One night roughly ten years ago, a massive snowstorm was scheduled to hit New York. The city was whipped up into a frenzy about it and a friend of a friend decided to throw an equally massive party during the middle of it. I got there early to stake out a space. I’d decided to offer free tarot readings (I’ve always liked having a task during social events to settle my nerves). I’d also brought two bottles of wine: One for me and one for everyone else.

There’s a photo of me from the night — in a black velvet dress, hair swept up into an impressive bun, white eyeliner and oversized earrings. I look poised, present, even a bit coy. Unfortunately, it’s the memory I have of the night - I woke up fully dressed in my bed later in the evening, unsure of what had happened and how I’d gotten home. I opened Snapchat and saw videos of myself swanning about the party, looking like I was having the time of my life. The videos unsettled something deep inside. I prided myself on not being a drinker who blacks out — at the time, the fear of what others thought always kept me from getting that intoxicated in the presence of other people.

A few nights later, still drowning in shame, I saw an acquaintance post about their sobriety on social media. I immediately DM’d them and asked if they’d take me to a meeting. They agreed, and a few days later, maybe even the next day, we went.

The meeting was lovely. Everyone was warm and welcoming and extremely patient and kind. I got called on to share, and cried all the way through it. Lots of sweet humans got my phone numbers and checked on me often and supported me as I stayed sober from alcohol and went to meetings for a solid and unbroken thirty days.

Still, it would take me 4 or 5 more years until I found a room I could belong in. That meetings, like all of the in-person ones I’ve attended since then, are largely, if not entirely, white. I kept cycling in and out of drinking and other process addictions I didn’t know I had yet (workaholism, overspending, food, people). I hit a bottom, then I started over again. I convinced myself it wasn’t “that bad.”