(Trans)formed Recovery

Slipping and falling deeper into grace

Dec 22, 2025

One of the main traditions in recovery rooms is anonymity. Anonymity protects you from having to be the “face of the program” and from the risk of misleading others into thinking that you are synonymous with the program.

Another tradition of the programs is attraction over promotion, in the sense that we shouldn’t try to sway others to participate through any online endorsement, but that we should lead by example.

I want to acknowledge this as I write about my own recovery, especially how my transness and spirituality play into it.

These identity themes aren’t all common in the rooms, as recovery programs keep principles over personalities. But they are my lived experience, and the way I see the Universe coalescing my lived experience into the rich tapestry that is me.

So I write about my recovery, the way I see it impacting my everyday life, especially when I notice a shift, where my tools run out, and I am forced into the great state of discomfort—

When I am forced to let go, to trust, and to grow.

As the holidays have been ramping up, it is one of the hardest times to have a bad relationship with money.

Advertisements are everywhere, and credit card companies, 0% APR payment plans, and all of the Buy Now, Pay Later categories show up in your inbox and on social media continuously.

Because programs have a tendency to not discuss outside issues, these 0% APR payment plans sometimes sit in a grey area.

Long story short, an addiction loves a grey area.

And mine began to have a field day.

One object, usually some kind of tech, on a small payment plan, where I had the money but didn’t want to part with it at once (total debtor behavior), was isolated.

Or so I thought.

Slowly but surely, one purchase led to another.

And Black Friday, the day of sales, I fell victim to the last purchase—

An item for work I arguably didn’t really need but really wanted.

So I went for it, and when the package arrived two days later, I took the item out of the box with a feeling of immediate discomfort.

I wanted to return it.

Another red flag for debtor behavior.

Through the next few days, I pondered this sick feeling in the pit of my stomach.

The debt was secure in a way… I could sell the item for what it was worth.

Or at least, this is what I told myself.

But it didn’t matter. Going to meetings, talking to a sponsor, and reading literature reminded me that something was off.

My sponsor told me plainly: “It sounds like a slip to me.”

I felt the whole of my being cringe.

I was all too familiar with slips, as I had watched many family members—dry drunks—slipping and sliding back into the rooms.

I didn’t want to be like them.

However, just because I didn’t want to be like them didn’t mean anything.

Knowledge isn’t enough against a disease.

You can’t outwit it. And you can’t self-will it.

You have to admit and surrender it.

To a power greater than yourself.

But admission and surrender are harder than you might think.

Shame acts as a kind of wall between you and the solution.

The sick feeling you feel morphs.

Suddenly, I don’t only know I messed up, but I don’t want to tell anyone.

I want to hide it.

I want to pretend like everything is on the up and up, like I have my disease licked and under control.

Shame wants me to be isolated, to be hidden away in secret.

This reminds me of what I have heard in the rooms, again and again:

The opposite of addiction isn’t sobriety, it is connection.

Connection to other addicts on the bus who are just doing their dead-level best, one day at a time.

As I sank deeper in the shame, I knew the only solution was to do the exact opposite of what I wanted to do: actually reach out and tell on myself.

The more I talked about it, the lighter I began to feel.

But each time I wanted to text or make a call, the phone weighed a thousand pounds.

I had to let the action guide me, the light of the next right thing. Feelings had to follow.

And slowly but surely, they did.

At a family gathering this year for the holidays, I noticed what I notice every time I go home—

I come by my disease honestly.

Instead of cooking for people and centering their dietary preferences or needs, my family’s quick and easy solution was to order our holiday meal from a local restaurant.

Money was the solution to the problem.

In some ways, it did make everything easier. We could warm the food up and eat together without much fuss over dishes or the time it takes to cook.

However, money also replaced the experience in some ways, too.

Money made the day about consuming the food and not making the food.

Money made the day about presentation over experience and people.

For me and my partner, we cooked and baked our own meal that we offered to share with our family when, inevitably, the restaurant meal wasn’t anything compared to homemade.

We prioritized ourselves and our dietary needs. We also had the experience of picking and choosing recipes and ingredients, all of which took more time and effort but enabled us to have a holiday we could experience as much as a holiday we could possess or consume.

We had to find our recipes, buy our ingredients, and make a second trip to the store when, inevitably, we forgot to pack something we needed for the meal.

We had to wake up several hours before the event.

We had to figure out ways to store and transport the food.

But in doing each of these steps, we created more experiences and memories of navigating the grocery stores, chopping the onions, mixing the dough, and seeing the work come together in something we could enjoy.

We even had food to share, which is often the point of big holiday meals.

But for my family, they wanted to spend the day triangulating others in the family, gossiping and bad-mouthing each other over food that probably tasted good and was easy to get but lacked the essence of what the day was about.

For the first time, I chose not to take part and made the experience a bit more uncomfortable.

I wanted to actively center people over presentation.

Principle over the dysfunctional personality that goes hand in hand with money.

However, it was really, really difficult and went against every genetic fiber of my being.

In some ways, I had to take the next right step and trust the feelings would follow.

They did in a way I am grateful for, but I also left feeling sure of the source of my icky shame.

I didn’t have enough money, and so I wasn’t enough.

I didn’t have enough beauty or presentation, and so I wasn’t enough.

I didn’t have enough ability to be quiet and push down my needs, so I wasn’t enough.

And my want to do more or different was selfish and separated me from the people instead of connecting me to the people.

On the drive home, I had to reckon with the fact that I was trying to heal generations of scarcity mindset and not-enough-ness.

I didn’t know if it was possible.

I bemoaned to my partner that I just wished I could have come from any other family.

But that night, we had agreed to bring a side dish to a Friendsgiving, with a group of queer and trans friends who have become a kind of chosen family.

We wanted nothing more than to put our bags down and pass out, watching Netflix and eating our leftovers.

Our smart feet kicked in, though, and we followed the next right thing, which was showing up for our community…

Which also means showing up for ourselves.

My partner made spicy, gluten-free Mac and Cheese. I bought a pack of Diet Coke, and we drove out to the cabin our friend recently moved to, on the edge of the state park.

When our friend answered the door and let us in, we were met with the pleasant sound of laughter, people around kitchen counters, assembling dishes.

Our host was checking the turkey.

Our host’s fur babies were roaming and looking for pets.

Our dear friends chatted around the whole cabin, as if no one was excluded or left out.

I felt my heart fill with warmth and belonging.

There was alcoholic and nonalcoholic, there was sugar and diet, there was meat and vegetarian, there was vegan and gluten-free—there was something for everyone.

We left completely exhausted and absolutely full in every way, sharing smiles and laughter about the event all the way to our warm beds.

And before drifting off into my sweet sleep that night, relieved we were establishing our chosen family, I realized the next steps in my recovery—where my slip was leading me…

Dropping me, really.

I realized it was this community… this connection… this people-first mentality that valued the quality of the experience and the connection over the value of the dollar and materiality of life.

I was there, hanging over the edge of a new world I was gracefully drifting into.

A world where people are at the center, their needs and their wants negotiated and prioritized.

A world where things are second-hand and second to the gathering of souls.

A world where spending and buying were only a means to an end, a way of bringing us closer to one another.

Instead of separate from.

A world where we prioritize love.

This is where all 12-steps are leading.

This is where spirituality and queerness go.

Ever deeper into love.

Ever deeper, together.

XOXO

Warmly,
Jo

Where is your recovery leading you?

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