Three years ago, I attended my first ACoA/DF, or Adult Children of Alcoholics and Dysfunctional Families meeting. My mother had previously attended a meeting held on Thursday evening and asked me to go with her to this particular Sunday evening meeting. I was already in the process of improving the quality of my life through major lifestyle changes, so the honesty and courage demonstrated by the people in this meeting was inspiring.

Many new thought processes were initiated during the months that followed. The seed of love, acceptance and understanding were sown by caring hearts. I was encouraged at each meeting yet still confused. I wasn't sure how or when to apply the 12 steps promoted in these meetings to my changing life.

The timing was not right and I ultimately faded back into my own world which was undergoing major upheavals. My seventh and last child had been born only a few months earlier. My 17-year marriage had finally died after a 12-year illness, and my children and former husband were having difficulties making the adjustment. I was cultivating a new male/female relationship. I had re-entered the work force after a lengthy absence, and I had to relinquish my lifelong role as child-raiser to a day care center.

Two years later, I encountered a new reality in doses that I was emotionally incapable of handling. I had met and allowed myself to fall in love with the "perfect" man who, for two months, brought the thrill of adolescence into my life.

My rose-colored glasses fit very comfortably until, to my shock and disbelief, I discovered the seething anger, vile hatred and contemptuous distrust this man held for women. My already negligible self-esteem plummeted even further as I convinced myself that his anger was, indeed, a reaction to something I has said or done, or failed to say or do.

In response, I acted as involuntarily as body spasms brought on by electrical shock therapy. I behaved in ways that shattered my self image. I felt totally out of touch with even my own distorted definition of reality. I never thought it possible for me to react in such a variety of "sick" ways. But I was determined to love him, whatever the cost. I lost sleep, weight, dignity and piece of my mind with every beat of my heart. When I realized, though, that I was losing control of my life in my efforts to demonstrate my undying, all-forgiving love, I sought help.

My first attempt was through a meeting for women only. I felt very uncomfortable because the humiliation I felt didn't alter my love for this man, and this group seemed to expect change. My lack of progress kept me silent for a time, but my unbearable suffering spilled unguarded words to this small group of women, and their disapproval was evident. I needed their love and acceptance more than any understanding they could offer or advice they freely gave. I found myself craving a shoulder to cry on or a lap to crawl into but was unable to ask for even a simple hug of reassurance. It simply wasn't that kind of group, and I eventually stopped going.

I recognized, in time, that my relationship was becoming increasingly addictive for me. I was like an alcoholic who believes that just one small sip would be thirst quenching when, in reality, the entire bottle could never satiate the desire for more. My very survival depended on this man's love, affection and attention.

I sought counsel with a psychiatrist only to come away feeling more degradation, so I struggled on in my own floundering efforts to "fix" the situation. I tried repeatedly to follow advice written in books and spoken on self-help cassette tapes. I put my house up for sale, thinking that relocating would solve the problem. I thought of simply running away and leaving my children with their father. I contemplated marriage to another man who loved me very much. Yet, I had grown just healthy enough in my search for sanity to know that I was far too unhealthy to marry anyone.

Daily I felt shame, humiliation, fear, panic, abandonment, guilt, jealousy, hatred, compassion, empathy, love, depression, loneliness... all within a matter of minutes. It was a constant struggle for me to remain functional at my job. I was openly weeping at my desk, unable to concentrate on the simplest of tasks.

There was a primal scream inside of me working its way up from the tips of my toes while the shell of a woman painfully forced her way through each day with the commonplace reply, "I'm fine," when asked how she was doing. I was becoming increasingly more unavailable to my children at home.

I was emotionally depleted and finally lost so much weight that I underwent a complete physical examination to reassure myself that I hadn't contracted some fatal disease. I even considered death as a very viable option and grew very intimate with God. Hope seemed to be disappearing like water down a drain, and I was soon to follow. I was living a nightmare of slow-motion escape from a terrible beast, only to look back in horror and see myself.

It was my own determination and belief that there had to be someone who understood what I was going through and was willing to help me that kept me going. Then, deep within me, like the ember of a dying fire against a moonless night, I felt the stirrings of the seeds of love, acceptance and understanding that had sprouted roots in my soul as recollections of those Sunday night meetings illuminated my memory. I remembered the hugs and knew that if I could just get a few of them from the people in that group, I would be okay. If I could just talk to them and feel that acceptance again, I could sleep a little better at night and work a little more efficiently during the day.

Ironically, for the first two meetings I sat silently, stuffing incredible pain and fear. I would occasionally make attempts to speak without being swallowed up by my humiliation, but nearly drowned in the shameful tears that I withheld. I found myself anxiously awaiting the end of the meeting so I could get those hugs, yet leaving in a panic before that time came.

By the third meeting, I had to force myself to publicly admit to the group how very much I needed their hugs. That simple request was echoed by others and I felt that rush of compassion and understanding for which I had been aching. I wasn't alone in my need. I wasn't alone in my despair. I wasn't alone in my pain. Their hugs brought serenity to me even though it lasted only as long as my heartache would allow. I kept coming back for more... more hugs... more reassurance... more acceptance... more healing.

I have since started attending a Tuesday evening meeting, in addition to that wonderfully reassuring Sunday evening meeting, and have found a good therapist who accepts me without judgment. I also enrolled in a 12-step workbook workshop to learn how to use these 12 powerful tools in my life. I look forward to unravelling all of the inappropriate patterns I have woven into my life through years of misconceptions. I am eager to understand my own addictions, to discover how to live without pain, and to rediscover how to love without fear. I am anxious to release the beauty within me and am confident that it can now happen.