Remember When/I Loved Her First

When I was little, licking off one of the egg beaters when my mom was baking was a real treat. Mom would call out that there were beaters for the taking and whoever showed up, got one. I often wished I didn't have to share and could have them both to myself. You gotta be a real sugar addict to appreciate licking off cookie or cake dough from a beater. I carried on the tradition of calling out there were beaters for the taking with my own kids. This afternoon I was making a double batch of fudge and found myself alone in the kitchen, licking off both beaters. It was enough to make the tears flow for the umpteenth time today.

I was in town this morning before daylight, hoping to get last minute stuff done before my AA meeting. Stores were getting busy at 8 AM, if you can believe it. I headed to my meeting with nearly everything done on my list, only to find the Saturday morning meetings cancelled for the next two weeks. I've missed the last three meetings and was really looking forward to being at one today. In the moment of walking up to the door I found myself full of gratitude for where I was on my journey, thankful for sobriety and a group of people who 'get it' without a word having to pass between us. Sometimes I think if one alcoholic stood up and played charades to share their experience, strength and hope at a meeting, the rest of us would all be sticking our hands in the air in unison to shout out the answer. That's how much words are often unnecessary as we acknowledge our common humanity with one another. I am so thankful for the people I journey with in recovery. I made my way back to the van and as I started it, the CD player kicked in. The gratitude of a few moments before turned to tears almost instantly.

Before I go any further you need to know that once a song gets stuck in my head I play it over and over again, 20 times in a row if the fancy strikes me. Just ask my family. They all look at one another and groan when that happens, because the song could be by anyone from Josh Groban to Leonard Cohen or Savage Garden. They all pray I get the song of the moment out of my system fast. There's a first time for everything. It just hasn't happened with my music habits yet.

Before I went to the meeting I stopped to see our oldest son. Seeing him in his first apartment felt bittersweet. It reminded me how much time has passed since dearest one and I were in our first apartment. I asked him to burn me two songs from the internet, something oldest son can do in minutes, compared to the hours it takes me with dial up internet. These two songs have struck a chord with me lately and now that I have them both on the same disk, that's what's on repeat as I type. One of the songs I've wanted to share with dearest one. It says so much. You can listen to it here. On the way home from town I was listening to it and sobbing as I drove. How could so many of those years be behind us? I can't wrap my head around it much of the time. This grieving the empty nest feels like a bottomless pit. The pain of it isn't getting any easier. I often feel full of self pity when I cry for what was, but I also recognise that if these tears aren't allowed to surface and flow, I will store them in my body instead.

When other song(listen here) came on the radio a few days ago I asked dearest one to stop and listen to it. He did, although he had to wipe tears from his eyes by the end, cursing slightly whoever wrote such a song. Yesterday, when it came on the radio again, I ended up sobbing anew. Dearest one has a key that fits into only daughter's locket and when the day comes for dearest one to hand the key to only daughter's beloved that tear jerker song will become a tear jerker reality for him.

Earlier in the week I had a session with Father Charlie and in the midst of telling him that I was learning to simply state what had happened in the past without judging myself for it, I started to cry. Those damn tears. They were telling me that I've got a ways to go to forgive myself for some of the memories that the song Remember When brings up. If tears are a form of prayer, like Sister Doreen told me years ago, then I've been doing a lot of praying this past week.

I think the kids coming home for Christmas has been triggering those prayers. While I feel like a contented mother hen at the thought of having them all under one roof again, it's also a tangible reminder that the life we knew as a family is in the past. Perhaps once we get through a full year of firsts, like experiencing a death, the pain won't be so sharp. Maybe the grief will fade as each celebration comes and goes, empty of its rhythm we once knew as a family.

I do look forward to the day when I can honour the past, take responsibility for what is mine to own, and let the rest go. When I can tell Father Charlie I am walking the talk of accepting the past, without it reducing me to tears. The Promises in AA's Big Book state that we will not regret the past nor wish to shut the door on it. When that day comes I will whip up some batter with my egg beaters. Afterwards, while I lick them both off, I might even let some of the dough fall on that particular page of the Big Book to ever remind me that if we work for them, the promises really do come true.

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

Stinkin' Thinkin'

I feel like I've got my head screwed on straight again. What a relief. I went to my AA meeting this morning and, in the companionship of others on this journey, I found the encouragement, strength and hope to move forward.

They say that it's 15% about drinking and the remaining 85% about drinking. Funny how we think that stopping the drinking will take care of the rest but it's only the beginning. I have many years of doing next to nothing about my thinking.

Last night I got pissy with someone. Pissy enough that I knew I had to pick up the phone and make an amend to them before I went to bed. I determined I would state my thoughts to them today about the situation without drama and with clarity. What fun. I managed the clarity with a good dose of drama queen behaviour added in. Eventually I was able to tell the other person I needed to talk about the situation another time when my emotions were not running the show. I got off the phone and realized I had a resentment about not only this situation but about a whole slew of things related to it. Great. I started to beat myself up about it. Telling myself I had learned absolutely zip about recovery or else I wouldn't be acting like I was. Then I realized beating myself up was not accomplishing anything. So I stopped. I asked myself what I could be grateful for in the situation. And I found gratitude for recognizing the resentment and recognizing I needed to take care of it. It takes too much energy to carry resentments in my heart. Before returning to AA (in June) I doubt I would've recognized either. I would have milked that baby resentment right into a teenage size one with glee.

And so I went to my meeting and shared the whole story. The realization that I can't afford to carry resentments around with me because the carrying of them will lead me to act out in a way that is damaging to myself. And at that point all I was ready to do was ask God for help in letting it go because on my own I still wanted to feed it a little bit longer. And I found nods of understanding around the table and an acceptance that helped me accept myself for where I was at. What a gift.

I reached out in different ways this week to help me with other areas. I emailed someone about the sugar sensitivity issues in my life. At their suggestion, I then joined an online group for support. Being back in AA has taught me that I need to reach out and do something if I want change to happen in my life. It's not going to come find me, unless it deteriorates into such a mess that it involves other people. God's helping me reach out before I sink that far. I am grateful.

Food For Thought

Addiction Amoeba

Telling The Truth

Twenty five years ago today dearest one and I met in person for the first time. He travelled from northern Alberta to the southern tip of Ontario to meet me. We had written to one another as penpals when I was 14 and he 16. Circumstances muddled things up for several years in between but when I was 19 and he 21, we met. That day is still crystal clear in my memory.

One of the things I did in preparation to meet him was go on a diet. My very first one. How I decided I needed to, I don't know, but diet I did. Enough that a friend commented on my (8 pound) weight loss. Funny how one comment like that can plant seeds of a negative kind. If I didn't think I had a weight problem before her comment then I surely thought I had one afterwards. This many years later I know that if someone notices you have lost 8 pounds, there really wasn't anything wrong with your before picture. With 80 extra pounds on my frame now, eight pounds seems like a pittance.

Earlier this summer, when I took the month of June away from blogging, I renewed my habit of journal writing. I've filled more pages in the last 3 months than I did in the previous eighteen. Journalling is similar to having one long album of before and after pictures. You get to see where you've been and where you're going. Within the last week or so I've noticed a reluctance to journal. Missed four days in a row to be precise. Missing days is a sign that something's brewing deep within me. Something I don't want to acknowledge. Never knowing what's going to come out the end of my pen when I start writing can be unnerving so, in order to keep a facade of serenity, I had to stop writing.

The only problem is that when I don't journal then I have to carry around those renegade thoughts and repress them. That takes energy. Yesterday I took up my pen and started to write. Here is what hit the page:

"There's a link between missing days in here and being out of control in other areas of my life. My eating is out of control. Twenty one days of abstinence (from sexual addiction) but my eating is wretched. I am lying to myself when it comes to food. I keep thinking that dealing with the other stuff is enough for now so food is my relief valve. It's the insanity of addiction in another area.
I feel like a two year old having a temper tantrum. I know I don't want to diet. I don't want to write down everything I eat. Yesterday though, I thought about the increasing risk of becoming diabetic and having to keep track of it all then and having to follow a rigid diet. Why do I feel so resisitent? Probably because I am unable to face this reality right now. For now I'm going to pray to become willing. Going to AA is teaching me to face other stuff in my life. I'm alternately glad/pissed off about that."

What I failed to write was that I didn't want to keep track of anything I ate because I want to eat mindlessly. I don't want to be aware when it comes to food. Being aware would demand action. It would be like wrestling my last lifeline away from me and leave me exposed and naked to the truth with no place to hide.

I've known I was sugar sensitive for many years already. Most (if not all) alcoholics are. Getting off of sugar has always been a good thing for me. During my blog sabbatical I returned to AA after an 8 year absence. At that first meeting one of the people said to a newly sober person, "If you come here you'll mess up your drinking. That's what happened to me. I started coming to meetings and it messed up my drinking." We all chuckled but we knew the absolute truth to that statement. And for me I immediately thought of my sugar sensitivity and said to myself "oh great, knowing something about sugar sensitivity messes up my eating too." Same principle, different addiction. I've followed the sugar sensitive program in the past and found relief from the insanity of being a binge eater. I know enough about sugar addiction to know that one bite of something sugary has a domino effect in my life. Although I haven't followed the program for several years, I have enough knowledge to recognize the daily cause and effect of sugar in my diet.

A few days ago I arrived at my AA meeting only to find it had been cancelled. At that moment the only other female member of my home group arrived too. We decided to go out for coffee. During our visit we shared bits and pieces of our history with one another. Through listening to my own words, telling her my story when it came to food, I clearly heard myself justifying my behaviour. Trying to further cover that up with words only made it worse. I might have been able to blot the conversation out of my mind had I been talking to a non addict, but talking with another addict in recovery made it more difficult to ignore. There came a point in our conversation when I realized that I could have substituted the word alcohol for food and been telling the same slippery story. I was glad when our coffee time came to an end.

I know how much I get pissed off when I hear someone lying to themselves. The urge to smack them upside the head is huge. "Wake up," I want to tell them, "You only get one go round at this thing called life." I see I've got my own waking up to do.

Yesterday after communion, when I knelt to pray, I told God I hadn't been hearing much from him lately. The reply I heard in my heart was that God was speaking to me through other people right now. "Ok, I could accept that," I said. So I started talking to God about my eating disorder. Praying those specific words, which have never come out of my mouth before, stopped me in my tracks. Tears came to the surface. I nearly felt like I had been tricked into praying them. There are times when praying spontaneously can seem as dangerous as journalling. You just never know what's going to come out of your mouth.

Wasn't it just a few short days ago when I wrote that facing the pain was worth it? Man, it sucks to eat one's words. It's the one thing I have no desire to binge on.

So now I pray for the courage to face what feels like my last escape hatch. In my head I know that facing the pain is always worth it in the end. But I am not always willing. I know I can do anything one day at a time, but some days I sure don't want to. With the healing I have experienced lately I am more comfortable in my body than I have ever been. It's more about being uncomfortable in my stinking thinking that's the problem. The outward is simply a manifestation of that thinking.

In my email every week I get a newsletter from the Radiant Recovery site. Many months ago, it might've been a year ago already, there was one newsletter where it said, "If you want what we have, do what we do." My initial thought was: "Piss off. Don't tell me what to do." But the words of the newsletter wouldn't stop reverberating in my head. Despite their continued presence, I kept searching for something that would make my path different, easier, without cost to myself. Something where I could have my cake and eat it, too. I never found it. I know now that the phrase "If you want what we have, do what we do" applies to any recovery process, regardless of the addiction.

This morning I picked up my pocket Thomas Merton and flipped to a random page. Here is what I read:

"We make ourselves real by telling the truth."

God continues to speak to me through other people.