, but in the best moments both happen. That evening, I show up for my fellows and my program. I am even able to share during our gathering. I share the gratitude I have for the changes in my mind, body, and spirit, which allow me to find a new path forward, even in times of great loss and uncertainty. I am once again filled with the infinite hope and power recovery can bring when I surrender to it.