Purple Striped Joy

She was just a bit of a thing - dressed in purple stripes from head to toe - yet she captivated the whole waiting room with her joy. She was the brightest spot in my day. I was disappointed when the nurse called her in for her appointment.

Between her and later going for a walk in the mud puddles I am one happy gal on my way to a good sleep tonight. I often pray that God will give me the eyes to see Him, the ears to hear Him and the heart to respond to Him. Today I think I did.

Easy, Peasy. Not

This week I was given multiple opportunities to once again acknowledge that I am not God and don't know what's best for anyone else. How easy it is to think that I do! And how easy it is to forget that I can't see the whole picture. Even the most put together people can be fighting battles that are invisible to the casual observer or even friend. I got reminded of that this week. It was humbling.

And then I spent time with someone whose praise and applause I so desperately want and who I often feel judgement from. Someone that made me want to bang the table and shriek, "Change already, you thick headed fool."

I hashed it all out with my sponsor last night who knows everyone in the story and she gave me good direction in seeing my part in it. There's always a my part of it in any situation. I'd really be screwed wouldn't I if there wasn't? I mean trying to do something about someone else's part in it could be very frustrating. Just ask me. I know.


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She Is A Keeper

"We should be home early."

That's part of a text message my mother-in-law sent dearest one a few days ago. I laugh every time she sends one. Not laugh at her but laugh out of pure joy. My mother-in-law. She is a keeper. She tried to talk dearest one out of marrying me the night before we got married. The day after the wedding (we eloped, sort of. no family present) she welcomed me as a daughter even though her heart was breaking at the choice her son made. She showed me what grace looked like and I will be forever grateful to her for that.

I was an atheist. I hated Christians. I mocked them mercilessly. To their face. Especially these ones. No radio. No TV. Women wore dresses. No makeup. It was almost like living on a different planet. Archaic. We lived down the road in a little bunk shack with no running water. People still did that then and considered it normal.

Fast forward to 2010. We have a great relationship (thanks be to God. seriously.) A few years ago I was giving her a hug goodbye before she left on a trip. When I whispered in her ear that I hoped she got to at least one book store she whispered back that I knew her better than some of her own children did. We gave each other a squeeze like it was our little secret.

My mother-in-law still has no radio or TV. She'd get kicked out of her church if she did. But she got a cell phone so that she could send text messages to her children and especially her grandchildren. She loves keeping in touch with them this way.

I laugh every time at the idea of my mother-in-law typing out a text message. This is the way her grandchildren communicate and be darned if she is going to miss out. How can you tell relationship is first and foremost in her heart? How can you not love her? She is a keeper. Her birthday is this week. She'll be eighty-one.


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Silence

(written two weeks ago)

The silence is hard. I've been on self imposed silence since yesterday when dearest one left on a trip. I don't consider myself much of a tv watcher but reached for the remote many times today until I remembered my vow. No music.
No radio news. No tv.
Just me and the puglies.

The only exception I made was to listen to this album while I work on my novel. Many of its lyrics lend themselves to my work, evoking emotions in me that in turn trickle down to my characters. I just finished writing for the day and realized I'd forgotten to turn the music on while I typed.

This morning I had to push down the pile of paper to see the bottom of my computer screen. Tonight my desk is shiny clean. So is the floor. It feels good.

The silence was both disturbing and soothing.



Photo Credit

YES. NO. YES. NO. YES, YES, YES.

"Don't ask me why I'm not going because I can't explain it other than every time I thought about it today I felt such a big "no" inside."

Dearest one needed no more explanation although he was probably just as puzzled as I was. After all, the highlight of going away this weekend was that I was leaving a day early so I could go see only daughter in big city far away. I was even going to drive an extra 3 hours round trip to do so because I didn't want to pass up an opportunity of being that close to where she lived and not see her. (She lives 8 hours away so 90 minutes one way is too close to pass up.)

Yet there I was writing her an email a few days ago to say sorry I'm not coming. Yes, the forecast was for snow and freezing rain but the weather forecast is not always predictable. And yes, it was a crazy busy week at work and I hadn't had time or energy to get ready to go away. But when I really want to do something I can make it happen anyway even if it means doing laundry at the other end or driving slow because the roads are slick. I had even typed an email to one of my closest friends who lives in the same city as only daughter, making plans to spend the morning with her on Friday. I just couldn't hit the send button though and deleted it instead.

I rarely feel so strongly one way or the other about doing things. Often it's a no, I don't want to, have time to, etc. or a I could take it or leave it and then I either go or don't and sometimes it's a I really would like to do that. Sure there are many times when what I want to do is irrelevant and I do something that someone else is asking me to do simply because it's the right thing for me to do. And then there are the times when I'm trying to manipulate the situation to get my way or rationalizing why saying yes or no is really God's way, too. I can find it hard to trust my motives. So I sat there and checked how open, willing and honest I was being about going to only daughter's place and I was just as open as ever. I just couldn't shake that NO.

So I listened.

Last night came a phone call from someone in the fellowship. She was scheduled to go the same service commitment as me this weekend but every time she tried to make plans they fell apart. I'd already told my home group that I would absorb the extra cost of having a hotel room to myself this weekend because at the end of the day I just want my own space. The weekend will be full of people and for this introvert that is a stretch to begin with. And the only ones I could share a hotel room with would be dearest one, only daughter or my daughter-in-law. I've even told my sponsor before that I wouldn't share a room with her at these things because that's how much I like my own space.

I usually drive by myself too, because I love solo road trips. But you know what? When that phone call came last night I knew in an instant what the right thing to do was, my preferences irrelevant. Yes, I was disappointed that my way wasn't going to be THE way. I acknowledged that to myself and then let it go. So, I will have a passenger and I will have a roommate for one of the nights, too. I had originally booked a double room (that's how much I like my own space!)so there you go!

The change of plans is way out of my comfort zone but I recognize I'm being given the opportunity to see how being uncomfortable may very well be a blessing in disguise. We never know until we try. Oh, the years and years I spent being closed to anything but life going my way because being out of my comfort zone found me paralyzed with fear.

Had I been going to only daughter's this morning I would have had my weekend tied up in a nice pretty bow. I think God may be hugging me and having a belly laugh, too.

Although when I sense an answer one way or the other I don't spend much time trying to figure out the 'why' of it. That's really beside the point. Learning to listen and act is what's important in my books. So it's a bonus to see how things have worked out. And who knows if I am really seeing anything at all other than connecting my own little dots. I still find it presumptuous to think that I have God's will figured out in all this.

Peace Be With You

Being vulnerable to God in front of other people is hard for me.
I can't predict when something will touch my heart and the tears rise up.
That's probably a good thing.

Today at Mass, the tears rose up unexpectedly and I struggled through the rest of the Mass to keep from crying one of those ugly faced snot nosed cries. Hearing about the disciples being in a room with the door locked because they were afraid of the Jews and Jesus appearing in the midst of them saying, "Peace be with you" I got a very clear thought that when the door of my heart is locked because I'm afraid, Jesus comes to me and wishes me peace.

There's no greater thing that I desire right now than peace.

Yesterday at the AA meeting I couldn't pray the Lord's prayer for the tears and today I could hardly get through the Mass without sobbing. For the first time ever I left Mass before the closing song was finished because I knew I'd be a sobbing mess the first time someone asked me how I was. And because I didn't want to become a sobbing mess I bolted instead.

I didn't feel bad about not wanting to become a sobbing mess in front of other people.

One thing I learned this past winter that was of great help to me was this. Picture a bull's eye. There are those who are in our outermost circle and they are acquaintances, then there are those who are in the next circle closest to the middle and they are friends and in the innermost circle is where we are intimate - that place where we let others see who we are without our masks on.

We get to choose who we let in to each circle
and people have to earn the right to be there.

I was given the very good advice not to let someone into the innermost circle who will use what I tell them against me. And I learned that when a person is abused those different concentric circles of the bull's eye are violated and the perpetrator gains entry right past acquaintance and friend into the intimate circle momentarily, against your will, and afterwards it becomes difficult to have any boundaries at all.
It's as if the lines get all blurry.

When I learned all this I instantly stopped feeling guilty for not wanting to let those people in who wanted in just because they wanted in.
I'm not obligated to them. They have to earn the right to be there.

Most of the people at church are acquaintances. It's perfectly okay for me to tell them I am okay when I am not. I always felt guilty that I was lying if I didn't spill my guts to whoever asked me how I was. I don't anymore. That's growth.

I pray daily that I remain open to the God of my understanding and seek His presence in my innermost circle.

Peace be with you.

Liberation

"What was your dad's reaction to your mom's addictions?"

"Nothing. Zero. None."

She was writing my family map up on the board, helping me make connections, asking me questions as we went. We not only mapped my family of origin but my mother's family of origin as well. We wrote about what patterns were carried from one generation to another. What patterns there were in our own lives, legacies that needed to be looked at and then decided if they served any useful, healthy purpose or if they could be let go.

As I told her my dad's reaction was nothing something within me went 'ding, ding, ding'. It was more like a jolt that made me sit up straighter and pay attention. Dearest one has had no reaction to mine, either. I know the day is coming. He's doing such deep, honest work in counseling that it is inevitable.
One day the shit will hit the fan.

Liberating shit.

As I told the facilitator how my dad had had no reaction to my mom's behaviour and simulataneously realized dearest one has had no reaction to mine either, something shifted within me. I went from being scared of the day that the shit hits the fan to being able to welcome it. Doesn't mean it will be fun or that it will be devoid of emotion. But in doing so, a cycle will come to an end. A new pattern established. Which is something I can embrace.

I was able to come home and share all this with dearest one.
Truth is liberating.
Lord have mercy.

Intact

"I feel like I'm a boiled egg whose shell has been cracked and rolled back and forth across the counter. There's the thinnest of membranes holding the bits together."

That's what I wrote in my journal yesterday morning
and shared with my counselor later in the afternoon.
It's been a while since an image came to me
as a metaphor for where I'm at in the journey.
It gives me hope that the image was one of being crushed, yet intact.

This has been the most draining of weeks.
Emotionally, I'm spent.
The continual clicking of pieces falling into place,
in the puzzle that is my story ,
humbles me and gives me great hope.
There is no way through but through.
Yesterday I was given the grace to
put one foot in front of the other.
I'm trusting the process even though
I cannot see around the corner.

I feel like I'm walking with a new awareness.
Stripped of another layer of denial,
there's no going back.
That is good and scary news.
Surrendering what is and will be.
Held ever so gently,
intact.

At Arm's Length

Insomnia was my friend in the middle of the night.
Maybe my body was in shock because I had a clean kitchen.
I sat in candle lit darkness and brought to God
my page 86 answers. It was my first attempt
at writing it all out instead of lying in bed
and trying to mentally review my day
before my eyes slammed shut.
I quite liked it.
In AA they say if you want what we have then
do what we do. And I admire this woman's
sobriety, so answering those questions on paper
is my way, in part, of doing what she does.
I have a sneaking suspicion had I been in the habit
of writing them out I wouldn't have put off
fessing up about my slip.
That was closer to the edge of relapse than
I want to be ever again.

Did I mention I've reached that age
where reading glasses are a must?
Part of me wants to make a joke that
maybe with glasses I could see
pages 86, 87, and 88 in the Big Book better.
But I know it's the following of what those
pages hold that's important.
Of course it does help if one can read it first.
Which I can, without glasses, I just have to hold them at arms length.
Hmmm. I was holding them at arms length mentally as well.
Well, there you go.
I've written myself right into a corner this morning.

I was going to tell you about the hen house times ten
that the eye glass place was last weekend.
They were having their annual sale and I swear
everyone and their dog was crammed into that building.
I tried on a handful of frames, looked at the sales rep
and told her I had no patience for the whole process
when the place sounded like they brought a hen house indoors
and then put it on speaker phone.
So I picked out a pair, any pair,
and left the cacaphony behind.
After all, they're only reading glasses.
I won't have to actually look at anyone when I wear them.
Page 86 won't care what I look like.
It just hopes I heed its message.

Treading Water

At the end of June I made an inner commitment to show up here to the page on a daily basis. I feel good that other than oldest son's wedding last month I've done it. Occasionally I bail and post a quote from one of my favourite books because I can't stare at a blank page one minute longer. Sometimes lately I've either written the post before I go to bed the night before or at least started it.

Tonight (Sunday night) is one of those nights. As I sat down to write I looked out the window and saw the lights of a combine in the field across from ours. I've seen evidence of a bear sharing my walking path nearly every day this past summer. At the end of our property is a tree line and when I walk past that line I ring my bear bell extra loud because it feels like I'm entering no man's land. Edging the road there is a field of oats and bears love them. The resident bear isn't waiting for them to fully ripen either because his latest evidence told me he's gorging himself on under ripe oats. Evidence left right near the end of our driveway. Oh vey.

I feel like my recovery has been wobbly lately. I left a comment on UT's blog back in June that recovery is like writing an ember letter every day of your life. The constant reflection on how it is within me is necessary if I want to make progress. And I do. And I am although progress sometimes feels akin to treading water.

Remember how I wrote about making an amend that was 30 years in the waiting? I had been chomping at the bit waiting for a response. Making amends isn't about getting a response. (I need that tattooed on the inside of my eyelids.) Maybe I'll accept that now after getting a very short response that was so incredibly crude it made me shudder. There was a current of hostility underneath that creeped me right out. Note to self: making the amend is my part of it. Period. Nada. The end. Dearest one assures me that based on the response the guy is still hurting 30 years after the fact and there's not a damn thing I can do about it.

I've been thinking a lot about my friend Karen this week. I remember looking at all her knicknacks on the shelf in her diningroom this past June knowing that soon it wouldn't matter one little bit what she owned in this lifetime or not. I know that buying stuff will not advance my inner journey one bit. I also know it's not whether or not I own stuff that's the issue, be that a stack of paper (I love me some paper)or a diamond ring - it's my attachment to it that causes problems. I'm still mulling that over and still trying to grasp that Karen really is gone. I miss her.

I realize this is a helter skelter kind of post. I was hoping if I got it out of my head then maybe I could avoid having insomnia tonight. Speaking of which, it's past my bedtime so time to sign off on this 'ember letter' of sorts. Good night (or rather good morning.)

Uncharted Territory

Twenty-seven years ago today dearest one and I met on a quiet street in a province half way across the country. We'd been penpals as young teenagers. We married when I was still a teenager. By the grace of God we've stayed married for 26 and a half years already.

Of course there's a long story in between then and now. Which is what happens when you take an atheist and a farm boy, raised in a conservative religious home, and put them in a marriage together. Especially when farm boy hasn't told atheist how he was raised and atheist doesn't tell him she's an atheist. But then we'd only spent a few weeks together in person before we ran off and eloped.

By the grace of God we're still together.
Our marriage is in uncharted territory.
This past year has brought an honesty and vulnerability the likes of which we've never braved before. It's scary but good.

We always remember this day.
A day of new beginnings.
Like every day is.
But this one is extra special.

Hold The Applause

I try hard not to let the past define me.
There was a time when that was all I knew how to do.
Lord knows that in some Christian circles they applaud real loud for doing so.
If you'd asked me who I was I would have answered with one or more of the following:
Abused child.
Sexually abused child.
Sexually abused teenager.
Alcoholic.
Teen bride.
Abusive mother.
Homeschooler.
Chronically ill woman.
The list could go on.

The work I do in therapy and spiritual direction is helping me drop these labels.The more I heal, the more their impact on my day to day life shrinks.

We are all so much more than a label.
Even. my. brother.

As I sat down this morning to write about my visit with my brother yesterday a questioning thought came into my head.

"Are you going to make him into a them?"

Why yes, yes, I was going to.
Before You wrecked that plan by asking me such a question.

Before my brother arrived yesterday I felt a seething anger.
After he left I went immediately to my counter where there were fresh baked muffins, and stuffed one into my mouth. I wanted to stuff 6 more in in rapid succession but I didn't. That gaping hole inside felt like a screaming cavern.

I was going to write about everything that transpired between the anger and the muffins. Nothing more than ordinary and sometimes strained conversation. Telling body language. A sadness about what is. And about what may never be.

I often rant to my family about people who either want to make me an 'it' or people out of their comfort zone an 'it'. It's always other people I rant about doing that of course. Reading this book challenged me to change years ago. Change that is still in the works, obviously. This morning as I sat down to type I got a reminder that to embrace humanity, means embracing not only my own, but my brother's, too. Knowing that doesn't magically make my anger disappear. It doesn't mean I condone his actions. It doesn't make me want to eat less muffins. But it does mean that if I distance myself from his humanity then I reject something of myself in the process, too. It reinforces my identity as a victim.

I'm still feeling a bit stunned by that question popping into my head just as I was getting ready to write this post. I try to be open to guidance. Some days I swear at its arrival. Sometimes I get rendered darn near speechless. And some days I write a totally different blog post than I'd planned.

Relaxing Rigid Ways

One week from today oldest son will be married.
I had a dress hanging up in the closet.
One with a deep blue/purple hue.
It made my eyes look that colour, too.
But it stuck to my belly.
The belly that, with a 60 pound weight loss,
is on it's way to China.
Too bad there isn't an Olympic sport for that.

So with just over a week to go
I found a new dress.
One which floats over my skin,
relieving me of the feat of trying to
suck in my belly for 12 hours straight,
(underneath a girdle and all).
The new dress is navy with a beautiful beaded front.
I'll be able to put it on and
forget about what I'm wearing.
That's been my guiding mantra in clothes shopping this past year.
"Do I feel comfortable and confident in this?"
It's good when I ask myself that before I shell out the money.

This period of my life is my first experience
of wearing clothes that flatter my figure
without it triggering feelings of being slutty.
It's a foreign, but getting more comfortable feeling,
to celebrate this body of mine, however saggy it's becoming,
by wearing clothes that don't make my body
look like it's a tall, rectangular box.
I no longer hide my curves
as if I'm ashamed of them.
I walk differently now.
There's a confidence to my step
that is brand new.

There's something hopeful about breaking rigid ways of being
half way through life. Because of the childhood sexual abuse
my perception of sexuality and absorbing responsibility
for anything remotely connected to sexuality were warped.
How do we even begin to challenge warped thinking
when we believe it's normal?

A few months into counseling
to help me heal from the sexual abuse,
I related an incident to my counselor
where I was walking through a parking lot,
on the way into a store, when
a strange man said hello to me.
Instantly I took all responsibility for his hello.
Believed I must be sending out a vibe, a bad one.

I was in grade three when one day a boy I was helping
with his spelling, looked at me in such a way that I knew
he had a crush on me.
My instant sense within was of how much power that gave me.
I never challenged that conclusion in over 35 years,
until my counselor pointed out to me that
"no" I didn't have power over all men.
I'm almost embarrassed to type that,
her words were a brand new thought to me.
She gave me several reasons why a man could say hi to me.
Ones I never even thought of,
was not capable of figuring out on my own.

Hmmmm, I wasn't aware this post
was headed into this territory when
I started typing.
Sometimes when that happens I push
the delete button and start over.

It's only in this past year
that I've started to inhabit
this body of mine.
Started to be in it comfortably
instead of being detached from it
as if it was something to reject.
It's been a relief to learn
and believe that I'm more than a sexual being without
having to reject my sexuality in the process.

I also know when I start typing posts
in this poetry like pattern
I haven't the emotional energy to try and make
sense out of formal paragraphs and coherent sentences.
That I could be detaching somewhat from that deeper place
that I'm learning to live from.
That most likely has more to do with my friend's death
than anything else.
I didn't sleep well last night.
Morning came way too early.
I can feel the tears lining up in my body
waiting their turn to be released.

For today I can do this.
Thank God I don't have to navigate
this journey all by myself.
Thank you for being a part of it.

Owning My Own

To be able to bypass my head and speak from my heart feels like a gift. Even if I don't always want to embrace what my heart then reveals, I still recognize it as progress. Yesterday in a counseling session, as I explored why I felt anxious about certain things, I knew I had bypassed my head and got to the heart of the matter when I could feel the tears forming in my chest and start to well up in my eyes. At the same time I said the word shame outloud. I knew from my body reaction that I'd finally figured that one out. What had looked like it was about many other things ended up being about one thing and far from what I had said it was on the surface. On the surface it was about other people. Ha. Beneath the layers of talk and thinking was my own issue. A feeling of shame about something I did to someone else 35 years ago. A malicious act that I then had told in public 20 years later. What I'd been certain was about someone else's behaviour ended up being about my own shame that I'd carried for so long and was projecting onto them. Thank God that my counselor has enough patience to listen to my bullshit until I get to what lies beneath it.

No wonder peeling back those layers that resemble an onion often brings tears to the eyes. I'd been feeling anxious about someone else's behaviour for several weeks already. Had tried to talk to them about it, putting the owness on them to fix my anxiety. What I'd really wanted was for them to toe the line. My line. They deftly sidestepped that and put my anxiety back on my shoulders. Damn. After I saw where the root of the problem lay yesterday I was able to go back to them last night and tell them where my anxiety came from. I think that's called owning my own shit.

Hey Babe

I am no extrovert.
I do not get my batteries recharged being around people.
I am going to relish being alone for the next 8 hours.

Yet, when I think of looking for part time work come fall, I want a job working with people, not a solitary job where I see no one.
This week has shown me that the stretching that comes by being
around others is good for me.
It gets me out of my comfort zone.
I love me some comfort zone.
Okay, I love whole fields of comfort zone.

And yet....

Yesterday as I was bemoaning my state of exhaustion
one of the women said, "Listen to that babe (referring to my age not my physique!!) over there."
Then I realized I was sitting next to an 86 year old woman
who came and volunteered just because.
She lives across the river so her day is at least
an hour longer than mine due to the commute.
I did some quick calculations which put me
in the middle of the pack as far as age goes.
All those younger than me had young children
to deal with at the end of a long day.
Surely those older and younger than me went home far more exhausted than I
but I was the only one complaining.

Funny how just one random comment
from someone else
can make me examine myself
and encourage me to grow.

Okay, not funny, but welcomed, anyway.

Being Me

The last few days I've been leading a women's session at church using resources from this site. These daily meditations have added greatly to my journey and I have several of them saved on my MP3 player. I listen to them at night if I can't sleep. Some of the music is especially soothing and several of the meditations continue to challenge me months after I originally heard them. I decided to use them as a resource to begin discussion in our sessions this week.

It's been nearly 5 years since I facilitated an adult class of any kind. The last time I did and every time before that, I did so with an unhealthy amount of ego and agenda. I had a certain way of viewing the world and more than a bit of disdain for those who weren't as enlightened as I thought I was. Since then I've had several mentors show me what it looks like to not be ego or agenda driven. There is an expanding of oneself that can happen when given the freedom to simply be on the journey without an accompanying judgement that where that is, is inadequate. Everyone has a certain way of viewing the world and I'm feeling less threatened by someone else's point of view.

So this week has been my first experience of not making facilitating all about me. My first experience of being able to accept that these meditations that so feed my soul, might not be everyone's cup of tea. It's been a bit of a surprise find that I can enter in to something like this and not have an agenda or have my ego running the show. I think I'm more comfortable in my own skin than I've ever been. (Skin that is sagging its way to China, but comfy all the same.)

Part of being me is telling relevant bits and pieces of my story when it's appropriate to do so. I did a bit of that yesterday. I wasn't planning to before we started but at one point it seemed to be the next right thing. I then realized these women I worship with every week know next to nothing about my story nor I theirs. I left the church yesterday afternoon having no idea how my sharing was received and didn't give it a second thought. Not having to check and see if I was still okay as a person based on other's reactions is becoming less foreign all the time.

Today one of the women shared in our group time how my candor yesterday had helped her. I smiled and told her I could only do so because I no longer feel shame about those aspects of my journey. I couldn't have known beforehand that sharing these bits and pieces of my story would resonate with any of them. This particular woman has her own story which overlaps some of my own.

I don't know about you, but I have a continual need to know that I am not alone in my humanity. That my struggles are not unique but common. I feel relieved when I feel less alone in the journey. The blog world has helped me in this for sure. But today I feel less alone in my face to face community and for that I am grateful.

Ready To Give

"Be prepared at all times for the gifts of God and be ready always for new ones. For God is a thousand times more ready to give than we are to receive."
~ Meister Eckhart

I read the above quote just before heading out to work at Cathechism classes at church today. After only a few hours sleep last night I was not at all enthused about going. My bed felt far too comfortable and my body weary. But I read this and prayed to be open.

We are a very small parish. There are only 3 children who attend Mass with any regularity. So it was wonderful to hear the sounds of over 20 children fill the sanctuary this morning and even greater to see them enthused throughout the day. Many of these children's grandparents or great grandparents were once regular attendees in our parish. Through quarrels and misunderstandings quite a few of their descendants stopped coming and those hard feelings are still festering. Insensitive priests, misunderstandings between parishioners, and who knows what all, lies between the faith of the generations. Only yesterday I heard the story of one family who left the church because of a mean spirited comment made by the priest in the midst of the Mass. A comment he stopped the Mass to make. I don't blame them for walking out 30 years ago and I believe that there comes a day when one has to take responsibility for nursing a grudge for so long.

One of the activities the children did today was to go outside and pick a rock to symbolize how hardened we can let our hearts get. Then they used play dough to make a shape that symbolized a softer heart. During the course of the day I over heard one little girl look resentfully at a group of boys, who were doing their best to make her miserable, and say, "They make my heart so hard." I hear you, sister.

I have my own issues with hardening my heart. Every day is an opportunity to release a bit of that hardness. Today was no exception. After classes were over and I was on to other things, someone commented on one of my glaring character defects while I was in the midst of repeating it for the umpteenth time. I found myself shutting down emotionally lickety split. It wasn't too long before I was sitting in silence and brooding. I thought to myself, "I'm nursing a grudge." My next thought was about how I really had no desire to let go of it....nursing it felt rather good. Then I thought about where nursing a grudge would lead me and I prayed for the courage to let it go.

One of the best pieces of advice I heard in these Joe and Charlie Big Book Study talks was about resentments (step 4). There they say that the original hurt at the hands of someone else - the first time, they did it - no problem - it's only natural and human to feel the hurt. But the second time I replay the situation in my mind, to feel the pain again - I'm doing it to myself now. And every time I replay it I make what they did a little bit worse and what I did a little bit better. This is the way an alcoholic mind works, anyway. The way my mind works.

So I'm in the process of letting go of today's hurt.
Before I shut my eyes tonight I will have worked it through and let it go.
I'm not always so willing to do the next right thing.
But hanging onto my hurt will only harm my recovery.
And I can be stubborn in the weirdest of ways.
Remaining pissed off at someone, while knowing full well that the consequences will do more damage to me than them, is enough motivation today to make the smart choice.
I'm grateful to know that choice exists.
I often don't want to follow through on it.
But I'm still grateful to know it's possible.
Sounds like a gift to me.

Pitiful Hope

Thank God his mercies are new every morning.
It's very tempting to not post when I'm in
that head space that makes me feel like a pitiful
example of hope.
Yet to avoid posting then would violate
my belief that we need to know other human beings
are as human as we are.
It's one of the reasons I blog as I do.
And so I let you know.
For those of you who emailed, left a comment,
prayed for me, or simply listened,
thank you.

I read this morning in one of my daily readings
that whining is self pity pushed through a very small hole.
It comes as a result of not taking responsibility for one's life.
As a result of falling back into victim mode.
God help us all.

I spent time yesterday figuring out some things.
Took some action as a result.
Life seems more manageable this morning.
Stepped out of victim mode and took responsibility
for my own life again.

Stopped apologizing to myself
for having needs.
Stopped getting wound up about things
that instead needed me to take action.
When I let myself stay immobilized
I lean back into the numbness
as if it is a gift.
What a lie.

The fog has lifted for today.
Thanks be to God.

Of Snotty Watershed Moments

Blessed relief came last night
in a most unexpected way.
Yesterday I'd told my hairdresser I just needed a good cry.
You know the kind that's full of snot and gulps and
so many, many tears.
Except those kind take something to set them off.
I can't just will them to happen.
They bring a relief which
tears welling up and spilling over just can't match.

In my email last night was a long letter from a dear reader.
I've often struggled to write something here
that isn't so inward looking.

Yet there was her letter, telling me how my navel gazing
has affected her journey.
Profoundly.
I leaned my head against the wall, looked out the window
and sobbed my heart out as I read her words.

Snot, gulps and many tissues later
I felt more whole, less hurting.
My own hope restored by her
gift of words.
What earlier had seemed so difficult
was once again manageable.

Today was my turn to chair my home group 12 step meeting.
I went feeling tender,
tears being my barely-under-the-surface side kick.
We started with a few members and within
half an hour the number around the table had doubled.
I had prayed earlier to simply get out of God's way
in the meeting. To open myself to breathe space
in between what was being shared.
To hold each person up to the light.

I spent time before the meeting
litsening to a young man
a stranger to our town
share his story with me.
Blessed before the meeting even started.

During the meeting I was able to share
that my feelings were not a permanent sentence
yet it was a necessary place
for me to be today.
I told them of our mutual friend
who is in palliative care.
Last night he was rushed to the hospital by ambulance.
His days numbering less than a handful.
Some there know him as well.

After the meeting ended
there were many hugs
offers of coffee or lunch.
They sensed I needed companionship
in order to gain strength to go to the hospital.

10 minutes later we were breaking bread together
and a while after that one of them came with me
to the hospital to visit our friend.

He was barely coherent
not recognizing all who know him.
I sat for a while just watching him breathe
I went to his bedside and spoke to him
his eyes fluttering open
unable to form words with his mouth
though he tried.
I told him of the medallion
yet sensed he had not the strength to hold it.

I met his wife
on the elevator
and pressed his 30 year medallion
into her palm.
She said it had come just in time
as she closed her fingers over it.
She said his 25 year medallion was always in his pocket
and he'd hoped years ago, when he first fell ill with
another serious illness, to make it that far.
Now here was 30.

As I left the hospital and walked to my van
I suddenly realized
what a privilege it was
just to be able to walk.
Despite my weariness I had a flutter of
wanting to jump up and down a bit
because I can move my legs at will.
Just a few days ago my friend still had that ability.
Last night that ability ended for him.
He is bed bound now until his angels carry him home.

Some days all I need is perspective.
Let me rephrase that.
Every day all I need is perspective.
It doesn't make life's problems any less painful
they still need to be addressed
and embraced
but it reminds me that whatever
is happening
it's temporary.
Temporary can feel permanent
especially in the moment
but it isn't.
It just is what it is.
Today I can accept that
with a little more hope
than I had yesterday.

The Journey Just Is

Today I embraced the sadness that's been
my companion all week.
Risen from the depths
it's been begging for release.

The tears came amidst a therapy session.
Grief rolled down my cheeks
its outlet found.
Decisions to be made.
Needs voiced
without apology
yet without expectation.

I wanted an easier, softer way.
My body has been letting me know lately
that easier and softer instead of
honest and direct
is too high a price to pay.

Yesterday the doctor recognized
the grief etched within me.
I saw it in his startled eyes
as he opened the door and
looked at me.
When he asked if I was there
only for injections
I sidestepped his question.
Kept it to lighter, safer stuff.
This kind of pain
needs to be felt,
not numbed
in order to heal.

So now the needs have been voiced
the easier softer way
has been put to bed
honest and direct
has taken its necessary place.

Part of me wants to jump up and down
protest that this journey
is too fucking hard.
But really the journey just is what it is.

Awareness feels like a double edged sword.
It cuts one free
and inflicts pain.

This too shall pass.
Not around
but through.
Always through.