There’s a moment before every support meeting that still gets me.
Hand on the door.
Heart beating a little too loud.
Part of me thinking, You don’t really need this. You’re fine. Go home.
And then I walk in anyway.
The chairs are in a circle. People are laughing a little too loud or staring a little too hard at the floor. Coffee smells like it’s been around since 1992. Someone cracks a dumb joke to break the tension.
And just like that, I remember why I keep coming back.
Support meetings have become one of the most important parts of my recovery and my mental health. They’re not magic. They don’t fix everything. But for me, they’re one of the reasons I’m still here — and still moving forward.
This is why they matter so much, and what I personally get out of them.
1. They remind me I’m not the only one
When you’re struggling — with addiction, depression, anxiety, trauma, grief, whatever it is — your brain loves to tell you you’re the only one who feels this crazy.
Meetings prove that voice wrong.
I hear my story come out of other people’s mouths:
The shame The relapse The numbness The anger The “I don’t want to die, but I don’t really want to be here either”
It’s not word-for-word the same, but it’s close enough that I sit there thinking, Okay… maybe I’m not broken beyond repair. Maybe this is what being human looks like sometimes.
That alone is a kind of medicine. Knowing I’m not the only one fighting this battle pulls me out of my own head and back into reality.
2. It gives me a place to tell the truth
There are things I say in support meetings that I don’t always know how to say anywhere else.
Out there, people ask, “How are you?” and the script kicks in:
“I’m good.”
“I’m fine.”
“Hanging in there.”
In a meeting, I can say:
“I’m not okay.” “I’m craving.” “I’m angry.” “I’m tired of fighting.”
And instead of people backing away or trying to fix me, I get nods. I get “Yeah, I’ve been there.” I get stories from someone who made it through the exact kind of day I’m having.
Support meetings are one of the only places where telling the truth doesn’t feel like a burden. It feels like the point.
3. I get accountability I actually want
I don’t go to meetings to be policed. I go so I don’t have to fight alone.
When I share that I’m struggling, people remember.
Someone will text later: “You good?” Someone will check in next week: “How’d that situation end up?”
Accountability in that room doesn’t feel like judgment. It feels like people holding on to me when I can’t hold myself together.
It’s really easy to drift when you’re on your own. Little compromises. Little lies. Little “I’ll deal with it tomorrow.”
Support meetings pull me back before those little things become a disaster.
4. I borrow hope from other people’s stories
There are days I walk in feeling empty. No motivation. No spark. Just tired.
Then I hear someone share:
“I’ve been sober for years and I started where you are.” “I tried to end it once, and now I’m grateful I failed.” “Last year I was homeless, today I paid rent on my own place.”
I might not fully believe that kind of future is for me yet.
But I can believe it’s possible, because it’s sitting right in front of me.
On my worst days, I borrow hope from other people.
Then on my better days, I bring hope for somebody else.
That exchange — you lend me your hope, I’ll lend you mine — is one of the most powerful things that happens in those rooms.
5. I learn tools I can actually use
Therapy helps me. Medication helps me. Faith helps me.
But there’s something special about hearing practical tools from people who are in the trenches with me.
Things like:
“When I’m spiraling, I text three people instead of isolating.” “When my cravings hit, I set a timer for ten minutes and pray or journal.” “When my depression lies to me, I go to a meeting even if I don’t want to.”
Those little tricks aren’t from a textbook. They’re from lived experience. And a lot of them have become part of my own survival kit.
6. I get to give back, not just take
There are nights I show up with nothing but exhaustion and honesty, and that’s okay.
But there are also nights where I can:
Welcome the new person at the door Share something that might help Tell someone, “You’re not crazy, you’re just hurting”
Support meetings gave me a place to be helped.
Now they also give me a place to be useful.
And for someone who’s spent years feeling like a burden or a screwup, that’s huge.
Helping somebody else stay alive or stay sober for one more day makes my own pain feel like it’s been recycled into something good.
7. They keep me grounded in the present, not trapped in my past
My past is heavy: addiction, mental health struggles, mistakes, losses. If I let it, it’ll talk me into staying stuck in shame forever.
Support meetings don’t erase my past, but they help me put it in its place.
Every time I:
Sit down in that chair Listen with an open mind Share honestly Stay sober one more day
…I’m building a present that’s stronger than my yesterday.
I walk out feeling less like “the person who ruined everything” and more like “the person who’s doing something about it now.”
8. For anyone scared to go to their first meeting
If you’ve never been to a support meeting before, I get it — it’s intimidating. You might be thinking:
“What if they judge me?” “What if I cry?” “What if I don’t know what to say?” “What if I don’t belong there?”
Here’s the truth from someone who’s lived on both sides of that door:
Nobody in that room is there because life went perfect. You’re not walking into a room full of people who have it all together. You’re walking into a room full of people who get it. You don’t have to talk. You can just sit and listen. Get a feel for it. There’s no test, no interview. Crying is allowed. So is laughing. So is sitting with your arms crossed the whole time. There’s no “right” way to be there. You already belong if you’re hurting and you want something to change. That’s the only membership requirement that really matters.
If the first meeting you try doesn’t feel like a good fit, try another one. Different groups have different vibes. Keep going until you find a room where your shoulders finally drop a little and you think, Okay. I can breathe here.
Why I keep going
I don’t go to support meetings because my life is perfect now.
I go because it still isn’t — and that’s okay.
I go because:
I need reminders I’m not alone. I need people who understand the fight. I need a place where my honesty doesn’t scare people away. I need to see that healing is messy, but possible.
Support meetings aren’t the only thing that keeps me going, but they’re a huge piece of the puzzle.
If you’re struggling — with addiction, mental health, grief, trauma, or just life — maybe this is your sign to try one. Sit in the back. Hold your coffee. Say nothing if you want. Just… be there.
You don’t have to carry it all by yourself.
I promise you that.
— Josh Bridges
YOU {R} NOT ALONE YOU HAVE A VOICE! 