Full Circle of Light

If you stick around long enough, life eventually comes full circle. And every so often, something deeper happens; a full circle of the spirit. I felt this recently, sitting before eight men and one woman at an inpatient treatment center, about to tell my story of sobriety. I didn’t expect to be profound; I only hoped my words would be helpful, honest and selfless.

Our panel that day included four women, including me, and my husband, David. Our leader began by sharing her journey, followed by the two other women. Then it was my turn.

My heart thudded hard in my chest. It had been years since I sat on a panel like this, speaking to people so newly and tenderly sober. I knew I couldn’t say the “wrong” thing, but I wanted to share from the heart, maybe igniting some hope in one of them.

I didn’t know why each person was there. Maybe a judge ordered them. Maybe their boss gave them an ultimatum. Or maybe they walked in of their own will, sick and tired of being sick and tired. It didn’t matter. What mattered was that they were here, waiting for a story, hoping for something to carry away with them — a spark.

Years earlier, in my own 28-day program, panels like this were mandatory. We had to attend 12-step meetings, go to individual therapy once a week and group therapy three times a week, and take classes on communication. There was downtime for reading and writing, which to me felt like a little slice of heaven. They say alcoholics are egomaniacs with inferiority complexes, and I was no exception.

I walked into treatment thinking, How could I possibly need this?, while simultaneously feeling superior to every person there.

I ended up in this treatment program because I visited my mother’s treatment center in Century City, Los Angeles, a few days earlier. I’d never seen her sober — she drank and popped pills my entire life, went in and out of mental hospitals for my whole childhood. But on that visit, she was different. She smiled a genuine smile, her skin glowed, and her eyes had hope. I wondered what alien force had possessed her, but there she was, brand new.

Meanwhile, I was sinking. After my father’s sudden death in his private plane six years earlier, I numbed myself with drugs and alcohol while trying to work and cope. The grief threatened to spill out, and I was running out of places to hide it. I’d lost my job, burned through my money, and was living in my car, begging for showers from my little sister when I had the courage to ask. I was out of options, out of excuses, and out of rope.

That was the state of affairs when I checked myself into treatment and, about two weeks in, I sat in the big room and listened to a panel. Five people sat before us patients, and they each shared their own stories.

The man spoke second to last, sharing how sobriety had given him a life he never imagined — he’d found love, stability, and a sense of gratitude that carried him through each day.

The last person to speak was the woman beside him. She shared that she’d been an intravenous drug user, living on the streets after a family tragedy broke her spirit. In treatment, she clawed her way back to life, attending 90 meetings in 90 days, working the 12 steps, finding a sponsor, and staying sober. Her words captivated me.

As she spoke, it was as if the roof cracked open and she glowed. Everything stopped. My entire being vibrated with hope. For a moment, I believed she wasn’t just a woman — she was an angel sent to wake me up.

When she finished, the room came back into focus. I watched her reach for the man’s hand next to her, and he looked at her with such love that it shook me to my core. They were together. They were sober. They were a couple, sober and thriving!

In that frozen moment, my chest expanded with a fierce knowing:

I will be sober. I will find love. I will be okay if I follow this path.

It sounds hokey, I know. But convincing you of my spiritual moment isn’t important. What is important is that it happened almost 40 years ago.

And now, back in that treatment center, sitting next to David — my husband of 35 years — I told this same story to the group before me. Tears streamed down my cheeks as I spoke from my heart, feeling each moment intensely. After David shared, I reached for his hand, and that light inside me expanded again, pulsing with the certainty that I am exactly where I need to be.

One man, whose tattooed eyelids stayed closed throughout the meeting, opened them and looked directly at me, and I knew I had connected with his heart. Later, he hugged me and said that his girl was in treatment, too, and he wished for a life like mine and David’s.

Life is a gift. Even in its darkest hours, it circles back to the light.

And for that, I am grateful every single day.

---

Leslie Johansen Nack is the author of two award-winning books: her historical novel The Blue Butterfly and her debut memoir Fourteen. Her forthcoming sequel, Nineteen: A Daughter’s Memoir of Reckoning and Recovery, concludes her raw and deeply personal story that chronicles her path to sobriety and a renewed sense of hope. Find more about Leslie and her work at www.lesliejohansennack.com.