The Power of Community: Why Women Need Each Other in Recovery

karenmrubinstein
Jun 1
4 min read

Updated: Jun 8

Recovery was never meant to be walked alone.

I once had so many self-help books on how to stop drinking, I could have opened a bookstore.

The titles ranged from how to moderate your drinking, how to stop completely, how to take control, and every variation in between.

Before getting sober, I devoured addiction memoirs—some I deeply identified with, others I used as proof that I was different from them… and therefore not an alcoholic.

Most nights, I read those books in bed—coffee mug in hand, filled with wine or vodka.

I tried everything to stop.

I truly believed I had to figure it out on my own.

I didn’t want to be a burden.

I didn’t want to sit in a room full of strangers and unpack the chaos of my life.

The truth is, I was scared. I was ashamed. And I was used to doing everything myself—because for most of my life, I had no choice.

But even in that self-reliant mindset, deep down I longed for connection. I just didn’t know how to ask for it—or even what it would look like.

When You’ve Been Hurt by People, Trusting People Feels Impossible

I had spent years being hurt by people I was supposed to be able to trust.

My childhood home was filled with angry parents and frightened, reactive siblings—all of us stuck in survival mode. A teacher once stuck his tongue down my throat in a deserted classroom. A doctor molested me on his exam table.

And then—years later—a therapist I trusted more than my own husband emotionally, psychologically, and sexually violated me.

That betrayal shattered something fundamental.

Everyone who was supposed to be my safe person had hurt me. Everyone, except my husband—who, ironically, I had trouble trusting, even though he’s the most honest and loyal person I’ve ever known.

After all those betrayals, I didn’t just lose faith in people—I became afraid of the world.

So when someone said, “You need support,” all I heard was, more people who could let me down. I couldn’t imagine opening my heart again—not after everything I’d already survived.

But I was stuck.

My own thoughts were looping. I kept spinning in the same stories, repeating the same patterns, listening to the same self-blame. I couldn’t break free on my own, no matter how many books I read or plans I made. I needed something more.

I needed someone to sit beside me.

Someone who wouldn’t try to fix me,

but who would simply say,“I’ve been there too.”

And for that to happen, I had to learn to trust.

But who?

Why Women Get It

There is something sacred about women supporting women. It’s not just about sharing similar experiences—it’s a kind of emotional fluency, an unspoken language we seem to understand without having to explain.

We see the exhaustion behind the smiles.

We recognize the need to keep everything looking “fine” on the outside.

We know what it’s like to carry pain in silence.

We’ve been taught to be accommodating.

To put others first.

To stay strong, stay quiet, stay small.

But recovery invites us to unlearn all of that—and to start showing up as our real, raw, honest selves.

As Glennon Doyle - author of Untamed (one of the books in my vast collection) writes:

“We can do hard things—but we don’t have to do them alone.”

Healing Happens in Safe Spaces

I didn’t truly begin to heal until I sat with other women and told the truth out loud.

My first real experience of that was in rehab. I was terrified. Fourteen women, ages 19 to 58—strangers I was expected to live with. I was so overwhelmed I tried to escape and go home.

But I stayed. For five months.

It was the first time I’d lived with women since childhood—since growing up with my four older sisters. And I was scared. Scared I’d be judged. Scared I’d be met with silence or pity. Scared I’d be rejected or, worse, hurt.

But that’s not what happened.

Instead, I was met with nods of recognition. With understanding. With knowing glances and gentle laughter and stories that made me feel less alone.

My shame didn’t scare them.

My truth didn’t push them away.

That moment changed everything.

And it turns out, science confirms this too.

According to Dr. Stephen Porges, creator of the Polyvagal Theory, our nervous systems are wired for safety through co-regulation—which means we actually heal faster when we’re in the presence of calm, connected, compassionate people. Connection isn’t a luxury in recovery—it’s a biological need.

Why I Created Women in the Rooms

I created Women in the Rooms because I know how hard it is to walk into a recovery space and feel out of place. I remember sitting in rooms filled with men and wondering, Where are the women in the room? I remember wanting to speak, but being too afraid. I remember not feeling safe enough to share.

And I thought to myself: there has to be another way.

So I built the space I needed—the one I couldn’t find.

A space where women could feel truly at home.

Where we don’t just talk about alcohol—we talk about everything underneath it.

The grief. The guilt. The loneliness. The trauma.

The dreams we buried.

The parts of ourselves we’ve been afraid to let anyone see.

And we talk about hope.

About rising.

About the journey of growing emotionally, physically, and spiritually stronger—not just to stay sober,

but to create a life filled with joy and freedom.

We Heal in the “We”

Addiction whispers that you’re the only one. That no one else feels this way. That no one would understand. But that’s a lie. And the only thing strong enough to break that lie is truth spoken in community.

Because when we hear someone else say, “Me too,” something inside of us loosens. Shame begins to lift. And hope starts to return.