Who is at your table?

and other questions we might not want to answer

At a recent women’s recovery event sponsored by my friends at Renew Clinic in Knoxville, I sat around a flowery table with familiar strangers and a close friend and heard a message of promise. It was beautiful and encouraging and good. There was soothing music. Food served by kind people with gloved hands and lots of eyes with the lights on.

You may know what I mean: A night of hope and glimmer.

It also made me pause.

A part of me was distracted by the pain I felt seeping from the women across from me. Afraid to make eye contact. Swallowed up in sweatshirts. Sad.

I knew this state well because for decades this was my look. Though I knew God loved me with my head, my heart told a different story. During active addiction and even in my early years of recovery, I felt used up, dried up, knocked down. Life chewed me up and kept on chewing.

I was tired.

The tired, I could see in the eyes of these new strangers who reflected back to me the pain of addiction and loneliness. We see this in circles of chairs, don’t we? We notice our own chapters of pain reflected. We are reminded of what it was like because of who is in the room.

We are reminded of our stories through your stories. My story is sewn together with yours like an intricate, ancient tapestry.

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There was a speaker at this event and she had us do an exercise: write on a piece of paper everyone who is at your table.

By “at your table,” she meant this:

The people in your life who are for you, who speak wisdom and truth, who support your heart, listen to your struggles, celebrate your wins, and tell you when you are wrong even when it’s uncomfortable.

I grabbed the pen and immediately started writing.

It didn’t take long for me to note the people in my life who sit at my table.

Photo by Pelayo Arbués on Unsplash

Across the short distance of the table that I sat at in real-time with new women and another woman who is also at my figurative table, I noticed the two women across from me hadn’t even picked up their pens.

When it came time to share with the group, a couple of us said, beaming, who our people are and how we can count on them. The other women were silent with heads bowed.

I pressed in.

They wanted out.

“It’s too hard,” one woman said.

“There is no one at my table,” said another with tears waiting.

I looked down at my list, my table, the product of years of trials and triumphs. Decades of quiet, lonely tears, followed by years of intentional connection and hard-fought joy and relationships.

Despite how my table looks today, I also know what it’s like to sit by myself—or at least feel that way. And I know I need to remember that.

I jotted down a couple other things about my table, too, after reflecting not just on my own experience, but on the experiences of the women around me:

We might feel like we are alone at our table, but maybe this isn’t true. Maybe we aren’t alone, we just haven’t been able to see who is there yet.

We can choose who sits at our table [and we can let someone know that the seat they are trying to fill is taken].

We can be part of new tables.

We need to decorate and celebrate our tables. Bedazzle them. Line them with flowers and candles and sequins and stars. Lacey linens and bows. Faux diamonds and mixed metals.

Who is at your table, friend?

Is your table brimming with support or do you feel lonely?

However you are showing up today and reading this, the good news is this: our tables can change. If you are sitting by yourself, you can invite someone to join you. If you are ready for a new table, you aren’t alone in that either.

Will you comment below one thing about your current table or circle of support? Or I’d love to hear from you via email.

Thank you for being at my table.

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Would you like to meet in person? Join me this year at the Women For Sobriety annual conference in Pennsylvania.

Purchase day passes here. This is going to be an incredible convening of women. You aren’t going to want to miss this or my featured talk!