Floating In De Nile

The recording equipment arrived today in the mail to do my radio documentary. Tomorrow I'll have to fess up to the producer that I am equipment illiterate and take it from there. Thankfully dearest one loves gadgets of any kind and I think this equipment qualifies so if all else fails he can figure it out and teach me.

My day has been full. Today was my last scheduled appointment with my after treatment counselor. I feel like I have an adequate support system in place to get me through whatever life throws my way. Seeing to my spiritual life is the first priority of the day. With that intact when life throws me for a loop I've learned to call in the posse and with their experience, strength and hope have made it through some tough moments. It's not about staying strong in the rough spots but about telling the truth about how I feel about them. My counselor remains a phone call away and I told her today that I knew I could call if necessary and also knew that by the time I actually got an appointment to see her the crisis would be over. We laughed. There was a time not too long ago when I would have made the crisis last until the appointment because I didn't know what else to do. Today I do. Deal with it.

Next I had a doctor's appointment. When he asked me how I was I started to chuckle and he told me that was the wrong answer. I told him how tempted I often am to say, "help, my body's falling apart." We laughed. He listens differently since I've been to treatment. Treats me more holistically. Today I shared with him about doing the radio documentary. About how I'm telling the story of selling a bit of the family farm - that's been in the family nearly 90 years - and how conflicted I feel about my decision. I was telling him how the radio producer had poked and prodded until the story came out that I felt safe on that land. That across the road, where my grandparents and most of the 960 acres that encompassed the family farm were, felt predictable and safe. Home was unpredictable and scary. In the midst of that conversation my doctor said to me, "Selling the land is like the last step in the healing process. You don't need the land to feel safe anymore." Somehow I don't think they teach you that kind of reading between the lines in medical school.

You see I thought the story was going to be about selling the land, about the demise of the family farm. About betrayal of generational bequeathment. About selling out. Going into it I knew there was an underlying story of abuse and recovery but I didn't think it would surface. Had had only fleeting thoughts about whether selling the land was symbolic of moving forward. So when the underlying story surfaced the producer told me that's the real story. The one I need to tell.

Telling the story will be breaking every taboo I was raised with. Especially the one where my mother said to my face, "What goes on in this house, stays in this house." And here I am preparing to tell on national radio. Someone asked me tonight if there was a way to prepare my family for the real story to be told; but how do you warn someone of something they are in denial about?

So I'm trusting that God will make clear a way to honour my journey without running roughshod over my parents. A way to honour my journey without trying to shelter them from my reality. A way to be gracious and honest.

I trust that telling my story will not smack of selling out in any way, shape or form.

And that body of mine that's falling apart?
As of today it's 47 pounds lighter since I stopped bingeing.
Not sure what parts I've lost but them there's a falling going on.