The Umpteenth Time

"It never delivers, does it?"

I said that after she blurted out in passing that she was just itching to go spend some money. When I told her I knew that feeling she said it was comforting to hear she wasn't alone. There was a time when I would have felt compelled to launch into a mini sermon on why those kind of urges don't deliver in the end, don't fill that aching place inside. But, I didn't.

Dogs don't like sermons, either. At least not the screeching kind. The Yoga Pup was threatening to do his business in my freshly rototilled garden. The little shit. He and The Engergizer Bunny are oblivious to us when they go outside. They wander with an intensity to their explorations that makes them deaf to humans, I swear it. Then when they sniff the whole world they abruptly turn and come running for the house. Tonight dearest one put a fence around the garden. Yoga Pup chatters like a squirrel when he is upset or excited. I imagine he will chatter at me through that fence a lot this summer.

I spent several hours on the road today going to and from the place where my spiritual director lives. Our normal meeting place was in a kerfuffle due to renovations so we chatted for two hours in a chilly,don't-turn-up-the-heat-between-Sundays church near by. Before us was a beautiful alcove with stained glass. I found that both calming and comforting. I wandered to the back of the church and stood before the table full of prayer candles. I wondered about the people who had lit the candles and what burdens they need lifted.

I try not to dissect my sessions with the spiritual director too much anymore. Some sessions are bland and some are intense and some are in between. I used to want them all to be intense as if intensity was the only way to measure if I was getting further along in the healing process. Now I accept that every session helps me in the journey. Today I felt like I was rehashing the same stuff for the umpteenth time. And maybe I was.

On the way to my appointment I was eating and driving. It's hard to dip chicken strips in sauce and drive at the same time. In my little it's all about me moment I was sure the vehicle that had been quite a ways behind me was catching up to me for the sole purpose to get my licence plate so they could report me for dangerous driving. I'm embarrassed to admit how many miles I drove before I realized how ridiculous the thoughts in my head were. Then I looked in my rear view mirror and the vehicle had disappeared. So much for it being all about me.

Looking Up

Every time I open one of my daily reflection books I see my bookmark which says, "Look up and live." It's such a good motto for recovery. It's probably not what the power company had in mind for its use when they distributed it but, hey, it works for me.

I've had the worst attitude lately towards someone new in my life.
Came pretty close to flipping them the bird last week I was so, so pissed off.
Without the 12 steps I'd still be making excuses for my reaction.
Fr. Charlie reminded me this week that recovery gives me choices.
Healthy choices.
Like opening my mouth and saying my piece, not depending on
the other person to change in order for me to have some peace.
And while I can bitch and moan with the best of them,
and sometimes even bitch and moan that the 12 steps beckons me
to take the high road,
in the end I'm glad I have choices.
Besides, it kept me from sticking out my foot
and tripping this person as they walked by me.
Damn, that was close.

Peeling Back The Layers

Today was six weeks since I've been to an AA meeting
with my home group.
This past week one of the members called me up
to see how I was doing,
saying he hadn't seen me around for a while.
I explained I'd been away, blah, blah, blah.
I felt my hackles rise and defenses go up.
So much so that I had to journal it all out,
get it out on paper so I could see what my problem was
because it was clear I was the one with a problem.
It took a few pages of writing to see that his question
was one of care and concern and plain old,
"I miss seeing you around the tables."
The only accusatory tone to be found was in my own head.

This was all before I fessed up earlier this week.
His phone call set off warning bells for me that I perhaps
needed to take a closer inner look,
especially if I was going to start feeling
like my fellow AA members were my enemy.

Today, when the member chairing the meeting
mentioned that he and this member who'd phoned me,
had been wondering how I'd been,
I was able to talk honestly about how defensive
I felt during that phone call.
How it was a catalyst for some inner work.
There isn't any other place in my life
where I can tell someone that their phone call
got my hackles up
and that I was able to use that as an opportunity
for some inner work.
It is a gift to feel safe enough
to be so honest and not be judged for it.

Earlier in the meeting I'd read aloud these words from the Daily Reflections: "True humility and an open mind can lead us to faith...". The book was passed to me to read aloud and I hadn't yet read it today. As I looked at the words humility, open mind and faith the tears started to pool. My voice trembled as I read.

There was safety around the table
and I shared how defeated and back to square one
I'd felt this week.
Shared that there must be a fucking infinite amount
of layers to the onion.

I thank God for being loved as the layers get peeled back.
For those who, as I feel raw and wounded and sometimes, beyond hope, only see the beauty of the journey and the potential that is me.
For those who don't take it personally when the peeling back
gets so painful that I lash out.
Who will lovingly tell me that lashing out is not their problem.
Who won't own what is mine to deal with.
Who will see my ragged honesty as a beacon of hope.
Whose own honesty has given me hope in the bleakest of times.
I am blessed.

How Sick Do I Want To Be?

A full day of appointments from late morning until late tonight.
I'm grateful that's even a possibility.
With any luck I'll be able to get
to a noon meeting as well, just be there a little late.
My sponsor said last night that was just fine.

I'm dropping off my resume and cover letter today for a job.
It's been over 5 years since I was last in the workforce.
I like comfortable and predictable.
But I know being uncomfortable and
being in unpredictable circumstances won't kill me.
That will be my mantra if I get the job.

Tomorrow I'm off to see Fr. Charlie.
An appointment between appointments.
That last one brought some stuff to light
that I needed to face.
It took me a while to mull it over
and then some more time to get up the courage
to speak to someone about it.
Actually between picking up the phone and
dialing my friend's number I had an internal conversation
where I convinced myself no fessing up was necessary.
Then I asked myself how sick did I want to be?
So I fessed up.
Humility is good for the soul.
I now need to go back and speak to Fr. Charlie about it.
His radar was spot on last time
and I wasn't ready to admit it.
I am now.

Don't Analyze That

Despite spending most of my blog time analyzing life to death I'm getting better at not doing so every waking moment. Sometimes when I catch myself living in my head I think, "Don't analyze that, just [enjoy, accept, let go of, deal with] it." And amazingly I'm able to for that moment. As someone who excels at living life from the neck up, this is progress.

So bear with me while I continue to hash out the feeling-like-I'm-drunk-post-sedative-episode I had earlier this week and stuff that's old news but is still rattling around in my head. I've shared the sedative incident twice at meetings this week and with my after treatment counsellor. I think it takes a fellow addict to appreciate how very scary it was to love that drunk feeling and experience a 20 year time warp as if my sobriety had never been. One of the things I had to not dwell on this week was how seductive that drunk feeling was. There's a clarity now - knowing if I ever take a sip it will take supernatural help to sober up again. Oh, who am I kidding - it takes supernatural help to stay sober today, every day. My after treatment counselor told me she knew several people who had lost their sobriety from experiencing what I had with the sedative at the hospital. It was good to get confirmation that scared shitless was an appropriate response to loving that drunk out of my mind feeling. She recommended that I talk to my doctor about never getting that particular drug again. The risk is too huge. I know me too well. I'd look forward to another colonoscopy if it meant getting that drug again. Cunning, baffling and powerful is the voice of addiction.

My AA meeting today was incredible. Lots of laughter, incredible sharing and an all around good time. I am so thankful I could share honestly. I have a hard time doing that. I tend to feed my ego little slips of miracle grow and end up wanting to impress someone with where I'm wishing I was at instead of sharing where I'm really at.

When I was at my parents a few weeks ago I went to an AA meeting in a scary, not safe part of the city. It was the only meeting I knew how to get to. I like routine, comfort zone, small meetings. This meeting met none of those criteria. The first guy who shared that night left his ego behind and I am always in awe when I hear someone share so freely just how it is with them. I have much to learn. I look forward to the day when I'm not out to impress someone, including myself.

I had a neat experience after the meeting today. One of the members recently celebrated 20+ years of sobriety. The thought came to me awhile ago to buy him this little book I read all the time. Because it comes from a Christian perspective I wasn't sure I should buy it for him. I didn't want to offend him. I happened to find a copy of it in a book store in the city I grew up in. It took two trips to the store before I bought it. Today I was able to give it to him. I slid it across the table to him before the meeting was over and he looked at it, looked at me and mouthed the author's name with a question mark expression on his face. I nodded yes. After the meeting he told me that author had been recommended to him for a long time but he'd never read him and looked forward to doing so. Cool, eh?

Yesterday my sexual abuse counselor helped me see that feeling like I'm stuck in a rut, falling backwards, and having an incessant need to talk about the whole radio documentary process is most likely because I'm preparing to face fully forward for the first time in my life. What will I grasp at once I leave behind me the identity of sexual abuse victim/survivor? There will always be residue from experiencing what I did, it's shaped who I am, but it's not the whole of who I am. It needn't define me. Do I have the courage to truly own my choices in life? Even as I type that I can hear a sputtering "But..but....but" in my head.

For today I can do this.
I can even live it from my heart.
Celebrate progress not perfection.
Enjoy taking baby steps.
Continue to grow up.
And they all gathered 'round
and said,
"Amen. Amen. Amen."

Really Really

I feel like I'm tiptoeing in here trying not to get caught. Did you know typing could feel like that? The resident Energizer Bunny is resting her head in the crook of my arm. I have to keep typing hold the pose or else I'll be in withdrawal her head will fall down and we'll have to start over.

I am such an addict.

As soon as I typed that sentence my internet connection failed. When I reconnected the page froze. When I tried to reboot the whole thing the computer refused to even turn on. I think God has more important things to do than try and micromanage my life when I'm in the midst of breaking my Lenten fast, don't you?

Yesterday I came online to print out something I wanted to take to my counseling session tomorrow. It took less than five minutes tops. Really. It did occur to me that dearest one could print it out for me at work but I quickly dismissed that idea. Too much work. Ha. It didn't stop me asking him to download a zip file which took an hour.

Today I turned on the computer to write some more on a radio proposal. As I did I thought about posting because it's our 26th wedding anniversary and I wanted to note that here. Not that I couldn't pick up the phone and say Happy Anniversary to dearest one again if I wanted. That would be too easy.

First I tell myself I need to go online so the daily anti virus can update. The very anti virus that I go days at a time without updating when it's not Lent. Then I decide I need to do some research. Something official. So I'm merrily researching some info for the proposal. Research names of Sharon Butala's books. Check. Found the library has the copies I need. Try to find lyrics to a song about the prairies and immigrants. Not so lucky.

Oh, let's just look around while I'm here I tell myself. I hop, skip and jump my way through email, bloglines and facebook. 27 minutes later I find myself logging into blogger to post this. We only have dial up - does that count? That's when the connection failed. The page froze. The computer would not turn on.

I'll tip toe my way back out of here now.
Saint Isidore of Seville pray for me.
He took some research to find.
I'm just saying.

Me Jane

Earlier this morning I thought to myself, it would take less energy to lay my head on the key board and cry than to lift my arms and type. The only catch is that tears don't magically seep into the keys and translate on to the screen. I've slowly been losing my grip on spoon filled days and I'm finding that hard to admit, let alone accept. Well, that's an understatement. My older sister tells me I used to throw quite the temper tantrums as a child. I'm not sure I've completely outgrown them. I'd have one now except it would use up precious energy - all those flailing arms and such - and the one thing I can do is choose my attitude regardless of my circumstances.

I haven't been a list maker of any kind for years and I don't miss the relentless measuring stick I made of those lists. So when I found myself journalling a list of 50 resolutions/goals for 2008 I knew I was headed for trouble. The day after my list making journal entry I wrote, "give your head a shake, girl!" With that I gave myself permission to disregard the list. Sure, there are things on there that I'd like to accomplish this year and the list is mostly made up of minor things like buy a pair of red shoes. But making the list was in itself a bell ringing wake up call. I couldn't shake a gut instinct that told me I must be feeling out of control in some areas of my life if that's how I was spending my spare time. Making unreasonable lists, as if they are the sanest option in the world, is my attempt at trying to control as much as I can outside myself in order to be at peace within.

Which is crazy making.

One thing that did make it on the list was a goal to go swimming twice a month. This past Saturday I did just that. And in my all or nothing thinking I had to make it worth my while, after all I'd paid 5 bucks to get in, and making it worth my while consisted of trying to dodge 15 teenagers while swimming laps across the pool. I way over did it physically. Occasionally I noticed that the bulk of the people around me were using pool time to socialize and that there was only one other person trying to swim laps.

When I was in treatment I told myself that the next time I was at the pool I was going to jump off the rope swing. It seems like such a little kid thing to do and I haven't done enough of that in my lifetime. I watched who was going off the swing (all Tarzan like) and not one middle aged woman was in sight. I weighed my options and decided that I really wanted someone important to me to witness (and take a picture of) my little kid moment so I'm saving that for next time.

I ended my time at the pool by spending a few minutes in the hot tub. As I sat down I recognized two people from recovery meetings and although I'd never talked to either of them before, I made my way over and introduced myself. While we were talking one of them spoke to a group of people who were from the treatment centre that I went to last summer. On my way out of the building the clients from that centre were waiting for the druggie bus as we called it, to take them back. I told them I'd gotten out of treatment in August. One of them asked me how it had been. I told him treatment had been life changing. He said he hoped it would be like that for him. I told him he would get out of it what he put into it. If he was willing to deal with his shit he'd have a better chance of making it outside treatment. He told me I was an inspiration and with that we went our separate ways.

By the time I got to the grocery store my chest was hurting from over doing it at the pool. Sunday morning I woke up with my heart racing over 100 and it did that for hours. Monday I had counseling at the childhood sexual abuse centre. Yesterday I got to a mid week AA meeting which helped me get my bearings. After that I had a session with my after treatment counselor where she helped me connect the dots as to some possible reasons for my lack of energy and how that was compelling me to grasp at control in other ways. It is so good to get another perspective. Left to my own devices I'd still be blaming myself for my current lack of spoons and beating myself up for not being able to bounce back at will.

I was able to trace my growing lack of energy back to when I started the counseling to deal with the trauma of childhood sexual abuse. Those have been exhausting, difficult-to-face sessions. So my counselor yesterday was able to stand back from the the situation and tell me that my body reacting with less energy was a clue that I was truly dealing with the baggage. That I was doing the hard work. That what looked like a negative was really more growth. She asked if the lack of energy continues as I journey, can I trust that I'm right where I need to be?

I looked at her and let the tears spill over.

Through my tears I told her I'd do just about anything not to go back to gauging my steps based on my spoon supply. Having no guarantee if tomorrow I'll wake up just as exhausted as I was this morning, or whether I'll feel normal makes me want to bang my head against the wall. I'm not back to square one health wise but I'm scared that's where I'm headed. I really thought my health issues were in the past.

Damn.
I'm not God and I don't control it all.
And while I hate, hate, hate it, I can't experience serenity unless I accept that this is my reality for today. (my mindset has been: how dare you fucking betray me, body of mine, after all the hard work I'm doing.)
Yet my family doctor had told me that I might experience more physical symptoms when I started the counseling. The sexual abuse centre had also warned me that increased physical symptoms were a normal part of the process.

I was so sure I'd be exempt.
I don't know if it's sad or funny but picture a group of addicts together, who've forgotten they're human, and you'll find them tapping their chest (in unison, mind you) while emphasizing how they alone are special and not. like. other. people.

And since I'm finding out I'm more like those who've gone before me than not, here I am today. Attempting to deal with my shit. Praying to be willing to surrender it. Praying for the courage to trust the process. Shredding my application for God's job. And very grateful to recognize that crazy making lists and grasping for control are sick options for me when trying to deal with life on life's terms.

Will I trust or won't I? The choice is mine.

Earnie Larsen writes in Destination Joy

"Let go of the rope. Every day, every hour, one day at a time, stage by stage and step by step - let go of the rope."

When I do, that's one picture that's going to get framed.

Hope Confidential

A letter marked confidential arrived for me in the mail yesterday. How weird it was to see my own name on an envelope in my own handwriting. Confused yet? When I was in treatment one of our last assignments was to write a letter to ourselves. A letter that would be mailed to us around 90+ days post treatment. My letter came yesterday. I let it sit on the coffee table beside me for several hours before I opened it. I couldn't remember what I'd written. Eventually I did open it and my smile grew bigger the more I read. I share it with you for whatever it may have to offer you in your journey today:

"Dear Hope,
I hope this finds you sober and abstinent, still looking in the mirror and saying "Thank you for being you." I hope that today you were present in your body. That you were aware of stress and anger and dealt with them in a healthy way.
These past months may have been hard but I'm hoping you've discovered what true intimacy is.
I hope you've been gentle with yourself. Remember there's always more positives than negatives to be found and mistakes are part of our humanity.
Good self care is a way of saying thank you to God for this body he's blessed you with. Shower, dress well. Feed your body wisely. Have some daily exercise program. You're worth it.
I really hope your relationships have deepened. Remember that you are responsible for getting your needs met, either by yourself or by asking for what you need from others. It's okay to have needs. No one can be expected to read your mind or do for you what you can do for yourself.
For this day only - that's all you have to concern yourself with.
STAY IN THE DAY."

My smile grew bigger the more I read because I was nodding in affirmation the whole way through. What I had hoped would be my reality 3 months post treatment has come true. Some of it is still baby step by baby step. Some of it is solid habit. And it thrills me to pieces to realize that.

Unwrapping The Day

It's been a beautiful gift of a day.

When I first went back to AA I chose a home group called Gratitude 24/7. At the time I thought people must be faking an attitude of gratitude and what they really needed was a dose of reality. I had no idea I'd been on a dry drunk for most of my sobriety, no idea what recovery looked like and no idea that gratitude was mine for the choosing. A dry drunk is not a rut I rest in very long these days. Most days on my walk I thank God for the ability to be grateful. Naming what I'm grateful for comes easily and that nearly makes me giddy. I realized one day this week as I was walking that what I was feeling was joy. I've spent so many years as a cynic. To find cynicism replaced with joy is pure gift.

None of this is possible on my own steam. I show up, I'm as open, willing and honest as I can be while my Higher Power works. I want God's will to be done in my life more than my own most of the time and when I don't I don't beat myself up for that anymore, either. Accepting my humanity has been so freeing. I can hardly fathom that progress is much more attractive to me these days than perfection. I know when I'm aching for perfection in myself or others that fear is the driving force behind it.

This month I've been chairing the meetings, getting there early to help set up when I can, and staying afterwards to visit. It's a concrete way to give back out of gratitude for someone else having done it before me, for making sure the door was open when I needed it. I used to dislike chairing meetings until my sponsor kidded me one day saying, "What's the matter, you scared of making a mistake?" Dang. She had me pegged just right. I don't take myself so seriously today and there's never a safer place to be human than in an AA meeting.

Today as the promises were being read I wanted to get up and dance. I wonder if I will ever get over the miracle that these promises are coming true in my life. I hope I never take them for granted.

Before I went to the meeting I finished up nearly all my Christmas shopping. That I could do that is a gift in itself. One I don't take for granted. We keep a fairly simple Christmas so the process is painless. That it's even an option is a gift. After my meeting I took oldest son's fiancee out for her birthday. She is a gift in herself. We had a nice lunch in a nice restaurant and a great visit. That taking her out for a meal was an option is a gift, too.

Dearest one chose more patience than not today when I accidentally hung up on him and then looked at my cell phone as it vibrated in my hand and thought, "oh it must do that when it's being turned off." Um, nope. It does that when someone is calling me. Like the person I accidentally hung up on who was done his class early and was stranded without a vehicle. The vehicle I was in when he phoned. And he chose to have more patience than not while in the midst of a wretched nicotine withdrawal fit.

Driving home later dearest one shared his reality in the face of nicotine withdrawal. If you only knew how much I have nagged him these past 25 years about his on and off smoking. How much I took it personally that he smoked. How much energy I've spent being resentful. Then you'd know what a gift it was that today I did none of that. I was more concerned about his quitting smoking cold turkey without a plan to deal with the stressors in his life than I was happy about his quitting. Addiction is addiction is addiction. And we set ourselves up to fail if we have no plan in place, no healthy coping mechanisms to deal with the issues that addiction temporarily relieves. So I was more relieved than not when dearest one stopped and bought a pack of smokes. Quitting will come in its time and accepting that I'm not the one who dictates the timetable is really a miracle.

It's been a beautiful gift of a day.

You Shall Know The Truth And The Truth Will Set You Free

"I leave you free to be yourself: to think your thoughts, indulge your tastes, follow your inclinations, behave in ways that you decide are to your liking."
from The Way To Love

I wasn't in treatment very long before my counselor suggested joint counseling for dearest one and I. As in "let's get the two of you together in one room to talk about some things". My initial reaction was NO! She asked me to dig deeper into what that 'no' meant. Eventually I told her that getting healthy was my thing. I felt threatened by the thought that dearest one might get healthy too. I wanted to be able to lord over him my new found health.
Spoken like a true addict.
Like one who needs it all under her own control
in order to be right with the world.
Uh huh.
I felt embarrassed admitting it because
it sounded just as sick to my ears as to hers,
yet it was the truth.

I was barely home from the treatment centre when I confronted dearest one about the most painful issue in our 25 years together. The one that prompted my counselor to suggest couple's counseling. The one that I was sure was all his fault. I confronted him in a loving way where both of us had our dignity intact by the end of the conversation. Although the outcome was not what I had hoped for I stood my ground while he tried to manipulate his way out of the situation. I managed not to swear, attack, or engage in any of my long standing sick behaviours as a form of retaliation. It hadn't been all that difficult either. Which surprised me and yet, didn't. I really was a different person with a new set of coping skills. I felt good at the end of the conversation even though I wasn't going to get my way. What was really important was that I had spoken up. Had said my piece. Had known that my freedom, my liking myself at the end of the day, was more important than being nice and smoothing things over. I told him I was moving forward no matter what the cost. For the first time in my life I knew what it felt like to have my integrity intact after a difficult conversation.

In the end that conversation did prompt dearest one to go for his own counseling though. Since then he has been doing the most grueling work as he confronts his past. He's been generous in sharing with me the conversations that take place in his sessions and often they've given me things to think over in my own life. Such as realizing the issue I confronted him about, the one I was sure was all his fault, I have my own baggage in that area. Which was news to me. I'd been convinced (and convinced him) I was totally healthy when it came to that. This past weekend he opened up his heart, made himself vulnerable and shared with me his deepest thoughts about this issue. I told him he was never more beautiful than when he bared his soul to me. Even though the original issue had not righted itself I felt peace that I could trust the process. That he was on a healing journey that would lead him to a healthier place. What I didn't realize was that I had healthier place confused with my particular point of view.

Which meant dearest one turned ugly in my eyes yesterday.
Right when his grueling work meant that he found freedom.
From me.
Damn.

I felt threatened enough at his freedom to whip out every sick coping skill I had in storage and use them as ammunition. In the midst of my little hissy fit words from my counselor rose through my attitude: "Your family will want the old you back. They will try to swing the pendulum back to centre, to something they knew, even if it is sick." Oh God, I was trying to swing dearest one's pendulum back to centre, back to something familiar because the thought of breaking new ground in this area scared me. Scared me enough to shove my counselor's words out of the way so I could continue trying to swing dearest one back to safety.

In the midst of trying he said to me, "I've tasted freedom and I'm not letting go of it. Even if that means confrontation."

Oh shit.
My gig as chief controller was up.
I knew how exhilarating that freedom felt.
It had been the one thing I had been unwilling to give up
since coming home from treatment.
This man who absolutely hates confrontation and feels sick to his stomach at the thought of it, found the freedom to live his own life.
To choose his own boundaries.
To stop letting my insanity define him.
And he's unwilling to give it up.
Damn.

I knew that place he found himself in was the most freeing, wonderful, peaceful place because I'd experienced it too. It had sunk right to the core of his being. My gig was definitely up. But I wasn't going to give up without a fight.

In the space of a half mile drive he managed to say to me basically what I had said to him way back in that first confrontation. He was moving forward whatever the cost.
I felt panicky hearing him speak with such emotional health.
I. did. not. like. it. one. bit.
Logic told me his freedom was a good thing.
But logic be damned, I was trying desperately
to manipulate him back to my way of thinking.

So I kept picking at him.
It didn't work.
It didn't matter what kind of insanity
came out of my mouth
he held his ground.
I couldn't wear him down.
Holy Mother of God pray for us.

I told him I felt farther away from him than ever. He said all that really happened was that the gulf between us was now exposed for what it had always been. That up until now there had been a thin level of ice covering it and so we thought it wasn't there. That we were really two separate beings with different life experience. I asked if I could shove him into the abyss between us and hold his head under. That's how scared I felt at losing control.

Nothing was going according to plan. It didn't matter how diligently I picked away at him he kept coming back to truth and reality. Eventually he told me he wasn't going to be backed into a corner. At that point I turned and headed down the hallway muttering fuck off under my breath. Which is my default setting when I'm not going to get my way. A setting I hadn't used in the 83 days I'd been home from treatment.

What's a girl to do?

Oh, I flipped him the bird behind the slammed bedroom door.
Jabs in the air like a boxer in the face of his opponent.
Only my opponent was still in the kitchen.

I crawled into bed where the tools and skills from treatment rose above the insanity.
I had finally shut my mouth long enough to remember them.
To dearest one the gulf between us, the abyss, simply meant we were two different people, with two separate histories, whose life experience had brought us to two different conclusions in this area. It wasn't a bad thing. It was normal.

Normal?!! WTF?
His acceptance of that truth was mind boggling. Honouring our differences meant life was going to become so much more unpredictable. I hate unpredictable. I could hardly believe how badly I wanted to pummel the freedom right out of him. And I would have done so except the centredness he was living was so good and true and right, made him so very beautiful, that it messed up all my plans to harm him.

When dearest one crawled into bed I told him how proud I was of him.
He replied that was rather a paradox wasn't it?
"How so," I asked.
"Well, two seconds ago you wanted to hold my head under water."
"Oh, ya, that."

I crawled into his arms and sobbed.
I let go, feeling my fingers uncurl
from their frozen grip on control.
Admitted my powerlessness.
Apologized for my behaviour.
Chose to embrace his freedom.
And in doing so embraced my own.
In that moment I hated knowing
there was another way.
A healthier way.
The only way if I wanted emotional health.
Damn.

There is nothing to lord over him anymore.
Maybe there never was.
Dearest one is moving forward
despite me.
Not to spite me.
But in spite of me and my sick attempts
to hold him back.

This morning I bypassed beating myself up for behaving so miserably last night.
I looked dearest one in the eyes and told him I was choosing to trust the process
to take us to a much healthier place together. Surrendering to the reality that a healthier place is not synonymous with my point of view. Accepting that the abyss between us is simply a description of where I end and he begins. Learning to let go of trying to blurr the lines.

Yesterday as he was on his way to counseling I phoned dearest one to tell him I was praying for him. I prayed especially for healing. Uh huh, I did.

Thank God we are on a healing journey
that can take us both
to a healthier place.

Back To The Present

My procrastinating ways are going to catch up with me today. Tomorrow I'm off to a women's weekend. Today will be laundry, lists and packing. I'll be one of a dozen speakers over the course of the weekend. I look forward to that. This weekend is one of great love and fellowship. In many ways it's life giving for me. In others it's a challenge to my recovery.

One of the biggest hurdles for me this weekend will be no bingeing. I've binged my way through this weekend before. There is food. Lots of it. Everytime one turns around it's either meal time or coffee break. There's candy on every table throughout the whole day. And when the bowl gets empty they refill it! Social situations are one of my biggest triggers for bingeing. I'm not a social butterfly, I prefer one on one conversations. In social situations food can seem a safer companion than the person next to me.

On Monday, by God's grace, I'll have 5 months of no binge eating. I don't miss the insanity of it. The inability to stop shoving food into my mouth while my head is screaming at me to stop right this minute. My inability to listen to the voice of reason. My refusal to surrender to a power greater than myself until after the binge is over. I don't miss the shame, the guilt, the self loathing. I do miss the instant gratification.

There are certain foods I avoid today because to taste one bite of them will take me down a road I don't want to go. I can have the greatest intentions while plotting ways to get around my own boundaries. Because one has to eat my food addiction seems harder to navigate than alcohol. Yet in action it works the same way. Deciding to have just one drink when you know the whole bottle's going to call your name until it's empty is the same kind of relationship I have with junk food, candy and pop. Give me a little bit and I want it all and I don't want to share it either.

Today. That's all I have to live. I'm getting ahead of myself yet know I need a plan in place, too. In treatment we came up with a relapse prevention plan. I need to take a copy with me tomorrow and read it every day. I can't do any of this on my own strength. God help me. I can feel the anxiety between my words.

This little excerpt from Be-good-to-yourself-Therapy speaks to me right now:

"19. When you feel anxious, let yourself know that in your head you've moved into the future to something scary and your body has gotten up the energy for it. Come back to the present."

Come back to the present.
It's all you have.

Grateful Reality

No snow. Beautiful sunshine. Frost on the grass. A new day.

My AA meeting yesterday was uplifting. So good to have a place to go where I can be human without apology. No fear of judgement. Just the nod of heads because we all know we can be just as human and messed up as the next person. To be in a place where I know I'm going to be loved and accepted for who I really am.

As I drove up to the parking lot I felt grateful. Then I felt grateful that I was grateful! It only gets better. Before recovery I was only capable of being grateful if life was going my way. With all my ducks lined up in a row, none falling over, then I might feel grateful. That's the insanity of addiction, being grateful for an illusion.

Being grateful for reality is so much better.

Navigating The Journey

I turned a corner yesterday. Simply and with gratitude.

I've been feeling as if I'd learned nada, nothing in treatment. Felt like I was navigating life from that old place, without a clue how to get back what I'd gained. I was trying, with little success, to accept where I was.

Yesterday during my time of prayer and reflection I read something that reminded me I wasn't God. What a relief. To be reminded, I mean. Grateful that my automatic response wasn't, "What do you mean I'm not God?!" I've had more than a few of those in my day. Recognizing I wasn't God brought me right back to step one (I can't), two (God can) and three (I'll let Him) and with that came surrender and serenity. Thanks be to God.

Purging My Story

"9. When you feel like running away, let yourself feel the scare. Think about what you fear will happen and decide what you need to do." ~from Be-Good-To-Yourself Therapy by Cherry Hartman

Yesterday I wanted to numb the scare right out of my consciousness. To hell with all this recovery work. I wanted to throw it far away from me. But, damn. A person can never go back there whole heartedly. It's like wanting to stop for a lobotomy before committing the crime so one can plead insanity instead of guilty. Well, other than where I was yesterday in my thinking was pure insanity as understood in recovery talk. Knowing there is a better way rains on a parade real quick. So I skirted the fringes, dipped in my toes and eventually made a phone call to ask for confirmation that I was lying to myself, wasn't I? We are only as sick as our sickest secret she replied. So I opened the door and told mine. I made a commitment to stop dipping my toes in; behaviour that will lead to a full blown relapse if I continue. It feels like my recovery is slipping right through my fingers.

Pay attention.

Two words.
So easy to type.
Much harder to live.
They're the price of sanity.

I've been reading a book this week Writing To Save Your Life. I thought it was a book on journalling. That seemed harmless enough. I've journalled for years and a new book on it wouldn't hurt anything. At first I read and thought wow and by the end I was thinking fuck, so much for living in oblivion. The author takes one on an inner journey so raw, so true that to put pen to paper will purge my story right out of my body.

That is my big scare right now.

So I've been journalling short and sweet and mindless all week. Not much different than my grandma's diaries of the 1960's where Monday was wash day and Tuesday ironing. Safe, without revealing anything of myself.

I fear my own story.
I need to purge it anyway.

Beautiful Decay

Saturday afternoon it rained leaves all over the sky and I soaked in the beauty and absurdity of the sight. As I watched the trees do their hula hoop dance I wondered just how tall that tallest tree was. The one that seemed like it could hit me on the head if it snapped right about then. Between the furious music of the wind and the dancing of the leaves I sat entranced.

update: Ha. Not that tree but one just about as tall did crack under the furious music of the wind today, falling away from the house not towards it, thank God.

Last night I was at the treatment centre for a women's AA meeting. Once again welcomed by the warm, caring women who show up week after week to share their experience, strength and hope with whoever is in treatment or detox and with one another. There were a few newcomers last night. One newcomer biking her way there, arriving out of breath part way through the meeting. How beautiful it was to hear them get kudos for having the courage to walk through that door. To have every woman write down her phone number for them and say call us before you take that first drink, day or night we are here for you. To let them know we all had to do walk through the door to get where we are today. And where we are is not an arrived place but in process. To hear in every sharing a story of redemption. And I wonder for the umpteenth time why church often seems to be a place where we prize looking so put together and never less in need of a saviour than on Sunday morning. How guilty I am of giving off those vibes as well. God help me.

I'm finding that the more serenity I have, my need to project an image of perfection lessens.

Every day as I've been walking I leaf watch. There is a beauty to their decay and I take deep breaths as I pass by. As I drove to town yesterday I looked at the near naked trees in the river valley and sighed, mourning that this particular season of beauty is over for another year.

I wonder what needs to die within me and will I embrace its beauty just as much?

In Need

"What do you need?" she'd ask.

Inside I would think to myself....how the fuck do I know. You tell me.
Nothing was the word I wanted to reply but when you're in treatment for addictions it's a rather moot point to say you have no needs, you know? I could just hear her say "And you've paid $300 to share that with us Hope?" Once I knew the question was coming it was like willingly exposing my battered soul knowing I'd have to ask (strangers, no less)for what I needed to heal it.

That's the way it went nearly every day in treatment. My counselor would listen to my check in, where I had to explain why I chose whatever feeling word I had for the day, and then she'd ask me what I needed from the group. She started asking me this the second day of treatment, right after I'd been exposed as a caretaker of other people's feelings and numb to my own.

Oh, part of me wanted to cross my arms, send daggers her way and chant the mantra of survival I'd used all my childhood: "I don't need anything." In these sessions I worked hard not to sit cross armed and closed in on myself, although I was sometimes unsuccessful on the sending daggers part. Those close to me know exactly when I'm thinking fuck you and I think counselors get trained in decoding that as well.

Once Fr. Charlie asked me what I needed from my mom that I hadn't received. The first word that rose to the surface was nurturing. Aside from all the physical abuse I endured as a child, I had been born premature and spent my first 3 months in an incubator. In an era (hey, I belong to an era. Does that mean I'm old?) that lacked the knowledge of how much infants need physical touch. Heck, even without the incubator part, children need nurturing. Lots of it.

When he asked me how I could get that need met today, it was a new idea that I could search within and either meet my need myself or ask someone else to meet it for me.

I'm making progress. The other day I sat there with tears streaming down my face telling Fr. Charlie that I just needed to hear someone acknowledge how hard I was working at this recovery thing. In the course of our time together he did just that. Affirmed my journey. Affirmed the pain. Affirmed the hope. He was able to pick out from my sharing one spot of joy in my life. I told him that after my session at the treatment centre the other day I went and bought myself a $5 bouquet of flowers. Three beautiful, deep pink roses nestled in some baby's breath. I bought them as a testimony to my journey. I told dearest one I just might need to buy some every single week as a symbol of hope that the hard work is worth it. And that, dammit, I'm doing it.

Knowing what I need still doesn't come naturally. I have to work at it. But today I'm open to asking myself and either meeting the need myself, if possible, or asking for it from others. What does that look like? The other night it meant asking dearest one to hold me in his arms so I could feel safe. Another night it meant wrapping up in a blanket and rocking back and forth in my rocking chair. Every day it means showing myself compassion. Not too long ago it meant seeking someone out and making an amend. I realized afterwards that the amend came so effortlessly because I no longer define myself by my mistakes. That feels like huge progress.

What do you need today?
I need to know you read this.

Hollowing Out A Space

"...our greatest strength was forged in our worst pain and suffering. It was precisely those "worst times" that hollowed out a space in us that wouldn't have existed otherwise. And this space becomes the haven where others find the compassion, understanding and strength we so badly needed ourselves at one time." ~Earnie Larson in Destination Joy

Dearest one woke me up this morning by placing a snowball in my hand. There were snowy footprints on the deck this morning although we were spared the several inches of white stuff that other areas got overnight. As I look out the window it's nearly all melted now. Soon I will go for a walk and savour the crispness of the air and breathe in the smell of decomposing leaves. I love their earthy smell. They remind me that this journey is temporary.

Thank you for praying. I'm slowly regaining my equilibrium. There is an undercurrent of serenity beneath the pain. Yesterday as I went for my walk I started to name out loud all the reasons I was grateful. After a few moments I burst in tears because the gratitude was genuine and that I could have gratitude in the midst of emotional pain overwhelmed me. I never knew it was possible. Typing that sentence has me in tears all over again. God is doing for me what I could not do for myself. And I'm so very aware and grateful.

My home group in AA is called Gratitude 24/7. When I first went I thought that people who were grateful in the midst of pain were lying. I easily wrote off anyone who smacked of Pollyanna. "Ha. At least I'm realistic," I told myself. And while I still have a hard time liking people who are fake and smiley when everything else about them cries pain, I know my ability to sneer in the face of the genuine gratitude of others is just another version of camouflaged pain. In my all or nothing way of thinking one could either be in emotional pain or be grateful but never the two shall meet. I know now that gratitude is cultivated. It is a perspective one chooses. It doesn't deny reality, it exists in the midst of reality.

As I was walking one day this week I was begging God for the grace to show compassion towards myself. When I'm in the worst places emotionally it hasn't been my pattern to have self compassion. In the midst of my pain and the shame that threatened to overwhelm me I knew that the biggest gift I could give myself was compassion. The old patterns, the inner voices that wanted to accuse and condemn me were competing with the new pattern of loving and forgiving myself for being human. And as I prayed the word mantle popped into my head. It was such a random, strange word that I let it sit in my mouth for a while. As I did the line from a song we used to sing came to me. "His mantle over me is love." How true.

Yesterday I went for a long drive to meet with Fr. Charlie. I've chosen to continue seeing him for counseling/spiritual direction even though he has moved to another parish. As I reflect on today's quote it is Fr. Charlie's own hollowed out place, born out of working through his worst of times, that makes him a safe place of compassion, strength and understanding. It was good to be able to just spill my guts to him, no explanation needed.

On my drive home I returned a call to the sexual abuse counselling centre. As I told the woman my experience of having the rape triggered this past weekend and the battle it's been since to simply get through my days she told me she would bump me up the waiting list. It's now about 2 weeks before I get in to see someone.

It felt good to say I need help and then to reach out for that help. None of us can journey alone. It just isn't meant to be.

Yesterday Fr. Charlie asked me if I was still blogging. I told I was but that it was often such narcissistic crap I didn't know what the point was anymore. Today I know I need a place to say, this is my story. And I know those of you who read here regularly can see patterns, threads and growth that I am blind to. For today I embrace that reality.

Releasing the Illusion

Our Essential Nature by Christina Grof

"The process of hitting bottom, of releasing the illusion of control over our situation, is a mandatory step out of the pain of addiction. The experience of surrender is the key to redemption, the gateway to recovery, healing and the discovery of our spiritual potential. It marks the transition from a limited experience of who we are to an expanded one, and it happens to different people in different ways. Sometimes it is dramatic, sometimes it is relatively subtle.... Everything we thought we were - all relationships and reference points, all ego games, defenses, resistances, and denials - collapses. What remains is the essential nature of who we are. The overwhelming power of our addictions, the persons, places, things or activities we have made into our gods, give way to the healing presence of our true divine source, our deeper Self." (emphasis added)~via

I had all kinds of things I was going to ponder on publicly after reading the above quote yesterday. It was going to be a kind of "hurrah, hurrah" post. So much of the quote I have experienced since coming home from treatment 5 weeks ago. The struggle today does not negate the reality of what I've gained to this point. God help me to remember that.

Because today the journey feels pain filled and precarious. Three days ago the trauma of my childhood sexual abuse was in my face as if every cell in my body was remembering. I don't think I've ever let myself feel the pain of it that deeply before. Immediately I closed in on myself and it's been a struggle to not stay in that state. I've had two nights of messed up sleep since. One of them hours of pain where nerve endings repeatedly sent messages to where there was no real pain. I am weary and feeling fragile. I was a nanosecond from throwing my recovery out the door today. But I didn't. I want to fixate on the almost part instead of the didn't. Yesterday I told my addictions counselor that I had thought to myself the other day "fuck doing the next right thing." And after I thought it I got up and did the next right thing anyway. Right now the next right thing is to get dressed and go for a walk. I feel like I walk a very thin line on a daily basis with the things I need to do to keep my interior house in order. When I deviate from the plan chaos threatens to rule the day.
I can do this.
Just not on my own strength.
God help me.

No plastics required

"Put a smile on your face."

I turned as I heard a father say those words this past weekend to his young son, a boy about 8 years old. The son obediently put on one of those plastic smiles and they carried on their way. I stood there a bit dumbfounded. A simply exchange between father and son. Both the request and the response happened mid stride. The father not even stopping as he threw the request back at his son and the son complied. How weird is that?

No weirder than my own history of thinking my kids were not only an extension of myself but a reflection, too. If you looked at them at any given moment I was sure you would see me reflected there and because I defined myself in negative terms, well, I needed all the help I could get. If that meant they stuff whatever their reality was in exchange for a plastic smile, so be it. It adds a whole new sick dimension to the phrase, "If momma ain't happy, then nobody's happy." It was more like, "If momma ain't happy, pretend you are anyway, her reputation is at stake."

One of the gifts of recovery is that I no longer see my kids as an extension of me. They are free to be themselves. As adults especially, they were free to do that before I entered the treatment centre but I didn't quite accept it then. I no longer beat myself up for what my reality was then, either. Staying in today demands that I let it go, that I forgive myself and focus on the here and now. Today I free them from my expectations. I free myself from expectations, too, especially the expectation to be perfect. Accepting life on life's terms is what I try to do.

Another gift of recovery is that I no longer let myself be defined in negative terms. When I catch myself calling myself down in my head I remember that I am so much more than the sum of my failings. I still get a bit giddy when I remember that I get to define me. No one else. Not even my behaviour has the power to define me. I get to choose how I see myself. And though the struggle has seemed mountainous lately, it's a gift of recovery that I can still look in the mirror at the end of the day and say, "Thank you for being you." It never fails that as those words come out of my mouth a huge smile erupts and my eyes twinkle. I stop for a moment and check within myself to see if my words and my inner attitude are in sync. Denial has so long been a coping mechanism that it's taking me a while to trust myself. An addict can lie to anyone, especially themselves, effortlessly. So it's felt like a miracle that every time I've checked, my inner and outer realities match.
No plastics required.

Graced

Yesterday my addictions
beckoned.
I circled
their edges,
looking forward
and back
while trying to wrestle my way
out of here and now.
Graced that the darkness
didn't ensnare.

Yet victory feels
lifeless.
Worse than if
I had jumped
right in.

Today my body is spoonless.
I'm raging at that reality.

Reality.

I was unwilling to
live in it
yesterday.

Today brings
its own reality.

Accept,
Courage,
Wisdom,
Grace,
Surrender.