Recovery and Grief: Finding New Beginnings


September 2025

Recovery and Grief: Finding New Beginnings


September 2025

Recovery and Grief: Finding New Beginnings


September 2025

By Maude Harrison-Hudson, M. Div.

By Maude Harrison-Hudson, M. Div.

September is National Recovery Month, a time to honor the courage of those who face addiction and to celebrate the many paths to healing. When most people hear the word recovery, they think only of freedom from alcohol or drugs. But recovery is bigger than that. Recovery is about learning to live honestly, to walk through grief without running from it, and to discover that new beginnings are always possible.


I know this journey well. My first recovery was from alcohol. For twenty-five years, drinking was how I coped with pain I didn’t know how to face, the trauma of my childhood, the weight of silence in my family, the ache of losses that piled up. Alcohol numbed me, but it also chained me. The day I walked into my first Alcoholics Anonymous (A.A.) meeting, trembling and ashamed, I thought it might be the end of me. Instead, it became a new beginning.


When alcohol was gone, food took its place. I ate to soothe my grief, to quiet my anger, to fill the hollow places silence left behind. But food addiction left me weary, and my body carried the burden of what my heart was holding. In Food Addicts Anonymous (FA), I learned that abstinence was not about deprivation; it was about freedom. It gave me the chance to nourish myself in ways that strengthened both my body and spirit. It was another new beginning.


But recovery didn’t stop there. I discovered that distractions and noise could be addictions too. I filled my life with busyness, chatter, and constant motion so I wouldn’t have to sit with myself. In recovery, I was invited to embrace silence. At first, the stillness frightened me; it echoed too much of the silence I had grown up with. But slowly, silence became a teacher. In the quiet, I could hear God’s whisper: Be still, and know that I am God. That whisper was a new beginning.


Grief has been a companion through all of this. The loss of my two daughters, two husbands, and other family members has marked my life in ways too deep for words. But recovery gave me tools to carry grief differently. Instead of drowning it with alcohol, feeding it with food, or running from it with busyness, I learned to honor it. To let it speak. To let it remind me of love that does not die. Grief will always be part of my story, but in recovery, grief itself became a new beginning.


Recovery is never one-and-done. It is a practice of returning, returning to truth when denial tempts us, to faith when fear takes hold, to love when bitterness rises. It is a lifelong rhythm of falling and rising, of surrender and grace. Each time I stumbled, the invitation remained the same: Begin again.


This September, as we mark Recovery Month, I find myself grateful not only for my own recoveries but for what they mean for my family. Every new beginning has broken an old mold. Addiction, silence, and estrangement no longer define our family story. Instead, my son and grandchildren inherit honesty, resilience, and the knowledge that even when life falls apart, we can always start anew.


Maybe you are walking through grief right now. Perhaps you are facing an addiction, or simply numbing yourself with distractions that leave you feeling empty. Recovery is possible. Healing is real. And new beginnings can emerge even from the shadow of sorrow.


So, I invite you to pause this month and ask yourself:

  • Where do I need a new beginning?
  • How is grief inviting me to live differently?
  • What old mold am I ready to break, so that those who come after me inherit a new story?


Every time we choose life over despair, honesty over silence, hope over fear, we find recovery. And in that choice, we see what I have seen again and again: a new beginning.


A Blessing for New Beginnings

May you know that grief is not the end of your story, but a doorway into deeper love.

May your recovery remind you each day that grace is stronger than shame, and that you can always begin again.

May your body be nourished,

Your spirit steadied, and your heart strengthened for the road ahead.

And may those who come after you inherit not silence or sorrow, but courage, compassion, and hope—the gifts of a life remade through many new beginnings.

September is National Recovery Month, a time to honor the courage of those who face addiction and to celebrate the many paths to healing. When most people hear the word recovery, they think only of freedom from alcohol or drugs. But recovery is bigger than that. Recovery is about learning to live honestly, to walk through grief without running from it, and to discover that new beginnings are always possible.


I know this journey well. My first recovery was from alcohol. For twenty-five years, drinking was how I coped with pain I didn’t know how to face, the trauma of my childhood, the weight of silence in my family, the ache of losses that piled up. Alcohol numbed me, but it also chained me. The day I walked into my first Alcoholics Anonymous (A.A.) meeting, trembling and ashamed, I thought it might be the end of me. Instead, it became a new beginning.


When alcohol was gone, food took its place. I ate to soothe my grief, to quiet my anger, to fill the hollow places silence left behind. But food addiction left me weary, and my body carried the burden of what my heart was holding. In Food Addicts Anonymous (FA), I learned that abstinence was not about deprivation; it was about freedom. It gave me the chance to nourish myself in ways that strengthened both my body and spirit. It was another new beginning.


But recovery didn’t stop there. I discovered that distractions and noise could be addictions too. I filled my life with busyness, chatter, and constant motion so I wouldn’t have to sit with myself. In recovery, I was invited to embrace silence. At first, the stillness frightened me; it echoed too much of the silence I had grown up with. But slowly, silence became a teacher. In the quiet, I could hear God’s whisper: Be still, and know that I am God. That whisper was a new beginning.


Grief has been a companion through all of this. The loss of my two daughters, two husbands, and other family members has marked my life in ways too deep for words. But recovery gave me tools to carry grief differently. Instead of drowning it with alcohol, feeding it with food, or running from it with busyness, I learned to honor it. To let it speak. To let it remind me of love that does not die. Grief will always be part of my story, but in recovery, grief itself became a new beginning.


Recovery is never one-and-done. It is a practice of returning, returning to truth when denial tempts us, to faith when fear takes hold, to love when bitterness rises. It is a lifelong rhythm of falling and rising, of surrender and grace. Each time I stumbled, the invitation remained the same: Begin again.


This September, as we mark Recovery Month, I find myself grateful not only for my own recoveries but for what they mean for my family. Every new beginning has broken an old mold. Addiction, silence, and estrangement no longer define our family story. Instead, my son and grandchildren inherit honesty, resilience, and the knowledge that even when life falls apart, we can always start anew.


Maybe you are walking through grief right now. Perhaps you are facing an addiction, or simply numbing yourself with distractions that leave you feeling empty. Recovery is possible. Healing is real. And new beginnings can emerge even from the shadow of sorrow.


So, I invite you to pause this month and ask yourself:

  • Where do I need a new beginning?
  • How is grief inviting me to live differently?
  • What old mold am I ready to break, so that those who come after me inherit a new story?


Every time we choose life over despair, honesty over silence, hope over fear, we find recovery. And in that choice, we see what I have seen again and again: a new beginning.


A Blessing for New Beginnings

May you know that grief is not the end of your story, but a doorway into deeper love.

May your recovery remind you each day that grace is stronger than shame, and that you can always begin again.

May your body be nourished,

Your spirit steadied, and your heart strengthened for the road ahead.

And may those who come after you inherit not silence or sorrow, but courage, compassion, and hope—the gifts of a life remade through many new beginnings.

September is National Recovery Month, a time to honor the courage of those who face addiction and to celebrate the many paths to healing. When most people hear the word recovery, they think only of freedom from alcohol or drugs. But recovery is bigger than that. Recovery is about learning to live honestly, to walk through grief without running from it, and to discover that new beginnings are always possible.


I know this journey well. My first recovery was from alcohol. For twenty-five years, drinking was how I coped with pain I didn’t know how to face, the trauma of my childhood, the weight of silence in my family, the ache of losses that piled up. Alcohol numbed me, but it also chained me. The day I walked into my first Alcoholics Anonymous (A.A.) meeting, trembling and ashamed, I thought it might be the end of me. Instead, it became a new beginning.


When alcohol was gone, food took its place. I ate to soothe my grief, to quiet my anger, to fill the hollow places silence left behind. But food addiction left me weary, and my body carried the burden of what my heart was holding. In Food Addicts Anonymous (FA), I learned that abstinence was not about deprivation; it was about freedom. It gave me the chance to nourish myself in ways that strengthened both my body and spirit. It was another new beginning.


But recovery didn’t stop there. I discovered that distractions and noise could be addictions too. I filled my life with busyness, chatter, and constant motion so I wouldn’t have to sit with myself. In recovery, I was invited to embrace silence. At first, the stillness frightened me; it echoed too much of the silence I had grown up with. But slowly, silence became a teacher. In the quiet, I could hear God’s whisper: Be still, and know that I am God. That whisper was a new beginning.


Grief has been a companion through all of this. The loss of my two daughters, two husbands, and other family members has marked my life in ways too deep for words. But recovery gave me tools to carry grief differently. Instead of drowning it with alcohol, feeding it with food, or running from it with busyness, I learned to honor it. To let it speak. To let it remind me of love that does not die. Grief will always be part of my story, but in recovery, grief itself became a new beginning.


Recovery is never one-and-done. It is a practice of returning, returning to truth when denial tempts us, to faith when fear takes hold, to love when bitterness rises. It is a lifelong rhythm of falling and rising, of surrender and grace. Each time I stumbled, the invitation remained the same: Begin again.


This September, as we mark Recovery Month, I find myself grateful not only for my own recoveries but for what they mean for my family. Every new beginning has broken an old mold. Addiction, silence, and estrangement no longer define our family story. Instead, my son and grandchildren inherit honesty, resilience, and the knowledge that even when life falls apart, we can always start anew.


Maybe you are walking through grief right now. Perhaps you are facing an addiction, or simply numbing yourself with distractions that leave you feeling empty. Recovery is possible. Healing is real. And new beginnings can emerge even from the shadow of sorrow.


So, I invite you to pause this month and ask yourself:

Where do I need a new beginning?

How is grief inviting me to live differently?

What old mold am I ready to break, so that those who come after me inherit a new story?


Every time we choose life over despair, honesty over silence, hope over fear, we find recovery. And in that choice, we see what I have seen again and again: a new beginning.


A Blessing for New Beginnings

May you know that grief is not the end of your story, but a doorway into deeper love.

May your recovery remind you each day that grace is stronger than shame, and that you can always begin again.

May your body be nourished,

Your spirit steadied, and your heart strengthened for the road ahead.

And may those who come after you inherit not silence or sorrow, but courage, compassion, and hope—the gifts of a life remade through many new beginnings.