Avoiding The Ditch

"It's not the size of the step that counts, but the fact that I take it."
~ my favourite recovery guru Earnie Larsen

"I don't want to do yoga. I don't know why I am so full of resistance. I'm not going to listen to it, I'm going to do yoga today if it kills me." Don't tell anyone but I talk to myself sometimes when I'm all alone. The above was what I muttered as I angrily changed out of my jeans and into my yoga clothes. I felt pretty pissed off at myself for giving in to the resistance for 3 weeks already. Tomorrow, tomorrow had been my mantra up until that moment. The cost of chanting that mantra was an increasing tension setting up shop in my upper back, neck and shoulders. A tension that dissipates with regular yoga sessions.

I've been in a slump when it comes to doing those things that promote a healthy recovery. My self care has been slipping. Yesterday was one of those days when I was able to stand back a bit and take a look at what was working for me and what wasn't. And not doing yoga wasn't. Earnie Larsen's quote about baby steps helped me move from inaction to action. After years of either taking giant almost-fall-down-at-the-effort steps or none at all, I've learned that any movement, however small, is worth it.

After an hour of small movements my yoga session was finished. As expected, my body is knotted all up and it will take more than one go round to release all the built up tension.

Self care is my first line of defense in preventing a relapse in any of my addictions. My slack attitude towards self care kept setting off warning bells that I kept ignoring. Until yesterday.

Sometimes recovery feels like learning to drive. The very first time I drove a car I remember having a hard time keeping to my side of the road. There seemed to be so much play in the steering wheel and I'd over correct and whoosh I'd be over the center line. Then I'd over correct the other way and nearly hit the ditch. These days when I drive I make barely noticeable movements in the steering wheel to keep on my side of the road. I don't think I'm all over the road in my recovery but before I made small movements yesterday, I was inching closer towards the ditch.

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.

A Gift In Disguise

I am close to a full blown self loathing melt down.
I keep typing and deleting the whole shebang here.
What would I say if I was in a meeting right now?
I need help.
I know the journey is worth it.
It just doesn't feel that way today.
I know my feelings are not a permanent sentence.
But dang, I wish they'd pass.
Thank God I have a place
where I can come and share.
Where people will love me
in the moment
no matter what the moment looks like.

That a risk taken
may be a gift in disguise.
I'd really like to believe that.
But I have to take the risk first.

Last night I came to some conclusions
about what the next right thing is for me to do.
I remembered a conversation with a friend
from 15 years ago.
She told me I'd been talking about the same thing
for as long as she'd known me.
I remembered being startled at
how much time had passed.
To find I was still talking
and not taking action.

When I spoke of my angst last week
with Fr. Charlie he simply reminded me
that until the answers came to keep
putting one foot in front of the other on the path.
I gritted my teeth slightly at his suggestion.

I look forward to the day when
I accept life on life's terms
more easily than
"let's have ourselves a little crisis, shall we?"

Belly Down, Standing Tall

I've spent the last few weeks
travelling back and forth
between stuck and unstuck.
Some days find me belly down in the rut
and others have me standing back up tall again.
One afternoon when I was home
doing the radio documentary
I followed a well worn cattle trail
from the middle of the farm
back to the barn yard.
Those trails always lead home.
I'm trying to trust that the path I'm on
is headed in a good direction as well.
It means being present in the now.
Being present sometimes feels like being stuck.
Other times it means unstuck.
Being present.
I hope it won't always
be a place of fear for me.
A place I often avoid
even though I know it's the only
sane place to be
despite what it feels like.

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.

Leaning Tower of Conversion

A few weeks back I picked up my Bible to read in Romans and the whole way through I felt condemned....preachers from my past echoing in my head as I read. Their message often carrying an undercurrent about how we, as Christians, just don't quite get it right enough. I don't willingly put myself in situations these days where I have to listen to condemnation in preaching. There's too much goodness inside oneself, just waiting to be discovered, to live out of a paradigm of condemnation. I am not saying we don't sin, that we aren't capable of atrocious attitudes and actions. Lord knows I am. But I don't define myself anymore as if that ability and reality is the whole of who I am.

Youngest son and I got into this discussion the other day. He looked at me and said, "Well you know people are inherently evil." No they aren't I said. We are created in God's image and what God created was good. "Ya, but that was before the fall," he replied. I countered that our created in God's image was still there. Sometimes it's just buried under a lot of muck and my place as a believer is to affirm the presence of goodness in people. All people.

Condemnation, being reminded that I don't quite get this Christianity journey right, does nothing but weigh me down. I refuse to see others that way anymore, either.

Except when someone pisses me off.

Yesterday I was looking for a conversion chart that would help me figure out how many ml are in an ounce. I was cooking up a storm for a church potluck and the recipe I had was in ounces while my can of tomato sauce was in ml. I asked for dearest one's help. He opened the cupboard where my leaning row of cookbooks reside and started looking. He wasn't quick enough for me. So I pushed right past him to reach for the cookbook I thought might help me. I didn't cut off the circulation in his arm as I bore down with my own, but our arms looked like a perfect X in our reach for the perfect cookbook. Don't you know the world is going to come to an end if I don't get the right book instantly? Dearest one patiently asked me to wait a minute. Patience my ass. I yanked my arm out of there so fast, turned on my heels, and walked away.

He shut the cupboard door, put the right cookbook on the counter and went outside.

I stood there and thought all sorts of nasty things. Wanting more than anything to blame my bad attitude on dearest one. In a nanosecond I was acting like a mirror image of my mom. Her exasperated sigh that if only my dad would read her mind and do it her way then all would be right with the world. Uh huh.

"Most people try to live by self propulsion. Each person is like an actor who wants to run the whole show; is forever trying to arrange the lights, the ballet, the scenery and the rest of the players in his own way. If his arrangements would only stay put, if only people would do as he wished, the show would be great. Everybody, including himself would be pleased. Life would be wonderful..........What usually happens? The show doesn't come off very well. He begins to think life doesn't treat him right.....he is sure that other people are more to blame.... Is he not a victim of the delusion that he can wrest satisfaction and happiness out of this world if only he manages well?" ~ pg. 61 Alcoholics Anonymous

I read that part of the big book daily. As I stood at the counter wouldn't you know it filtered through to my conscious mind. Damn. For all my internal stuttering of "it's your...your...your fault!" I didn't have a hope in hell of blaming my pissyness on dearest one. As I turned the can opener on the tomato sauce I realized when dearest one asked me to be patient it was as if the fog cleared and I suddenly saw how rude and inconsiderate I was in my haste to have that cookbook in my hand. I wanted to pretend it wasn't my arm in that cupboard. Until that moment I didn't know why I always reacted that way when dearest one asks me to have a little patience as I'm reaching past him or shoving past him without saying excuse me, or saying excuse me but not meaning it with any manners; both regular behaviours of mine.

The realization didn't magically cure my attitude but I was thankful for the clarity. Hopefully one day I'll have the humility in the moment to say, "oh that was rude of me, I'm sorry." Even better would be to stop being rude.

I decided when dearest one came into the house that I would apologize for my rudeness. I would explain how he has this canny knack of inadvertently pointing out my character defects and I'm really okay with knowing them if I find them. I'm not so gracious when others show them to be true. I was going to admit I needed to work on that, too.

All would have been fine except when dearest one came back in he told me how he felt about the little scenario before I could get a word out of my mouth. Which was non typical behaviour for him. He shared how he wasn't going to shove his feelings down in order to keep peace. He wasn't having any of that anymore, remember? I wish I could say I warmly received his thoughts. What I really wanted to do was make him shut up because he was wrecking my shining moment of humility. And God knows it might evaporate before dearest one was done talking. Lord have mercy.

Suffice to say we made it through. At one point I got so lightheaded and dizzy(maybe the result of letting some air out of my ego?) when I was apologizing that I started to resemble my leaning tower of cookbooks and nearly fell into the stove.

Today I don't have to beat myself up for being human. I am thankful for the clarity to see what's really behind my pissyness. Progress not perfection means the next time I act rude and inconsiderate I will hopefully stop midstride, humble myself and apologize.

Humility learned through the pages of a cookbook.
Gotta watch out for those conversion charts.

Walking The Path

"When in doubt, tell the truth"
~Mark Twain

I wish I could write that I am happy to be home after a week of holidays but I'm not. I'd rather still be at the cabin. Still be in a place where life was less complicated and I didn't have to deal with another human being if I didn't want to. Father Charlie keeps reminding me that relationships are messy and they take work. Including my relationship with myself.

The cabin was wonderful. Nestled in a forest of evergreen trees with privacy and quiet, it was a good place to be. We went on day trips when we felt like it and stayed put when we didn't. Dearest one disappeared over the bank one trip and reappeared with a handful of stones for my would be writer's cabin path. He had this wonderful smile on his face as he came up over the bank towards me. Three stones that weighed 50 pounds in total and he was grinning because he knew how much I like those stones. Knows how I dream of a stone pathway leading to my own yet to be built cabin. We came home with 100 pounds of stones in all; I would have been happy to fill the whole car with them.

The highlight of the trip for us both was the time we spent walking a path in the bush, on the edge of a deep river canyon. Or whatever the word for that steep cliff that seemed bottomless is. There were times when dearest one, who normally is not scared of heights, said outloud to himself, don't look down, don't look down, as we walked so close to the edge that a slip could have seen us disappear over the edge. At times the path took us farther in the bush, complete with tall trees and beautiful wild flowers. We were both amazed that my spoon supply saw us walk more than a mile up and down the hilly trail and back. A few stops every so often for me to catch my breath and then on we went.

I am scared of heights. Very scared. I panic when other people get close to the edge of things far more shallow than a river canyon. When we travel in the mountains I lean towards dearest one and away from the steep drop offs on my side of the car. So it really is a little miracle that I walked the path.

I may be braver than I think I am.

Which is something I need to remember. Back home, in less than an hour 5 minutes, I ran smack up against my lack of ability to control those around me, my ability to give away my power and my distaste for the hard work that recovery demands of me.

Today, in my session with Fr. Charlie, we hashed out what being a truth teller involves. How hard it is for me to do that. How necessary it is to learn in my recovery. How disrespectful it is of myself and others when I willingly give away my power so that they still like me. Except, when I'm not being honest and up front, they're not really liking me anyway. Just the mirage of who I set out there for them to like. Today I was convinced that to really be me meant that others wouldn't like me. Fr. Charlie simply said that my search for self would rock the boat for those around me. It was what he didn't add that was the kicker. I told him I felt like I was at a cross roads. Either be the way I am now, giving away my power, being dishonest in my relationships, all for the sake of being liked, or speak my truth and be at peace with myself; risking rejection by those I rub shoulders with in my day to day life.

I'm not a risk taker.

But recovery work is demanding that I become one. Or accept my choice to stay stuck and resentful.

On The Pity Pot

"Is it really truth that we seek, or just a sweet enough lie to settle our minds so we can sleep at night?"~Lou

It seems these days that I often go around thinking to myself, "oh, for fuck's sake." Sometimes it ends up being a quasi prayer as in "what the hell do you have for me next, God? Can't you see I'm on a coffee break?"

I've written about youngest son's girlfriend before. They recently celebrated two years together and considering they are now 16 and 19, two years is a long time. I knew the proper thing to do was to say, 'congratulations' but I just didn't want to. How can I say congrats about a relationship I still resent?

There's something about her that I don't like in myself. I can't put my finger on it yet and a little part of me hopes I never do. Some days it's hard to figure out the difference between working my recovery program and navel gazing. Some days I want the hard work chalked up to navel gazing so I can avert my eyes and the easy stuff to be classified as working my program.

Yesterday youngest son came to me and wondered, out of curiousity, he said, why I didn't like his girlfriend. This was the second time in less than a month that the topic was brought up. After a convoluted conversation I told dearest one later on in the day that the next time I was going to say, "I don't know." That was most likely closer to the truth than what I ended up telling him.

Tonight I spoke with my sponsor about this situation and she encouraged me to take an honest look at it. That when someone pushes our buttons like that there is a reason and the reason is found within us not within the other person. I no sooner hung up the phone from talking to her when youngest son pulled me in a room and said he wanted to talk to me. Actually his girlfriend wanted to talk to me. The topic of the day was once again why didn't I like her. Oh, for fuck's sake.

I was honest and the conversation ended with her walking out of the room in tears. Pressure. I feel pressure to be someone I'm not. To be somewhere else on the journey than I find myself. And what's bothering me the most right now is that with this girl in my life I am faced on a regular basis with my inability to love her. I end up feeling then like my whole Christian walk is a facade.

I ended up telling her that something in her triggers something in me. I told her it wasn't her fault, it was my problem and that I was working on it. I'm sick of working on me. The last AA meeting I went to I heard people talk about how they didn't take themselves so seriously as they did when they first sobered up and I left thinking I must then still be in the kindergarten of sobriety and I felt ashamed.

Several years ago when I was facilitating an adult Sunday school class there was this man in the group that rubbed me the wrong way. He disagreed with the course material and he voiced his opposition at every turn. It was exhausting to lead a class with him in it. Eventually he opted to leave the class. I gave the briefest sigh of relief before I remembered that those who rub me the wrong way are my greatest teachers. I missed a chance to learn from him....to do some soul searching as to what it was in him that I didn't like in me. I went to him and told him as much. He didn't come back to class and I have often regretted the whole situation.

But do I regret it enough to step up to the plate when given another chance? Because here I am again, same scenario,different people. Much more at stake. How many times have I wished youngest son would just break up with her and poof! the stress of her and my relationship would be gone. I wouldn't have to do the hard work of sorting through what it is in her that I don't like in me. But I know if I turn the other way from this opportunity I will have missed out on something. I hate having to type that. I want to be a sixth grader again and point fingers and say it's all her fault. If I was still drinking that's exactly what I'd do. I'd put my hand up and tell God my excuse for not looking inward, for not doing the hard work. And while everything within me wants to do that, drink or not, I know better.

Before he nodded off to sleep tonight dearest one prayed outloud for me. I didn't want him to. I was looking up at the stars in the sky as he prayed and what came to me was that I was to keep my heart open to God in all this. And while I was tempted to say "oh, for fuck's sake" - I didn't.

It's A Wrap

"Is it really truth that we seek, or just a sweet enough lie to settle our minds so we can sleep at night?"~Lou

I got a crash course on how nursing resentments makes relationships dry up instead of being nourished over the holidays. It wasn't pretty or fun for anyone.

Only daughter was home for mere days before I got this unshakeable feeling that I might not be the easiest person to share a house with. Nothing I could put my finger on, just an inkling that who I thought I was and who I am might very well be two different things. There's nothing like adding more people to the daily mix of life to have multiple character defects rise to the surface for all to see. Damn.

I'm sure whoever was on the other end of the business phone call dearest one was in the middle of when I shouted at the top of my lungs to only daughter "What happened to the fucking training I gave you?" was left wondering whether the clerks at Wal Mart had forgotten to wish us "Happy Holidays".

Crying in the shower is very cleansing. It saves on kleenex, too.

They say timing is everything. I bet God made that one up. Especially when I am about to fall asleep in order to temporarily avoid dealing with aftermath of my own melt down, only to have step 10 surface in my head, "Continued to take personal inventory and when we were wrong promptly admitted it." To which I immediately thought, "oh for fuck's sake" before I ignored it and went to sleep.

Deciding I didn't need progesterone cream to help regulate my hormones this month was possibly the worst decision I've made in regards to my health all year. Especially when those much needed hormones reached a crescendo hours before I started acting like a screaming banshee.

The one time only daughter and I actually agreed with one another in the past 10 days was when she told me that she had never had a time at home of seeing her flaws so in her face. I told her I felt the same (my own flaws in my own face courtesy of her) and then she said she hadn't enjoyed her time at home very much and I told her I hadn't enjoyed it much either.

A lifetime of codependent behaviour is not fixed overnight. There are times when I wish there was a courier company who would guarantee next day delivery on that though.

Things I do know:

I have 6845 days of sobriety. Thanks be to God.
I have 50 days of abstinence from sexual addiction.
I've wanted the relief it brings so badly lately.
Surrendering that to God in the midst of the stress was hard.
But to give in would have solved nothing.
Asking for God's grace in the midst of my bitchiness instead of thinking I had to pretty myself up first was hard, too.
But God will never use a mirror to blackmail me.

Today is never the end of the story.

Lord have mercy.
Christ have mercy.
Lord have mercy.

Naked Safety

Lately I've been in the darkest of pits. The safety of that pit has been easier to take than the vulnerability of living in the Light. If I didn't know what it felt like to bask in the Light I most likely could keep living in the pit. But I have experienced a chunk of time when the need to feel safe in the dark was replaced with the freedom of living in the Light. It was a most beautiful, intimate Light. And having experienced it, I am torn between the two. In all honesty if it were possible, I would choose safety in the pit and freedom - but it's not. I've been very disilllusioned about how, in what seemed like a nanosecond, the freedom disappeared and I found myself back in the safety of high, high walls. Lately those walls, despite their height and strength, have been a sad and lonely place to feel protected yet bound.

This afternoon I had an appointment with Father Charlie, my spiritual director. While he reads whatever blog offering I bring, I usually read one of these books. My favourite one is called Be-good-to-yourself Therapy. Today I picked it up and found the very first page to read something like this: "Trust yourself. You know what you want and need." It seemed like every other page had either the word trust or ask. When one has isolated themselves in a wall of protective darkness doing either seems an impossibility. Trusting means opening oneself up to pain and being hurt. Asking means needing others and owning your voice. Every line had something to do with looking inward and seeing goodness or looking up and trusting the Goodness. As I read my heart rate started to speed up, then I got teary - something I haven't allowed myself to do while in this particular pit.

I told Father Charlie my heart was pounding so fast that I had to stop reading. My body was filled with the tension of trying to keep Truth out. Finally the tears spilled over and I started talking. We talked of the difference between setting boundaries and putting up walls. Of resentments, hiding in black holes and being closed up within oneself so tightly that movement felt impossible. We talked of my struggle to choose freedom over hiding.

He asked me if there were any images coming to mind as we talked. Often I get a picture in my head when he asks questions and that picture is usually very telling. Today I had none but he did. He said that a picture of my house kept coming to him and how there are rooms in one's house where they feel comfortable being vulnerable and others where that vulnerability wouldn't be such a sure bet. He also talked of how a closet is a place where it's usually dark. He meant it all metaphorically...

He had no idea how this image would speak to me. As he described the image I heard a bit of the twilight zone theme buzzing round my head. Earlier this week I took some pictures in my house and dearest one taught me how to download the images to the computer just this morning. The image Father Charlie was getting was not simply metaphorical but very real. Although he's been a guest in our home he had no idea I even had a prayer room. Or that I haven't been inside it in nearly two months. I used to take a breakfast tray in there every morning and journal while I ate. Then I would light candles and sit in the silence. Sometimes I would also pray the litgurgy of the hours, the rosary or simply talk to God. It's the one room in my house where I can shut the door and, in privacy, safety and all nakedness of soul, get totally vulnerable with God. I've been walking past its open door a dozen times a day lately but haven't been able to bring myself to actually go in it. It isn't a space I can keep my arms wrapped tight around myself in without risking feeling the warmth of God's arms enveloping me, too. It's a sacred space where I feel stripped bare. I told Father Charlie it almost feels like there is an invisible force field in that room and lately it's as if I'm being drawn to go in there but resistant to the hilt inside myself.

I still haven't set foot in it. But it is comforting to know that when I am ready to go from the protective darkness to the safety of the Light, there is an actual space to sit in and be comforted while I weep, and pray, and let down my walls.

At the end of our session I picked up the book and finished reading it. The cloying darkness had lifted and just knowing the room is there when I am ready, calmed my heart and gave me a hope I haven't felt in a long time.

Squirming

When dearest one asked me if I had blogged yet today I said,"no, I have nothing to say." He told me to write exactly that then. Silly man. Silly me. We make a good couple.

His bone scan is tomorrow morning (already!). That is good news.

Below is a quote from Christy's blog:

"Much as I would like to give the middle finger to 2,000 years of tradition, I still think there is something there. I don’t know if that’s faith or Stockholm syndrome."

You can read the rest of the post here.

Her honesty is refreshing. I'm trying to squirm away from looking Truth in the face in my life right now, so reading someone who writes with transparency is encouraging. Until I decide to stop my squirming, posts will be non existent I think.

Got Some Hope?

Yesterday I was in a group of women and one of the questions we were asked was for each of us to share something positive about ourselves. I know many of the women squirmed big time - I shared that I thought being honest about my struggles was an encouragement to others so that they could share their struggles with me. I came home and told my husband and before I could share what I had said he told me that one of the most positive things about me was that my pen name was Hope and that I had encouraged so many people who perhaps never leave a comment on here or I would never even know read my blog.

It's a very rough time for me right now. Not a lot of hopeful things to write. I feel like I am making the smallest of strides(some backwards) when all I really want is to take as big a step as I can - the kind I would make when I played Simon Says when I was a kid. Today at church I had this conversation with God - I finally stopped doing my "na-na-na-na I can't hear you God" dance - long enough to see a picture of a painful path in front of me and the only way to a better place was straight through the pain. Shit.

All this to say that if you could leave me a hopeful comment I would appreciate it. Thanks.

Note: Thank you so much for your generous, thoughtful and hope filled comments. They are worthy of a post in themselves. Thank you for your prayers and friendship.