Washed Up (Bayside Heroes)

It was like that when I was a kid, and when I had a kid of my own, and every year — whether Josh was in a good mood or not.

I loved December first, because no matter what state my marriage was in, no matter if I had bruises or if Josh was sleeping off a binge — there was something hopeful about it. Something… warm.

But this year is different.

This year, on the first day of December — exactly one week before my divorce settlement — I’m walking into my first Al-Anon meeting.

There are only a few people gathered when I walk into the room at the back of the church, one I’ve never been to before, but the closest meeting I could find when I searched Al-Anon on my phone after Thanksgiving.

It had taken everything I had to convince myself I should actually get in my car and drive here this morning. A loud voice inside my head told me I didn’t need it, that I was fine, that I could figure out this whole life after being married to an alcoholic thing on my own.

But there was an even louder voice, one that pushed me to go, one that ensured me I was strong enough to go.

Nerves flitter around in my stomach as an older woman with long silver hair and kind green eyes sees me from across the room. She makes her way over, picking up some literature on her way.

“Hello. You’re new, aren’t you?”

I smile. “Indeed, I am. Amanda.”

“Welcome, Amanda,” she says, shaking my hand. “I’m Sue. Please, take any seat you’d like, and here is a bit of literature for you to read over and take with you.”

I take the pamphlets from her and thank her, finding my way to an empty seat.

The room slowly fills, around a dozen people joining, and then the doors are shut, and Sue kicks off the meeting.

“Welcome, everyone. Before we get started, we have a newcomer. Please welcome Amanda.”

There are smiles and waves and greetings tossed my way from around the room, and I hold up a hand with a tight smile of my own.

“Amanda, we’re going to go into this like any other meeting, but if at any point you feel lost or have questions, just let us know. And there is never any pressure to share, but if you want to, we’re here.”

I nod, and then Sue launches into an opening prayer, followed by a reminder of the group’s intention.

Helping families and friends of alcoholics find hope and encouragement to live joyful, serene lives.

It sounds so beautiful — which is ironic to me, since alcoholism is anything but beautiful. Still, I sit back and listen as the group discusses the step they’re focusing on this month, the message behind it, and share their own struggles and successes that pertain to.

I take notes and mark pages in the pamphlets Sue gave me, all the while feeling this constant knot in my throat. I can’t explain why it’s there, why I feel like I might break down at any given moment, but the longer I sit and listen, the thicker that knot becomes.

I listen as a past wife of an alcoholic shares how she still struggles with trying to control everything, a habit bred through how she tried to manage her husband’s addiction. I can’t help but nod along, thinking of how I do the same, of how I have this inner voice telling me if I don’t do it, no one else will.

Then there’s a brother of an alcoholic, sharing how his sister has hurt him and his wife, how they’ve enabled her for so long they don’t know how to begin to draw boundaries and stop trying to control the situation.

And again, I find myself thinking back to my marriage, to how I bailed Josh out of every bad situation he found himself in, how I took over paying our bills and budgeting our money because I knew he’d blow it on alcohol if I let him, how I covered for him with David and with anyone who ever asked me about my bruises.

The knot grows thicker.

But it’s when the daughter of an alcoholic shares her story that I can’t contain the emotion any longer, silent tears running down my cheeks as she recalls the yelling and anger of her childhood, how it wasn’t strange to find her mother lying in her own vomit, how even though her mother is recovered and still a part of her life now, she has difficult feelings around the relationship.

I think of David.

I think of all we put him through, of how I played just as much of a role as Josh. I think of the fighting he endured, the abuse, the horrible things he had to witness.

“Amanda,” Sue says, snapping my attention back to the room. “Would you like to share what has you emotional?”