Pearls of perspective from an unlikely source
shine like holiday ornaments in this season.
Three women knit on overstuffed couches in
the warm solitude of a room festooned with
homemade decorations and a fake Christmas tree
shimmering in the pale sun over a frozen lake
outside the picture window. They appear right at
home. Except that home is where they left behind
families turned upside down by their alcoholism,
the illness that propelled them to this place, a
facility for women and men like them.
Thirty days ago, they didn't know each other.
Now, they'll mark the intimacy of Christmas
together, and then ring in the New Year like
never before: sober, in treatment.
"It's hardly the 'Christmas Story' I grew up
with; surely not one I could've ever imagined,"
says one of the women. "Then again, it's been a
long time since I can even remember a happy
Christmas." And the trio laughs all at once.
"Darn, I know, I know, I always went into the
season vowing to make it the best ever for my
kiddos, and every single year when it was
finally over they always reminded me it was
their worst ever because of my drinking and
drugging," says another. And they nod in unison.
"Yes, my son sent me his Christmas list,"
says the third. "At the top was "Mommy sober."
And the trio knit faster, their sudden silence
awkwardly filled in by "Jingle Bell Rock" from
an iPod across the room. The song doesn't fit
the moment.
Treatment is the last place anybody plans to
spend a family-focused holiday like Christmas
because nobody ever envisions their casual use
of illegal or legal substances will bottom-out
in a full-blown addiction, either.
"My mother was an alcoholic who was at her
very worst this time of year. I swore I'd never
let it happen to me. Well, here I am," a
25-year-old man tells me as he pulls on a
cigarette on the outdoor patio in the winter
chill. "Hey, I've got a chance. She never did."
His mother died of cirrhosis the day before his
18th birthday.
"The way I look at this is I'm giving myself
the most invaluable gift ever —treatment," says
another man. "I didn't ask for it. But I'm glad
I got it."
A cornerstone of recovery is perspective.
It's easy to lose sight of what's right in this
unfolding moment when your pity-pot is perched
precariously on a rocky ledge of despair, fear
and resentment. The holidays tend to accentuate
these crags and pitfalls. It really hits home
when being home for this week is far away from
reality.
Funny, though, that it was I who got the Kris
Kringle reminder of this in the moments I
happened to share with the patients as I walked
through their space. Usually it's the other way
around; I try to encourage newcomers that their
toughest days early in sobriety are better than
their best days under the influence of their
illness. All these years later I, too, like to
hang these shiny pearls on my tree this season.
Happy Holidays to us.
William Moyers is the vice president of
public affairs and community relations for the
Hazelden Foundation and the author of "Broken,"
his best-selling memoirs, and "A New Day, A New
Life." Please send your questions to William
Moyers at wmoyers@hazelden.org. To find out more
about William Moyers and read his past columns,
visit the Creators Syndicate Web page at
www.creators.com.
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