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Fellowship.


After tonight’s meeting, which I attended solo because right now, my husband isn’t like “those people,” I went out with a friend from my program and her spouse, who is among “those people” in the rooms across the hall. It is so wonderful and exhausting to be among people in recovery. I always love these folks…people who are acutely aware of themselves, their issues, their ups and downs…and I remember it most when I’m in meetings. It’s nice, though, to get away from the meeting setting sometimes, and to get a break from all the meeting rules. It’s nice just to sit down and be with folks who are aware of all my crap, aware of all their own crap, and to accept each other with all our crap.

As different as we all are, I know I’ve finally found my real family. I’ve found people in recovery who will accept me, accept all my foolish decisions, respect my intelligent decisions. Finally finding folks who are able to talk over the small victories and defeats of life with gratitude and exuberance and acceptance is a wonderful feeling, and I’m so grateful.

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One Response to “ Fellowship. ”

  1. Bill Webb

    I know exactly what you mean. I come from a huge, sprawling family — the kind that has reunions with a couple hundred people: family, ex-family, hangers-on and the occasional stranger who is promptly adopted. We are an accepting and inclusive bunch (who just got our first interracial marriage and baby; no one blinked).

    Nonetheless, I’ve never felt as at home with those folks, even after double digit recovery, as I did the first time I walked into the lounge at the treatment center I attended, and every time since when I enter a meeting. There are earth folks, and there are people in recovery.

    It’s evolution, writ large and fast. We’re just…different.

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