Shame wreathes my morning, like the thickest mist.
I trickle through the day, craving the night.
I scour those nights. Does peace hide, in some scream?
But where to find it?
I can’t even find my car keys!
Brothers, sisters, I need you. Whisper in my ear.
Reflect my shaming in your tear-filled eye.
Your wounded healing takes away my fear.
Truth clears the mist, and I can see the sky.
Better: I see the circle, claim my place.
I breathe with you. Your courage is my grace.
The group I attend is for men, but I added ‘sisters’ because I know abuse affects all
genders, including trans-gender and non-binary. I found I was breaking rhythms all over the place – no matter. Recovery is not neat.