Becoming Real
In the first few days of treatment, clients often sit quietly, still wrapped in the haze of addiction. Their bodies are here, but their selves are uncertain, hidden behind layers of survival. Slowly, as the days unfold, we begin to see them—not just as one person, but as several.
Perhaps a joker emerges, quick with a laugh to keep pain at bay. Maybe a caretaker appears, always looking after others while avoiding their own needs. A tough, untouchable figure, hardened by life, stays on the edges, dissociating when things get too real. These parts have helped them survive, each playing its role, each protecting something deeper.
But then, behind all of them, we glimpse someone else—the true self. At first, it may only be a flicker in the eyes, a hesitation before speaking, a sigh in a quiet moment. And then, one day, that part steps forward. It begins to name the others, to tell their stories. It explains how they were necessary—how the joker kept things light when the darkness was too much, how the caretaker made sure others wouldn’t leave, how the tough one built walls so high that no one could ever hurt them again.
This moment is not a breaking down but a becoming. Becoming real.
In treatment, we try to model that adult self—one with love, good boundaries, and the courage to listen. We invite the true self to join us, to tell its story, to begin to connect with emotions as a compass rather than an enemy. And as they begin to trust, they speak of things they have never said aloud—memories carried alone for too long, things unfair, things shameful that they’ve faced alone. But in the moment of sharing, they are no longer alone. And in the room, there is no judgment, only understanding, because each of us has walked this path.
It doesn’t matter if the addiction was alcohol, drugs, food, gambling, sex, or self-destruction. The drivers are the same. The consequences are the same. The loneliness is the same. The double life is the same. And so is the realization that, at the time, those ways of coping were the best they could do.
Like the Velveteen Rabbit and the Skin Horse, this is about becoming real. We may all be broken little dolls, but through this process, we begin to see the broken little dolls inside ourselves—the ones we must care for, nurture, and heal. And we also find something else: a part of us that was never broken. A part that is waiting to be found.
That is why, in this book, the illustrations start as dolls and become more real as the journey unfolds. Because recovery is not just about becoming good—it is about becoming ourselves. At first, we think we must become better people, and that is part of it. But the harder, deeper truth is that we must become who we truly are.
Know thyself. Be thyself.
And we do not have to do it alone. The journey begins in treatment, but it continues beyond, into the fellowships, where we find the keys to the kingdom. The 12 Steps are principles, a way of life that teaches us to be true to ourselves as well as of service to others.
And, perhaps, there is something even greater—a Higher Power, a Higher Self, a voice from our future calling us forward. If we are willing, it will guide us, step by step, through every aspect of our lives, both inside and out.
We only need to listen.
And ask: “Show me the way.”
