Bash
Ms. Ricks hands me the dry-erase marker, making me suddenly feel all the nerves I’ve been trying to ignore. “You’ve got the floor tonight,” she tells me.
By seven, everyone is trickling in little by little.
Theo comes in wearing his baseball cap, giving me a nod.
JP, with the forearm tattoos, passes me by with a clap on the shoulder.
He heads straight for the chair he always claims that sits the furthest away from everyone else.
Mariah walks in wearing her oversized hoodie like always, trying to hide herself from the world.
She’s very smart and also twice as sassy.
Dani walks in not long after with her emotional support pack of gum in her hand, eyes always scanning everyone around her.
West is the quiet one of the group, and I’m pretty fond of him.
He sits in the same corner every time, super soft demeanor, and never seems to judge anyone else in here.
Some other familiar faces show up and take their seats, then I see a couple of new faces hanging out near the entrance.
I wave them toward the sign-in sheet and pointedly away from the coffee pot.
The first meeting is tough enough without throwing in caffeine jitters.
Everyone nods.
Taking another deep breath, I continue to try to keep my nerves under control.
“Stick mostly to I-statements as much as you can. We try not to offer advice unless it’s asked for.
It’s perfectly fine to pass if you don’t wanna speak.
Arrive late, leave early, don’t feel bad about it.
This isn’t mandatory, and we won’t keep you hostage.
” I hear a little bit of laughter and smirk before tucking it away.
“If I say or do something clumsy, flag me. I’m learning here too.
We have a pretty simple check-in process.
All you have to do is say your name, your color for how you’re feeling—Green/Yellow/Red or create your own, your craving level, 0-10, if you choose to share, this helps others not feel so alone here, and then you can tell us about one tiny win since last week, like I took a walk instead of drinking, or I answered an email I didn’t want to deal with. Remember again, passing is okay.
Tonight we’re talking about turning the volume down two notches.
Basically, just examples of what’s been loud for you—maybe something triggering to you or something that’s typically hard to deal with that makes you feel overwhelmed and more likely to turn to harmful things, and then small things that help quiet them in healthy ways.
If this is your first visit and you’d like a newcomer token, they’re in the center of the room. Good? Alright. Who’s got the guts to start our check-ins?”
Theo taps his fingers on his jeans absentmindedly. “Um, I’m Theo. Yellow-green-ish. Cravings like…a two? And my roommate stocked beer in our mini-fridge, and I didn’t open it once…so, win.”
A couple of people give quiet claps, and I nod. “Proud of you. You’re setting good boundaries.”
JP straightens up a little and goes next.
Then we make our way around everyone else.
West whispers a “pass,” and we easily move on.
The newcomers all tell us their names in quiet, small voices that haven’t fully warmed up to us yet.
One says it’s their first twenty-four hours off pills, and we all praise them for showing up tonight.
“Thank you,” I say when the circle lands back on me. “For being honest.”
I cap the marker, uncap it again, and turn to the board.
“Tonight I want to talk about pressure,” I say as I attempt to draw a bottle on the whiteboard.
“Not soda, exactly, but the soda is a good metaphor. Most of us in this room have had times where what’s inside us got pretty shaken up—all the emotions, anger, sadness, anxiety, whatever it is you’ve dealt with that feels big.
Sometimes by choice,” I say as I shrug, “a lot of times not by choice at all, just by life throwing a lot your way at once. The shaking is trauma, stress, grief, shame, exams, breakups, anything that tends to trigger your nervous system. The habit for a lot of us is to do one of two things, either twist the cap all the way off and let it explode on anyone nearby, or duct-tape it down and pretend the shaking never happened.”
A few nod. JP rubs his jaw. Dani smirks.
“What we’re tryna learn here is—” I draw a tiny line at the cap, “—how to crack the thing just a quarter turn. Let some of that hiss out on purpose. Not the whole bottle, not on people we love, and not turning to self-destructive habits to run away. Opening it with purpose and gently letting out the built-up fizz…something like a breath, a walk, texting your safe people, a meeting with your sponsor, maybe a cry, a set of push-ups, singing your heart out in your car, or even telling the truth in a room like this without faking it. On purpose is the key. You have to come at your shaken bottle with intentions not to let it explode. You also have to learn to recognize when you’ve been shaken up and need to be careful when you’re going to open up. ”
I let the room sit with that for a moment. “So here are the two questions I want to throw at the group. One, what are your main ‘shakes’ right now? Two, what’s one hiss you know works for you, or might work even if you’ve never tried it?”
Mariah jumps in immediately. “Midterms are my shake.” Some people nod in support.
“And my hiss is…um, journaling and putting my phone in a drawer. And honestly, I changed my background to a picture of my sister because it makes me less likely to do the thing I’m trying not to do when I see her face staring back at me. ”
“Stacking your environment,” I say. “That’s smart.”
Theo goes next. “My shake normally is…boredom, hiss is playing basketball. If I sweat enough, I forget about needing something else to make me feel useful and about any anger I was feeling.”
“Body first, brain later,” I tell him. “Good.”
We roll like that for a while, trying to be gentle, and occasionally getting raw or a little funny. West speaks up to say, “Walking at night when it’s quiet,” and Dani glances at him and says, “Same.”
I’m about to pivot us back toward the whiteboard list of practical things to try…when the door clicks—
She slips in, trying to stay invisible. Dark sweatshirt, backpack on, hair up, face beautiful. She doesn’t look at anyone but Ms. Ricks, walking over to her at the sign-in sheet.
“I’m sorry,” she says quietly to Ms. Ricks. The room has gotten quiet, waiting for our new guest to join, so we all catch the exchange. “I got stuck finishing an assignment.”
“No worries,” Ms. Ricks tells her with a smile. “You’re always welcome. Grab any seat.”
She walks over to the circle like she’s trying to silently apologize for interrupting, sliding into a chair closest to the door.
She looks up at everyone, nodding as some people wave at her, and then her eyes find mine and freeze.
I compose my face and remind myself to keep breathing. Don’t make a scene with your face.
“Hey,” I say, trying to keep my voice the same as it was before she walked in.
“Welcome. We’re glad you’re here. You can um, just listen tonight.
And if you want, we all normally introduce ourselves.
Our check-in is your name, color you’re feeling—green is good, yellow is uneasy, red is pretty closed off, craving number if that applies to you, and a win you’ve had this week.
You can also pass if you don’t want to.”
She swallows and then nods. “Yeah, that’s fine. Um. I’m Lydia.” She waves lightly at me from her lap. “Yellow. The cravings are probably about a 5 since today has already been so long. And…um, I wrote two paragraphs of something pretty heavy today in therapy. That feels like a win.”
“It is,” I say, trying not to let my face say more than it should right now. “Thanks, Lydia.”
Lydia wraps herself tightly in her sweatshirt, the way people do when they don’t want much attention on themselves.
We go back to the analogy I was showing, like nothing crazy just happened to my heart rate, knowing she’s here now.
“Alright,” I say, capping the marker. “I’m going to share a little on why I picked this topic, how this looked for me, and the difference it made.”
I look over at Ms. Ricks. She gives a subtle nod that says, “Model, don’t monologue. Make it relatable, not preachy.” I turn my body to face everyone and pretend I’m not suddenly very aware of where Lydia’s chair is.