Recovery Glow
My connection to Stepping Stone did not start as a counselor.
It started in 1991, when Stepping Stone was still a collection of cottages. I was young, scared, and carrying more than I knew how to name. The AIDS crisis was still everywhere. The "War on Drugs" was in full effect, and San Diego was being hit hard by crystal meth.
Crystal meth became part of my life then, and it took me places I never thought I would go. Addiction did not take everything all at once. It slowly chipped away at my soul. My self-worth. My relationships. My ability to look people in the eye. My ability to recognize myself.
I was in and out of institutions. I carried shame like it was part of my body. I knew what it felt like to be lost and still act like I was fine. I knew what it felt like to want help and be terrified of what help might ask of me.
Somewhere in all of that, I found my way to Stepping Stone.
I wish I could make that sound neat, but it was not. Recovery did not happen for me in one clear moment. There was no big dramatic turning point where everything suddenly made sense. It was messy. I was messy. I was scared and full of pain. But there were people there who did not look away from me. They held space for me, and that mattered.
There is something powerful about sitting in a room with people who know what it feels like to survive things they do not always have words for. For LGBTQ+ people, addiction is not always just about the substance. Sometimes it is grief. Sometimes it is shame. Sometimes it is rejection, loneliness, trauma, survival, and trying to feel okay in a world that has not always made room for you.
Now I get to work at Stepping Stone. I get to sit with people as they begin recovery. I get to be part of those first hard conversations, shaky first steps, and moments when someone starts to believe that maybe their life is not over.
I see someone walk through our doors dark, tired, and defeated. Then, in just a matter of weeks, I see the light start to return. Their shoulders lift. Their eyes get clearer. They laugh again. They start showing up for themselves. I call it Recovery Glow. That is a big reason why I do what I do.
"I call it Recovery Glow. That is a big reason why I do what I do."
I remind clients that they are already perfect. Not perfect in the way the world talks about perfection. Not perfect behavior. Not perfect choices. Their worth is already there. Their spirit is still there. Their light is still there, even if life, trauma, addiction, shame, and fear have covered it up. Recovery gives us a chance to remove the obstacles to the awareness of that perfection.
I am not here because I figured everything out. I am here because people did not give up on me when I could not see much good in myself. I am here because recovery gave me a life I did not know I could have.
Stepping Stone is not separate from the community. It is the community. It has held our people through AIDS, meth, loss, relapse, grief, fear, and the slow work of learning how to live again.
As we celebrate Pride, I think about what it really means to be seen. Pride is beautiful. It lifts our community up by showing up and showing out. Pride is also sacred. It is remembering the people who came before us, the people we lost, and the people who fought, marched, grieved, loved, and refused to disappear so that we could stand a little taller today. Pride reminds me that I do not have to play small anymore. I belong to a community that has turned pain into power and silence into voice.
For me, Stepping Stone was one of the first places where I felt seen and not othered. It was a place where I began my truly amazing journey of recovery.
All these years later, I get to help keep that door open for someone else.
— Louie Misagal, SUD Counselor