One of my group colleagues presented her family tree today. It’s strange how something as simple as a chart with names and lines can open doors you’ve kept locked for decades. She walked us through her childhood, layer by layer, story by story. A bit reluctant and also things she had never shared with a single person before.
And yet she spoke with a kind of calm strength not theatrical, not breaking down, just honest. It reminded me that everyone in that room has their own ghosts, and every family tree carries both beauty and broken branches. After her presentation, we talked about faith and spirituality not in a religious sense, but in the sense of believing in something beyond the addiction.
Some called it God.
Some called it purpose.
Some called it intuition, or the feeling that life still has more to offer than the next drink.
What struck me most was that this wasn’t about rules or doctrines.
It was about connection, about finding an anchor when the storm inside gets too loud.
About realizing that recovery isn’t just a physical or psychological journey, it’s also a spiritual one, whatever “spiritual” means to you.
For me, sobriety has often felt like walking out of a burning house barefoot.
Today, for the first time in a long time, it felt like stepping into a space where I don’t have to walk alone.
Everyone has their story.
Everyone has their wounds.
And yet, in that room, it didn’t feel shameful. It felt human.
Today reminded me of something simple but powerful, healing begins when silence ends.
And sometimes, the strongest thing you can do is let someone else’s story help you understand your own.
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