When Jillian opened her eyes, she felt revitalized. Surveying her surroundings, memories of the previous night began to return.

As she prepared her coffee, fragments of clarity pierced through her mental haze. Then, she noticed it—the joint.

She paused to contemplate its significance.

After six months of sobriety from a long-standing heroin addiction, Jillian frequently experienced vivid dreams about using, often waking up confused about their reality. However, this time felt distinct.

By the time she completed her morning tasks, the truth struck her. She had indeed smoked a joint with her childhood best friend the previous evening.

Her mind raced between how it made her feel and the dread of her sponsor, Jen's, potential reaction.

Jillian’s friends had conveyed a message that using any substance meant utter devastation, yet the world around her remained unchanged. She still had no urge to use and was eager for her meeting with Jen that evening—perhaps even more so now, invigorated by last night's experience.

At their meeting, she immediately confessed.

Expecting a reprimand, she was surprised when Jen simply listened, nodding thoughtfully.

“So what's the issue?” Jen asked.

Jillian looked at her in disbelief and irritation. Jen had a knack for guiding Jillian toward her own insights, but this felt like a moment that required direct answers.

“I used.”

Jen’s response was measured. “Did you inject heroin?”

“No.”

“Do you want to inject heroin?”

“No.”

“So, what’s the issue?”

Jillian hesitated, “But everyone…”

“Hold on,” Jen interjected, “We’re not discussing everyone else—we’re focusing on you.”

In that moment, Jillian’s sponsor imparted wisdom that could have altered the course of her life.

“This is where you start to differentiate between the program and the fellowship. Remember, not everyone in the fellowship adheres to the program.”

Jillian nodded, beginning to grasp the concept.

“What constitutes an AA meeting?” Jen inquired.

With a hint of pride, Jillian replied, “It takes two individuals who wish to stay sober, and ideally, a coffee pot.”

“Exactly,” Jen affirmed. “Anyone can hold a meeting, and anyone can create a group within the fellowship. Following the program isn’t mandatory. Just because attendees share certain beliefs doesn’t mean they apply to you. This is where we say, ‘take what you need and leave the rest.’”

While Jen remained calm, Jillian’s anxiety heightened.

“What do you mean? Everyone insists on it! They say I should pick up a new chip. Oh my god, I can’t believe I did this.”

Tears welled in Jillian's eyes as Jen began to clarify.

There are numerous paths to recovery. The 12-step program is just one of them and does not claim to hold the ultimate truth. Yet, within its framework, some members promote rigid beliefs, including total abstinence from all substances as the only acceptable path for everyone in recovery.

Jillian squinted, recalling their earlier discussions about her recovery plan, which included complete abstinence.

“Yes, it was a solid plan for various reasons. Early recovery requires caution against using substances to numb pain. Over-reliance on substances could hinder genuine recovery efforts, potentially leading to a full relapse. However, smoking a joint or indulging in comfort food doesn’t necessarily lead to that. Some individuals must avoid all mind-altering substances, while others can manage differently. Recovery isn’t one-size-fits-all; it varies with each individual.”

Still, Jillian remained unconvinced.

“But Fred insists on it, and he sponsors more people than anyone. He claims that many who try alternative methods end up back where they started—defeated and hopeless.”

Jen chuckled wisely. “Of course, sweetheart. Those who succeed through other means rarely return to share their success.”

A realization began to dawn on Jillian, but her confusion persisted.

“But isn’t honesty the first step’s spiritual principle?”

Jen raised an eyebrow. “Yes, but the steps function collectively, not in isolation.”

Jillian felt as if she were failing a test or that Jen had lost her mind, sitting there without answers.

“Except?” Jen prompted.

Suddenly, clarity hit Jillian. “Oh! Except when it would cause harm to them or others.”

Jumping up in excitement, Jen exclaimed, “Bingo!”

She often radiated enthusiasm when helping Jillian connect the dots. As she began pacing, she summarized their insights.

Steps one through eight focus on your relationship with your higher power and your sponsor. Steps nine through twelve are maintenance steps related to your interactions with the wider world. You’ve done your work and shared it with me; we’ll take stock of it together. This should remain between us and shouldn’t involve the fellowship—just like you wouldn’t perform your fifth step in front of everyone. In step nine, we discover that making amends is only suggested when it wouldn’t cause harm. The only person you owe amends to is yourself, and sharing everything could only lead to shame and damage your standing in the fellowship. If you had shot heroin last night, our conversation would be entirely different.

Jillian leaned forward in her chair. “So you’re saying I don’t need to pick up a new chip? But how can I avoid being dishonest if I smoked pot since my clean date?”

Jen burst into laughter. “Let’s not even start on Bill Wilson and his LSD adventures; you can research that later. The idea of complete abstinence doesn’t appear anywhere in AA’s literature or history. In fact, acknowledging it as an AA member goes against Tradition five, which states AA holds no opinions on outside issues, including substances other than alcohol. AA’s primary focus is singular. Should we also ask people to pick up a chip for buying a lottery ticket or engaging in infidelity? No. It’s not that black and white, and that’s why it’s not everyone’s business. You have the choice to disclose your personal journey.”

By the end of their conversation, Jillian felt empowered; the burden of shame had lifted. She headed to the 8 o’clock meeting, unaware it would be her last.

After the meeting, she sat at a picnic table with her close AA friend, Pam.

Though relatively new, Pam was a significant friend. She was the first connection Jillian made in recovery. They sat outside the church after a meeting attended by about twenty others. A sobriety countdown and birthday cake had just taken place, making Jillian’s six-month milestone very much on her mind.

Pam shared a humorous story about David, who always celebrated twenty-four hours of sobriety despite having nearly ten years. Jillian felt a fleeting echo of the magical camaraderie she had experienced the night before.

Overcome with emotion, she shared the entire joint incident and her conversation with Jen.

Pam, concerned, warned Jillian that her sponsor was mistaken. If she didn’t consider her joint a relapse and didn’t pick up a new chip, she’d be building her recovery on a flawed foundation that could lead to her ultimate relapse and death.

Before Jillian could elaborate, Pam’s ride arrived, and she left into the night.

On her walk home, Jillian’s thoughts oscillated between self-doubt and self-blame. Ultimately, she concluded Pam was right. She felt like a failure. All the progress she’d made over the past six months felt wasted, and she saw herself as a newcomer once again.

She recognized the judgmental looks relapsers received and was painfully aware of the narrative surrounding them.

Perhaps they were correct; maybe it was her fault for not doing the work properly, which led her to this point—convinced she had never truly recovered.

Then came the dark thoughts.

“If I’m considered a relapser for smoking a joint, I might as well get high. I have zero days clean now. There’s one thing that can relieve my guilt and pain, even if just temporarily. Regardless, I’ll have one day clean tomorrow.”

And then came the all-too-familiar final words of anyone ensnared by addiction.

“Forget it.”

Instead of returning home, Jillian walked to the nearby dope house, deciding to use one last time. Tomorrow, she’d start anew and pick up a new chip.

It would be her final time because she had never been clean and had no idea how much her body could tolerate. The only advice she’d received about using again was to refrain.

She overdosed in the dope house and succumbed on the bathroom floor.

This narrative draws inspiration from real experiences and aims to highlight how the pressure for absolute abstinence can lead to high rates of relapse and overdose fatalities.

According to the Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration (SAMHSA), recovery is defined as follows:

“Recovery is a process of change through which individuals enhance their health and wellness, live a self-directed life, and strive to reach their full potential.”

From this perspective, recovery is a “process of change.” The notion of complete abstinence from all substances is absent from this definition. In fact, medication-assisted treatment (MAT) is recognized by SAMHSA as a vital avenue for recovery, particularly for those dependent on opioids.

Cannabis is frequently recommended for many struggling to maintain abstinence from opioids.

Jillian was indeed in recovery and had made remarkable progress. Her life had transformed entirely. Her well-being was at its peak, filled with endless opportunities.

Like many others, Jillian might not have relapsed had it not been for the overwhelming shame she felt in recovery spaces—places where she had finally found her self-worth.

Numerous factors contribute to the culture of shame in recovery within 12-step programs, with the insistence on absolute abstinence and the associated shame for those who don’t comply being the most significant.