Walking Alongside

"When we are supporting people on their healing journey, it's about walking alongside them. It's not about us projecting our narrative or our own healing path onto others"

This can be a sensitive topic to talk about, but it’s worth the discussion — or in this case, the read.

Many of us have experienced hardship in life. It’s rare that any of us come out completely unscathed. The fortunate thing is that many have embarked on a healing journey, one that was likely deeply personal. So personal, in fact, that some people come to believe wholeheartedly that their path is the only path — and begin, often with the best of intentions, to encourage others to walk it too.

While that impulse comes from a place of love, it does leave room for growth, reflection, and the power of storytelling. Growth, in the sense that we are not the same people we were before our healing journey, and we genuinely want others to experience that same transformation. Reflection, in the sense that our path and belief systems may not be right for everyone — and that’s okay. But it requires self-awareness to recognize that. And storytelling, in the sense that we can absolutely share our journey with others, as long as we do so in a way that invites rather than directs — allowing those we support to find what works for them.

We see this dynamic play out often in the world of mental health and addiction, and particularly in recovery spaces. The 12-step approach is prominent, occupying a significant amount of space in recovery meetings and treatment centres across North America. I’m not here to discredit it — it has worked, and continues to work, for many people. But I want to encourage anyone who supports individuals struggling with addiction to look beyond the 12-step model and offer a broader range of healing modalities to those you have the privilege of walking alongside.

The same can be said of religion. It has been a source of profound healing for many, but it would be naive to ignore the fact that it has also caused significant harm. This is precisely why a multi-faceted approach to recovery matters — even when it stretches beyond our own experience or comfort zone. If we truly want to see people succeed, we have to be willing to help them find their own path, not just the one that worked for us.

When we first opened Drug Treatment Court (DTC) in Lethbridge, we modelled our program after another DTC in the province, which leaned heavily on the 12-step approach. Over time, participants began telling us that the messaging in those meetings wasn’t resonating with them. Many were attending simply because it was a program requirement — not because it was helping. Working alongside our program mentor, a DTC graduate in recovery, we realized we needed to pivot. We wanted to set participants up for success that would extend well beyond their time in the program, and that meant letting go of a one-size-fits-all expectation.

We began encouraging participants to explore various types of programming, including 12-step meetings, but not limited to them. Finding alternatives in the community took creativity — options like Recovery Without God, Wellbriety, Women in Recovery, and Men in Recovery were offered as starting points. If something didn’t land, participants were encouraged to keep looking. One participant found that walking in the coulees each day and practicing meditation did more for his recovery than any meeting ever had. And that was enough.

Recovery fatigue is real. The expectation that people must constantly identify with and talk about their recovery can itself become a burden. Finding pro-social activities — running groups, chess clubs, gym memberships, community events — where people can simply be themselves, without their recovery being the focus, is just as important as any formal program. Sometimes the most powerful thing we can do is give someone the space to just live their life.

At the heart of all of this is a simple truth: healing is not one-size-fits-all. Our role, whether as counsellors or other professionals, mentors, family members, or friends, is not to hand someone a map and tell them which road to take. It’s to walk beside them as they find their own way. When we release our attachment to how someone should heal, and instead commit to supporting however they need to — that’s when the real work begins. That’s what it means to truly walk alongside someone on their journey.

Photo by Markus Spiske on Unsplash