Al-Anon

My drive home is the first quiet moment of the day.

I remember a counselor told me in graduate school that her drive home was her self care.

She had a special CD she would listen to and unwind.

I remember all the words--boundaries, leave work at work, burn out prevention.

But it feels too late for all that. 

As a substance abuse counselor relapse is the enemy.

Going through a relapse with a client is painful.
There is loss of time,

loss of confidence.

Hopelessness emerges again,
it's nails digging deep into the work.
My work, her work, our fight for her life.

I drive and

I feel overwhelmed, lost, and terrified.

I feel so close to tears, but the tears won't come.

I'm not sleeping well. I'm not eating right,

and my own anxiety is suffocating.

I go home for two hours, and then drive to the nearest Al-Anon meeting.

I never would have considered myself a friend or family member of an addict,

but I know now that never was and never will be true.

Tired desperation fuels my mission as I park in front a church I've never been to.
There are plenty of cars parked.
Plenty of others needing encouragement.

I find the meeting in a small tiled floor through a church hallway.

I know where to go only because I can hear laughter and loud conversations.

I walk in and I am instantly greeted by "Welcome!" and "Sit here!"

I know from experience that I can walk into an Al-Anon meeting anywhere

and feel at home and accepted.

I feel a sameness with this group of strangers.

Their stories touch me in my core beliefs:

No, I can't be a good enough counselor--

No, my performance isn't going to keep her from drinking--

Yes, I feel a toll of this stress on my body--
Yes, it hurts. It's unmanageable.

The tears finally come.

I leave feeling recognized, cared for, and noticed.

I leave feeling like I can do this thing for at least another week,

and I'm only responsible for me, believing I can face it all 

with help from God.