Good Friends

There are three funerals I could go to this week. This morning there were two. Then I opened the paper over lunch and there were three. Remember this post? The man in that post died a few days ago. The poor people left in that family have lost a sister and both parents now. I cannot imagine.

Tonight I reconnected with a friend I rarely phone but we both knew two of the three people who died. She is one of those lifelong friends one has where you pick up where you left off and it's like it was yesterday that you last spoke. There aren't many of those kinds of friends in this life and I am grateful for her.

To Be Witness

The leaves are gone off the trees today. A hard wind came along and away the last of them went.I don't know what fits a death more - grey skies and bare trees or a sunshiny blue sky.

This is Thanksgiving weekend here. I came home mid morning and put a pie in the oven and made the cranberry sauce. The turkey was slipped in to the oven to roast just a few minutes ago. Dearest one was gone when I came home. I thought maybe he'd gone to have coffee with a friend. Nope. He was at the hospital with his dad, who had been feeling ill enough that dearest one's mom called and asked for help. He is okay, no heart attack as was feared. Dearest one will be home as soon as he can. It's been that kind of a weekend.

I am beyond grateful that I am sober and emotionally healthy. Otherwise I would not be in this place of accepting life on life's terms today. I don't do it perfectly of course. I'm just grateful for those times when it is so clear what the right thing to do is regardless of what my idea of the day was going to look like. Thy will be done is a really brave thing to pray some days. There is a bigger plan than I can see. That sentence doesn't answer all the questions. I don't think faith needs every question answered in order to be real and vibrant. Maybe just the opposite.

Last night my sponsor and I settled into her hot tub after everyone had gone home. She reached both her hands out to me and under an inky black sky with pin pricks of stars trying to shine through, we prayed together. A first for both of us. The first words out of her mouth were ones of gratitude. We then sat and talked and even laughed a bit. It is a privilege to be witness to someone else's journey.


Photo Credit

All Crinkly And Bright

"How's my girl?"
That's how she greeted me, both in person and on the phone. I loved being her girl.

One day she greeted me while sitting at her kitchen table, a red rimmed white enamel bowl on her lap. It was full of the tiniest carrots and she was cheerfully scrubbing them clean.

When she smiled at me her eyes went all crinkly and bright.

"What a boring job. I'd never bother with carrots that small." That's what I thought to myself as we visited. She would've been shocked had I voiced my thoughts. I think it was that day I asked her what she did when she got cranky. She stopped and thought for a moment and told me she didn't get cranky. I would've thought she was lying except I'd never seen her get cranky. She had the kind of attitude that made the best out of everything.

I met her 20 years ago. I hadn't lived in this community as a sober person and when we moved back I went to a meeting in a town down the highway. An elderly woman there told me there was someone living in my community in recovery. I was lonely. I didn't know how to relate to people in sobriety. Many of my relationships had been built around partying and without the booze we found little in common.

So I called her up. Her of bright crinkly smiling eyes. She sounded gruff on the phone. Very gruff. Short, staccato bursts of words came out of her mouth. Oh my Lord I thought. She's needs help. I'll be her help. I'll be her saviour. That's pretty close to my original thoughts, too. I knew she was in Al-Anon. I thought whoever in her life drank must be drunk right this minute for her to sound so gruff. I pictured her as a tough old broad in camouflaged clothing wearing hiking boots.

Well, didn't I get the shock of a lifetime when she came out on her step as a stooped white haired lady wearing a pretty dress with an apron over top. She dried her hands and greeted me with a brilliant beaver toothed smile. She took me in as her own instantly. Her husband had died the previous winter and she was alone except for a grandchild she was raising. We sat on her musty blue sofa and chatted over china cups of tea.

She never dwelt on the past. But what I learned of it still amazes me. I live what most people would think of as remote. For me, it's normal. When she reached out for help in Al-Anon she wrote a letter. Eventually she learned of a meeting in the town down the highway. She had to walk several miles to the highway to catch the Greyhound Bus if she wanted to get to a face to face meeting. She did this regularly until the day came when she had a car of her own. It was a big yellow boat that glided down the highway. She could barely see over the steering wheel. We did a lot of laughing in that car.

The only mention she ever made to me of life before recovery was that she once went through a winter where the only company she had to talk to pour her heart out to during a 3 month time span, were her chickens. There was a certain grimness in her remembering. And also a thread of hope. If you can make it through three months without another living soul to talk to you can make it through anything.

She passed away quite a few years ago now. I miss her. We were privileged to take a road trip together once. Sometimes I'd take her to town. We went to meetings together occasionally. She took life as it came. She was up for any adventure. Our age difference of 50 years never came into the picture. We mattered to each other.

Yesterday I pulled the last of the carrots from the garden. You can see some tiny ones there among the bigger carrots. I thought of her as I trimmed their tops and decided which ones to keep and which to toss.

I kept many of the smallest of carrots in memory of that day she held a red rimmed white enamel bowl on her lap full of tiny carrots.

Sleep Tight

It's been a long day.
I write that as a starting sentence to most of my posts
and then I delete it because I think it sounds whiny.
Tonight I don't care because I am bushed.

Last night I made myself up a list of things
to accomplish today.
Every third item was "write."
I had grand plans to get many words written today
on the second draft of my novel.
Tomorrow is the deadline for another 2500 word rewrite.

But you know, I couldn't get rid of the nagging thought
that I needed to phone my sponsor and offer to help
her with her garden today.
She has been away in city far away as her husband
gets radiation treatments for his inoperable cancer.
She stopped in last night on her way home
and it was so good to connect again.

So there I was weeding in her garden when I said to God,
"My back and dearest one's knee are going to hurt like hell
tonight because of this. Could you like, you know, make the pain go away because we're doing a good deed here."

And into my head came the thought that um, sacrifice isn't really sacrifice
if it doesn't cost you something.

Oh, right. And I chuckled to myself.
Tonight I feel a good weariness.
The kind that comes when you've done
fulfilling physical work.

I sat at the computer tonight without the foggiest idea what the next sentence in my book was going to be. I just about decided not to write at all because I was too tired to think straight. I had no idea how I was going to solve a dilemna in the story when I closed my eyes and put myself into the scene. And what should happen but one of the characters said something to another character and the dilemna was solved. I know that sounds weird. It sounds weird to me, too.

Two Sides

Two posts.
Two bloggers.
Two sides to the same story.
Two must reads.


Damomma's Side.

Ellie's Side.

Open or Closed?

Wednesday mornings are getting to be predictable.
Youngest son slams the door when he goes out to start the car.
I am jolted awake at the sound.
Good bye to sweet dreams.
It's the loudest alarm clock around.
He has no idea the effect on me.
Mornings are so not my thing.
Except waking to one means I am alive.
That is a privilege.
No matter what.

But I am grateful
to be able to hear a door slam shut.
I wouldn't like to be deaf.
I'm grateful I can choose my attitude.
Grateful that I can ask him to consider others.
Grateful that dearest one is considerate without effort.
Hmmm...consideration is something
I need to work on myself.
See, anything can be a learning tool
if I remain open.
Lord have mercy.

I'll be off to town in a few hours myself.
I'm grateful for the noon meeting I'll attend.
It's the only daytime meeting within driving distance.
My home group took this meeting on
so that once during the work week
there would be a daytime meeting.
Sometimes I'm envious of the many meetings
you get to choose from. Today, this meeting is it.
The only other one is a men's meeting tonight.
I don't qualify.

I told you I lived remote.
But not as remote as my sponsor used to live.
There were 3 members in her group,
then two of them moved away.
She was the only AA member left in her town
and there were no towns within driving distance.
I am not kidding. She lived at the end of the road.
She opened the weekly meeting for years and years
and was the only one present.
She stayed sober through it all.
Wow.

That makes the hour drive to get to a meeting
something I can be extra grateful for today.
I'd be in trouble if I was it.
Thank God for the internet.
I learn so much about how to walk the talk
from your blogs, too.
Through reading your words I sometimes feel
like I have many sponsors.
At the very least you become
my meeting when I can't get to one.
You give me much food for thought.
I give thanks for you today.

Triggering Our Anguish

I've been sitting and looking through my bookshelf for something to share this morning. I picked up one book and realized someone else had underlined their favourite bits throughout it. When I lend out books I ask the borrower to please underline what spoke to them. Reading a book and then having no one to discuss it with disappoints me. Those underlined bits feel like a permanent conversation.

I'm listening to the radio as I type. It's almost time for the daily obituary announcements. I feel old when I confess that I listen to those on the radio. Years ago I led a Bible study in a neighbouring community with many elderly women. Women who loved me as I was, in my conceit, and I often worry that one of them will pass away and I won't hear about it. Occasionally there has been a real shock when I hear the familiar name of someone unexpectedly passing away.

I pulled out a tea stained, fading copy of one of my all time favourite books. It's a book that one friend gave to another friend and she eventually gave it to me. There are three different kinds of underlining in it, which makes me smile just to type that. I opened it to this bit which we all took note of:

"Community is caring for people, but of course as soon as we start caring for people, we know that there are some people who will just drive us up the wall. Some we will really like, because they think like us. Then we risk falling into a world of mutual flattery. We are all so much in need of affection that when somebody gives it to us we want to hold onto it. Then we say to the other person, "You're wonderful! Keept at it! Keep flattering me! You know, it's nice." We're like little cats who need to be caressed. We then begin to purr.
But flattery doesn't help anyone to grow. It doesn't bring freedom but rather closes people up in themselves. We are attracted to certain people, and others put us off. We don't get on well with them. They trigger off our anguish. Perhaps they remind us of our fathers and mothers who were too authoritarian or possessive. Some people threaten us, others flatter us. Some meetings are joyful, and others are painful. When we begin talking about caring for people, then we begin to see how difficult it can be.......growth will come as we come closer to people who are different from us and as we learn to welcome and listen even to those who trigger off our pain."(emphasis added)

I have to confess that I am often quite relieved to hear around the tables in AA that I don't have to like everyone. I try to remember that means not everyone has to like me, either. But we are in community together. And it's a whole 'nother thought to embrace what they have to teach me, to welcome it. I tend to want to run the other way fast in a hands-over-my-ears kind of way. Lord have mercy.

Their Own Path

This morning the energizer bunny sat right at my head,trying to lick my face, while I tried to go back to sleep. She thinks anything covered up with a blanket, be it feet, a toy, my head, is something to attack and play with. Eventually I uncovered my head, looked at her and groaned, "You're one of those morning people aren't you?". Well, not exactly a people but you get my drift. I gave up, or in, and got up.

It's chilly enough this morning to wear cozy flannel pjs and have a cup of tea with my breakfast. A much welcome rain is coming down as I type. The rain guage shows half an inch of the wet stuff in the past 36 hours. We are in desperate need of it.

This afternoon is the funeral of my friend. I've been in tears quite a bit the last few days as I try to grasp that she's really gone. The energizer bunny sat on my lap and was such a comfort. She can get such a look of concern on her face. She would fix it if she could.

My friend was often at the mercy of a lot of judgement of good church going people. It didn't turn her off faith but it did wound her. She talked often of not knowing how people facing the health issues she did, did it without a faith in God. She credited God with her amazing progress post transplant. Sometimes I wanted to scream, absolutely scream, when people would ask me about her faith journey. They assumed much because she didn't go to church, because she and her husband had lived together for years before they married, because she smoked until she got sick. And sometimes they would blame her sickness on her smoking when her illness was not in the least related to smoking. It was an immune system response where her body attacked it's own cells. Non smokers get the same disease all the time. So do underweight, overweight, and in shape people.

But judging others feels good. God knows I know that because of how judgemental I can be. I have to remind myself often that I never know the full story of someone else's journey.....that I'm not God.....that minding my own business and living my own life takes enough energy without spending it passing judgement on others.

While I was cleaning up the office this week I kept running across little pieces of paper that had quotes on them. Some made it into my computer notebook, like this one:

"The most compassionate thing I can do is allow (them) to be on their own path."

Lord have mercy.

Phone Karen

The handwriting's mine. Written between cocoa and ferret food on my grocery list. I wrote it in a hurry one day last week hoping that if I put it on paper where I could see it, I'd remember to call. I never did.

Karen passed away yesterday.
I found out this evening.

We hadn't known each other long in terms of years of friendship - only the past 5 years - but we shared a bond of understanding that was of the forever kind. Although we lived in neighbouring communities our paths hadn't crossed until then. It took the internet to get us connected. When I was first having health issues and trying to get a diagnosis I posted a message on a forum for people diagnosed with PH, an illness bandied about by one of my doctors. One of the people on that message board wrote me to tell me that Karen lived close by and might be a good contact person for me. Was she ever.

Her story mirrored mine to some extent. She spent 4 years trying to get a diagnosis only to be told by one doctor to go home and get a life because there was nothing wrong with her. By the time she got diagnosed with PH her disease had progressed so far that medication couldn't halt it's progression. She was soon put on a waiting list for a double lung transplant. Fucking, fucking doctors.

Karen was my cheerleader. Because she had been doubted by doctors, which fed her own self doubt about whether it was all in her head or not, she was so supportive as I tried to get a diagnosis of my own. When I had a doctor look at me and tell me either I had all these funky things or I didn't and maybe I was simply hormonal (and he leaned towards the hormonal conclusion) Karen was there to listen to me cry and vent. In turn I could listen to her as she still doubted the seriousness of her illness, still worried that the fever she had or the abdominal pains were all in her head and she shouldn't bother the doctors. She knew I understood how it screws with a person's mind when the powers-that-be send you home like a chastened child. There was always a hint of this self doubt no matter how sick Karen got. I think it only left during the times she ended up in ICU.

Karen was there as I gave up on getting a diagnosis and stopped going to the doctor. She had done that herself at one point, too. She was also there to listen as my health declined. Eventually I got to see the doctor who was instrumental in getting her a diagnosis. This doctor believed me and told me she would be with me no matter how long it took to get it figured out. Figuring it out took 9 trips of 1500 kms each between June and November of that year plus a 10 day stay in a hospital far, far away. Eventually I had the gold standard test for PH and was found to be borderline. I remember the doctor telling me that even if my numbers had been higher he wouldn't do anything about it until the numbers got much, much higher. The medicine needed to treat it was so expensive that the government wouldn't pay for it before then. I looked at him and said, "so it's a crap shoot really - take me to the brink and then see if the medicine will bring me back." He nodded.

He did run every test he could. They even flipped me upside down for a second spiral CT scan of my lungs looking for the place where my blood vessels were bypassing picking up the oxygen. He was the doctor who referred me to a cardiologist who was so thorough in her listening that it led to a referral to a geneticist and eventually to a diagnosis. A diagnosis that scoops all kinds of funky health issues in because Elhers-Danlos has to do with the glue(collagen) that holds everything, even yours eyes, together in your body. When that's defective there's a never ending list of things that can be funky. I was thankful that funky won out over hormonal. Karen and I had a pet name for the doctor who had previously dismissed me. He had once treated her like a piece of crap, too.

Karen was the one who told me about the spoon theory to help others understand what it was like to lack the energy to do the simplest of tasks. We got so that we could tell by each other's voice how many spoons the other had.

Karen got her new lungs 4 years, 5 months, and 2 days ago. Her husband called on the way to the waiting air ambulance that would take them to a far off city to have the transplant. That transplant gave her several years of a much more normal life although she still spent way more time in the hospital than most people do in a lifetime. A year ago she spent every significant holiday and celebration from Christmas to Easter to Mother's Day to Father's Day to her birthday in July, to her wedding anniversary in August, in the hospital. We joked this year when she made it past several of those events without being hospitalized. Even throughout those days in the hospital she would call and be more interested in what was going on with me than talking about her. She had the greatest contagious giggle and even after she'd broken vertebrae in her back from coughing too hard, she still ended up in giggles. She'd sound like this....giggle, ouch, giggle, ouch.

Sometimes when she would call from the hospital I wondered if this time would be the last time I talked with her. I've lost count of how many times I thought to myself, "this is it, she won't make it through this time." only for her to bounce back once again and surprise even the medical team.

She fought to make it through when her daughter got married last year and when her parents celebrated their 50th anniversary soon after. How she summoned up the energy for either is a miracle. Sometimes she was let out of the hospital just days before the event.

About a year ago she brought up the subject of her death. It was the first time we had that conversation. In the time since she alluded to knowing she wouldn't be here to celebrate her 50th birthday or her 25th wedding anniversary. No too long ago she worried outloud about her remaining siblings because she thought that for sure within 10 years neither she or her parents would be here. Both her parents are battling terminal illnesses of their own. She felt bad that she would be leaving her husband alone.

I last saw her about a month ago. We didn't see each other in person very much. But we talked on the phone pretty much every week up until about a year ago. Even though we didn't talk as often we still connected regularly. I knew if I didn't hear from her for a while it meant she was most likely in the hospital either here or in the big hospital far away where she had her transplant. Sometimes her husband would call and let me know where she was and sometimes I had to wait until she was strong enough to talk on the phone then she'd call and away we'd go again. She always called eventually. I thought this time she would, too.

When I started this blog I wrote a post that explained how I chose the blog's title. I had just been diagnosed after several years of doctors and tests galore. Back then I could choose between breathing and talking but couldn't do both at once on the worst of days. Sometimes Karen would hear me take a breath between words and point it out to me. She always encouraged me to listen to my body. She could hear things in my voice that weren't on my radar screen. It's good for me to remember that. Life has changed so much since then.

When we saw each other last month she was surprised by my weight loss and I was surprised by her frailness. It was as if she'd come full circle from post transplant back to a pre transplant state of health. Her home care nurse helped her to the couch and got her oxygen straightened out before leaving us to visit. We sat on the couch and watched her favourite TV shows together. It was a comforting distraction. It was easier when talking on the phone to avoid thinking about her death. Seeing her in person made me face that she wouldn't always be here. I haven't grasped that reality yet. I'm remembering her voice in my head as I type and hoping it will never fade.

Tonight I opened up the file that holds all her emails. I only was able to read a few of them before I closed the page. I had to stop when I read the following:

"You know, I loved turning 40. My husband had a surprise birthday party for me which was great and although I was diagnosed with PPH, I was thrilled to be 40 years old."

Karen turned 47 last month. She cherished every day she had since diagnosis.
Tonight I will go to sleep in the same bedroom as she once slept. Ironically I live in the same trailer that she lived in over 15 years ago.

I stood at the kitchen sink tonight, the one that she'd once stood at too and let my tears fall into the dish water. I know goodbye isn't forever but tonight it feels so final. Breathe easy Karen, breathe easy.

Safety and Reality

"Silence makes us vulnerable because when we stop making noise, we lose control: who knows what thoughts or feelings might arise if we turned off the television or stopped yammering for a while? Laughter makes us vulnerable because it often comes in response to our flaws and foibles: who knows how foolish we might look when the joke is on us? We can share silence and laughter only when we trust each other - and the more often we share them, the deeper our trust grows.

The soul loves silence because it is shy, and silence helps it feel safe. The soul loves laughter because it seeks truth, and laughter often reveals reality."

~ Parker J. Palmer in A Hidden Wholeness

Dearest one and I have gathered weekly with a small group of friends for the past 7 years. What started out as a book study (the book study is nearly finished now!) grew into a safe place where we could share deeply with one another. As a result we've become comfortable with silence and laughter in one another's presence. We've shared through the years of raising our children, most of us either have all adult children or nearly so, and are now sharing the journey of ageing parents. Two of us will soon welcome daughter-in-laws to our families within a week of each other.

Seven years ago, when we began to get together, we all attended the same church. Over time that changed. Our friends have not only walked beside us as dearest one and I embraced our faith within the Catholic Church, they have been supportive of our choice to do so. Together we've shared the seemingly roller coaster ride of addiction, depression, job changes and job loss plus many life changes. We've opened our souls to one another in a way that we realize more and more is not only beautiful but rare. I wish everyone could be so blessed.

Places of Fear

"We have places of fear inside us, but we have other places as well - places with names like trust and hope and faith. We can choose to lead from one of those places, to stand on ground that is not riddled with the fault lines of fear, to move toward others from a place of promise instead of anxiety."
~from Let Your Life Speak by Parker Palmer

Last night I went for a walk in -4C weather. This morning it's -42C outside with the windchill factored in. Tomorrow we're supposed to wake up to -48C. I'm thankful for a warm house and no need to go out. Appointments for tomorrow can be cancelled and a full blown pajama day will ensue. Our sons are on their way home today from a weekend ski trip and will be travelling in -40C weather and colder. I will be glad when they get home.

Yesterday dearest one and I spent a wonderful day together. We bought a few groceries then I went to my AA meeting while he did a bit of work in his office. Afterwards we went swimming and out for lunch. No rope swinging happened but I did get dunked. We had fun. The rope swinging will happen yet.

We were on our way to the check out counter in the grocery store when we met an old friend we hadn't seen in several years. All was well until he asked where we were going to church these days. I find it weird that people would ask that question within a minute of seeing you, as if it was the best way to get reacquainted. The conversation went downhill from there. He was not happy with our choice to live out our faith within the Catholic Church. Everything from "Catholicism isn't biblical" to "we don't share the same beliefs" followed. He didn't come out and say we were no longer Christians but he came close. There was a time when stuff like that made me angry. When I was sure if only I had all the answers I'd stop the other person mid sentence and could walk away triumphant. It would completely bypass me that a sin against charity is of greater importance than winning a verbal jousting match. Yesterday I walked away feeling like I'd been pummeled. There was so much we could have talked about, stuff that really matters. This past year has been so full of grace and growth and I feel sad that none of that would have been heard until my faulty beliefs had been corrected.

I'm no great apologist for the faith and have no desire to be. I try to hold my faith in an open hand, remembering that God cannot be boxed in.

I can give answers to many common objections about Catholicism. I don't do it to prove anything to anyone or to try and convince people like our friend that he's wrong and the church is right. I do feel an obligation to correct misconceptions, like when our friend said we had to have a Catholic baptism in order to be "saved" in the eyes of the Church. We were baptized in the church of this man's youth and were able to share that that baptism was valid in the eyes of the Church as we had been baptized in the name of the Father, Son and Holy Spirit. In the end we parted before the conversation was complete (it didn't matter what we said he was hammering away at the error of our belief) and we were grateful that time restraints meant we had to be on our way.

I got to my AA meeting and had my back to the doorway when a friend came in. He said, "Hi, Hope." I must have seemed a bit startled because he asked why I was so jumpy. So I related what had just happened in the grocery store. He said to me, "You know why people are like that don't you?" "No," I replied. He went on to say that when people are not settled within themselves then they are shaken by another point of view. He said when he was okay within himself then how others live their lives doesn't faze him. But when he wasn't then he tended to pick at others for their choices.

On my walk last night I hashed out the day as I talked to God. I wondered if our friend had been operating out of fear. I'm all too familiar with doing the same. I wished yesterday I had asked him what he was afraid of. Last night I asked God to help me not operate of fear. I easily named aloud several areas of my life where I often let fear lead the way, thinking it's lighting the path. Relationships of my own where fear charges ahead while trust, hope and faith waiver.

Last night I lay in bed and prayed for our friend. I wondered if our friend was praying for us. I felt a lingering sadness about our encounter.

Changing Views

"There is nothing all that bad about mixed motives, unless we think they are pure." ~Falconbrother

I'm listening to James Taylor singing "You've Got A Friend" as I type. It's been a long time since I liked an entire CD but his new One Man Band mix is a keeper.

The song seems fitting as I mull over a telephone conversation I had all morning with a long time friend. One I'd lost touch with when she moved away. A friend who has been there for me through really rough stretches and who I was there for when she went through a deep and dark depression years ago.

Our friendship has barely survived where my spiritual journey has brought me. There were several years where we hardly talked. My interest in living out my faith within the Catholic Church became a huge elephant in the room. Other than our initial conversation where she insinuated I was deceived if my journey was going to take me there, we don't talk about this aspect of my journey. Eventually I told her that I didn't need her to support my choice of Church but I did need her to support me as I journeyed, if our friendship was to continue.

Our conversation this morning lasted several hours. And I can't shake feeling I was trying to prove something to her. Like see how far I've come in my journey since becoming Catholic and needing her approval. I hate when someone else's opinion matters more to me than my own. When I lose all sense that I get to define me and find myself handing over the reins and saying, "Here, you define me for a second, okay?" (or a minute, an hour, a lifetime; depending on the day)
But get like that I do.
When that happens I feel like I'm Odie in a Garfield comic strip.

Often when I am in conversation with someone I will imagine breathing into all the white spaces around their words in order to remind myself to listen for what's not being said, too. It helps me listen on a deeper level. This morning I simply ceased listening altogether, instead having so many answers of my own. It was a bunch of (apologies to dearest one for using this term) bla bla bla on my part. It wasn't so much what I said but my motives in saying what I did. Straining to show her just where I've arrrived to. Blech.

At one point she asked was I still writing? When I answered yes, but didn't give her my blog address I knew just how insecure I was feeling in our friendship. Not giving my blog address to friends means I don't trust them with the whole of my story. It means I'm scared they'll shit on me if they know the darkest places I've been. Sad that many of you who I've never met, know more about my journey than friends I've had for decades.

Several years ago I was in an evangelical church listening to the pastor preach. As I was sitting there judging him, these words, "When you judge the journey of others you are trying to steal their story from them. Don't steal their stories." came into my head. I'm scared she will steal my story. In the process I lose the ability to honour hers as well.

I hate when I'm not comfortable in my own skin; when being in the presence of some people make all my insecurities rise to the surface like yeast in the bowl. Damn.

When I was on my walk today I beat myself up for that for several paces before I caught myself and stopped. When I was in treatment this summer I asked a man I respect if he regretted not achieving sobriety the first time in treatment as this was his 4th or 5th time around. He looked at me and said, "I don't play that game. To do so would mean not honouring my story."

So I don't have it figured out like I thought I did. I get scared to show people the real me. The one without all the answers. The one I thought was behind me.
The one who gets progress and perfection mixed up.

How I feel about myself in relation to others is mine to own.
I so wanted to blame her.
Fear kept me from acting with integrity this morning.
I don't know how much of our friendship was based on us seeing the same view out the window, you know?
And I'm scared to find out.