At the beginning of my recovery, I was going to meetings like they were a new religion. In person, online, upside down—didn’t matter. If there was a chair and someone talking about feelings, I was there. And honestly, those meetings saved me in the early days.
But as time went on, I stopped going. Partly because I felt like they weren’t helping as much anymore… and partly because I’d heard “Just for Today” so many times I started quoting it in my sleep.
Then, this week, I randomly woke up and thought, “You know what? I want to go back to that one meeting I used to like.” And surprise—it was still there! Same place, same time, like a reliable ex who actually went to therapy. I walked in, saw some familiar faces and some new ones, and felt instantly reminded of why I used to go.
That’s the magic of NA. It carries on, even when you don’t. Meetings might shift around or relocate, but you can always stumble into one like it’s a spiritual Wetherspoons: slightly chaotic, full of characters, but comforting in its own way.
What I’ve learned about meetings is—boy, they’re raw. Like, “chop onions while watching a sad documentary” raw. People speak from the heart. Sometimes it’s beautiful, sometimes it’s awkward, and sometimes it’s the verbal equivalent of a car crash you can’t stop listening to.
And let’s be honest, some meetings are… interesting. Maybe someone you had “dealings” with during your wild days is sitting across the room. Maybe there’s someone distractingly attractive and you’re trying to figure out if you’re there for healing or flirting. Maybe someone says something that makes you want to throw a chair—but you don’t, because growth.
Truth is, many of us in recovery are wrestling with poor mental health. We’re sensitive. We’re vulnerable. We’re awkward huggers who overthink everything. And above all, we need love, not judgment. Not side-eyes. Not gossip whispered over cheap biscuits.
We’re all in this beautiful mess together. No one in that room is better than anyone else—we’ve all cried in public, apologised to inanimate objects, or tried to find spiritual meaning in a microwave burrito at 3 a.m.
So I’ve decided to go back to one meeting a week. Time permitting. Sanity permitting. And maybe with snacks.
