That Cry For Help

Twenty-one years ago today
I nearly died
in a birthing room.
I've never been able to adequately describe
that white diamond like light in the corner
of the ceiling
which tried to suck me into its vortex.

Dearest one was holding youngest son in his arms.
We were alone in the birthing room.
When I told him I thought I was going to faint
he said, "so faint."
I told him if I did I wasn't coming back.

The next thing I remember was waking up with
the code team surrounding me.
I was tipped nearly upside down
so that the remaining blood
could reach my brain and heart.
There was a nurse at my head saying
"her blood pressure is 60 over 40."
Blood was pouring out of me
like milk on cereal.
I've never forgotten that sound.

My thoughts that night were not ones
where my life was flashing before my eyes.
No.
Too weak to speak aloud,
I was talking to God in my head.
I went back and forth dozens of times
between two thoughts.
One - that I didn't want to die
but if it was His will
then so be it.
Sandwiched between that thought
were the words
"forgive me."
I didn't know what I needed forgiveness for
but I knew I was perilously close
to seeing God.

When I awoke after surgery
God had my attention.
I realized there was no playing around
with this God thing.
Either I was going to take God seriously
or I wasn't.
The choice was mine.

It took 3 months, to the day, to choose.
The only thing that got me sober,
kept me sober,
still keeps me sober,
can be summed up
in the word
surrender.
That cry for help,
that started in a birthing room,
gave birth to a new life
in me.

Thanks be to God.

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.

Ripped Open

It's the middle of the night and here I am on the page about 6 hours too early. That's going to mess with my day tomorrow. C'est la vie. My compounded tiredness of the week caught up to me and I chose to nap in the early evening. At this moment I'm fully experiencing the relationship between cause and effect.

Yesterday I went to church an hour early and enjoyed sitting in the sanctuary alone. I set up the altar for Mass and then sat in my pew with the lights off. Daylight streamed through the old fashioned single pane windows, keeping me company. It was a very peaceful place to spend time in contemplative prayer. A real stillness settled within me. For once the stillness was bearable and even soothing.

Eventually people started to come in for the Mass. First the priest and then little by little, we gathered. I can always tell when the priest comes in because the first thing he does is turn on the lights. Sometimes I wonder what big city people would think of our relaxed ways out here in the boondocks. The Mass starts when we figure all the regular attenders who are going to show up, do. If that means it starts 5 minutes late then, oh well. If that means there's only three of us, oh well. Today we had 15 or so gathered around the altar for the Eucharist.

One thing I especially appreciate about this priest is his emphasis on a heart relationship with Christ. He often talks about the emptiness of praying, attending Mass, receiving the Sacraments without those things coming out of a heart relationship.

Today, as he was emphasizing that point, I gazed at a statue of the Sacred Heart Of Jesus. Often when I look on it I remember a day when I felt like Jesus told me he wanted my heart open, exposed and touching his. It wasn't a pleasant image - more like my chest had been ripped open and Jesus then grabbed me by the front of my shirt and pulled me close so his exposed heart could mingle with mine. I don't exactly know how the cause and effect of that translates into daily life, but I continue to find that image a comfort, a challenge and something to ponder every time I gaze upon His face.

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.

The Darkening Cusp

The daylight hours are shrinking here. With just under 8 hours of daylight now, knowing those will dwindle to just over seven in less than a month, I've found the Church's celebration of Advent gives meaning to the encroaching darkness. Advent reminds me that darkness is not the end of the story. Embracing Advent has been a hopeful alternative to the gritting of my teeth I used to do in order to get through these darkening days. Don't get me wrong. I'd be lying if I said I embraced these days with full abandon. I'm as happy as the next person to see December 22nd arrive with the knowledge of lengthening days literally on the horizon. But having a focus during the waiting helps.

A year ago I was in a very dark place. It was on the cusp of Advent that I was able to admit outloud for the first time that I struggled with sexual addiction. The paralyzing shame prompted me to write this prayer at an Advent retreat. What followed was close to 120 days of abstinence. I can still remember what it felt like to be present in the painful places; at times feeling empty, agitated, and restless. The weird but hopeful feeling to choose not to fill the gaping hole with that which could not heal it. The foreign but welcome realization that it was possible to acknowledge the gaping hole without rushing for the nearest escape route. I'm not sure I befriended the gaping hole but I learned it was possible to co-exist with it.

When youngest son moved out of our home and into the home of his 15 year old girlfriend my stringing together of one-day-at-a-times came to an end. I chose to revert back to habits of self numbing oblivion to get through abruptly becoming an empty nester.

What is that saying? It's darkest just before the dawn? By the end of the third month of being an empty nester I nearly lost my 18+ years of sobriety. Although I had always been a social drinker, becoming a closet one was starting to look inviting. Making my way to an AA meeting after an 8 or 9 year absence felt like more of a bottom than my initial steps into a meeting all those years ago. Admitting I couldn't do this recovery journey solo anymore was more humbling than a relief. I've since learned that years without a drink are entirely different than years of sobriety. I feel 95% newbie and 5% old timer at meetings.

Let Go and Let God is a recurring theme in recovery circles. Not too long ago I read somewhere you can either let go or get dragged. When I think of the verse "the truth shall set you free" maybe that's what letting go means. Perhps when I find myself getting dragged I am resisting truth. Today I experienced a moment when I was able to let go of a situation. These days I celebrate those tiny victories. It was a moment of "oh, that's not my problem to comment on, let alone fix."

Letting go is what I am bringing down with me into the darkness to chew on this Advent. This post has given me focus as I prepare to hunker down and wait for the Light.

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.

Random Connections

When I was little I loved doing those connect the dot pictures in colouring books. They started out small with perhaps 10 dots to connect. The really hard ones went up to 100. More than once I couldn't find one of the numbers only to get to 100 and see the missing number and the role it played in the whole picture. Sometimes life feels like a connect the dot picture with missing numbers and the whole picture very blurry. Some days I want to call my life a connect the dot Mystery. I'm sure some of you can barely contain yourselves at times as you try and shout out where I can find the next dot on the picture.

This morning was one of waking after a night of wretched choices. This morning I also made the connection that if I wanted to be free of the things I seem to run to rather than run from, I needed to want the freedom more than the false safety of shitty coping mechanisms. Want to feel the feelings more than I want to numb them. Want to feel alive more than I want to be walking around unaware.

I stood at my livingroom window and admitted to God the whole sorry story. Figured out for what seemed like the zillionth time that I couldn't make this about perfection. That I had to be willing to take a step and trust that if I tripped God would pick me back up again or at least be there when I decided to stand up instead of rolling around in the muck forever. I asked for the courage to feel. I told God how absolutely terrifying it seems to ask for that. I asked for the courage to stop going down tangent road X, Y and Z for comfort and safety and stand up and fight for the freedom which was already mine. I asked for the strength to get through this day without numbing my feelings.

I admit I've never been much of a Satan watcher. Early in my spiritual journey I experienced many people seeing Satan behind every tree, behind every human action they didn't want to own up to and I got tired of paying him any attention. I would much rather spend my time looking for Jesus. But this morning I basically told Satan to fuck off. I have no idea how Satan works. And I'm not real interested in finding out so if you have it all figured out don't enlighten me. I just know I want the courage to stop making choices that are death dealing to my soul. It's time to stand up to the bomb thrower. Father Charlie asked me the other day how long was I going to let myself be bullied before I started fighting back.

So after I had this conversation with God I went to take a shower. I get in there and say outloud, "I can't do this on my own." Hearing myself say those words was like connecting a dot on the page. My next thought was, "Duh, Hope, you couldn't stay sober on your own so why the heck did you think you could face any other addiction on your own?" It was a Step One all over again. As I admitted I couldn't do this on my own I realised I have been making this battle more about will power than I have been making it about God and grace.

I don't know why I feel like I have to apologize for being here on the journey other than I feel like I've been here before. Some days I feel like I am travelling through life in a speeding car and that every so often I catch a glimpse of Truth and I add it to a tiny pile of Truth that sits on the seat beside me. Sometimes I try and write it down here because I am scared I will forget these little glimpses.

Honouring My Weaknesses

"I want what I want when I want it." I read this sentence in a book the other day and laughed out loud. Yep, that about sums it up for me.

I am learning what it feels like to live this journey one day at a time. Numbing my feelings whenever I want to is still scratching at the door most of the day. Learning to sit with my feelings and feel them is a bit like saying yes, I'll not only have a helping of pain, I'll take a second helping too, if you please. It's enough to make me into a screaming ninny.

But here I am. Learning what it is to not give in to my wants of distraction as they rise. Learning to cry out to God for help. Learning to name outloud the ways I want to numb my feelings and asking God for the grace to resist. Learning to ask why I want to numb them and what is that feeling that would like to rise to the surface and be honoured instead of shoved down in the darkness and shamed.

When I look back over this season of Lent I am humbled that the journey of being aware of my weaknesses has brought me to this place. One of being okay with me as I acknowledge, embrace and lift to the Light the things that hound me most. Only by God's grace. Not on my own strength. If there was a way to give into all the distractions that are my pleasures and still have peace I'd do it in a heartbeat. I know this about myself. But I also know it is not a journey of perfection but a journey of progress.