Amethyst: Holding on to the stone of sobriety

Editor’s note: This story contains language about abuse.

People working through addictions or tough times in their lives often turn to things that bring comfort and support.

Some turn to religion or a recovery coin or books.

For writer Stacy Parish of Appleton, she tells “Wisconsin Life” that she held onto something much more organic.

‘Amethyst’

I used to lick rocks when I was a little kid.

Trust me, it’s the least of my childhood oddities. I licked them because I figured out that rocks are prettier when wet. The colors are more vibrant and detailed. I’ve always been an artist, so seeking color in nature has always been my jam.

I’d sit on top of a pile of landscaping rocks in front of the barn in our backyard and I’d pick them up one by one — looking closely at each of them to take in their colors and textures.  My pockets were always full of them.

There wasn’t a lot of safety in my world, but atop that pile of rocks I felt safe. At home. I felt more myself out there than anywhere else in the world — just sitting, seeking, feeling purposeful.

Even if I was just licking rocks to see their pretty colors.

I didn’t grow up in a houseful of seekers, or with any faith to speak of — not really.  My mom referred to herself as a “recovering Catholic.” She told tales of the nuns that rapped her knuckles with a ruler. 

I always referred to her as a “Catholic rebel” because we always left Mass at Communion so she could get out of the parking lot without any hassle. She’d joke about how in Mass everything was all “Peace be with you.” That seemed to wear off once we got to the parking lot.

The best part of church for me was that torn in half piece of Doublemint from the bottom of my mom’s purse — even if it tasted like perfume.

Inside Mass, The Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit completely mystified me. It just didn’t compute. They were just names and words — didn’t connect at all.

But in my 30s, a need for faith revealed itself when I began to have memories of repressed abuse surface — my perpetrators: my father, his son (my brother), a cousin.

So I did develop some faith, but it was in booze, weed and tequila. I suppose you could say  I worshiped at the alter of Jose Cuervo.  And it all worked just fine for me until it didn’t anymore.

I found my way into recovery through a 12-step program. When I went to my first meeting they gave me a plastic white poker chip to put in my pocket –– to remind me of my surrender to the program. For a time I carried that chip around in my pocket, and I tried to surrender to the male version of God I grew up with, but something about turning to the Father didn’t feel right. They told me I could create my own higher power, and place my faith in it.

My therapist at the time sent me to a recovery retreat. While there, we were gifted a token to help with our faith. 

There was a long table with a black tablecloth and it was covered in polished stones. Our leader let us know we didn’t need to fret over which to choose. 

“You don’t choose the rock,” she said. “The rock chooses you.” 

There were so many beautiful stones to choose from: quartz, citrine, agates. My gaze landed on this smooth purple one. It had these really cool striations in it, like a chevron. It reminded me of a mountain you can climb.

I picked it up and held it. Looked at it real close. No, I didn’t lick it, but I DID start carrying it around in my pocket.

A week or so later, after a 12-step meeting, I noticed a pendant around a woman’s neck. I recognized it as the same as the rock I still carried around in my pocket.

Her pendant was wire-wrapped and just exquisite. I commented on it and she said that it was amethyst. She said that she never took it off because amethyst is the stone of sobriety.

And right then I knew.

I had gotten my rocks back! 

They hold the energy of the earth, goodness and hope — and my  faith lived in them. 

Whenever I feel afraid, I just reach into my pocket and hold on.

“Wisconsin Life” is a co-production of Wisconsin Public Radio and PBS Wisconsin. The project celebrates what makes the state unique through the diverse stories of its people, places, history and culture.