Ches Kennedy works the room before the storytelling event begins on a recent Sunday evening in UNC Greensboro’s Elliott University Center Auditorium, making his way down the aisle, shaking hands with people in the seats, nodding acknowledgements, exchanging kind words. 

He greets newcomers as they come through the doors with the words heard so many times in rooms like these: “Welcome. Glad you’re here.” 

Kennedy is here because he speaks the language of recovery. A veteran of the programs that have helped millions recover from drug and alcohol addiction, he’s fluent in the 12-step process, seasoned in the ways of chemical dependency, intricately familiar with the well-trod path from active addiction to … something better, something more.  

He’s walked it himself.  

“I never imagined 23 years ago that I, an alcoholic college dropout, would end up with an undergraduate and graduate degree, working with students in a collegiate recovery program,” he says. “A life in recovery, without the use of alcohol and other drugs, is work, but it is worth it.” 

Kennedy is the coordinator of Spartan Recovery at UNCG, an organization dedicated to creating a community of Spartans, according to the organization webpage, who are in recovery or may be “sober curious.” The organization helps its members “to safely be their authentic selves as they find their way through academic life, while breaking down the stigma associated with mental health and substance use disorders through understanding and education.” 

Part of recovery is speaking about the process and the changes it brings. It’s also listening to the stories of others as they’ve become better, more stable versions of themselves. So, this event—a live StorySLAM produced in conjunction with The Moth where members of Spartan Recovery can tell their stories without notes, outlines, or rote memorization—falls squarely into 12-step methodology. 

Since 1997, The Moth has helped launch many thousands of stories into the world, all told in person and without notes, through its radio broadcast on NPR, storytelling workshops, a book series, and live events like this one. The idea came from its founder, the novelist George Dawes Green, who wanted to formalize the practice of extemporaneous storytelling like he remembered from the front porch of his boyhood Georgia home, where moths would flicker around the light as the tales were spun. Moth events hew loosely to a theme; this one is no different. 

Not all the stories told on stage this night relate specifically to drugs or alcohol. But then, the disease touches everything in the lives of those who abuse them. And recovery is, at its root, about meaningful change. 

“There has to be change,” says Amy Blumenthal, senior manager of The Moth’s Education Program, from the stage. “The storyteller has to come out a little bit differently at the end. Or a lot differently.” These tenets form the basis of The Moth’s brand of storytelling. Blumenthal and a couple other producers from The Moth worked with Spartan Recovery students through the weekend to get their narratives into shape for this final performance. 

Blumenthal tells the audience, about 50 people from the University community and beyond, that all stories must be true and about the storytellers themselves. 

“We’re not fact-checkers,” she adds. “If they say it’s true, I believe them.”  

So when, in her story, Trinity M. shared, “I was the only gay person I knew,” there were no doubts as to the veracity of her statement. Her coming-out tale began with a childhood infatuation with Cinderella, drinking as a way of coping with her sexual identity crisis, her time as a “proud baby gay,” and the fellowship and strength she found at Spartan Recovery.  

“I am Cinderella,” she finishes. “And Cinderella can get the girl, too.” 

Not all stories centered on recovery. Ella D. spoke about her complicated relationship with the color orange and how it changed over time. Brian N.’s opening lament, “I’m not good enough” chronicled his path from community college dropout to UNCG master’s degree candidate. Bennett W. disclosed an incident that happened to him during a hyper-competitive game of hide and seek. Marc R. revealed how his own insensitivity had wounded his best student, a trans man, and how the incident “showed me that I’m not the person I thought I was.” Queen R. remembered how her grandmother used to leave Post-it notes on the bathroom mirror for her to read while her grandma was at work. And Mike K. documented his path from a troubled youth who loved comics to a real-life hero as a scholar, and father. 

They’re using real first names and last initials in the printed program and on stage, as acknowledgement of the outward-facing nature of Spartan Recovery, although the practice goes against the traditions of some other recovery groups.  

“The lack of anonymity is not a concession,” says Jennifer Whitney, Ph.D., Director of Counseling and Psychological Services at UNCG. “Our members are living out loud, turning stigma on its head and giving a new name to recovery—one of dignity, achievement, and pride.” 

“There are many anonymous recovery programs in existence,” Kennedy says, “and they are so important. But ours is a program that is fighting the stigma associated with drug and alcohol addiction.”  

Recovery features prominently in the story of Regan H., whose alcoholism co-existed with an abusive boyfriend before she fled to Holden Beach and met a woman at a fish market who changed her life.  

John M.’s dark tale of pain—“I knew I had to die,” he began—hewed to the more traditional recovery narratives: living in his parents’ dark and windowless basement, a desire to live while pushing through thoughts of death and suicide, a cry for help. 

“Now I’m seven years sober, and my life is amazing,” he finishes. “So many windows.” 

Sory by Brian Clarey/University Communications 
Photos by Lynn Hey/University Communications