We start with the Serenity Prayer, then go around the room introducing ourselves. There are a couple of other visitors, but most are islanders, and as I sit, listening to the readings, to people starting to share, I know this is exactly where I am supposed to be, and I know, with a sense of peace, that however Julia reacts when I find her, when I say what I need to say, it will all be fine.
I raise my hand, needing to speak, to claim my place in this room.
“Hi, I’m Cat. I’m an alcoholic.”
“Hi, Cat,” murmurs the room.
“I just wanted to claim my seat. I’m so unbelievably happy to be here. We flew in yesterday, from England, so I’m completely jet-lagged, and actually I’ve got no idea what day it is, but the last time I was here was about fifteen years ago. I was newly in program, and I never went to a meeting, and I lost my sobriety right here on the island. It took me over thirteen years to properly get it back. I loved so much of what I heard today; that when you’re drinking nothing moves, nothing changes, nothing gets better. Wow. That hit me.” I am aware that people around the room are nodding their heads.
“I was drinking for the best part of my marriage, and I screwed that up, blaming him, blaming everyone else, for nothing ever changing, nothing ever getting better, with no idea it all started with me. Anyway, I’m here, on this island, to make amends. When I was here, I was drinking, and I did something awful. I was here to meet family I’d never met before, and I ended up betraying my … urgh. I probably shouldn’t … Well. My half sister. I have no idea how she’ll even react when she sees me again, although my sponsor says that’s irrelevant. The only way through this discomfort is through it, I suppose. I’ve been putting it off, but I’m making a commitment here today to try to find her. Today. I need to make this amends so at least I have maybe a shot of enjoying this vacation. God. Procrastination is something I’ve always been very good at, especially when I was drinking. I couldn’t stand to be in any kind of discomfort, which of course was one of the excuses I used to justify the drinking. And now I’m learning to live with it, to focus on the present, to trust in my Higher Power that everything is exactly where it needs to be. I’m just … hugely grateful to be here. Thank you.”
I sit back, happy to have spoken. When I first came back in, this time, I spent the first two or three months just listening. I wanted to be invisible. I wanted to soak up what everyone else was saying without being seen. Maureen got me to speak. She told me I couldn’t be part of the group unless I was part of the group, that I had to claim my seat, that my recovery would grow exponentially when I reached out to others, and allowed myself to be both seen and heard.
She was right. The woman next to me, older, with white hair and a deeply tanned, creased, kind face, reaches over and gives me a reassuring squeeze and a smile, and once again, I am glad I came.
I only ever feel awkward after a meeting. That moment when you’re not sure whether to stay or go, who you should talk to, what you should talk about. Occasionally there is someone who has shared something that has resonated with you so strongly, it is easy to walk up and talk to them, tell them how you felt about their share, what you’re going through. But often it is, at least for me, weird, and clumsy, and I walk out with my head down, careful not to make eye contact so I won’t have to talk to anyone.
I am planning on doing this here, delighted I have heard so much good stuff, determined to come back tomorrow, but not particularly wanting to talk to anyone, but the older woman sitting next to me catches up to me and stops me.
“I’m Abigail,” she says. “I really liked what you had to say.”
“Thank you. This whole amends thing is a bit overwhelming.”
“You know, you’ve probably heard this a million times before, but the ones you’re worried about are usually the people who have completely