Helpful

The other night, I chaired an Al-Anon meeting at a women's prison. It's nothing new for me to chair a meeting; I've chaired meetings before, and told my story of how it was, and what happened, and how it is now. But I've never told my story to a room full of prisoners who I'd never seen before and whose stories and backgrounds I really didn't know. Maybe the strangest part of it all was how natural it felt, and how comfortable I was, and how nervous I wasn't. Possibly what I didn't see coming was the outpouring of solidarity and the connection with every other woman in that room and the sobering conclusion that I'm really no different than they are and that maybe jumping on my yoga mat 5 years ago is the only reason I ended up on a somewhat sane path while they ended up in prison scrubs and mandatory 12-step groups. Let's face it, we all lacked the same skills and sense of normal; I just happened to stumble into a few sun salutations that made me question everything and that forced me to learn what love is. I didn't expect to feel so similar to these women; I didn't expect taht I wouldn't want to leave.

When I can talk about what I went through, and people listen and cry and tell me they needed to hear it, then I feel like the decades of pain and sadness do not equal a wasted life. When people care what I say becuase it helps them, I feel useful. I want to think that maybe sharing my experience for other people's benefit is my purpose. Talking at the prison was like a soft gentle nudge from something bigger than i am, whispering into my ear that my past is not the thing that blocks my path, but rather the path itself. When I consider that I can go into a prison and not feel afraid and do something as both simple and wrenching as tell my story annd have it help people, I am amazed at the meaning I feel in this life. I want more.

P.S. They asked me to come back every week, which I will.