“When I go into the silence, I allow the healing of my heart. I become my truest self. And when I emerge from the silence, I carry the gift of knowing that I belong—to myself, to the world, to all of creation. That belonging is my healing. That healing is my gift to others.”
— Richard Wagamese, Embers: One Ojibway’s Meditations (2016)
Richard Wagamese was a Canadian Ojibwe author and journalist from the Wabaseemoong First Nation in northwestern Ontario. A survivor of intergenerational trauma and a seeker of healing, he became one of Canada’s most powerful literary voices on Indigenous identity, truth, and reconciliation. His work weaves together storytelling, spirituality, and the deep wisdom of recovery and belonging.
Today, National Day for Truth and Reconciliation, we remember that healing is never a solo journey. Wagamese’s words remind us that silence is not avoidance—it’s sacred space. A place where we stop talking long enough to hear the truth. Where we stop defending, fixing, or fleeing, and instead allow something deeper to rise. This is the practice Step 11 invites us into: not perfection, not performance, just presence.
When I sit in silence today, I don’t need to say the perfect thing or figure out who or what the universe is. I just need to be still. I let myself be breathed—I surrender to the rhythm that’s already there, noticing my breath as something that happens to me rather than something I must control. Life is happening. Healing is possible, even here. I don’t have to strive to earn my place. I can just be. And being is enough.
In that stillness, I become my truest self—not the addict, not the achiever, not the mask, but the one who has always longed to feel at home in this world. The walls start to soften. The old story loses its grip. I belong. Not because I’ve earned it, but because I’m here.
And here is where the personal becomes collective. Every moment I choose honesty, presence, or compassion sends ripples outward. Every step I take in healing myself becomes a step taken for those who could not walk. Every insight becomes a light for those still in the dark. We are not meant to walk alone. That is the teaching. That is the way.
On this day of remembrance, reckoning, and responsibility, we extend that same practice of silence and listening beyond ourselves. We listen to the voices and experiences of Indigenous peoples. To the truths that were silenced. To the harm that was done. And also, to the strength, wisdom, and healing that continues. Just as we practice conscious contact in our own recovery, we practice conscious witness to the stories that need to be heard.
Will I make space for silence today?
Will I stop reaching, fixing, and chasing long enough to listen?
Will I trust that healing isn’t something I have to force—but something I can allow?
Will I extend that same practice of listening to the voices and truths that need to be heard?
