�My name is Angela.�

�Hello, Angela,� the audience responded, all smiles and laughter.

�Thank you. Today, I have been sober for 185 days,� said Angela, her face bursting with joy and pride. More cheers of support.

�Even after six months,� she continued, �I�m finding sobriety to be a daily challenge. New Year�s last night proved to be my closest call yet.� A few audience members, including Diane, nodded, and in seeing one another, were comforted to be reminded they were not alone in their struggles. Several more shy, knowing smiles were passed around the room. Diane felt she could breathe for the first time in two days.

�The holidays have always gotten to me. I have always dreaded them, as long as I can remember. I remember my mother dragging me around to stores in the days before Christmas, complaining about the crowds and how expensive everything was. The relatives would come over, and the women would drink daiquiris in the kitchen and complain about the men, who were swigging beer in front of the TV. All the cousins would gather around the tree and fight about our presents, or lack of presents. Someone always ended up crying. Parents always ended up yelling. And at least one parent would see fit to smack a spouse or one of the kids.

�I promised myself I would never end up like my parents.

�Then, when I grew up and went off to college, I was free of all the controls my parents laid on me, and I partied every weekend. I started drinking beer at keg parties, and started having sex. By the time I was 21, I was drinking at least one beer every day. I had already had two abortions, and I had a sexually transmitted disease. I was on my way,� Angela�s voice choked, and the tears appeared. She put one hand on her chest as she caught her breath, and lifted her perfectly manicured index finger to let the audience know she just needed a minute. As she spoke, she gently fondled her token, rubbing it gently like a worry stone that could remove her pain.

�I got a good job in a brokerage firm after college,� she continued when she could speak again. �I moved up the ranks, went to all the networking parties and cocktail hours, made my connections, and was successful in business. I met a man at one of those cocktail parties, and we married four months later.� The audience let slip a few whistles of amazement.

Steve got up for a second and reminded the group that their responses should be supportive and non-judgmental, thank you very much.

�I finally knew things were getting out of hand when I started picking fights with my husband, doing things to sabotage my relationship and my life. I would wait till the week before Christmas to do my shopping, pay my bills late or not at all, even though I had plenty of money. I was maximizing my stress. My husband tried so hard to be understanding, but I was falling apart anyway. Here I was in this perfect marriage, and I was miserable, and I was making my husband miserable.