“My name is Paige and this is my first Al-Anon meeting.”

Twenty-plus people seated in a circle at the Galano Club, say in unison, “Hi Paige.” Some even add, “Welcome.”

Tears slide down my cheeks. “I promised myself I wouldn’t cry,” I smile, wiping them away. The format of the meeting is structured with readings of the twelve steps and traditions in the beginning, plus some pamphlets telling the group that Al-Anon is for the family and friends of alcoholics, the sister program to AA. After the readings people share their stories focused on ‘strength, experience and hope,’ in three minute uninterrupted intervals.

The last fifteen minutes is reserved for newcomers to speak.

That’s me.

I can’t believe I raised my hand, but…I’m lost.

I need help.

“Um, my mother told me to come. She’s a gambler not an alcoholic. But she told me the effects are the same and I heard someone speak about being raised with a rage-aholic so I guess it’s okay for me to talk. God, I’m rambling, aren’t I?” Several of the people smile with compassion. “When I was a little girl, she wouldn’t come home for days. My dad – they’re still together – he would hunt her down and make up excuses for why she’d left us. But I guess that gave me a feeling of abandonment early on. I’m the oldest child, so I took care of my brother through all of it. I was the mom. And then she found Gamblers Anonymous when we were teenagers and I thought everything was going to be okay, you know? You tell yourself that it’s over. Even still, I’ve never healed from it. I feel tense in here all the time, like I’m all alone and have to do everything myself.” I point to my chest. “Now it’s happening all over again. My brother has disappeared again. This time he stole my jewelry. I finally called my mom and told her what I’ve been going through. God, I can’t believe I’m crying like this.” A total stranger hands me a tissue and returns to his seat. “Thank you. So, um, that’s where I am. My brother is missing. I’m worried, but I’m always worried about him. The truth is I’m sick and tired of being sick and tired. I don’t want to be a doormat anymore. He knows where to go if he wants to stop. Instead he took precious gifts my grandma gave me that I can never replace! I need help. If anyone has any ideas, please help me.” Sniffling I whisper, “Thank you.”

They always clap after every ‘share’ and the gentle applause for my desperate honesty is coupled with several voices quietly urging me, “Keep coming back.”

When the meeting ends, a man says, “That’s all the time we have. Will all who care to, please rise and say the Serenity Prayer with me?”

Everyone stands. The people to my left and right reach for my hand. One gives me a squeeze and I meet her kind eyes before she turns to recite a prayer I’ve heard my mother use, and never thought I’d say.

“God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change. Courage to change the things I can. And Wisdom to know the difference.”

The hands break from mine and friends starts chatting amongst themselves about the troubles and victories in their lives while others stack chairs and gather the reading materials.

An older, gay gentleman approaches with a gentle smile. “I used to be a gambler.”

“You were? How did you stop?”

“I had to learn to stand on my own when my family stopped holding me up.” He smiles at me, knowing that wasn’t the answer I wanted, especially because I know it’s true. “We’re not allowed to give advice here. We can share our experiences and you’ll take what you like and leave the rest.”

“When they stopped helping, you gave up gambling right away?”

He shakes his head. “Wouldn’t it be great if it was that easy? I had to hit bottom first. But I couldn’t hit it when I was standing on their broken bodies.” He spreads his hands out, miming a bridge. “When those were gone, I learned I had to change. Addiction is a cunning bastard. It lies. It’s a bold-faced liar.”

“I know,” I croak, wiping my eyes.

He clasps my shoulder and says, “Keep coming back,” before walking away to talk with other members.

Outside I walk into bright sunlight, squinting and running a hand through my hair as I wait for her voice, the cell held close to my ear.

“Paige?”

“Yeah, Mom. I just went to my first meeting.”

She sighs with relief. “What’d you think?”

“Harsh wake up call.”

A knowing chuckle comes through the phone. “I can imagine. What now?”

Staring at white clouds drifting in the sky I tell her, “I need to process everything, Mom.”

“Your father might be someone you can talk to about this, too. He was where you are.”

My stomach twists as I walk to my car. “I’ll talk to him later.”

“Please reach out if you need us.”

We hang up and I immediately dial another number. “Ben?”