Two Sides

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


Damomma's Side.

Ellie's Side.

Christening Hope

Summer holidays begin for me today.
The morning before last
there was ice on
the car's windshield.
Somehow ice and summer
only belong together in a cold drink,
not in a weather forecast, no?

Oldest and youngest sons
are leaving on a river trip today.
I told God last week that with
everything else going on in my life
something happening to either one of them
would be unbearable.
Like I can control it, you know?
Eventually I told God that I would trust
that he'd give me the strength
to deal with whatever life brings my way.
I have an unnatural fear of water over my head,
never mind a kayaks and rapids
and bears in the bush combination.
Which is to say I will stay safely on shore.

The last time I was on a lake,
which had a 300 foot bottom,
dearest one, only daughter,
youngest son and oldest son
ganged up on me
just to scare me
right in the middle of the lake.
They all laughed at the thought.
I started to cry.
I'm still not impressed
can't you tell?

For my last day of work yesterday
I was able unleash some creativity.
In my little office area
there are no less than half a dozen items
with the word hope on them.

Now, if I ever own a boat,
God forbid,
you know what her name's going to be.

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.

A Dangerous Thing

"Let me tell you something, hope is a dangerous thing. It can drive a man insane."

~ Red in The Shawshank Redemption

Yesterday I picked about 8 gallons of peas from my garden. To help pass the time while shelling them I watched the above movie for the first time.

It got me thinking about the first stirrings of hope in my life. Just over 20 years ago I reached out to God and asked for help. It felt like the biggest risk I'd ever taken. I remember wondering what would happen if God turned his back on me the first time I screwed up. Then where would I be? Hopeless.

I remember rising from my knees relieved that I no longer had to try and change on my own strength. I felt hopeful. No matter how badly I've screwed up since then, and there have been major screw ups galore, there also has been a glimmer of hope that change was possible. There have been prisons of my own making. There have also been chains broken by the grace of God.

For today I can do this.
Thankfully I don't have to do this alone.
Some days feel more hopeful than others.
Just a glimmer is enough for me.

A Room With A View

Friday.
Dearest one is done working nights.
We are going to spend the day together,
travelling in his car to places north and west.
I love driving with him.
He is fun to be with.
Last night we caught a ride with friends to visit some other friends who were working nearby at a Bible camp.
As I got in the vehicle the door unexpectedly swung closed behind me.
I said, "Watch, dearest one is going to comment that I didn't leave the door open for him."
As soon as I said it, dearest one opened the door, got in and muttered in a half jesting tone, "For pity's sake I even have to open my own door."
We all errupted in laughter.
I told him it was good he was so predictable.
He is fun to be with.
Later on he went for a walk and came back into the dining hall with his hands cupped.
He motioned for me to open my hands to receive what he had to offer.
I hesitated. Was it a grasshopper? A frog?
I got ready to scream.
"Trust me," he said.
Into my hands he dropped two very tiny wild strawberries.
They tasted so sweet on my tongue.

I'm leaning against the wall as I type. Above my shoulder is a small window. Every morning the sun shines on my face as I write these posts. I read once in a book on small spaces about how people often want a bank of windows to look out in their home. The writer challenged the idea and talked about how a view, however small, has a story of its own to offer. A snapshot of sorts. There is a little piece of one of our livingroom windows that was left exposed when we put the air conditioner in. This tiny piece of glass was something I looked through whenever I did a certain yoga pose in my yoga routine. I'd turn and bend and hold the pose. My gaze out the window revealed a sturdy tree trunk and then trees in the distance behind it. I often thought about how I would be watching the changing seasons through this bit of a view. I never spoke of it. It was simply a comfort every time I did that pose.

Then dearest one covered it over with a blue file folder. Blue file folders may fade in the sunshine but they remain static. However small the view out this piece of glass, I looked forward to its stability. When I wash the dishes I look out another small window and observe the fields, the trees and in the distance, a bit of the highway as it curves up the hill. On winter days I can guage the road conditions by how much of the highway's black ribbon is visible. Other times there's a long string of lights and it tells us there's most likely been an accident. Occasionally a huge harvest moon appears for a few moments in all its orange glory as it crests the hill. The same view with subtle changes on a daily basis. All I have to do is open my eyes to see.

Last night we met at the Bible camp a man we used to spend quite a bit of time with when we were new Christians. He and his wife were missionaries nearby, ministering to people who were raised with a different view of Christianity. Hospitable people, rigid, very rigid in their beliefs. I liked rigidity back then. It made me feel safe. Over time that has dissipated. Occasionally I still find myself drawn to it. When that happens I know I am afraid of something. Now I worship in a setting with the very same people this man spent so much of his life trying to convert. Because of this I found myself feeling on guard last night. I realized I was holding my breath and tensing my body. As if ready for flight. Which really says more about me than him. I had to remind myself to breathe, to relax. This morning I wrote in my journal that I needed to give this man the benefit of the doubt. That in the interceding years since we last met that perhaps he has softened his rigid ways, that maybe he's changed as much as I have. I believe the people who I feel the most threatened by are my best teachers. They show me parts of who I am and where I am on my journey. I usually embrace those as opportunities after the fact. In the moment I tend to want to run the other way. I hope that one day I will be settled enough in who I am and where I am that I will embrace whoever I meet.

We all look out our windows and see the same sun, sky and moon.
Depending on where we are in this world, we see them from
a different perspective.
From a different view.

Open the eyes of my heart, Lord. Open the eyes of my heart.
I want to see you. I want to see you.

A Keeper

If I turn my head to look out the window
the sun shines directly on my face.
I love sunshine.

Last night I went to a bridal shower
for one of my nieces.
On dearest one's side of the family we have
over 35 nieces and nephews.

This niece is one of my favourites.
Her wedding is this coming Sunday.
I wrote her a little card to go with my present:

"Dear Niece,

I spent some time looking online for a wise quote
about marriage that I could share with you.
Eventually I decided that with 26 years
of marriage under my belt maybe there was something
from my own years that would do.
I have always held onto those wonderful qualities
I saw in dearest one when we first met.
Basically, he's a good man.
That has held me steady through all these years.
The good you see in your own dearest one today
will always be there no matter what life holds for you
together as a couple."

love,
Hope

I sat beside a stranger last night.
I'm not big on social gatherings.
Give me one person to talk to and I'm fine.
Conversing in a group is another story.

As this new to me person and I chatted
I was able to simply listen to her
without trying to fix her or give her any advice.
People, that is a record.
No, wait, it's a miracle.
I can be so opinionated.
Yet, last night I found myself able to speak my truth
without having an agenda about her own.
She has a certain bitterness about her.
Lots of emotional pain for where her journey's brought her.
It was new for me to gently hold open space for her to share
without trying to change her direction at all.
In the end I simply liked her.
Her bitterness and hard edges
didn't stand in the way of that.
It left me wondering if liking people
isn't more about where I'm at than about who they are.

The shower was held outside.
I was dressed for an indoor one.
Which meant I came home with cold, cold feet.
One of dearest one's wonderful qualities
is that my cold feet on his bare skin
is something he will put up with.
Normally we end up laughing or tussling.
Well, no, when it's his cold feet
on my bare skin I scream and carry on
as if his cold feet will be the death of me.
There's only so much bed to get away from him in.
He has long legs, too.
Either way we eventually end up laughing
about it and snuggling close.
The man really is a keeper.

Easy Does It

There should be a halt button on blogs with a hand in your face that asks if you're whiny before they let you in. Don't say I didn't warn you. Go ahead and change the channel. I may still be whining when you return but chances are I'll be over myself by then. At least temporarily. We can always hope.

Seven years ago I had an episode of Bell's Palsy. It's never really gone away. Today one half of my face is tingling like I've been to the dentist and if I look in the mirror it has itself a mild case of dropsy. Having it flare like this is like getting a tap on the shoulder, reminding me to take better care of myself.

Dearest one is beside me listening to Supertramp as I type. A song that starts out with whistling. I turned to him and said, "Oh, are you whistling?" I've never heard a person whistle who wasn't also cheerful and I thought maybe some of his mood would rub off on me. Dearest one starts the song over half a dozen times and sometimes whistles along just to confuse me. I turn to him every time and catch him whistling once. Eventually I tell him to stop messing with my head. The half that still moves anyway.

Youngest son is in the livingroom watching mana depleting television.(Diablo fanatics live here) That's what we call it in our house. A year ago, when I was in a chronic pain group, I learned of a study which found people subjected to violence on tv had depleted immune systems for 2 hours afterwards and conversely when they watched something uplifting their immune systems got a boost for the same time. I don't really enjoy violent shows but that was motive enough for me to stop watching them altogether.

It's slowly dawning on me as I type that your immune system may be under attack from reading my blog today. However, if you whistle while you read, there's a chance you'll come out even.

Fear, Hope and Everything In Between

My head's been in addiction land the last few days. Mulling over not only my own story but the story of others. Two books I've been reading In The Realm Of Hungry Ghosts and Love Sick have been fodder for my thoughts. Today I have 18+ months of abstinence from sexual addiction and almost a year of no binge eating. Some days both addictions nearly feel like a thing of the past and others they hound me, begging to be let back in. Fucking things.

Today I wrote an email and then followed up with a phone call to someone I was wanting to 'play nice' with instead of being honest and risking offending them. Fear is such a shitty motive for not being true to myself. One I don't want to live by so I wrote the email and then picked up the phone and said what needed to be said. No offense was taken, either. So there you go. Risk it.

Recently someone commented on the hope this post had given them: No Fear
That key fob is long gone. Dearest one recently bought me a silver one with the word hope engraved on it.
Which is what I keep doing, one foot in front of the other, day by day. This day.

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.

Doing The Bunny Hop

Second night of insomnia. Not sure what's up with that. Yesterday was a good day. I went to my women's meeting and was blessed to hear story after story of redemption. I get to share some of my story next week and I look forward to doing that. I stepped out of this meeting for a while to go to my AA meeting. There were only 4 of us there, all of who know and trust one another. The sharing was good and deep and we laughed, oh we laughed. It is so very good to have a place to go where I can be totally honest about my humanity and not take it all so seriously, you know? What a paradox. I take my recovery very seriously but myself much less so these days. I don't know if I'm ever going to get over feeling like looking in the mirror and saying "Is that really you?"

Dearest one and I came home and went for a walk down our road while a combine went back and forth in the field across from us. At one point I did a little hop in the air, not unlike a rabbit, and dearest one looked at me as if he didn't know who he was married to. I grinned and said, "Oh, I'm just happy." After several years of having to weigh every step against stored energy I am still so thrilled to be able to go for a walk. Walking is our favourite way to spend time together so we mourned a lot the loss of that these past 4 years. I had two days this week when a walk was going to take up too many spoons so to walk last night and have reserves of energy left over was a gift.

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.

The Palm Of Our Skull

"It's at night, when perhaps we should be dreaming, that the mind is most clear, that we are most able to hold all our life in the palm of our skull. I don't know if anyone has ever pointed out that great attraction of insomnia before, but it is so; the night seems to release a little more of our vast backward inheritance of instincts and feelings; as with the dawn, a little honey is allowed to ooze between the lips of the sandwich, a little of the stuff of dreams to drip into the waking mind."~Brian W. Aldiss

It's the middle of the night and I'm holding some of my life in the palm of my skull. I was trying to keep track of the little bits of mental notes I was making when I decided to get up and write them all down so I could go back to bed and get some sleep. It would be of no surprise to dearest one to wake up and find me writing. He knows me.

I finally got to an AA meeting yesterday. What a relief to be in a room of people where I don't have to explain myself. I simply get to be. Accepting where I am on the journey and telling that truth without judging myself, is probably the hardest thing I face on a daily basis. An AA meeting has become one of few places where I don't struggle to be someone else or somewhere else on my journey. What a gift.

It was a good meeting. Before I got there I really felt the need to share. When I walked in the room, the person who normally chairs the meeting asked me if I wanted to chair it. I took a few moments to think that over and decided maybe his need to share was greater than mine and accepted. I heard good, good stuff around the table. I love that I benefit from someone else sharing their experience, strength and hope. I've had more light bulb moments at a meeting than for all the times someone has been purposely trying to flick the switch on for me. I need to remember to stop trying to do that to others.

I've never had a bona fide sponsor on my recovery journey. In the beginning, the woman who introduced me to Al Anon and then AA was a rehab counselor. She gladly took me to meetings and we became friends. Since being back in the program the last 6 months, I've increasingly seen the need for a sponsor and have become willing to surrender my habit of trying to fly solo. After the meeting yesterday I approached a woman about becoming my sponsor. Every time she has shared in a meeting I have appreciated her words of wisdom. She has a beautiful, humble spirit and she tells it to you straight. I need that. It's not easy for me to trust women, especially other alcoholics. I'm not sure why. Reaching out for help is such a sign of health for me. She is willing to consider it and I will call her later today. I realized through the Christmas holidays that had I had a sponsor I would have dealt with my resentments sooner rather than later. I could have heard myself simply from sharing outloud with someone else, someone who gets it, and known I needed to take action.

I never went through rehab or 90 meetings in 90 days. When I sobered up I had a newborn, a toddler and a 4 year old. Rehab seemed too inconvenient. I can laugh at the absurdity of that thinking now. I had been sober a year and active in Al-Anon before I walked through the doors of an AA meeting. Dearest one and I have been discussing whether it would be possible for me to go through rehab now. Even though I haven't had a drink in almost 19 years I feel like I've only been working the program for these past six months.

Sometimes when someone is pissing me off I think to myself, "You're messing with my serenity." It's a gentle, humourous way to remind myself that my serenity is up to me and no one can mess with it unless I give them permission. There are people at my meetings who have serenity on a daily basis. I want that. I want it more than I want to be right. I'm willing to do what it takes to get it. God help me.

Last night while hashing out my day with dearest one he interrupted me to say, "I love you." He had this tender hearted look on his face and I replied, "You do?" I proceeded to pepper him with questions about that until he laughed and teased me that I was giving him the grand inquisition because he told me he loved me. I laughed too and decided to accept his words without having to have them clarified. I know he was seeing something in me that I couldn't see had I gone and looked in the mirror. Accepting love heals.

This past week I took a step towards better social health. I've known for some time that I need to be among people more than I am in any given week. It's so easy for me to be a hermit, to stay within my comfort zone. Several months ago I approached the head of the local historical society about volunteering my writing and research skills. I told her I couldn't commit to anything until after the New Year and this past week she called to see if I was ready to start. Despite the piles of papers I make on any flat surface in my own home, I do love to organize and file things away, which is one of the jobs this woman needs done. In the next few weeks I will also learn the practical side of museum collections and how to register and catalogue items. When time allows I will write about items already on display and at some point write a local history booklet for elementary students. Every week I will meet for a few hours with other community people and use my gifts for the benefit of the whole. It feels like step in the right direction.

This coming week I will start biofeedback training. Back in November, when I had my annual checkup, my doctor and I discussed options for dealing with my increasing pain levels. If I sit too long it becomes painful to walk. If someone touches me pretty well anywhere on my body, it hurts. My joints are getting to be an issue. Last week at a family gathering, dearest one was holding one of our great nephews when he teasingly, gently touched my shoulder joint with this little guy's foot. By the third touch I was in pain. Anywhere I scratch on my body becomes painful to the touch immediately. I don't know anything about biofeedback training but am hoping it will help me cope with the pain. I'm also on the waiting list for a local chronic pain group too, which will also teach me coping techniques. It's been several weeks since I've had enough spoons to get me through to the end of a day so I'm hoping all this will help me manage those better. Trying to balance having a life and having spoons is an ongoing challenge.

Dearest one just got up and looked at me kind of puzzled a few moments ago. Even though it's 3:30 AM, the kettle is on and we're going to have a cup of tea. Then it's time to put this waking mind back to sleep.

One Sentence Resolution

Every December I spend some time reflecting over the past year and looking ahead. With those reflections in mind I've often made a list of resolutions that was longer than my arm. Over time I've let go of the obsession to try and revamp my whole life from A to Z in one fell swoop. The last few years I look at each of the social, emotional, physical and spiritual areas of my life (Luke 2:52)and see what speaks to me. Then I pray to work towards health in those areas. Tonight I read the bit below on Beth's blog and found one sentence that sums up all areas for me for this year. I'm going to have to pray for the "want to" part. But the rest is so dead on it's scary.

"I want to confront the way I skillfully avoid what is right in front of me, and maintain the distance that is the pain of yet-to-be risked intimacy."
~via

Of Healing, Hope and Hula Hoops

Antony gave me the letter "H" when I asked for a letter in his 10 Things/Alphabet Meme.

1. How could I start with any other word but Hope? I may be the first pessimist in history to love the word hope. Over time my tendency to be a pessimist has softened. I like to think it has to do with recognizing the amount of mercy God has extended towards me, which in turn I try to extend to others. Somehow, no matter how rough life gets, a little bit of hope keeps me putting one foot in front of another.

2. I like to laugh. Thankfully I married a man who has laughed so much in his life that he has these beautiful rainbow shaped etches in his forehead above his eyebrows. So howling with laughter is something I love to do with him.

3. I dearly love my husband. Ha. How did you guess that word was coming next? In a few short months we will celebrate 25 years of marriage together. I was 14 and he 16 when we started out as pen pals. When we married 5 years later I was an atheist and he was on the run from God. The story of our journey to faith and our journey as a couple has as many twists and turns as a road in Jamaica.

4. In a few days my kids are going to be home for Christmas. I love that word, whether it means me going home to my family or my family coming home to me. We've been empty nesters less than a year so this is our first Christmas where our kids are coming home for Christmas. We haven't lived very long in this particular place and when I was decorating the tree I was thinking that me and dearest one living here makes this place home for them. That helped me see this place as home a bit more.

5. I tend to live life from my head and when I manage to live it from my heart I rejoice. It's also scary, and I may want to back peddle to the safety of my head, but living from my heart means being authentic, real and without masks. It means being free to say nothing instead of having verbal diarrhea to keep people at a safe distance.

6. Since being diagnosed with a chronic illness two years ago I have a new appreciation for good health. Doing what I can to improve my health is something I keep in mind. Keeping perspective is another. Coping with what is, instead of what could be, is something I try to do. It could always be worse. At least this illness isn't a death sentence, just something I need to learn how to live with and not let define me. On good days it's no problem. On bad days I cry.

7. I don't know what's under your bed but underneath mine is my hula hoop. It's a glittery multi-coloured hoop that I have hopes of swinging around my hips with ease one day. I keep trying. It was one of the first things I bought when I began honouring the child within me. The little girl who has no memories of playing without keeping one eye out for the adults who could make the rules of life change at any moment.

8. When I was young my grandparents went for a Sunday drive without a destination in mind. Sometimes they ended up so far away from home that they stayed in a hotel overnight and came home Monday. Between spring and fall there is nothing I like better than getting in a vehicle and heading for the open highway. One of my best memories of this past year is the time dearest one and I took the long way around and drove through Banff and Jasper to get home. It was in April before the highway gets busy so we drove miles and miles without seeing another vehicle.

9. I grew up in a family where the only touch you got meant pain. When I married my husband I entered the world of hugging. After nearly 25 years together I forget that others don't spontaneously hug one another several times a day. A good hug is good medicine.

10. What all the above words have in common is that they play a part in my ongoing journey of healing. I don't always embrace the path that I must take in order to heal. Sometimes I swear an awful lot before I take another step but God continues to be merciful and gracious as I make my way home.

The Beauty of Hope

Eighteen years ago today I had my last drink. It was(is!) my husband's birthday and we were celebrating. I miss booze like I miss a dear old friend. I do. I wish I could say otherwise but it wouldn't be true. In all the turmoil of these past few months I have longed for the warm fuzzy feelings that booze used to give me. I have gone on to replace the booze with other things. I have 7 days of freedom from sexual addiction today and zero from food addiction. There was a time where if I had to choose between milk for my kids and a lottery ticket the lottery ticket would win. If there's something to be addicted to I will gravitate toward it. I know this about myself. Somtimes I feel ashamed that I gave up one addiction only to go looking for others, as if that negates being sober. Other times I simply am thankful that booze is not thrown into the mix along with everything else.

I wrote a few days ago about not wasting the pain. The other night as I was going to bed I admitted to myself that I had no desire whatsoever to sit in the pain. Then I realized that I didn't know how to anyway. Numbing the pain comes easily, everything else is a steep learning curve. The last time I had a session with Father Charlie he told me I was having a desert experience and that my feet were in the sand. I wanted to tell him my feet were burning and it was time to get out of it before it consumed me.

All I know right now is that sitting in the pain, feeling it, is necessary in order to move forward. I have a hunch that sitting in it means being willing to own and name what I am feeling instead of looking for the quickest means to numb it. There is no hydrant to relieve the heat of the sand. But the desert will either end or become bearable.

This Lenten season I have felt stripped bare. Peeling away layers of illusions. People talk about giving something up for Lent. Illusions fit the bill for me. I am not under an illusion though that this is a one time thing. It's more like a revolving door. Sometimes the door takes you right back to where you started and you stare the same demon in the face; recognizing it's demeanor a little sooner than last time. Sometimes you see it and keep right on going. Sometimes you play kissey face with it; renewing acquaintances at breakneck speed. Other times you come face to face with something you thought was a stranger but has been your bedfellow all along.

Hope lies in the fact that it is a forward journey. Eighteen years ago I could not look myself in the mirror. Could not hold my head up. Today I can and I like what I see. I like me more than I loathe me these days. That is the beauty of hope.