I learned how to needlepoint when I was ten or eleven years old.  My mother and my grandmother needlepointed, and I wanted to be close to them, so they taught me. Somewhere, I still have that first project. It is a picture of a little girl walking with a fishing pole over her shoulder. Even then, I was no fussy girly girl.

Years went by before I again picked up needlework. I did crewel and cross stich and some knitting.  During graduate school, the professor understood, I would do my needlework during class as I found that I listened and retained the lecture better when I did.  I have since found out there is a scientific reason for this. I tried to do the needlework in meetings at work, but I never could convince my supervisor that it would be ok.

When I got sober and started my journey of recovery from alcohol and co-dependency, I was often uncomfortable at meetings.  I attended meeting regularly and was told to “keep coming back” and “one day at a time.”  I remembered my needlework and how I enjoyed it and started a project one night early in recovery at a meeting I regularly attended. The needlepoint I chose would become a rug.  There were five sections, and it would take me years to complete it.  I often thought – “why did I start this?  It will take forever!”  Each time I looked at a blank canvas I was overwhelmed with doubt and frustration at the work it was going to take.

I started one of the panels in the ICU of a hospital where my dearest friend’s husband was.  He had had a brain injury after a motorcycle accident and was in a coma. All his and his spouse’s friends took turns sitting with him during the first few weeks as he started to wake up and struggle to understand what happened to him.  I remember thinking I will always remember the fear and the happiness that I could be there for them when I look at that part of my rug.

My life these days is hard. My older sister is needing more and more help as her abilities and memory at affected. I am her power of attorney, and I live on the other side of the country from her. It is very hard. A dear friend, who was once long ago a boyfriend died this week, rather suddenly. We had just emailed at Easter. Everything about the election ground me down.

My rug that took 9 years of meetings to finish is on the floor of my bedroom. What I am learning repeatedly each time I enter the room and see the rug is: every beginning, every challenge, every obstacle seems to be ‘too much’ at the beginning. This is life on life’s terms. But I still go to a meetings, talk with my sponsor, live with what is, stitch by stitch. Like my needlepoint rug, it only got completed – one stitch at a time – so too with life and recovery.  One stitch, one moment, one day at a time.

Libbie S., Sober Sisters, Mondays 3PM