Welcome Home

I wake up on a Monday in February to get ready for my day. Mondays are a busy day for me because I attend my 12-Step meeting for an hour, go directly into a 1-hour Zoom with my 12-Step sponsor, and then I proceed to an hour of therapy. The perfect trifecta. I’m introspective on other days of the week, too. But on those other days, my personal exploration isn’t squeezed into 3 consecutive hours of me, me, me.

Rousing myself from bed, I lumber into the bathroom to pee, splash water on my face, and brush my teeth. All I can think of is my first cup of coffee, the first sip actually––because that’s the best part––and wishing I had a personal caffeine fairy to place a hot cup into my waiting hands.

As I stand at the bathroom sink and open the medicine cabinet for my toothpaste, the little note that’s been wedged into the metal trim framing the mirror flutters free and lands in the sink. It’s been there since 2017, scribbled by a friend who was taking care of my pets while I was on my first trip out of the country. When I returned home, I discovered it tucked into the spot it still occupies.

The note is scribbled in black marker on a scrap of paper torn from a larger piece. The paper is ragged. It makes me uncomfortable when things aren’t neat and tidy, but I put the feeling aside as I read the message. It’s simple. It says, “Welcome home, Nan,” and is adorned with a heart. I keep it there, because every time I see it, I smile.

The note feels like a blessing, there for me to read whenever I need a reminder that I’m okay, I’m safe at home. Some days, I take a moment to pause when I see it. I read it and nod in agreement. Then I continue on. Most days, I don’t notice it at all––it blends into the background of my life. The days when I need to see that message the most are when I’m anxious and ungrounded. That scrap of paper reminds me of my first brave trip away from home, out of my comfort zone. It’s a reminder that I can do many things I thought I couldn’t do.

I grab the note out of the sink, and check that it isn’t wet. I try to tuck it back into the mirror, but the edge of the paper isn’t sharp enough. I grab my scissors out of the medicine cabinet, and gently trim the edge of the note carefully so that I can tuck it back into the mirror. I’ve trimmed that note quite a bit over the last 7 years, but I always snip only a sliver of paper to hone the edge, so as not to lose the words.

This particular Monday is special because I’ll be completing the 12 Steps. It’s a major milestone. Even though I’ve been in and out of 12-Step work for about 30 years, I’ve always left before I find a sponsor, before I work the Steps. Doing the Steps has scared me. Some of the steps are about God and surrender, and that’s always been a dead stop for me. My choices are God, a Higher Power, or a higher purpose. The idea of surrender is more than uncomfortable. I’ve always felt I’m in charge, not “God.”

In the beginning, I devoted myself to my group––a higher purpose, something greater than myself. But the concept of a Higher Power lingered, and I decided not to hide from it. The idea of faith is somewhat foreign to me. It feels a little silly. Admitting that I might have faith is embarrassing. I don’t want anyone to think I’m naïve or a sucker. I’m a concrete thinker. I want evidence. But I also felt that to complete the steps, I needed to suspend my disbelief, to embrace mystery. To find the willingness to surrender and admit that I don’t have all the answers, that there is a Higher Power. That a Higher Power is something that I will never understand with my head, but can accept with my heart. I opened myself to the magic of not knowing and I got the Steps done.

I’ll keep doing the Steps, using them in various combinations to support my ongoing recovery. They are the tools that help me live a mindful and healthy life.

Before beginning this work, I was often fearful, anxious, and angry. I feel calmer now and rooted in the present. My anxiety and fear have diminished, and when I get angry it is not as intense as it used to be. My road rage has evaporated. I see evidence of a Higher Power in the synchronicities that keep occurring in my life. I don’t think of these events as coincidence anymore.

After my meeting, I join my sponsor on Zoom and we cheer my achievement. When we wrap up, we send each other virtual hugs. Then I change gears and head to therapy. I’m excited to share my news.

My therapist is the person who pointed me back toward 12-Step recovery. She said I needed to connect with my spiritual self, with something greater than my ego. “Me, me, me” was not the way that I would heal. Doing 12-Step work, I’ve learned it can’t be all about me. I live in a world with other people. I’m not alone. Connecting with my heart, my true essence, is necessary for healing. To do that, I need to remove the armor I’ve worn for so long. I remember that I’m home wherever I go, because “home” resides within me.

I walk into my therapist’s office and settle into the comfy couch that’s my safe space every week. Then I announce, with a big smile, that I’d finished the Steps. She smiles back at me, and says “Welcome home, Nan.”

Welcome home? She had no idea about the little scrap of paper that made itself known to me by jumping off the mirror this morning. I hadn’t told her yet. Higher Power? Who knows? Could be.

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