I mentioned that I go to support groups for some of my addictions and problems. Obviously the “Anonymous” franchise – Alcoholics Anonymous, Overeaters Anonymous, Al-Anon, Anonymity Anonymous, the list goes on – is the best-known network of support groups, and it’s a great one. There is much to appreciate about their approach (and some stuff to wish was different). They certainly have earned all the credit in the world for pioneering the idea. Before AA, the closest thing anyone had to a support group was leaning over your neighbor’s fence to say, “Can’t believe I did that,” and having them say, “Why don’t you pray on it?” There are tons of others with a lot of merit – non-affiliated groups, LifeRing, SMART Recovery, Buddhist recovery groups, HMO mental health classes, and on and on. I’ve participated in the range, and found consistent experiences across meetings.
Support groups are kinda magical, and I still don’t fully understand the secret sauce. One thing that strikes me with Mach-10 force every time is how normal everyone seems. The people in this room don’t look like raging alcoholics. The people in this room don’t look like they’d be insanely obsessed with food – most of them aren’t even overweight. As you hear people sharing, though, it is undeniable that they are damaged in exactly the same way that you are damaged.
And then you get to know people. The consistent participants come into focus. This person’s so wise. This person remembers everything I’ve ever shared. This person is so fragile, but so kind. This person always asks after my cat. This person keeps getting high, but keeps showing up. And I wouldn’t say everyone is my favorite, but many, many people are kind, and funny, and supportive. Lots of them are clearly very accomplished at work. Lots of them are parents who try really, really hard. All of them are fighting a hard fight. You start to admire them, and look forward to seeing them. And eventually, you have to come around to the idea that, if these really lovely people can have insane food issues, or have totally lost control of their drinking, or be driven to thoughts of suicide, or be ground into dust over the loss of their dog, maybe I’m not such a freak for having the same problems. Maybe, if they are loveable, I might also be loveable.
They say the real magic of support groups is what happens around the groups. Transparently, I am really bad at that. I’m terrible about chit-chatting before and after the meeting, and even worse about reaching out to people during the week. In some settings, you’re supposed to be connecting to a network of similarly-situated people so that you help keep each other clean all the other days of the week, but I hardly ever do that. On the rare occasions where I do, it’s very uncomfortable for me. Maybe it gets easier with practice, but I’m not on a path to finding out. If you have better experiences connecting with actual human beings, and any advice about how to get more comfortable with it, please share!
Sometimes I get a little twitchy about meetings. When they all went to Zoom during COVID, the changed nature of the meetings made them feel a little hollow – certainly a shell of the in-person meetings – and that lasted for a while until I got used to it. Sometimes, if I dare admit it, I can roll my eyes hearing for the tenth time how your child’s father is dragging you into court. I can withdraw from meetings sometimes, just phoning it in. Zooming it in, I suppose. Plus, being on a computer is really distracting. But when I look closer, there is so much wisdom and strength coming from these individuals and from their collective yearning. Like with most things when I really focus: the more I pay attention at meetings, the more meetings are worth paying attention to.
My favorite aspect of support groups is that it’s a lot like going to church, but times a thousand. For one thing, all the parishioners are crazy in ways that I am also crazy. To hear people who know your struggle, intimately, share ideas about how to suffer less, that is a really powerful thing. For people who’ve been successful a long time, you can learn how to get what they have. For people who are newly stepping into the behavioral health fight, they remind you of the painful place where you started, and how relieved you are to not still be there – and strengthen your resolve to not go back. And you being there shows them there is another, better way to live.
What you hear in these groups – it’s people talking about their deepest values, their most closely-held fears, their greatest shames and failures, and their biggest hopes for themselves. It’s a setting where people have the vulnerability to say, “The way I am is making me sad. I want to change how I am.” It’s not just about changing a behavior, it’s about becoming the person you want to become. They’re trying to figure it out, and there is some serious wisdom in those rooms. I try to think of any other context where I’ve experienced so much humility, searing honesty, gratitude, commitment, acceptance, support, and authenticity – churches would swear allegiance to Beelzebub himself to have services like this. To share with other people the things you are most ashamed of, the things that have hurt you the most – it takes so much trust to share like that, and it’s hardly ever misplaced. Someone nearly always runs with it, says “Me too,” makes it meaningful to themselves and the rest of us. There’s nothing surface-level about these groups. It’s a room full of people determined to be their best selves despite huge odds. Not a bad way to spend an hour.
As they often say in the support groups, thanks for sharing! 😉
I’ve had pretty similar experiences: a variety of support groups and generally good experiences. When you say that you’ve had consistent experiences across meetings, it makes me wonder whether the main “content” of the recovery programs is all that important or if the meeting experience itself is the most useful thing. The meeting format is more consistent than the programs themselves, so it might be the biggest factor in the generally good meeting experiences.
Meetings have helped me reframe my recovery experiences in more positive ways. As one example, it’s easy to feel alone in the outside world because people don’t talk about addiction and mental health much. Meetings show that many other relateable people are coping with these problems, and that reframes my problems in a more hopeful light. I’ve had many other helpful reframings: How and where am I being successful in recovery? How and where am I failing? What _can_ I do/be in recovery? How big or small are my problems? Support groups are one of the only places I’ve gotten “outside of my own head” and seen a bigger perspective on these questions.
I too have found it challenging to connect with people outside of the formal meetings. Just to state the fact, we’ve both done pretty well with support groups _in spite_ of not connecting much that way; so, it’s possible and just fine to benefit from the group meetings and not the before-and-after parts. I in fact feel like the group meetings can create connection (or a feeling of connection) better than outside meetings. People in meetings are constrained by social pressure, time, and meeting rules to share some things more than others, and I tend to fill in the unsaid stuff with positive projections that make me feel more like them than unlike them. But when I talk to that same person one-on-one, we’re both less constrained and so we say and do things that don’t create that feeling of connection as much. In the end, the feeling of group connection is more important to me than taking a chance on deeper one-on-one connections, so I’ve opted to do more meetings where I get that feeling more.
Thanks again for sharing!
Thanks for this. I’m trying to think of examples in life of people getting together as a group to talk about their experiences and try to work together to increase their individual mental health. Maybe my experience is limited, but I can’t think of any. Support groups and group classes are pretty special that way.
In addition to the support aspect, it’s cool that groups offer practical avenues for change. I mention in the post that on a very basic level, groups offer something to fill the time you used to spend getting loaded. Bless the AA world, particularly during COVID times, for being available basically 24/7 – there is a meeting happening every minute of every day, somewhere in the world.
In addition, for a lot of addicts, giving up their addiction requires them to give up ALL of their friends, and sometimes even cut ties with family. When people do build individual relationships with other people who don’t use any more, and are striving to make the same kinds of changes, those can be really incredible relationships. The friendships I have with other recovering addicts are some of my absolute favorite. If I were better at the social aspects of groups, I might have even more such relationships. If you are trying to quit drinking and/or drugs, I highly recommend seeking out some groups for all kinds of reasons, not the least of which is the potential to make some new friends who can be a great support in recovery. It doesn’t happen overnight, but it can happen.
And of course the variety and magnitude of problems among the people in your group can be eye-opening. Plenty of times, I’ve heard about problems that are so crushing, they would drive anyone to use. Yet this person stays sober. It might be the hardest thing in the world to stay sober, but they’re doing it. It gives me confidence and resolve – “If this person can stay sober through all of that, there is nothing in MY life that is bad enough for me to pick up the bottle again.” There are some unbreakable motherf*ckers out there.