Pen, Paper & People: the Write Way to Recovery

There are approximately 50.2 million adults in America who are in recovery from substance use/and or mental health problems.

Recovery is real!

Definitely something to celebrate.

And that’s exactly what we’re doing in September, which is National Recovery Month. At this time we honor the achievement of individuals in recovery from substance use disorders and mental health conditions.

Speaking of which, my sister, Laura Griffith, founder and former Executive Director of Recover Wyoming, just celebrated her 22^nd sobriety birthday and you can bet we celebrated that.

With cake!

September is also the month we honor the variety of tools people use to aid them in their recovery journey.

Today, I want to talk about how writing is one of those tools.

Writing is not a way of escaping reality. It is a way of engaging with it more completely. Ursula K. LeGuin

One of the great things about writing is how little the upfront investment is: you can start with a pen/pencil and a piece of paper and off you go.

You can write with others or you can write alone.

WRITE TOGETHER

Writing can be like folding a banquet-sized tablecloth;

you can do it yourself, but it’s a lot easier when you can find somebody to help.

Ted Kooser and Steve Cox, Writing Brave and Free: Encouraging Words for People Who Want to Start Writing

For five years I led the In Our Own Words writing group at a treatment center for women in Pine Bluffs, Wyoming. It’s something I wrote about in a short essay that was published in the This I Believe archives. You can read it here.

The women in the Pine Bluffs group shared and grew through writing, as did I, because I wrote and shared along with them. I learned so much, especially about the magic of putting thoughts and feelings on paper, and then hearing yourself speak the words out loud. It’s transformative.

Through a friend, writer Michelle Nicolaysen (who blogs at Vegetarian Ranchwife) I recently learned about another type of writing group: Recovery Writers.

I’ll let the creator and leader, Christine Beck, tell you all about it.

Recovery Writers began about eight years ago at my kitchen table when I invited some friends from Alcoholics Anonymous (AA), Adult Children of Alcoholics (ACA), and Overeaters Anonymous (OA) to join me in short writing exercises. I used poems that I had written as a prompt. We wrote in silence for 20 minutes and then read what we had written.

I soon realized that no matter what 12 step program the writers were in, they all shared certain characteristics and found healing in recovery through both writing and sharing. This was the genesis for a formal meeting, which I created as an ACA meeting three years ago. We organized the meeting using ACA readings at the beginning and end, but otherwise we use the same format: listen to a poem, receive a couple of ideas for writing, write for 20 minutes in silence, and then share in breakout rooms on Zoom (three writers in each room).

There are about 30 writers who come every Friday morning at 11 AM to Recovery Writers. The group also spawned other Recovery Writer groups.

After our Friday meeting, people have an opportunity to share about the experience of writing and sharing. Last week, a man said that he had spoken in his breakout room of something that he had not told anyone for 30 years. We also hear people tell stories of childhood sexual abuse and other extremely personal topics without fear of judgment. Again and again people share in the meeting that they feel totally safe and totally heard.

One of the reasons for this is that this is not a typical workshop or critique group. In responding to each other’s work,  we call the “voice of the inner loving parent.” This means we say things such as “You have been heard,” and “I see recovery in your piece,” and “I relate to the part about XYZ,” or “I notice you repeated a line that I found very compelling.” Our goal is to affirm the writer and relate. We do not give advice.

We tell writers what they wished to hear in childhood, which is that they are perfect just as they are and that they have been heard and we want to hear from them every week. I am astonished to hear people say how meaningful this meeting is in their lives.

Recovery Writers has helped me stay connected to my recovery community, which is always important. After a certain number of years of recovery, it is so easy to become complacent and think “I’ve got this.” But hearing people share reminds me that I am for many of them, the only voice of the inner loving parent that they are able to hear today and that is a benefit to me because I get to practice a voice that I can then use in my life outside the rooms.

Many of the writers have posted their work on the Adult Children of Alcoholics website in the Comline blog. You can read some of them here.

Thanks to Christine for sharing this example of writing with others. The Recovery Writers group is a simple concept, but so, so powerful and inspiring. Service in action. I have a ton of respect for Christine and others who use their lived experience to help people find and maintain their recovery!

Christine gave me permission to share one of the poems she uses to spark writing in the groups, along with a brief discussion of how she sees it pertaining to recovery.

Musical Chairs

When I was five, when I had

one pink party dress, one pair

of white socks with eyelet trim,

when life seemed filled with not enough.

A party game that seemed designed

by monsters or an evil witch.

Peppy music played, I skipped around

a row of chairs, anticipating cake

and goody bags.

As soon as I was lulled into my role

in this fairy tale, as soon as I heard

Disneyworld, or beach vacation, or

Good Job, Sweetie. You’re the best--.

The music stopped.  Stunned.

Pause. And in that pause, the other

clever children, grabbed a chair,

nudged me over, sat down quick.

I stood.  They stared. 

Some kindly grownup took my

hand and leaned me up against the wall.

Where I’m still standing, in the land

of not enough to go around.

Connection to Recovery:

The game of Musical Chairs connects to childhood vigilance, watching everybody carefully to be sure I didn’t get left out.  It also relates to my belief that there was not enough of anything (food, love, affirmation) to go around. Being left standing up when all the other children were sitting down contributed to my sense of shame, of everybody looking at me as a failure. The voice that lulled me like the music was what I longed to hear, but didn’t. Yet in the “turn” at the end, a kindly grownup appears to take my hand and lead me to safety at the wall.

If you want to know more…

Christine has put her recovery story, along with poems and prompts into a book, “Beneath the Steps: A Guide for Writers in 12 Step Recovery.”

WRITE ALONE

If you want to supplement the writing you do with others, or aren’t ready to join a writing group yet, can I suggest journaling?

This is a safe place.

No one can enter but you.

Listen to yourself.

Write your way home.

Heidi Sander

Journaling is another great tool for people in or seeking recovery, or just for human beings in general. I’ve been doing it every morning for about 18 years now, and it’s not only the foundation of my creative writing, I will go so far as to call it my spiritual practice.

It’s my daily check in with my mind and spirit, and I make discoveries all the time.

As a practice, journaling couldn’t be simpler. You don’t need a fancy leatherbound journal. A 39 cent notebook from Walmart will work just fine. I like to collage the front of mine, for fun.

No special skills needed. Just write down the date and go. Morning, noon, or night—whatever works for your schedule.

Note: this is not a diary to track your activities or an excuse to rant (well, maybe a little bit of ranting, but not too much). This is you, putting into words all that is on your heart and mind, and remember: nobody is checking spelling or grammar.

The internet is full of information and ideas for journaling. Here’s a discussion of its use in recovery.

So how about it? Let's write away: together, or alone, or both.

Happy National Recovery Month!

Beautiful Solutions: Pont Canal

The day before we were to leave Agen, France, Sébastien asked, “Is there something else you’d like to see before you leave?”

We’d already covered a lot of South-of-France territory—Bordeaux, Toulouse, and the medieval villages of Issigeac, Nerac, Pujol, and Monflaquin. We’d toured the Chateau de Bonaguil, and wandered the streets of Agen with its half-timbered buildings and lively street life. We'd cheered on the local team at a rugby match. Ici c'est Armandie!

I didn’t hesitate for a second in my response to his question. “I want to go back to the Pont Canal.”

The Pont Canal, a.k.a. Agen Aquaduct

The Pont Canal is a bridge that spans the Garonne River and is part of the Canal du Midi, one of the oldest canals still operational in Europe. There is a lock and canal basin both upstream and down from the Pont Canal.

A corner view of the Pont Canal/Agen Aqueduct, before it crosses the Garonne River.

First, a little history about the Canal du Midi:

The origin of the canal involved a dream – to connect the Mediterranean Sea and the Atlantic Ocean. Why? To enable transport of goods from Bordeaux, on the Atlantic, to Mediterranean ports and to circumvent the Iberian Peninsula, which was a long, stormy, and dangerous route.

Those darn pirates!

The dreamer was a man by the name of Pierre-Paul Riquet. He wasn't an engineer, but he had an idea about how to meet the challenge that had prevented the building of such a canal--how to ensure there would be enough water flowing through it year round. His idea was to get water flowing from the Montagne Noire (Black Mountain), a range in south central France. He proposed an innovative irrigation system to ensure that the canal would always have water.

The Canal du Midi project started in 1666, during the reign of Louis XIV, and took around 14 years to complete. At any given time there were between 2,000 and 12,000 people working on the canal, using only shovels and pickaxes. Workers included as many women as men 😊. The canal project incorporated major innovations in hydraulic and structural engineering and has the reputation of being one of the greatest construction works of the 17th century.

Unfortunately, Riquet did not live to see the finished canal—he died in Toulouse, seven months before it opened.  

After completion, the Canal du Midi transported goods (including mail, woolen cloth, silk, salt, wheat and wine) and passengers. The boats were pulled by horses on the towpaths that lined the canal. Trade brought wealth to the communities along the canal’s route and many palatial homes were built during that time. In 1787 Thomas Jefferson took a trip down the canal and studied its construction, hoping one day that a similar canal could link the Potomac to Lake Erie.

In 1996 the Canal du Midi was declared an UNESCO World Heritage Site due to its innovative engineering and artistic design.

The Pont Canal/Agen Aqueduct came along later with the first stone being laid in 1839. It solved the problem of getting the canal across the Garonne River. The aqueduct is a dressed stone masonry structure consisting of 23 arches, and at the time of its completion was the longest navigable aqueduct in France.

When Ingrid and Sébastien visited us in the U.S. a few years ago (for Cheyenne Frontier Days), they gifted us this poster of Le Pont Canal.

But here's the thing I find fascinating: Riquet and the canal-builders did not simply build the canal for utility. They also created it for beauty. Many of the locks, for example, were built in a lovely oval shape. It's a design taken from Roman times and derives from the knowledge that an arch shape can withstand pressure from surrounding soil better than a straight wall.

To reduce evaporation and stabilize the canal bank, trees were planted—plane, poplar, ash, cypress, pine—resulting in a unique, shady, and trés jolie landscape.

The trees that line the Canal du Midi, and their reflections, are mesmerizing.

Then it happened. Progress.

First, the railroad, then the automobile. With the arrival of rail transport in the late 19th century and then motorways, the Canal du Midi’s role in moving goods declined and then halted. The last commercial barges floated the canal in 1970.

Unforeseen consequences, unpredicted results

The canal lives on in different ways and is today a treasure of a different kind. Plants and animals thrive in its tree-shaded route. Pleasure boats have replaced the transport barges. Walkers, joggers, and cyclists make use of the former towpaths. The fine people of Agen stroll along the paths, stopping to greet each other.

Could Riquet have foreseen the evolution of his canal?

A group of New Zealanders, with their rental boat, traverse the Canal du Midi near the Pont Canal. With their bikes on board they are ready to enjoy cycling along the former tow paths. Here, the lock is raising their boat to the next level.

I'm reminded of a quote by Buckminster Fuller, the American architect, writer, and futurist, that says,

"When I am working on a problem I never think about beauty. I only think about how to solve the problem. But when I have finished, if the solution is not beautiful, I know it is wrong."

How lucky that Riquet and others involved in building the Pont Canal and Canal du Midi found a solution to their transport problem and made it beautiful. They show us that engineering and art can collaborate, and that even as the canal's purpose changed over time, the beautiful solution remains.

Many of the furry inhabitants of Agen enjoy walks along the canal.

Sébastien and Ingrid graciously returned us to the Pont Canal on an exquisite fall day and as I soaked it all in I thought about how one of the great pleasures of travel and learning about the history of a place is the reminder that what we are experiencing in the present moment is a mere snapshot in the grand histoire of our fascinating world.

We can't foresee it all, and can't predict the future. We can only create, make it as beautiful as we're able, and trust the rest to time.

Our hosts demonstrate the art of the saunter, South-of-France style.

Still Desiderata-ing After All These Years

There are words that you hear as if they were meant for you. This is how I've always felt about the prose poem, Desiderata, by Max Ehrmann.

I probably heard it for the first time in the 1970s, when I was just starting to pay attention to such things and when the poem, penned in the 1920s, experienced a resurgence in popularity.

The word “Desiderata” comes from Latin and means “things that are desired.” 

The language Ehrmann uses is a little out of vogue: feign and vexatious, and there are tons of not-currently-in-favor semicolons. But no matter how old fashioned, the text has been alive to me since I first encountered it.

I have committed pieces of the poem to memory and frequently phrases pop into my head as inspiration (remember what peace there may be in silence) or as admonishment (listen to others; even the dull and the ignorant; they too have their stories).

Most importantly, the text of Desiderata has been a teacher, a prayer, a solace at crucial times in my life.

Mali, West Africa, circa 1984

I was a Peace Corps trainee, trying to learn everything I could in a three-month period before moving into my assigned village. How to speak and write in French and Bambara. How to behave respectfully in a new culture. How to build woodburning stoves (primary project), and teach prenatal nutrition to pregnant women (secondary project). It was overwhelming.

Throughout the training, current volunteers were paraded in front of us, each with their own take on “How to be a successful PCV.” We received lots of advice, some of it conflicting and some of it counter to what I knew about my own abilities.

Fortunately, I had tucked a copy of Desiderata into my luggage before leaving home. The words that comforted me in this time were:

If you compare yourself with others, you may become vain or bitter, for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself… 

and

Be yourself.

Above: I am obviously thrilled with the gift,

in recognition of my stove building efforts in NTarla, Mali.

Los Angeles, California, circa 1988

A more fish out of water you couldn’t have found than me, in L.A., after my stint in Africa, working for a big corporation on Wilshire Boulevard. We’re talking major culture shock. I drew inspiration from:

Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans. Keep interested in your own career, however humble; it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time…

and 

go placidly amid the noise and haste...

Lusk, Wyoming, 9/11

We all have memories of that day, and mine involve digging out my tattered copy of Desiderata, the same one I had with me in Mali, and holding on to these words:

Everywhere life is full of heroism…

Cheyenne, Wyoming, January, 2012

As we dealt with the news of my stepdaughter’s death by suicide, I was forced to draw on every bit of spiritual insight I could find.

Again, Desiderata helped:

Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune…

and

in the noisy confusion of life, keep peace in your soul…

and

be gentle with yourself… 

and

Be at peace with God, whatever you conceive Him to be.

The poem is taped up in my writing room now—a newer copy, since the old one disintegrated. I looked at it recently, on May 11th, the day of our 28th wedding anniversary, and smiled:

Neither be cynical about love; for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment, it is as perennial as the grass.

And while I have you, I’ll share the words that never fail me to remind me to be humble, to recognize I may not have the perspective to decide whether everything is tilting toward apocalypse or, conversely, we are evolving toward enlightenment:

And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should... it is still a beautiful world.

Who knows what part of Desiderata I will tuck into my heart’s pocket next?