SUPPORT GROUP JUNKIE

I’m addicted to support groups.  In fact, I’ve become a support group junkie.

It all started with Toastmasters, a speech club, where every talk I ever gave was wrapped up by an encouraging drum roll of applause.  Whether good or bad they gave accalaids just for trying.  I learned through Toastmasters that positive environments lent themselves towards my overall development and self-esteem.  They made me feel confident, capable, and excited to tackle a next new challenge.

Last year, when my husband died, I attended a very specific bereavement group for widows and widowers who still had dependents living at home.  Once that 9 week session finished, I visited a suicide bereavement group.  That was cut short by an incredibly inconvenient bought with the flu.  Anxious to re-connect, I joined my daughter at Healing little Hearts; a support group for 3 to 6-year-olds, where parents got their own outlet time with an official facilitator who allowed us to debrief while our kids did their healing with play-dough and puppet in the other room.

There was something about an outlet where I could share my story that had incredibly healing powers for me.  Whether it was writing in a private journal, sharing my story online, or talking one on one with a friend, finding a safe place, an outlet to dialogue, or transparently submit my thoughts to the public, where I felt most free.  When my thoughts were received with grace and acceptance, I felt a little lighter, and more confident to face the road ahead.

The broken shards of glass in my life, the tattoos of my scars, the details of my story, are what I found beautiful about safe places, and support groups.  They had welcomed me as I was, and I considered it pure joy to delight in the humanity of others whose willingness to engage and be vulnerable enchanted and encouraged me.

Whether over coffee with a friend, in a public setting, an official or unofficial group of heart-on-their-sleeve support attendees, I had become a proud support group junkie.  Choosing to walk through life with others had not made me less.  It had enriched me.  It had made me more, because with others, I was the accumulation of individuals who had propped me up so I could see the sun that towered above the shadows of a deep dark valley.