The Tree That Grew From Concrete: My Journey With A Tree Born Crooked

The Tree That Grew From Concrete: My Journey With A Tree Born Crooked

 By Aaron Perry

Some books you read.

Others...you survive with.

On January 10th, 2022, I was arrested mid-group at an alcohol treatment facility for violating probation-by

drinking and going to rehab. Instead of finishing treatment, I was taken to the Oneida County Jail in Rhinelander, Wisconsin. What followed were six months in four different jails, including solitary confinement, communal cells, and a stretch at Milwaukee County Jail-a place that redefines your understanding of noise, violence, and hopelessness.

 I was going through post-alcohol withdrawal syndrome.

 I hadn't seen darkness in days. I hadn't heard silence in reality or in my head in years.

 And I hadn't felt peace in what felt like a lifetime.

 What kept me alive-and I don't say that lightly-were books. Thirteen of them. One, in particular, A Tree Born

 Crooked by Steph Post, didn't just pass the time. It took me out of time. Out of jail. Out of pain.

 I picked it up for one simple reason: the title. At that time, I felt exactly that-crooked. Not just from addiction,

 but from the bipolar disorder I was still learning to live with. I felt like I was somehow born wrong, like I was

 never going to grow straight or clean or proud. But something in me grabbed that book anyway. Something in

 me wanted to believe there was still a story worth reading-mine and the one in my hands. That decision

 changed everything.

 Reading it under the covers of my cell, I traveled. Not just in my imagination, but in spirit. Her writing is that

 vivid. That transporting. Though the book is set in Florida, I saw Missouri-my Missouri-because that's what

 my mind needed. Missouri is my home state. I was born in Hannibal, lived in St. Louis, and spent time in

 Cape Girardeau. My family has had roots in the Ozarks for decades. Though the setting was fictional, the soul

 of the story took me home.

 I got about three-quarters through the book before I was moved. After solitary, after 10-man cells, I was

 transported to Milwaukee County Jail. It was hell, flatly. I saw things I can never unsee. I felt the worth of

 human life shrink in real time. I didn't even get to finish the book.

 Until one Monday-weeks later-a volunteer librarian came through. I asked her, hopelessly, if she had A Tree

 Born Crooked. She didn't. But two Mondays later, she came back. Winked. And placed a brand-new copy in

 my hands. She said, "I found it on sale." That tiny act of kindness, it was everything. I finished the book. And

 in finishing it, I reclaimed something that had been stolen from me: peace.

 When I reached one year sober, I kept a promise I had made to myself in that cell: I got a tattoo. A crooked

 tree, shaped just like the story that helped keep me alive. Woven into its branches is an "O," a subtle nod to the

 Ozarks and to Ozark, the show I watched before all this broke loose.

 The tattoo sits above my heart. The book lives inside it.

 Each quadrant inside that "O" holds meaning: the triangle for recovery, the shield for protection, the clasped

 hands to represent parenting my son Jackson, who has autism-and one space still left blank. I'm still growing

 into it.

 Through the twists and turns of recovery-and the miracle that is Recovery Unbroken-something even more

 beautiful happened. My business partner, my girlfriend, my soulmate Donna reached out to Steph Post. She

 told her my story. And Steph responded. With grace. With heart. With full presence.

 On Tuesday, May 20th, Steph Post will lead a Recovery Unbroken book club on A Tree Born Crooked. She

 even sent me a signed copy, complete with a heartfelt message I'll keep forever. But what she did next, that's

 what floored me.

 For our latest RU retreat in Phoenix, I wanted to share her newest book, Terra Incognita, with every member

 of our group. I ordered copies for each person-but Steph took it further. She personally signed each one. Every

 name. Every sober date. Every human seen, honored, and celebrated.

 And on the first day of that retreat, I had the privilege of handing out those books. From a jail cell floor to a

 retreat in the desert-that's recovery. That's what happens when story becomes lifeline. When an author doesn't

 just write about redemption, but becomes part of yours.

 To go from reading A Tree Born Crooked in my darkest place to giving out personalized copies of Steph's

 work to the members of Recovery Unbroken-the very community Donna and I founded-is a testament. A

 testament to healing. A testament to connection. And a testament to permanence.

 The permanence of the crooked tree above my heart.

 The permanence of the peace that book gave me.

 And the permanence of the recovery we now help others walk into.

 Steph Post's writing isn't just good-it's art. It's air. It's imagery you feel with all five senses, even when those

 senses are overloaded by trauma.

 To her, I say thank you.

 To the universe that brought her words to me when I needed them most, I say thank you.

 And to everyone in Recovery Unbroken who's ever found refuge in story, may this one hold you like it held

 me.