Al-Anon

My first Al-Anon meeting was weird. A far cry from AA. The attendants were more timid. More broken. I questioned if I truly belonged. The moment I walked in, I was ready to turn back around. But the speaker of the group wasn’t willing to let me get away that easily.

Adult children have this weird gift call empathy. They can sense things. Like what you’re feeling. And what you’re thinking. Even when you don’t tell them. And they do these weird things to make you face those very feelings and thoughts you’re just so happening to run from.

“Are you new?”

I pause. Well this is unexpected. Do I respond, or do I act unscathed and get out while I still can. My conscience weighs in, against my better judgement, and it’s as if my body responds before my mind could even catch up. I turn to face the speaker, nervously.

“I just thought I’d stop by.” I smile nervously. The attendants now zone in on me. Too much attention. Fight or flight feels stronger than before. But lucky for me, the speaker managers to break the ice from her oddly cheerful demeanor.

“Come on in, we have plenty of seats.”

My people pleasing tendencies get the best of me. Before I could even push back, I’m suddenly seated. As if the Holy Spirit itself had repositioned my body. I guess this is what they call divine intervention.

The attention quickly diverts back on to the speaker as she continues to share.

“Now where was I? I think I was talking about my father? Oh, right. So I was about 12 years old when I realized he had a real issue with alcohol. He would often play music really loudly and then become really jovial and charismatic the first few hours. We loved him when he got like that.”

The speaker pauses and looks to the side for a moment, as if she is reliving the experience. She smiles and recollects herself before continuing.

“Unfortunately, those moments were short lived. It wasn’t long until was smashing plates over my mother’s head.”

A few members in the audience gasp before the room goes silent. I squirm a bit, questioning if I’m in the right place. But the speaker continues, and so the anxiety remains a momentary discomfort.

“I remember we became close friends with some of the local police. They were over so often. They pretty much knew the protocol. We never wanted to press charges. We always wanted to sweep things under the rug.”

The speaker is charming. Her strength is evident due to her humility. She speaks of difficult things with such ease. And from what I can gather, most people seem to relate to her delivery. For f**k’s sake, even I relate to her delivery. As I wait for her to continue, a woman gazing intently at her phone puts her pointer finger in the air. The speaker acknowledged the woman before closing out her story.

“It wasn’t the best experience. But it made me who I am. And I am proud of that person. Even if she may not be for everyone. Thank you for listening.”

I begin clapping before the attendees turn around to look at me disdainfully. Just as quickly, the attendees return their attention back to the speaker while uttering “thank you for sharing” in unison.

The speaker now opens the floor for personal shares. The crowd is slow to engage. Tension fills the air. I do my best to remain non-disruptive. There seems to be a code of conduct that I’ve yet to learn. And so I do my best to remain low key until I’m caught up to speed.

A woman raises her hand cautiously. Relived, the speaker opens the floor to her. The woman is modestly dressed, plain faced, and lacking in enthusiasm. At first, I’m not quite sure what to make of her. I do my best to withhold judgement as I instead attempt to gauge her behavior for future reference.

“Hi, I’m Amanda and I’m a Codependent.”

“Hi Amanda.”

The group utters in a monotone expression.

The woman pauses to let the energy settle before continuing.

“First off, I’d like to start by thanking the speaker.”

She gestures over to the speaker’s direction as the two exchange brief but warm eye contact before continuing.

“I’ve been working the program for 2 years now. I even have two sponsees that I’m working with. And it’s still surpassing how much I’m able to relate to the stories shared in this room.”

The attendants utter in agreement.

“Most of you have already know my story. This is my home group after all. But for those of you who don’t, here’s the gist. I escaped a cult.”

I let out an accidentally over exaggerated gasp. The attendees stare back at me inquisitively before smirking and looking back at Amanda’s direction. Amanda is kind and reassures me.

“If you think that’s shocking new girl, keep coming back. This room is far more interesting than anything you’ll find on true crime.”

I sink into my seat slightly embarrassed, waiting for her to continue her share. She resumes.

“Well, I wanted to give you guys some updates on that situation. My parents as well as my uncle have recently been incarcerated for child endangerment and sex crimes.”

The attendees begin to murmur against themselves, but Amanda does a good job maintaining control of the floor.

“I know, I know. Who would’ve thought. Right? I mean, since I’ve gotten the news, I’ve been desperately trying to see how I feel about the whole thing. Is this my justice? Should I be relieved? Should I grieve the loss of my family? I mean, wheat even is the right answer with a situation like this.”

The room grows dearly silent as what appears to be internal dialogue makes a bold surface. Amanda’s subconscious mind dances with her conscious mind giving us a show that ignites a similar internal quest within ourselves.

We listen attentively as we wait for her to come up with the right words. She swallows firmly, doing her best to keep her emotions at bay.

“I mean, I have my own kids now. I have a husband I don’t want to let down. I’m not that little girl anymore. I can’t keep letting her run the show. But still.”

She pauses in a final attempt to repress her emotions. The tension is much thicker than before. The room is filled with anticipation as we wait to see where she is going with these sentiments.

“I can’t help but feel sorry for that little girl. The one who never really got to be little at the end of the day.”

She chokes a bite before looking off to the side. The room remains silent. The floor remains hers to hold. But as soon as it started, it finished. Amanda ends her share.

The speaker of the house thanks Amanda before looking for the next share. Another woman raises her hand. This one seems completely opposite Amanda. She is bold. She wears black lipstick and has straight bangs that complement her wavy, mid length trestles. The speaker selects her. Upon introducing herself, her voice is raspy and distinct. She speaks with confidence and power.

“Hi Folks, I’m Almina and I’m an adult child.”

“Hi Almina.”

The group responds.

“First time sharing but long time attendee. I’d like to say I’ve been a passive observer. But let’s be real now, there’s nothing quiet about me.”

She smirks as the attendees chuckle.

“I have been in the US for about 5 years now. My parents thought there would be more opportunity her compared to Russia. They thought, maybe if we left as much of our heritage behind as possible, we could have better lives. Looks like they forgot to leave the Vodka behind too.”

The attendees chuckle as she smirks amongst herself. She is charming and engaging, easily drawing us in.

“But I know well enough that there’s nothing funny about addiction. And that my loud persona and conveniently timed jokes are nothing short of a defense mechanism.”

The attendees go silent as they continue to listen intently.

“Many of you in here look up to me. It must be the accent. Yeah, I’m pretty sure it’s the accent.”

Some members can be seen smiling amongst themselves. It’s clear she’s a crowd favorite.

“But I cannot tell you guys how much I felt the same way about myself. You know, when I go home and have some time to myself, I don’t feel like a hero. In fact, I feel like anything but. I feel like a coward. Like a nobody. Like the burdensome child who drove my parents to drink.”

A woman in the crowd can be seen putting her thumbs to her chin contemplatively. A few members in the crowd cross their legs and fold their arms defensively. Her words seem to be making more impact than she realizes.

“See, I’m here, I am Amina the great. But out there, I find myself asking where is my cape? Where is my power? Where is my worth?”

The woman staring down at her phone raises her pointer finger as Amina makes eyes contact with her. She nods before redirecting her attention back on to the speaker.

“Thank you very much for your share. I’m reminded how much work I still have to do when I hear stories such as yours. That’s all for today.”

“Keep coming back.”

The attendees say in unison.

“Anyone else?”

The speaker opens the floor back up. No one is quick to raise a hand. It seems that most of the room is still processing Amina’s share.

The woman staring at her phone looks at me warming, giving me a reassuring smile. The speaker takes notice and looks my direction as a result.

“New girl, what about you? Would you like to share anything?” My face grows flush. For a moment, it feels as if my chest has sunken into my stomach. I can barely utter a response before the woman on the phone interjects.

“You can talk about whatever you please. This is a safe space. Most of us in here have likely either been through it, or heard about it already. Most importantly, the setting is completely anonymous. Use whatever name you’d like. And everything that is spoke about stays in the room. There’s nothing to fear.”

I take a big gulp before correcting my posture. And take one big look around the room before contemplating running out of it. Before I could even reject the offer, the woman holding the phone adds yet another sentiment to the equation.

“Shares are timed. They’re fairly simple. Everyone has 5 minutes to talk about whatever they’d like. When there’s one minute left on the timer, I’ll put a finger up to warn you.”

At this point, I couldn’t dare turn down the offer. I mean, so much effort has gone into simply getting me to speak up. I nod to the timer to indicate my understanding before turning back towards the speaker and the attendees glancing my direction.

“Hi, I’m Sabrina and I’m an adult child?”

The attendees nod with encouragement before welcoming me.

All of a sudden, the experience feels far less intimidating than I originally thought.

“This is my first time, and I’m a bit nervous.”

The attendees chuckle and smile with encouragement. Giving me the strength the continue and push through my nerves.

“I mean, I really don’t know if I belong here. You guys have shared so many challenging details about your story. I almost feel guilty speaking about mine.”

The room is silent. But the looks on everyone’s face lets me know that there is no judgement here whatsoever. I continue.

“Similar to Amina, I grew up with immigrant parents. Which made it really hard to get an idea of what exactly is normal and what isn’t.”

I pause, thinking carefully of what I should say next. But before I could think too much, it’s as if the words begin to flow naturally.

“I always felt like I was doing something wrong. Like nothing I ever did was good enough. So I tried my hardest to be perfect in hopes of maybe making things better within my home. But the harder I tried, the darker things would get.”

The attendees continued to nod along as I spoke. As if my experiences were directly translating in relation to their own personal tales.

“I knew something was wrong when I noticed my younger sibling would often be rewarded for doing things most families would frown upon. While I would be punished for things most families would celebrate. It felt like living in a parallel universe.”

The speaker smiled warmly, as if she could personally relate.

“Yeah, my family was big into alcohol and drugs. But I think what surprised me most was their involvement in crime. I think that part was the most off putting. I realized I was too naive for them. I did everything by the book. I thought it’s what they wanted from me. But I didn’t realize that I was born into a crime family. Most importantly, I’d internalize they shook hands with powerful people. And that they were worthy of being feared. Growing up, I was always filled with anxiety. Because even though I couldn’t explain it, I knew the threat of violence was always surrounding me. I always felt like my life was in danger for some odd reason. And to subdue the feeling, I would engage in things that would ease the feeling. Sometimes that would drinking. Other times, that would be running to romantic partners and friends for protection. But I realize I couldn’t run forever. Because no matter how far I tried to run, they would find me. And they would bring me back by force if they had to. In retrospect, I grew up feeling prisoner to them and being terrified of them at the same time. And I don’t know if this is normal. But I also don’t know if things will ever change either.”

The speaker put up her pointer finger to let me know I was close to the cut off point. I look around at the attendees who seem rather engaged before graciously ending my share.

“I feel like I said too much. I don’t know, this is kind of awkward. I’m still new to this. But regardless, thank you for listening. And thank you for inviting me to speak today.”

The speaker clapped her hands together while letting out a proud smile. The time keeper was quick to thank me for the share before looking for another member.

By this point, a slew of hands had gone up. The speaker was quick to pick. This time, an older woman has taken the floor.

“Hey y’all, I’m Shirley and I’m and adult child of alcoholics.”

“Hi Shirley.”

The woman is confident. She speaks boldly and enunciates her words. She looks sharp, as if she’s just come from work. We listen attentively.

“Today’s shares have been wonderful. Really really good. It makes me happy I showed up today. Because lord knows I thought about NOT showing up at all. But my sponsor always gets in my ear when I start acting all funny. And the last thing I like is people all in my ear.”

The attendees laugh. It seems Shirley is also charming.

“You know, you all seem so young. And when I listen to your stories, I’m reminded of my younger self. And I ask myself what could I have used at that age? What would have made my life a lot easier? When I really think about it, all I can come up with is a sponsor. At that age, I could’ve really used a sponsor

The attendees nod in agreement as Shirley continues.

“With that said, I would like to announce that I am currently available for sponsorship. If anyone is looking to work through the 12 steps and find freedom from codependency, please see me after the meeting. That’s it.”

She glances over at me before retreating back into her seat.

“Thank you for sharing Shirley.”

The attendees utter.

The speaker takes the floor again.

“It was a pleasure listening to all of your shares. I want to take a moment to thank each and every one of you for having the courage to be vulnerable and speak your truth. By now, I’m sure we all know that secrets make you sick. And it’s authenticity that brings in the healing. So with that said, I’m gonna give the floor back the Desiree. Remember, keep speaking your truth and keep coming back.”

The attendees clap as Desiree works her way to the front of the room.

“Hey y’all, I’m Desiree and I’m an adult child.”

“Hi Desiree.”

“I just want to remind everyone that next Wednesday we will be having fellowship at Jimmy’s Diner. It’s gonna be a really good time, so take some time out of your schedules and make the effort. Fellowship is an important part of recovery and you can’t work the program in full if you skip it. Also, we are $200 away from reaching our goal for our summer retreat. So please, though it’s not a requirement, your donations matter and are the reason we are able to keep this beautiful program afloat in the first place. So whenever you guys plan, please feel free to chip in! It helps more than you know. Lastly, we are always looking for volunteers to help set up and take down after meetings. Service keeps you sane! So if anyone has some free time on their hands and would like to volunteer, please see me after the meeting. Thanks so much for your shared you guys. Have a good night!”

The attendees relive themselves of their seats as they begin to talk amongst each other. I quickly grab my bag and attempt to make my way out of the room when I hear a voice call out to me.

“Sabrina!”

I turn around to Desiree walking towards my direction. Before I could respond, she is only inches away.

“Hell of a story. That was so brave of you to share. How are you doing lately. Have things gotten any better?”

I look off to the side tenderly, unsure of how to respond. She reassures me.

“I know that look. The same look I used to give those social workers when they would ask me if anything was getting better in the home.”

I smile, unsure of how to respond. She is quick to relieve some of the pressure.

“Look, I know this program is pretty intense. It scares most people away at first. But I can’t help but think you really belong here. And I would hate for you to miss out just because it seems overwhelming.”

I look at her shyly, unsure of how to respond still. But her confidence allows her to carry the conversation unscathed.

“Look, I don’t want to hold you too much longer. But something about your story made me feel like I had to atleast talk to you before you left. Here’s my business card. If you want to learn more about the program or even grab a bite to eat on those tough days, please don’t hesitate to call me.”

I smile while gladly accepting her card.

“Thank you so much. This means so much to me.”

I manage to make out. She smiles before heading out. I take a moment to gauge the group one last time. Everyone is mingling amongst each other. Hugging and catching up with one another as if Ty he were old friends. The intensity that was present during the shared has suddenly dissipated. For a moment, it seems normal.

For a moment, it seems like we’re just like everyone else. Not the black sheep our circumstances made us out to be. I glance at the setting for a moment longer before tucking the business card into my back pocket and making my way back home.

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