It was the winter of 2015 when I checked myself into a rehab in Santa Barbara, California. I had relapsed on 21 March, two days shy of my 12-year sober anniversary. The rehab was a few blocks away from the local Salvation Army. Multiple times a day, Alcoholics Anonymous meetings took place on the second floor of that behemoth of a building facing the Pacific. At the top of the stairs was an open area where two to four people stood welcoming everyone to the meeting. I was anxiety-ridden walking up that long flight of stairs. I kept my chin firmly planted against my chest. Up ahead, I heard the sounds of warm greetings, back slaps and high fives: the comforting acknowledgments of familiar fellows and friends.

my nerves took hold. My muscles defensively pulled my shoulders up to my neck in a fight/flight/freeze posture. At the same time, my hands went mannequin-stiff in an attempt to not stand out, because in my sick and tortured mind, I believed with all my being that I did stand out, and that I needed to brace for the inevitable cold shoulder waiting for me at the end of that long climb.

I would be the exception. No one would be friendly and welcoming to me; more proof that I was not meant to be among the living. Irrefutable evidence that I was certainly not meant to be a part of any group so full of warmth, conviviality and unconditional regard as this one appeared to be. The laughter, recognition and camaraderie I overheard echoing from above was sure to quiet. At the top of the stairs stood two men and two women. I recognised two of them from the rehab where I was a patient. They were recent graduates who had no more than a month of

My relapse had quickly gone from a night out with friends to months of isolation and active addiction, clawing body and soul away from anyone and anything. The gravity of suffering alone had taken a huge toll. And, as I reached the top steps,

sobriety. Another woman, with sapphire sparkling eyes, rose tattoos up and down both arms and bright fuchsia hair, wrapped her arms around me and said, “welcome home!”

One of the first service commitments the newcomer is able to immediately get involved with is as a door greeter at an AA meeting: the woman who had hugged me like a ray of sunshine had recently come back and was two days sober. It is an essential service in many recovery groups, both in person and online, for newcomers, visitors, and day counters. It requires no training and it reacquaints people to interacting with fellows at every stage of recovery. I cannot tell you how meaningful it was for me to be greeted like family at my first AA meeting after coming back from a relapse. It made me want to come back, and it slowly silenced the dark voices of addiction that told me I was so low that no group would have me. Anonymous