Pearls of perspective from an unlikely source shine like holiday ornaments in this season.

Three women knit on overstuffed couches in the warm solitude of a room festooned with homemade decorations and a fake Christmas tree shimmering in the pale sun over a frozen lake outside the picture window. They appear right at home. Except that home is where they left behind families turned upside down by their alcoholism, the illness that propelled them to this place, a facility for women and men like them.

Thirty days ago, they didn't know each other. Now, they'll mark the intimacy of Christmas together, and then ring in the New Year like never before: sober, in treatment.

"It's hardly the 'Christmas Story' I grew up with; surely not one I could've ever imagined," says one of the women. "Then again, it's been a long time since I can even remember a happy Christmas." And the trio laughs all at once.

"Darn, I know, I know, I always went into the season vowing to make it the best ever for my kiddos, and every single year when it was finally over they always reminded me it was their worst ever because of my drinking and drugging," says another. And they nod in unison.

"Yes, my son sent me his Christmas list," says the third. "At the top was "Mommy sober." And the trio knit faster, their sudden silence awkwardly filled in by "Jingle Bell Rock" from an iPod across the room. The song doesn't fit the moment.

Treatment is the last place anybody plans to spend a family-focused holiday like Christmas because nobody ever envisions their casual use of illegal or legal substances will bottom-out in a full-blown addiction, either.

"My mother was an alcoholic who was at her very worst this time of year. I swore I'd never let it happen to me. Well, here I am," a 25-year-old man tells me as he pulls on a cigarette on the outdoor patio in the winter chill. "Hey, I've got a chance. She never did." His mother died of cirrhosis the day before his 18th birthday.

"The way I look at this is I'm giving myself the most invaluable gift ever —treatment," says another man. "I didn't ask for it. But I'm glad I got it."

A cornerstone of recovery is perspective. It's easy to lose sight of what's right in this unfolding moment when your pity-pot is perched precariously on a rocky ledge of despair, fear and resentment. The holidays tend to accentuate these crags and pitfalls. It really hits home when being home for this week is far away from reality.

Funny, though, that it was I who got the Kris Kringle reminder of this in the moments I happened to share with the patients as I walked through their space. Usually it's the other way around; I try to encourage newcomers that their toughest days early in sobriety are better than their best days under the influence of their illness. All these years later I, too, like to hang these shiny pearls on my tree this season.

Happy Holidays to us.

William Moyers is the vice president of public affairs and community relations for the Hazelden Foundation and the author of "Broken," his best-selling memoirs, and "A New Day, A New Life." Please send your questions to William Moyers at [email protected]. To find out more about William Moyers and read his past columns, visit the Creators Syndicate Web page at www.creators.com.