The Darkness Does Not Own Me

North of the 55th parallel the days are getting noticeably darker, earlier. I feel tired more than not. Or at least it seems that way. Up here we don't count days to Christmas, but rather days until the Winter Solstice, after which, hopes grows with every minute of increasing daylight. Yes, we count by minutes. Or at least I do.

Advent will soon be here. Nearly four years ago I went on an Advent Retreat and wrote the prayer below. The shame of sexual addiction was so huge for me that day. I didn't write about what was underlying that prayer until this post. The scariest, most vulnerable post I have ever written.

Recovery is about choosing, on a daily basis, to turn towards the Light. I am grateful for the grace to do that. I rarely write about my recovery from sexual addiction anymore. It no longer seems to be the ravenous wolf, trying to eat my very soul, that it once was. I know though, that it can be just as cunning, baffling and powerful, as alcoholism. I stay aware, I stay accountable. I depend on God's grace. Every day.

I thought I'd repost this prayer today.

"Oh God, you know the darkness within. As my compulsions become less and less satisfying and more and more frantic I sense you calling me to give them up to the Light. It is hard to trust that you are enough. My head knows it but my heart feels scared to receive the truth of it. My body wants to be kept in a cocoon, safe from what scares me. Yet you beckon to me with whispers of freedom, to learn what it truly means to live, yes, truly live, in my body, connected to both mind and heart.
A symphony of movement that carries no burdens, is hampered by no fears. "Be light," I hear you say.

I want to trust that this light will satisfy me on every level. But I am scared. And I am tired of being scared. Being scared feels heavy and rough and hard. And alone.

I am scared that the voice of perfection will drown out your voice of love. So I do not try. I long to but turn my body away from you, scared to expose my naked soul to the light of your love. I am turned more towards the dark than the light yet there is a glowing red ember of your love within me. You are waiting to breathe your life into it. The darkness does not own me. It is not stuck to me but I to it. It is I who must move away.

As I enter into the Advent season I choose to turn towards the light, naked of soul before you. My cupped hands offer you the darkness within. It does not want to have the breath of light upon it but I cannot carry the burden of it with me on the journey. You want me to kow what it is to fly free.

My head knows you are the great comforter but these dark places have been my comfort for so long. They have become dry in their nourishment. I must suckle at them no more.

Bread of life feed me. Be my nourishment for the journey. Be the light for my path.

Amen."

Hands To Catch Me

The grace of God is beautiful.
I love that one can never predict it's timing.
One day you wake up to find something has shifted inside.
You know you can't take any credit for it.
You wanted it, you hoped and prayed for it
and it was beyond you to make it happen.
But here it is; it's real and deep
and there's no going back.
That's when I know it's real.
No matter how familiar the old way was,
to go back would kill a little piece of my soul.
and something within me says, "No."
And I'm given the grace to keep facing the light.

I've been in therapy the past 18 months
for things pertaining to childhood sexual abuse.
At one point we were ready to
wrap things up and
call it a day.
Then I had a slip when it came to sexual addiction
and that opened a whole new can of worms.
And once that can had been opened
there was no going back, either.
I thought "Oh, shit, shouldn't have been so honest there."
While knowing dishonesty could kill me.
I didn't want to open a new can of worms because
I sometimes feel scared of the process.
Times like that I feel like I'm jumping blindly
of the edge of a cliff,
trusting there are hands to catch me.

A bunch of gunk needed to be scraped off
the edges of a 35 year old wound.
Long held beliefs that were shit really.
The last few weeks I let go
of thought distortions I've held my whole life long.
I'd given them lip service acknowledgement.
Knew they were distortions in my head
but now my heart knows they are bona fide lies.
Do you ever look at yourself and go
"Holy shit, how'd that happen?"
because you're changed and
you didn't do it.
Most humbling.
Fills me with gratitude.
Those shifts give me hope.
Great hope.

Of Padlocks And Porn

I've written before about how I don't like to be alone at night.
Being alone at night is when I am most tempted
to throw my abstinence
from sexual addiction away.
I was alone this past weekend
and did exactly that.

I read this post this morning and identified immediately with the thoughts within it except last weekend I went from feeling pin pricked beyond bearable right into chucking my abstinence out the window.
I tried my damndest to numb the pin pricks away.
It. didn't. work.
Of course not.
The committee in my head can never deliver what it tells me it can.

Yesterday as I sat hashing this out with my therapist I said
I felt disappointed
that the high I was looking for didn't materialize.
The addiction doesn't have the same power it used to.
After the second night it lost its charm.
And although this time around
the bungee jump ride to the bottom
was much higher than it's been in the past,
what is making red flags scream at me
is that I felt relieved that I relapsed.
It was as if it jolted me awake.
There's something so sick to that thinking
that it still's freaking me out.
Why did it take relapse to make me go back to doing those things on a daily basis that I need to do so that relapse isn't even on my radar screen?
Why didn't I do them when I first realized
(weeks and weeks ago) that I was playing with fire?

Last night dearest one and I went out
for a belated anniversary dinner.
I knew I needed to fess up about my slip.
I didn't want to.
Earlier in the day my therapist and I had talked
about how hard taking emotional risks is for me.
We talked about my reasons for
telling dearest one of my slip.
That it felt like keeping secrets if I didn't.
And how secrets are the slipperiest of slopes.

After I'd fessed up, dearest one
said it had nothing to do with him.
I'd just made myself vulnerable to the core
and he had no feelings about it.
None.
I replied that if he had himself
a little porn addiction
then I think I'd have some feelings about it.
Phrasing it that way helped him see that maybe
there are some feelings buried deep inside him.
He looked at me and said, "Do we really want to go there?"
I thought he was saying it as in "ever?"
It took me a few moments to clue in that
he meant "right now, right here in Denny's?"

Sometimes this journey feels like a strip tease.
A dance of 'this is part of who I am'
'this is how much of me I'll let you see'
'the rest I'm keeping close to my chest for safekeeping'.
We've both played it well.
And while it feels like a long, winding road
to expose ourselves to one another,
both of us are committed to going forward.
For that I am extremely grateful.
He assures me that the conversation
will happen, just not yet.
I said that I will be both scared and relieved
when that day comes.
Scared because his pain is not mine to fix.
What's done is done.
And saying sorry seems so lame.
Relieved because when he bears this part of his soul
he will be relating to me out of his core being,
the place we store our pain for safekeeping.
Our core beings are beautiful.
Weird how that works.
This man is never more beautiful to me than when he
takes the padlock off his heart
and lets me in.

I've let this post sit here for several hours
torn between delete and publish.
I rarely talk about my recovery journey
when it comes to sexual addiction
on here anymore.
It's humbling to let you in.

The Most Hopeful Layer

"Vulnerability is disarming. It compels one to go to that level, too."

Heart felt words from a close friend last night.
Often I've told dearest one he is the most beautiful
when he is the most vulnerable,
when he let's me in to see who he is.
He can tell me the ugliest thing he sees within himself
and I have yet to be repulsed or disappointed.
It's easier to feel that about things
left unsaid or imagined
than about reality.

We're in a new place relationship wise.
Walking hand in hand to that deep place
where fears and insecurities,
which have been kept under wraps
our whole life long, are being revealed.
We're slowly uncovering who we really are,
like a shy bride on her wedding night.

It's the most hopeful layer of the never ending onion.

Honesty is easier to write about than to live.
To open, what feels like a pandora's box,
and reveal who I am?
That's scary shit.

My recent slip forced me to face some ugly truths.
Well, I guess no one is forced to do anything
they don't want to in recovery.
But if I wanted to move forward, then
facing those truths was my only option.
And, no matter how loudly I may whine about growth,
I will only shrink from it for a limited time.
I'll be damned if I'm going to let fear rule my life forever.
Life is too short to tuck tail and run.
The scary part is that facing those truths
means sharing them with dearest one, too.
My struggle with this addiction in particular,
affects our marriage at a deeper level than either
the alcohol or the eating disorder.

So facing forward means telling the truth
about how it is within me.
Recently, I realized I do most of my processing in my head,
where it stays safe and secure.

My head is the worst safety deposit box there is.

So I'm learning to say outloud thoughts I usually keep to myself.
Learning to share from the vulnerable, troubled spots of my heart.
Sometimes it's benign things like,
"He said this and I felt that."
or
"She shared this and I had instant tears and this is why."

Other times it's something that has the capacity to hurt,
yet it does more damage unspoken, so I take the risk.
Recently that meant telling dearest one that, at times,
I will go to any length to avoid being present.

I told him this in a restaurant where I was
fessing up about my latest slip.
I'd asked for a corner booth because I didn't want an audience
if I ended up in tears when I said this is what I did.

"And behind what I did these are my issues, these are the things that keep me in this loop of slips. This is where I need you help and your patience."

While I felt like I had reached the limit of what was forgiveable, dearest one's steady, loving gaze told me otherwise. He reached across the table, took my hand in his and made me look him in the eye. He wanted me to see that he meant it when he told me he was here for the long haul, no matter what that long haul looks like.

It's a steady, tough climb to a saner, safer, more intimate place.
We continue to be disarmed and compelled by each other's vulnerability.
Thanks be to God.

Sweetness and Pain

"What you see as being back at square one,
I see as another layer in the onion."

Wise and comforting words from my spiritual director yesterday.
Not sure how many layers there are to the onion that is my soul,
most likely they are infinite.
Where I saw defeat and despair,
Fr. Charlie saw hope and healing.
Which is why we shouldn't try to journey alone.
Our perspective is too limited.

I haven't felt this humbled,
or this hopeful
in a very long time.
There is a sweetness and pain embedded in both.

The mulitple conversations this week
where I confessed, sifted through,
became vulnerable,
has left me exhausted this morning.
Tears have filled every crevice
and are waiting to be released.
Healing, healing tears.

Through the sifting yesterday,
one big piece of the puzzle
found its place.
A huge "aha" moment, a gift of the Holy Spirit
through the words of Fr. Charlie.

Guilt dissipated in an instant
with the connecting of dots
between a deep wound and an attitude
thirty years deep.
I felt such relief when I realized I'd had no other
point of reference than the one I've carried for so long.
A twisted, warped attitude that found its ugly point
of reference and now
can be reframed.

I feel like there is the thinnest of gauze
between my naked soul
and what could be.
Beauty bubbling forth from the depths.

All is gift.
All is grace.

Choosing Sanity

Things got a little hairy at AA yesterday.
I was glad I wasn't chairing the meeting.
When things go off the rail anywhere, I instantly tense up
and feel like I'm 9 years old, looking for the nearest exit.
But the moment passed without much broo ha ha and the meeting continued. It didn't even come close to getting physical but I felt all tense as if it could.

It's actually quite a testimony to AA that
people don't come to blows every time a meeting convenes.
I mean, if you asked for a show of hands of how many present
used to try and solve issues by using their fists, I think
the majority might very well raise their hands.
I've thrown a few punches myself.

I'm trying to type this post by looking around the energizer bunny.
She's sitting on my lap trying to lick my face.
She moves within 3 inches of my nose and licks the air as if she were slobbering me with kisses. I swear, sometimes she reminds me of a kid who sees just how close to the line they can get without crossing it.
Hmmmm.

I'm off to see Fr. Charlie today.
Fessing up for lines crossed that I'd convinced myself
were only being skirted around.
It means resetting my abstinence date, too.
Pride says not to go to that extreme.
Rigorous honesty says it's the only sane choice to make.
It's hard not to rationalize, justify and minimize.
And I could continue to if I wanted.
But the consequences just aren't worth it.

When Fr. Charlie kept telling me during our last session
that he was hearing shame and guilt seeping through my words
it startled me.
I sat there and thought about the last time I felt like that.
Where were my actions contributing to those feelings?
I came up with only one answer.

I briefly mentioned a slip.
His eyes registered what I'd said,
but I ignored him, glossed right over it and kept on talking.
He didn't interrupt me.
He didn't confront me.
He left my words hanging for me to hear their echo.

And they echoed as I walked to my van, echoed all the way home.
I sat and remembered going to confession about my sexual addiction a few years ago and having Fr. Charlie ask me how deep the shame and guilt was that I was I covered in. I replied by putting my hand above my head and telling him I was buried in it.

God, that was a such a low, low point.
Within myself I could find no hope.

So I sat the other day knowing the shame and guilt were only puddles on the ground which I was walking in with every other step.
I knew I had a choice to make if I didn't want the puddles to join together to make one giant puddle that I couldn't walk away from. One giant puddle that would eventually creep up my shoes and start to bury me.
I knew I could either continue to minimize, justify and rationalize it all away.
Or speak it out loud, and get honest.
I've since had three conversations
with three different people about it.
Speaking to dearest one was the most difficult.
But, by the grace of God, I did it.
Lord, oh Lord, have mercy.

An Invisible Thread

"The thing about healing is that I have no control over the twists and turns it takes. Don't know what I'm going to feel until it's too late."

I said this through tears to Fr. Charlie yesterday. There are times when 'oh, for fuck's sake' seems far more appropriate than 'glory, hallelujah' to describe the healing process.

A few weeks ago I was writing away - working on an article about women and their struggle with sexual addiction. I was free writing - typing every thing that came to mind, not having a particular direction I was looking for. Often writing is akin to playing for me. I was writing in a "let's see where this will take me" mindset. Playing with fire was more like it because in the midst of this came a paragraph from my own journey. A paragraph that, when I saw it in black and white, left me stunned. It had been 30 years since the incident had happened and seeing it converted from thoughts in my head to words on a page, stopped me in my tracks. It left no room for denial, showing me that despite a black hole in my memory when I was being sexually abused, my response in this particular situation confirmed what the black hole had tried to hide.

Instinctively I knew the paragraph would make an opening paragraph of a book. It's a sick, twisted paragraph but gut honest and pivotal to my story. I promptly printed off everything I'd written, stuffed it into the clear plastic sleeve with other material for the article, and shoved it under a pile of books and papers on my desk.

I haven't looked at it since.

But it's contents have been haunting me.

Yesterday I shared the specifics of that paragraph with Fr. Charlie, the first time I'd spoken of this particular incident to anyone. I couldn't look him in the face as I spoke because I still feel some shame about it. It makes me look more like a whore than anything.

I told him how seeing it all in black and white on the screen had stunned me. How it forced me to face that what I suspected had happened, had. That my involuntary response in the incident showed me that my subconscious knew all along what my conscious mind didn't want to. I could see an invisible little thread tying my whole story together from the sexual abuse to this incident to every other bit of my sexual story. No wonder I felt like I really need a punching bag yesterday. When we talked about forgiveness I told Fr. Charlie that I wanted to beat the shit out of this person first, then I might consider it. He gave me a 'that makes sense' look and left it at that.

We talked about how was I going to honour my story. Fr. Charlie talked about the responsibility to that little girl within me to set her free. Into my mind popped a picture of her coming and sitting in a chair beside my computer. She talks and I type. She isn't sad, she feels important and listened to, and she's ready to tell it all because there's someone willing to listen, to validate her story, to not try and shush her up for speaking the truth.

I looked at Fr. Charlie and told him of the picture in my head.
Then I said, "I can do that."
I don't feel brave, just determined.
It also scares the shit out of me because I have no control over the mix of emotions that may come but I know that until I let her tell her story I will continue to be haunted by that paragraph.

Oh, for fuck's sake.

Day 617

I'll be on the road today making a 200 mile round trip to see Fr. Charlie.
Some people express surprise when they find out I still see him for spiritual direction despite his move to a different parish. Many people simply move on to another SD when circumstances change.
Next month it will be three years I've been seeing him for sessions.
Maybe other people have an easier time building trust relationships.

I trace where I'm at in my recovery, in my spiritual journey, in large part to the grace of God working through Fr. Charlie. He's listened as I talked around and around in circles. He continued to believe in me long before I was able to do that for myself. In short, he had hope in me while I was still hiding in the shadows. It was in his presence that I first spoke the words 'sexual addiction'. When he didn't die from shock at the phrase, I saw a glimmer of hope that I didn't have to continue living in the shame of that addiction forever. Through many relapses he continued to affirm my journey. I'd sit there all teary over losing 90 days of abstinence, looking backwards as if I was a total failure. He looked at the 90 days of grace and held it up as a beacon of hope that 91 days was possible. I have lost track of the times he has said to me that the truth will set me free. Today is day 617.

I've learned that the sessions where it feels like no progress is being made are just as much a part of the journey as the times when huge 'aha' moments happen. (Kind of like blogging.) I remember phoning him between sessions once to tell him that it all just felt like same shit different piles. That I was wasting my time and his. He replied that going from one pile to the next was still movement. Could you just get as weary of me as I am? I wanted to shout. But he didn't.

So today finds me making a worthwhile journey.

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.

Freedom From Insanity...... For Today

Today is a milestone worth celebrating. One year, 365 days, worth of abstinence from sexual addiction. There have been many tears, slips and falls since I published this post about my struggles nearly 2 years ago. That post took many hours of thought and hitting the publish post button felt akin to voluntarily getting naked in a room of fully clothed people. There have been many struggles to keep putting one foot in front of the other since then. For a while all I did was look backwards at the 120 days of abstinence that followed that post and beat myself up for not being able to reach 121. Repeatedly getting up and trying again has been one of the biggest battles of my life. My motivation for doing so was my yearning to be free of shame. To embrace truth instead of being bogged down in the lies.

In my counseling sessions I've been asked to define my sexual addiction - as in what behaviours are you referring to, they ask. At first I was ashamed to tell. I know I'm not the only one to struggle with those behaviours and today I'm able to be matter of fact about naming them. No, I don't offer it as small talk in social situations, after all there'd be spewed coffee and choking coughs to follow if I did, but if one asks me, I tell. Our human need to know we aren't alone in our struggles motivates me to be forthright about it when appropriate.

By the grace of God and my willingness to surrender - well I think that is a grace in itself, too - here I am today. It feels beatiful. Looking backwards and forwards is not the norm anymore. Staying in this day feels more comfortable. It's less of a strain on the neck, too. I'm not doing any of this perfectly and that's finally a comforting thought instead of ammunition to beat myself up with.

Never have Anne Lamott's two favourite prayers been my constant companions more than in this past year. They sum up my journey. In the morning, "Help me, help me, help me" and in the evening, "Thank you, thank you, thank you."

Perfectly Okay

11 months abstinence from sexual addiction today.
That addiction and food bingeing are
my default setting
when I'd rather not deal
with life
on life's terms.
When that happens
I get so mired in shame
that alcohol calls my name.
Today I choose
to be aware.
Pray.
Surrender.
Ask for help.
To accept life as it is
not as I would like it to be.
Although how it is, is good.
Very good.
For today I can handle anything,
with God's help.
It's no longer about life being
a certain way
for me to be happy.
Well, I can say that easily
because I'm happy today.
But you get my drift.
I can't do any of it perfectly.
And finally that's perfectly okay.

Illusion Meets Reality

"The more we were forced to lean on God, the more quickly we gave up our illusion of control. Only then could God do something with our lives."
~ Paula Huston in The Holy Way

There's nothing an addict, like me, likes better than the illusion of control. It's downright comfy like my favourite pair of flannel pjs. I could stay in it all day. Well, okay then, all my life. And why'd they have to tell me it was just an illusion, anyway? Damn.

Truly the illusion is not working too good for me anymore. And so these days I'm learning to let go a little quicker and leave whatever God is doing with my life in God's hands. I'm just here for the ride.

This week the ride has been ever so bumpy. "Let me off" is the refrain I most wanted to shout as I got tossed to and fro. But here I am, it's Friday and I'm still connected and in one piece. Thanks be to God. On my own strength I'd still be oblivious that there truly is another way to live this life.

I met with my after treatment counselor today. Many tears. A few laughs and even a smile through the tears at one point. I needed to hear her affirm that I am indeed making progress, especially today when I feel like I am mired in the muck and moving nowhere. I am grateful for the many affirmations she was able to give me. Today I have 3 months of no binge eating. Tomorrow will be 10 months of abstinence from sexual addiction. And then there's the 19+ years of sobriety; the six weeks of stage II recovery. I've let more opportunities than I can count go in the past 2 weeks to caretake another living soul. And the world didn't come to an end in the process. It actually is possible to worry only about my side of the street. Baby steps.

The first words out of my mouth, before we even reached her office, were "the honeymoon's over." She listened as I processed these past 2 weeks. Thank God for the ability to be objective. Her ability, that is. My own's been a little blurry this week.

I learned again that using all my energy at this point to stay in recovery and do good self care is normal. I was judging myself for not being able to focus on anyone else (well, except when I am focused on everyone else. You know that x-ray vision where there's such a friggin huge log in my own eye I'm squinting all beady-eyed at others.)

The nitty gritties are too painful and too personal to write about. Patterns that are so mired in the muck that it would be easier to continue to keep looking the other way. But I can't. Unless I want to go back to the insanity of doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results. Last weekend at the AA Round Up I bought a picture frame with Earnie Larson's phrase If nothing changes......nothing changes on it. I had laughed right out loud when I saw it because it just is so true. And I'd really like a bit of sanity so change must happen and it starts with me. Oh God, I've typed myself right into a corner. Damn.

It starts with me.

Waiting To Give

This post on resisting sexual temptation is well worth going to read.
Here is an excerpt:

Lord, thank You for the beauty of this person.
Thank You for the gift of my own sexual desires.
Lord, I recognize this twisted, lustful desire in my heart,
and I ask You please Jesus,
by the power of Your death and resurrection,
to untwist in me what sin has twisted,
so that I might come to experience sexual desire
as you created it to be,
as the desire to love in Your image.

Bona Fide Coping Mechanisms

It's Saturday night and the house is quiet. Dearest one is working a night shift and youngest son is off with his brother doing stuff I'd rather not know about. Both boys like to tease me about their shenanigans. I'd rather be blissfully unaware. There's a fireworks display in town tonight and I'm sure one or two beer will be in the mix. I'm glad I'm on a need to know basis and that I don't need to know the rest.

Sometimes I look at them and think "Okay, when I was your age I was married and when I was your age I was a mother." Often I feel all smug about that as if marriage and motherhood were a mark of maturity. The rest of the time I remember that I'm still waiting to be a bona fide grown up. I thought when I began sprouting white mustache hairs I would qualify, you know? Except I didn't anticipate sprouting mustache hairs of any kind. Never mind chin hairs. Yikes. It ain't a pretty sight.

All of the above is really a side trip. Reality is it's Saturday night and I'm alone and I don't do alone very well anymore. Seven and a half months of abstinence from sexual addiction tonight and 17 days of no bingeing. The gaping hole left in the wake of no coping mechanisms feels like a chasm of gigantic proportions tonight.

I typed that sentence several hours ago. As I typed it I realized I do have coping mechanisms. I stopped typing and phoned my sponsor. We live 50 kms apart yet she decided instead of having a gab fest on the phone she would come over for coffee. What a blessing. I can do this. I can. I just can't do it alone.

Monday, Monday

Monday night. Lord willing, when I wake up tomorrow, I will have six months abstinence from sexual addiction. That feels like a gift and a miracle. I wish the struggle had disappeared with this short passage of time. The energy it takes to be present in this moment feels excruciating. Sometimes I feel pissed off that this journey is without an instant presto prayer that erases the human struggle. And still other days I am grateful we live in this moment only. Hard to please aren't I?

In hashing out life during my session with Fr. Charlie today, I was left with the thought once again to accept where I am on the path. I told him that while I was thankful not to be carrying around the shit load of shame that used to be part of my sexual addiction neither was I happy. The energy it is taking to fight my addictions combined with the energy it takes to deal with my chronic illness feels like too much these days. But neither issue is going anywhere. So deal with them both I must. But I am so tired of doing that. Accepting what I cannot change is not going well these days.

Peace.
I'd like some peace in the midst of it all.

"O Lord, I do not know what to ask of You.
You alone know my true needs.
You love me more than I myself know how to love.
Help me to see my real needs which are concealed from me.
I do not dare to ask either for a cross or for consolation.
I can only wait on You. My heart is open to You.
Visit me and help me, for the sake of Your mercy.
Strike me, and heal me; cast me down and raise me up.
I worship in silence Your holy will, and Your unsearchable ways.
I offer myself as a sacrifice to You.
I have no desire than to fulfill Your will.
Teach me to pray. Pray, You Yourself in me.
Amen."
~ Metropolitan Philaret of Moscow

Graced Confetti

Bobbie at emerging sideways wrote a meme post a week ago called wonderful, glorious me where she listed 5 things she loved about her body. She left the meme open for others to consider themselves tagged. I sat at my computer screen and did a quick head to toe evaluation of my body and came up with one thing. My beautiful blue eyes. Everything else I might love about my body were dependent, in my mind, on being 80 pounds lighter first.

I was still thinking about that meme when I went clothes shopping this past Saturday afternoon. Just know that I'd rather go to the dentist than shop for clothes. I don't have a full length mirror at home and God knows I sure wouldn't be undressing in front of it if I did. But on Saturday I stood in front of one and took stock. Thighs the size of what my waist once was. A belly as big as when I was nine months pregnant. And all those dimples so far from my face were not a pretty sight. I stood there feeling disgusted with myself. I tried to just accept what was, reminding myself that I'm dealing with the food issues in my life. Or rather with the issues that masquerade as food issues and as a consequence, my fat body. After 26 years of yo yo dieting I no longer have a diet head mentality. I celebrate that. I do have more calm and peace than when I was still bingeing my way through life. Yet I stood there knowing I'd rather be dealing with all that from within a thinner body. The body, that when I'm in it, feels comfortable, like it fits yet screams at me for protection because its thinner self awakens so much sexual baggage. Baggage that lies and says my worth rests in what I have to offer sexually.

I blocked all those messages from my head and prayed "Help me be content even if I never get to see a thinner me reflected in a dressing room mirror". It's just as futile to think we'd love ourselves more if we stopped sinning as it is to think we'd love ourselves more if we were thinner. If I'm going to live this journey one day at a time I want to love myself now. It's easy to talk about the unconditional love of God for others. So hard, at times, to believe it for myself.

Before I went shopping on Saturday I went to my AA meeting. I asked God to help me open my spirit wide to receive the gift of story happening in the room. Stories of gratitude to anger and tears were shared and I felt blessed to be there. I don't think I've ever left a meeting without a renewed sense of hope for the journey. Without having witnessed a living testimony of what it looks like to rest in the unconditional love of God.

Yesterday at church I prayed for the grace to open my spirit wide to what God might have to say to me. I was still stewing over my disgust at my body and while Jesus may never have been fat, I know he understands what self loathing can do to a person. How crippling it can be. How it can spiral out of control and lead to destructive behaviour. I celebrate nearly 12 weeks of abstinence from sexual addiction today so God help me not numb myself into oblivion. Help me not seek that which will bring release from self loathing only to add to it when the numbing effect wears off. Help me accept where I am on the journey, disgust and all.

During the scripture readings yesterday, this line jumped out at me:

"But by the grace of God I am what I am, and his grace toward me has not been in vain." ~1 Corinthians 15:10

I rolled those words around in my mouth like a sip of good wine. Sometime during the Mass I realized the disgust I felt about my body had been superseded by how beautiful I felt in my spirit. I don't know if I looked radiant on the outside but boy did I feel it inside. Moments like that are pure gift. I whispered to God, "I feel beautiful." And I knew what I really wanted was the beauty that radiates from a countenance that speaks of God's blush of grace.

You know how a person empties the pockets on their clothes before washing? Some days I feel like I'm collecting all those little bits of lint and paper like a bag of confetti....each bit a remembrance of the graced moments in my life. One day I'm going to the other side and I see myself reaching in my pocket and leaving a trail of graced confetti as I go.

So where does that leave me today? I'd still rather experience those moments from a body that was 80 pounds lighter. I doubt I'll care on my death bed what the scale says. I do know I care in this life though. I still can't come up with a list of 5 things I love about my body. But the hope lies in that I don't stay stuck in the self loathing when it hits me these days. I don't numb myself into oblivion trying to escape it. I don't do any of these things perfectly and for today I can rest in that. The grace of God meets us where we are. And how thankful I am that I don't have to be thinner, or prettier, or smarter, or sinless first.

I Am So Much More

This afternoon while I was waiting for my assessment with the Occupational Therapist, I dug out my favourite waiting room book. There are 31 chapters to this book and I numbered them off so that whatever day of the month it is, I read the equivalent chapter. Here is part of the 17Th chapter:

"The first quality that strikes when one looks into the eyes of a child is its innocence: its lovely inability to lie or wear a mask or pretend to be anything other than what it is. In this the child is exactly like the rest of Nature. A dog is a dog; a rose, a rose; a star, a star; everything is quite simply what it is. Only the adult human being is able to be one thing and pretend to be another. When grown-ups punish a child for telling the truth, for revealing what it thinks and feels, the child learns to dissemble and so innocence is destroyed. Soon it will join the ranks of the numberless people who say helplessly, "I do not know who I am, " for, having hidden the truth about themselves for so long from others, they end up by hiding it from themselves. How much of the innocence of childhood do you still retain, is there anyone today in whose presence you can be simply and totally yourself. as nakedly open and innocent as a child?

There is another more subtle way in which the innocence of childhood is lost: when the child is infected by the desire to become somebody. Contemplate the crowds of people who are striving might and main to become, not what Nature intended them to be - musicians, cooks, mechanics, carpenters, inventors - but somebody: to become successful, famous, powerful; to become something that will bring, not quiet self fulfillment, but self-glorification, self-expansion. You are looking at people who have lost their innocence because they have chosen not to be themselves but to promote themselves, to show off, even if it be only in their own eyes. Look at you daily life. Is there a single thought, word or action untainted by the desire to become somebody, even if all you seek to become is a spiritual success or a saint unknown to anyone except yourself?"

The highlighted sentences I have underlined in my book because they continue to be food for thought as I journey.

The journey has been rocky lately, hence my silence. It takes time to process, pray and believe that beauty can unfold from the pain. While learning how to stop being one thing and pretending to be another I'm stepping on the toes of those most precious to me. Sadness has been the dominant emotion within. When people around me don't see the process as something beautiful it's easy to believe that any forward movement is simply a figment of my own imagination. Not only have I doubted I was making progress, there've been times when I've convinced myself that I'm only a bitch in hiding.

Sometimes it sucks that there is no going back. Sucks that the journey forward is uncomfortable not only for me, but also for those with whom my life is intertwined. It takes everything within me not to go around saying, "sorry, sorry" for simply learning to be me. Father Charlie has often reminded me that I'm in the process of being transformed and so too, those around me will feel the ripple effects and face their own transformation process.

To embrace my own journey I became willing this week to let go of all resentments, all the baggage I've carried with me since childhood in order to move forward. I also became willing to do that imperfectly. You know how it is sometimes? You decide a thing then wake up the next morning with the same issues plaguing you and it's easy to think you either didn't mean it or that the Spirit was busy with someone else, and that nothing really happened within you or else you'd be free from your humanity? That kind of thinking has only added to my shame level, it's never brought me any closer to real freedom. So for today I let go to the best of my ability, asking for God's grace to continue to be open to letting go.

I've spent a lifetime being quick to think of myself as bad. Someone's not happy with me, that means I must be bad. I make a less than stellar choice, I must be bad. I say the wrong thing, think the wrong thought, I must be bad. It takes so very little to label myself that way. No one is putting that on me, it's my own self talk feeding itself. During this rocky stretch of life I learned that the label no longer fits. There's a difference between being bad and being human. Something has settled within me, in that deep place, where I now know that any judgement I could make of myself will never be the full picture of who I am. I am so much more than my flaws. I have a hope that I can learn to live with myself, humanity intact, faith intact, look in the mirror and rejoice.

Today is the nine week mark of abstinence from sexual addiction for me. For all the turmoil of the past few days, I give thanks that my thoughts never even turned in that direction for relief. That was a gift of grace. I think that maybe I was actually living in the moment instead of trying to run away from it.
That, I know, is a most childlike quality.
There is hope.
God bless you as you embrace the journey.

Unpacking My Thoughts

It's late and I need some sleep. I won't be able to do that unless I unpack my thoughts first, so here I am. I haven't picked up my journal in a while and perhaps more than anything, blabbing here is a good reminder to pick up that pen again.

I've had a lonely day. I was hoping to go to my weekly AA meeting but the roads were slick and winter driving isn't my favourite thing to do at the best of times, so I stayed home. Dearest one said there were vehicles in the ditch all the way home tonight. I'm thankful not to be one of them.

I needed the meeting today.

Needed to see some familiar faces and hear the experience, strength and hope that would've been offered around the table. With being out of town last weekend and staying home the previous Saturday due to weather, it feels like far too long since I sat my butt in a chair at a meeting. Days like today I would almost trade my secluded spot on the planet for a house in town with daily meetings just a few minutes drive away. I did have a phone number of someone I could've called but I didn't pick up the phone. I needed to reach out my hand but chose to isolate instead.

I've been following the Sugar Addict's Recovery Program for several months now...baby stepping my way through the first step and seeing quite a bit of change within myself. Simply 'doing the breakfast' has made me more stable and seems to have calmed my drama queen tendencies. Fog brain has lifted as well. My body likes a stable blood sugar instead of the peaks and valleys bingeing brings.

There is a connection between my body loving alcohol and how it processes it and it also loving sugars and what that does as well. My body will take the Beta Endorphin hit however it can get it. The program teaches new ways to do that which don't involve food and also how to eat so that there aren't spikes in blood sugars.

This also means there hasn't been any white knuckling it, the program is based on abundance. It heals at a cellular level and I've started noticing small moves in that direction. One is that the blocked saliva gland in my mouth that I was on the cusp of letting the doctor lance open, has healed on its own and disappeared. It had been there for over 6 months.

There are 7 steps to the program and I'm hoping to be detoxed from sugar by next June. For once I am willing to baby step my way to something better instead of trying (and failing) for the umpteenth time to revamp my life overnight.

Recently I noticed that since getting stable on the breakfast I was actually inhabiting my body instead of living from my head. It was unnerving to be that aware of myself. I don't quite know how to describe it. One day I simply noticed I felt grounded in my body instead of detached from it. It was kind of like, "holy crap, how did that happen?" It scared the daylights out of me and I promptly stopped eating a decent breakfast in a quest to stop feeling so vulnerable. It worked. Out of whack blood sugars make for an out of whack me. Being out of whack is familiar, something I know, but don't always love.

Today is day three of avoiding doing what is healing and trying to run the other way fast. It's not fun. It's not worth it. I'm a little more ready to learn what it feels like to inhabit this body of mine instead of insulating it. Tomorrow is a new day. One with an adequate breakfast in it. I will take calm over reactionary any day and if doing the breakfast is the first step in making that choice easier then so be it.

I do have nearly 5 weeks of stringing one day at a times together in my battle with sexual addiction. I don't feel like I am white knuckling it through that either, more that I've become willing to swing back and forth in an imaginary hammock that God rocks gently back and forth until the urge passes. Getting hit over the head with a rock would be more timely and less painful some days. But being present, acknowledging the temptation and simply waiting it out seems to be what I need to do. It feels like I've willingly exposed a big, gaping hole by doing that sometimes but I'm trusting it will be less painful in the long run. Looks like I'm learning to be present in both mind and body.

Reminding myself that I can't - God can - and I'll let Him is the only way that I can keep putting one foot in front of another.

I came across a new-to-me blog the other day and found this post that I printed out and found a space for on the wall above my keyboard. Shame has been such a heavy load to carry on my journey. Once, when I went for the Sacrament of Reconciliation, Father Charlie asked me where I was in regards to shame and I told him I was in over my head with it. Learning to not be covered in it or let it call me by name is a gift I'm learning to receive.

I quote the whole post here for you:

"Shame........a hollow empty pit where disgrace lives

Fed
by painful self-contempt
by the fear of humiliation
by the guilt of impulsivity
by thoughts acted out.

Shame........ugly remorse that devours goodness.

Hidden in the folds of the shadowed curtains.

Reflected in the eyes of esteem

Rinsed in bile.




Nothing makes me more distraught than feeling shameful.
It is lonelier than lonely. "

~ from Awareness

My False Self

Early on in my sobriety I remember sitting at an open AA meeting next to a woman of wisdom. She was nearing 80 years of age and when she spoke we were all mesmerized by her humility and wisdom. I remember asking God to infuse me straight away with some kind of similar wisdom before it was my turn to talk. Ya, right. Not exactly the way it works is it?

At that point in my life there were two thoughts that were constantly at the edge of my consciousness. One was that AA meetings were the only place on earth that was safe and real. That reality alternately scared and thrilled me. The other was wondering why I couldn't handle living in that reality. Why could I not just say how it was with me without it having to be about image? My image. I found myself jockeying for position - a position that came from within me - not one that anyone was trying to compete with me for. Eventually the group I was in disbanded and there were several reasons I didn't seek out a new one. None of them good or justifiable. Had I gone to a different group I am sure I would have either been confronted with truth that I couldn't side step and I would have either welcomed it or used it as an excuse to get drunk. With no sponsor (still thinking I could go it alone) there was also no one to answer to. I walked away from it thinking I had enough years of sobriety behind me that me and God could handle my soriety solo.

Well, that I could handle it solo and would call on God only when it was obvious that I wasn't handling life on my own too well. What followed was nearly 10 years of mostly a dry drunk. Occasionally I walked the talk. More often than not I didn't. More often than not today, I still don't.

I can type that without beating myself up. I do have regrets about not having gone to meetings for the past 10 years. I came close to losing my sobriety this past June and in desperation I went back to meetings. When I did I came in contact with people with the same amount of sobriety as me and I got to see what sobriety, in its fullness, could be. I'm willing to learn not to mourn those years too much but I still stumble over the words we read aloud at every meeting:

"We will not regret the past nor wish to shut the door on it."

I feel like I am newly sober. I want the serenity others have. I want to know what it is to say how I am without dressing it up a bit. To be able to own up to my humanity without being self condemning. It could be someone newly sober or someone with 22 years of sobriety that God uses to speak truth to me. It took at least two months of meetings for me to ''get it'' that years of sobriety didn't count for much, it was living it in this moment that really mattered. And when I heard someone with 2 days of sobriety worry less about image and more about reality than I was capable of - that got my attention.

Which brings me to today. Wondering what it says to have 18+ years of sobriety behind me and not one day of abstinence when it comes to either bingeing or sexual addiction. There is a bit that we read at every meeting that has been haunting me lately. It reads like this:

"Rarely have we seen a person fail who has thoroughly followed our path. Those who do not recover are people who cannot or will not completely give themselves to this simple program, usually men or women who are constitutionally incapable of being honest with themselves. There are such unfortunates. They are not at fault; they seem to have been born that way. They are naturally incapable of grasping and developing a manner of living which demands rigorous honesty. Their chances are less than average. There are those too, who suffer from grave emotional and mental disorders, but many of them do recover if they have the capacity to be honest."

I used to read that bit in the big book and think of my brother-in-law who went through rehab like it was a revolving door. He died over two years ago, sober on the night of his death, but not in sobriety. I used to think what a pity it was that he couldn't get honest while patting myself on the back for my own. These days I hear the above read at meetings and more often than not the words are hitting me so hard I am unaware of anyone else in the room. I pray I can learn to be so rigorous. I worry that I won't.

I told someone the other day that there was no way I wanted to be an 80 year old woman still stuck in her addictions. But do I want freedom bad enough to do the hard work? It seems I keep coming back to the truth that this life is lived only one fucking day at a time and I keep trying to live the rest of my life at one go. It feels like paying attention to this moment is an impossibility. I am scared to find out how that feels. I have heard enough at meetings to know I will never do it perfectly. But can I be willing in the moment, to be in the moment? I get exhausted just thinking about it. It makes me feel like I will have to spend the rest of my life like some guard standing at attention when all I want to do is slump against the wall.

The other day a piece of the puzzle came into focus for me. I have read of ego and have heard others speak of it at meetings but I never really understood it for myself. It was while reading this the other day that I got it finally. I sat there and realized it was my ego all along that has been in the way of being honest or being me at meetings. In love with my false self and protecting it at all costs. It was what others at meetings had faced in order to be rigorously honest. There was a time - let's say oh, 2 weeks ago - when having that revelation would have propelled me into action - trying to fix it and prove to anyone who cared that my real self truly leads the way. Today I can simply acknowledge the revelation for the gift it is, saying a hesitant amen to these words:

"If we are blessed God will destabilize and begin to 'break down' this false self."

I keep on hoping that it is possible to string together days of abstinence like my friend bobbie has. I do however, question whether I want it bad enough to make it a reality. I wonder if going to AA meetings and learning what I am there will make me come to the end of myself in these other areas or whether I will be one of those unfortunates who is unwilling to be honest with themselves. Some days I wonder who the hell do I think I am fooling. I'd rather have some miraculous cure from Jesus than face doing the hard work of recovery. But something tells me that hard work is the only way serenity and abstinence and true sobriety is ever going to be my reality. And that by stringing together one day at a time's worth of any of it really is a miracle.

Good Stuff

Two posts you don't want to miss:

dirty little secrets - porn & the church

the problem with accountability