Bottomless Pits and Deserted Roads

I take a little pad of paper with me into bookstores and write down the titles of books I'd like to own but am too cheap to buy. The library stocks almost any book on my list. Some make it onto my must have own copy list but most don't. I've saved a lot of money that way. And part of the thrill in a bookstore is the unknown anyway. If I could buy every book I wanted it wouldn't be as much fun.

I found my list from this summer's big city bookstore excursion in the bottom of my bag the other day - the bag that youngest son affectionately calls the bottomless pit. Finding that list was better than finding money or candy instead. From my list I put in a library request for Page after Page by Heather Sellers. This morning I read the sentence "Do you need to write?"

My writer's brain can't be shut off or even told to shut up. Take the other day. Dearest one wanted to continue a discussion we'd had earlier and asked if I wanted to go for a drive. The discussion had been somewhat heated and I knew this was serious stuff if we were going for a drive to hash the rest of it out. I wasn't exactly his favourite person at the time yet he took me down his favourite, seldom used, dead end road. The road that borders the land we used to live on. We drove in silence.
About two thirds of the way down the road, writer's brain kicks in. "I know," I thought, "he's taking me down this road to bump me off. This is a deserted, dead end road and no one ever comes down here. He could easily bump me off and my body wouldn't be found for ages, if ever. We used to live right next door and a black bear sat on the pile of oats in our granary only to stick his head out the door if he heard us coming, irritated that we were interrupting his feast. The bear would finish off what dearest one didn't."

And that's how my writer's brain works.
Dearest one just wanted to offload his thoughts not offload me.
Can you imagine?

To top it all off, on the drive back I saw this patch of dirt on the side of the ditch that looked big enough and broad enough to hold a body underneath it. That's what I imagined until I realized it was most likely a really big anthill gone awry. I mean, who is there to disturb the ants way out there? Unless the bear finally ran out of oats.

That is what it is like to live inside my head.

The other day dearest one went into a store and I stayed behind to read my book and people watch. A big truck pulls in beside me and I hear the young man making soothing noises to his dog, making sure it will be okay while he goes into the store. Such a thoughtful young man I thought to myself. He comes out a few minutes later talking sweet talk to his dog as he opens his truck door. The door that slams into my door because he's not watching where he's going. He turns towards me with a scowl on his face that says "How dare you?" as if I got in his way. Um, excuse me, I was here first I think to myself as I smile sweetly.
Much better than telling him if he wanted to discuss it further there's this deserted road I know.
Mwahahahaha.

Not more than 5 minutes later I see a woman put a bag, which might have held a greeting card at best, into the back of her SUV. I watch as she walks around to the driver's side, gets in and goes on her way. I sit there and wonder....is the rest of her vehicle so full of stuff the greeting card bag won't fit? Or is that what normal people do and here all along I've just been tossing the bags helter skelter in the front and back seat. Oh, maybe she's worried that it will hit her in the head in case of an accident and it's safe and sound way back there. No wait, it could become a flying weapon if she brakes at just the right speed and she could get killed in a freak accident by something as innocent as a greeting card. And here all I carry in the back of my van is the windshield wiper fluid and extra oil. Um, ya. On second thought putting a greeting card in the back of the vehicle wins hands down.

And so it goes.

I need to write.
Otherwise my head might resemble the bottomless pit of my handbag fame.
On the other hand, you never know what treasures could be lurking there.

No plastics required

"Put a smile on your face."

I turned as I heard a father say those words this past weekend to his young son, a boy about 8 years old. The son obediently put on one of those plastic smiles and they carried on their way. I stood there a bit dumbfounded. A simply exchange between father and son. Both the request and the response happened mid stride. The father not even stopping as he threw the request back at his son and the son complied. How weird is that?

No weirder than my own history of thinking my kids were not only an extension of myself but a reflection, too. If you looked at them at any given moment I was sure you would see me reflected there and because I defined myself in negative terms, well, I needed all the help I could get. If that meant they stuff whatever their reality was in exchange for a plastic smile, so be it. It adds a whole new sick dimension to the phrase, "If momma ain't happy, then nobody's happy." It was more like, "If momma ain't happy, pretend you are anyway, her reputation is at stake."

One of the gifts of recovery is that I no longer see my kids as an extension of me. They are free to be themselves. As adults especially, they were free to do that before I entered the treatment centre but I didn't quite accept it then. I no longer beat myself up for what my reality was then, either. Staying in today demands that I let it go, that I forgive myself and focus on the here and now. Today I free them from my expectations. I free myself from expectations, too, especially the expectation to be perfect. Accepting life on life's terms is what I try to do.

Another gift of recovery is that I no longer let myself be defined in negative terms. When I catch myself calling myself down in my head I remember that I am so much more than the sum of my failings. I still get a bit giddy when I remember that I get to define me. No one else. Not even my behaviour has the power to define me. I get to choose how I see myself. And though the struggle has seemed mountainous lately, it's a gift of recovery that I can still look in the mirror at the end of the day and say, "Thank you for being you." It never fails that as those words come out of my mouth a huge smile erupts and my eyes twinkle. I stop for a moment and check within myself to see if my words and my inner attitude are in sync. Denial has so long been a coping mechanism that it's taking me a while to trust myself. An addict can lie to anyone, especially themselves, effortlessly. So it's felt like a miracle that every time I've checked, my inner and outer realities match.
No plastics required.

Graced

Yesterday my addictions
beckoned.
I circled
their edges,
looking forward
and back
while trying to wrestle my way
out of here and now.
Graced that the darkness
didn't ensnare.

Yet victory feels
lifeless.
Worse than if
I had jumped
right in.

Today my body is spoonless.
I'm raging at that reality.

Reality.

I was unwilling to
live in it
yesterday.

Today brings
its own reality.

Accept,
Courage,
Wisdom,
Grace,
Surrender.

On Track

"If nothing changes.....nothing changes!"

That is one of the great catch phrases that Earnie Larson says again and again in his stage II recovery videos. Yesterday I took it to heart. I've had a couple of days of feeling like I'm going to slip right back into old habits and to hell with recovery. So last night I moved my journal and AA books, etc. back into the night table drawer so that I have a greater chance to take care of those things first in the morning. They were in the livingroom and I am skilled at getting sidetracked by whatever comes my way on route from the bedroom to the livingroom in the morning. No wonder I then find myself at 3 in the afternoon without having done any self care, any of the things that will enhance my recovery and keep it on track.

Thank God for a new day. An opportunity to change something.

Sobering Times

It's beautiful yet cold out this morning. The radio reports snow falling the area but thankfully I can't see any. The high for today is 6C which is somewhere around 40F. Want to trade places with me?

As I breathed in the earthy fall scent coming towards me from the bush yesterday, I gave thanks for the changing of seasons. Glad for the turning leaves and colder days that prepare me for winter. Especially glad for the winter that will mean the bear, that keeps letting me know it's around, will be sleeping. Dearest one and youngest son have been teasing me about the bear bell I carry with me on my walks. Caving into peer pressure from them I decided to leave it home one day last week. I had already been on one walk earlier in the day and they keep reassuring me the bear is only making its rounds early mornings. Ha. Sometime between my morning walk and my late afternoon one it had left its trademark at the side of the road. Had I been watching out my living room window I could have caught it in the act. Peer pressure be damned, the bear bell is a constant companion now.

Youngest son and a friend had a close call on the weekend. I say their angels were working overtime. They had headed out to go hunting, taking a trailer with two saddled horses in it. They had planned to drive to the river and cross on horseback to hunt on the other side. One thing treatment taught me is the futility of worrying about things that may never happen. Previously I would have thought it was all up to me to pray constantly so that they got home safe and sound. Sounds like I think I'm God or something, eh? Okay, to be honest, I've thought everything was up to me. It's not. I know that's not news to you but it is to me. Anyway about 15 minutes after they left home the phone rings. The horse trailer had a broken spring and as it broke the horse trailer broke away from the truck completely and slid on its side down the road, passing the truck as the guys were trying to come to a stop. Makes me shiver still to type that. Eventually both the truck and trailer got stopped. They were able to get the horses out of the top of the trailer, which had its top peeled partially away in the accident. Miraculously the horses had minor injuries. The boys felt pretty jittery. Youngest son commented later on in the day just how little time it took to die. At supper time he offered to be the one to pray, giving thanks for the safety of the day.

While dearest one was helping these young men get things upright again his cell phone rang. On the other end was a coworker telling him of the death of one of their colleauges the night before. A young woman in a tragic accident of her own.

It was a sobering weekend.

So Much Goodness

I thought I knew what I was going to write when I logged in but here I sit looking at a lot of white space instead.

I've spent the morning finishing Patrick Carnes' book Out of the Shadows. A book about understanding sexual addiction. I realized while in treatment that my compulsive overeating and sexual addiction started before I ever turned to alcohol. If I slip in these areas then the alcohol will eventually follow. Want to know a neat acronym for the word SLIP? Sobriety has Lost Its Priority. Works for me.

This book had such good information in it. Stuff that I articulated in treatment without any knowledge that it was a common theme for addicts of all kinds. Like holding these core beliefs:

1. I am basically a bad, unworthy person
2. No one would love me as I am.
3. My needs are never going to be met if I have to depend upon others.

Carne's counters with new beliefs:

1. I am a worthwhile person deserving of pride.
2. I am loved and accepted by people who know me as I am.
3. My needs can be met by others if I let them now what I need.

The last page of the book had a quote from Walt Whitman that brought instant tears to my eyes:

"I am larger, better that I thought.
I did not know I held so much goodness."

I'm starting to believe that in my heart.
Thanks be to God.

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.

Forward Movement

"[The spiritual journey] keeps us moving toward instead of away from. Even when it drags into view our deepest and most shameful wounds, our most fiercely guarded secrets, it does so in the service of that forward movement, that progress toward the light. Without seeing ourselves as we are, we can never see ourselves as we were meant to be."
~ Paula Huston in The Holy Way

I'm trying to accept where I am on the journey today, doing good self care while being right here, knowing how I feel today is not a lifetime sentence. I feel a bit adrift. The old coping mechanisms, the old defenses not only never took me to a healthy place, but I have a new way of seeing that makes running back to them pointless. Well, unless I want another lesson on just why they don't work. Insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result. Knowing that doesn't stop insanity looking rather attractive some days though.

One of my biggest hurdles lately has been "awfulizing". I took several sessions of Rational Emotive Behaviour Therapy in treatment and awfulizing is that thing I do when, for example, the guys are late coming home and I have their funeral planned and everything, while they just decided to stop for coffee and there really was no car crash. The kind of thing that has me jumping to conclusions effortlessly, conclusions not based on reality. I've been battling that lately. Stopping it really, as soon as I realize I've gone there again. I am thankful that I don't expect myself to not go there, that bit of perfectionism is dying, thank God. And I am also thankful for the grace to recognize the pattern when it starts. But it requires a constant monitoring of my thinking that feels exhausting. I have a friend who used to say to me "Hope, worry about how things are, not how they seem to be." I need to phone her and tell her that after a good 7 years of telling me that, I get it now.

How things are has so much less drama.

A week ago I had my interview at the sexual abuse counseling centre and I can trace my mood nose diving since then. I feel very vulnerable and curling up in a ball pulls at me. I've wrested with several days of sloppy self care. I've had to force myself to do those things that are pivotal if I don't want to relapse. Do my reading, prayer, meditation. Shower, get dressed, eat healthy, exercise. This is where the journey gets rocky. Investing all my energy on doing the simple things that will help my journey move forward instead of stagnating in old ruts. My family doctor assured me yesterday that the people he's known who go through the whole counseling process at this center come out of it being able to cope much better with what life throws at them. Their ability to cope with how things are improves drastically.

Okay now that I've got that out of my system I can look again at how things are, instead of fixating on how they might be in the unkown future.
Thanks for listening.

Melting The Invisible Shield

All I wanted to do this morning
was isolate.
Spend the day alone.
The kind of alone
that keeps others
far away from
my invisible shield.
Even though they are standing
right beside me.
The honeymoon
feels like
its over.
The treatment high
honeymoon.
This is such
fucking
hard
work.
A year ago I set myself a goal.
Go to this year's AA Round Up.
A whole weekend devoted
to sharing our
experience, strength and hope
with one another.
Good food.
Good fellowship.
Good.
Today was time to
meet that goal.
I didn't want to.
I told myself it was no more
scary than going to treatment
and look what happened
when I risked that.
So I forced myself to
shower
get dressed
drive to town.
I was doing
the next right thing
even though every fiber
in my body
was resisting.
Resisting like a horse
when you tug on its
bridle and it digs
in its heels
and stands firm.
Only this kind of firm
is so very dangerous.
And so I went.
Tonight I feel
grateful
for another day done
where I can
thank God
for another
24 hours sober
and
in recovery.
Real recovery.
Moving forward.
Giddy up and go.

Skin Again

By bell hooks

"The skin I’m in
is just a covering. It cannot tell my story.

The skin I’m in is just a covering.
If you want to know who I am
you have got to come inside
and open your heart way wide.

The skin I’m in looks good to me.
It will let you know one small way to trace my identity.
But then again
the skin I’m in will always be just a covering.
It cannot tell my story.
If you want to know who I am you have got to come inside.
Be with me inside the
me of me,
all made up
of stories present, past, future
some true to life
and others all
fun and fantasy,
all the way I imagine me.
You can find all about me–
coming close and letting go
of who you might think
I am
before you
come inside
and let me
be real
and you
become
real to me.
All real then. In that place where
skin again is one small way to see me
but not real enough
to be all
the me of me or the you of you.
For we are all inside
made up of real history,
real dreams,
and the
stuff of all
we hope for
when we
can be
all real
together
on the
inside."

~ bell hooks is a poet, an essayist and an educator. This is the text of her children’s book, Skin Again.
~via

This text says so much about where I am at in my journey right now. Being real. Getting to know myself. Letting others in to see the real me.

Wishful Thinking

Sometime before I went to the treatment centre Heidi tagged me for a meme. Somewhere in my pile of papers scattered hither and yon I have the meme answered already. A lot of good that's doing me right now! Last night as dearest one and I walked he pulled this fat little notebook from his pocket and offered it to me - for those notes you're always making - he said. He said it would be better than me tearing bits of paper off a page and writing God knows what on them. I told him all those bits made sense to me. He shook his head at that point while I reached out and took the notebook.

Anyway, here are the rules of the meme:

- the person has to either be a) dead, or b) alive, but no way you'll ever have a chance to have dinner with them.
- real people only. no fictional characters.
- it's not 6 individual dinners. it's a dinner party with 6 people (plus you). think of the mix.
- assume no language barriers. in other words, it doesn't matter if they speak or spoke another language than you and your other guests. you have magic instant translation technology.
- Jesus doesn't count. it's a dinner party. therefore, 2 or more are gathered. therefore, Jesus is already there.

Consider yourself tagged if you'd like to do this meme.


First of all I wanted to plan the menu just as much as who will be there. But I won't.

1. Rich Mullins. The photo of Rich on the back of An Arrow Pointing To Heaven haunts me. [click on the back cover link on the left side of the linked page to see] His eyes feel like they are trying to tell me everything that's truly important in this life. While in the treatment centre I listened to his Songs CD as I went to sleep every night. My family groans, I'm sure, with the thought of me fixating on a CD of any kind. I have this habit of listening to a song or group of songs daily for a very long time. Rich Mullins' music is one of those fixations. I want to pick this man's brain. Well, really, his heart.

2. Brennan Manning I can't think of Rich without thinking of Brennan. I have had dessert with Brennan. I regret that I was in a pissy head space at the time. [long story] My friend had told him I was a writer and Brennan asked me if I was writing anything....just know I let that opportunity to share that part of myself with him blow right by me. I will always remember Brennan's interaction with our waiter. He drew that young man right in with his questions about his life away from the restaurant. He was not making polite small talk. Brennan was genuinely interested. I saved for a long time the chocolate Brennan gave me. The one his hotel staff had placed on his pillow after they cleaned his room. So dinner with Brennan would have to include chocolate even though I am allergic to it and eating it makes me itch. I really would like a second chance to get a glimpse of this man's heart. Absorbing Brennan's teaching in his workshop was, well, life changing. I had this sense that God was working something out in me, in such a deep place that I couldn't access it. It was several years later that that working out bore some fruit and a lightbulb went on in me. While I was in treatment one day someone new in detox came into the lunch room and his resemblance to Brennan was strong. Similar facial features and the same build, same white shock of hair, but younger.

3. Anne Lamott Anne Lamott gave me hope that I could be comfortable being my authentic self and a Christian. That I could laugh at the ribbald jokes that I still found funny while embracing my faith. It's as if my face relaxed when I read her words. She gave me hope that I could stop playing the game and start being real. I admire the way she can zing me with her wisdom when I'm least expecting it. More gentle than a slap up the side of the head, but every bit as effective at getting my attention.

4. Okay, I was reduced to trying to find the elusive piece of paper with my list on it. No luck. So I looked above my computer to see whose quotes are the most plentifully plastered on the wall. Thomas Merton it is. I have a little pocket book of his that I carry with me to read in waiting rooms and such. One gem after another. I've read several of his books and am reading quotes of his on other's blogs regularly. My favourite right now is this one:

"If I, as a Christian, believe that my first duty is to love and respect my fellow in his personal frailty and perplexity, in his own unique hazard and need for trust, then I think that the refusal to let him alone, to entrust him to God and his conscience, and the insistence on rejecting them as persons until they agree with me, is simply a sign that my own faith is inadequate."
~From "Apologies to an Unbeliever" by Thomas Merton

5. Flannery O'Connor I haven't read much of her work but her Habit Of Being book was one I could hardly put down. I have two favourite kinds of books. Those thin ones that cut through the crap and contain so much worth savouring. And the ones that are thick which you wish were never ending, with tidbits of jewels scattered throughout. The Habit of Being was of the second kind. In having Flannery to dinner my wish would be to absorb through osmosis her way of interpreting life and human beings.

6. There was a point in reading her The Shaping of A Life memoir that I stopped and simply let what she wrote sink into me. Into my bones. In Phyllis Tickle I felt I had found a kindred spirit.


All the people I've chosen have shown me their humanity in one way or another through their music or writing. I want to eat with people who can laugh at themselves one minute and in the next show me their heart. People I can be myself with. One day I hope I can be like that with anyone, but I'm so not there yet. And while I wrote about people who could be considered famous in some circles I thought of many of you as I typed. Some of you are linked in my mind with some of these people I have chosen. Sometimes because I know you admire them as I do and sometimes because your lives have had just as much impact on my life as theirs.
Bon appetit.

Jingle, Bells, Jingle

This morning dearest one and youngest son went out the door together, headed for college. A few days before I went to treatment dearest one started working at the college as an instructor and one of the perks of his job is that family members get to attend college tuition free. Youngest son is starting some upgrading courses today, hoping to eventually be able to take some post secondary classes. I home schooled my kids for 15 years so this week will be youngest son's first experience of being in a classroom. He excited and nervous, as you can well imagine. He said it would just be so much easier to get a job than go to school.

I'm headed to town in a bit to have lunch with one of the members of my group from treatment. We haven't seen each other since we left the building and it will be good to catch up and laugh. She makes me laugh a lot. I phoned her on the weekend because I wanted to visit a bit with someone before I head over the the sexual abuse center for my first appointemnt. Seeing my friend will be like getting a pep talk that I can indeed do this.

Before I do all that though I think I'm headed out the door for a walk. I say "think" because twice in the last week I've seen bear droppings on the side of the road. The road I'm walking on. Like just down my driveway and a bit. Maybe if I just look out my living room window I could see the bear full stride. I hope not! Today I'm going to be buying bear bells. They look like those bells that horses used to have on their collars while pulling the buggy to Sunday go to meeting times. Bear bells come on a piece of belting that I can fasten to my belt loop and hopefully it makes enough noise that the bear goes one way and I go the other. Just last month a man from around here had a grizzly bear charge him and he stabbed it to death. Yes, stabbed. That's how close the bear got. The bear that's doing his business on the side of the road is most likely a black bear.

Days like today I miss my treadmill.

All or Nothing

"You've got to be kidding me?"

That was the open mouthed shocked expression I gave my counselor more times than I care to count while in treatment. Which she all duly noted and wrote down. I get my summary from her next week. I'm sure it will be pock marked with, "Hope continues to be surprised that she is so sick in her thinking." I typed all that with a big grin this morning because after a while my being shocked ceased to surprise anyone, including me.

One of those shocking realizations was that I tend to think in terms of all or nothing. I learned every addict is an all or nothing person. Which makes me feel a bit better. I mean, who wants to be alone in their sickness? Want an example? All or nothing thinking looks something like this: "Oh, I just ate a piece of cake. Oh shit, I didn't mean to do that. Oh, what the hell I might as well eat the whole cake now that I've blown it." The kind of thinking I excel at. It's the same kind of thing that leads a person from one sip to an all out drunken binge in what can seem like 60 seconds flat. Or how about this one: "Darn, I missed exercising today. That means my whole exercise plan is shot. I might as well not exercise until (next week, next month, next year.)" Next year is my personal favourite.

I know it's possible to stop thinking like that. I'm hoping it gets easier soon. This morning I am sitting here with quite a few less spoons than I'd like because of wonderful all or nothing thinking I indulged in yesterday. What can I say? Old habits die hard.

I had an excellent session with my after care treatment counselor yesterday. For most of an hour we sat and discussed my treatment experience. Then came the hard work. The homework. The practical application of what I learned and what she expected me to do about it before I see her in two weeks. Talking about it, or typing about it for that matter, is so much easier and less risky than actually living it. Which was her point exactly. So before the next two weeks is over I get to choose one very big elephant in the closet situation in my life and bring the elephant out into the light. She showed me how to choose the timing by making sure neither I nor the other person involved is not Hungry, Angry, Lonely, or Tired when I start the discussion. All she wants me to do before I see her in two weeks is acknowledge out loud to the other person there is a discussion to be had. Baby steps, Hope, baby steps. Which is far removed from my all or nothing thinking which in the past would have had me not only dragging that elephant out of the closet but getting to the other end of the discussion in one long fight discussion.

After my session I went shopping. One of my after care plans is to stop being a martyr and admit I have needs. Like adequate clothes. Today we have a wedding to go to of a close family member. I was able to find something yesterday so that when I look in the mirror at myself I can smile and feel comfortable and confident. I somehow have lost enough weight in the past month to drop two sizes in clothes. And in my all or nothing thinking that must mean I either have cancer or diabetes. See, it's just so darn easy to slip into that mode! Realistically dropping two sizes is what happens when I go from being a veritable sloth to moving at a much greater speed. Not feeding my feelings helps, too.

Last night, after a long day in town, I was on a mission to go for my evening walk. It didn't matter that my body was trying to tell me that really, Hope you've done enough walking for a day. How about a shower and bed, instead? Not me. Nope. In my all or nothing mentality I had to prove to my body that I could still go for my walk. Which I did. Which meant I fell into bed before 9 pm and which also means I am starting another long day without adequate spoons to get through it. Which also hopefully means that tomorrow I will have zilch to prove to my body and will settle for something that looks a lot different than all or nothing.

Can't you just picture my all or nothing mentality being greeted by a much more reasonable viewpoint tomorrow? Can't you just hear it say
"You've got to be kidding me?"
To which I will reply
"It's been so nice knowing you, my dear. Farewell."

That Place In Between

"It's not so much that we're afraid of change, or so in love with the old ways, but it's that place in between we fear....it's like being in between trapezes. It's Linus when his blanket is in the dryer. There's nothing to hold on to."~Marilyn Ferguson

This was a quote shared with us at our first workshop in treatment. I couldn't relate to it then but it surely describes life as I find it now. About the only thing I would change is that I'm hanging on tightly to God as I take baby steps in living this new way of life. Interestingly enough I have my own Linus like blanket. I am forever cold and I often sit wrapped in this blanket. I took it with me to the treatment centre. On one particularly hard day, under the guise of being cold, I wrapped myself up in the blanket and went to my sessions that way. Halfway through the group counseling session I realized I wasn't cold instead I was using the blanket as a coping mechanism. Doing so was keeping me from opening up. I took my very real Linus blanket back to my room at break time with a new awareness of myself. Oh vey, isn't life grand?

All my energy these days is going into healthy self care. The things that many people take for granted....shower, dress, eat healthy, exercise. If those things go kaput in my life then I am already headed for trouble. I have a 37 point checklist to read daily - things to check within that can signal a change in direction from where I want to go. Reading it one morning this week was enough to motivate me to get in the shower, get dressed and go for a walk instead of crawling back into bed. The nap came later after the basics of daily living were attended to. I figure if I can get showered and dressed 20 days straight in treatment then I can do that at home, too. The same could be said for making my bed although that hasn't translated into daily life quite so well! If I had decided not to make my bed during treatment enough days of that and they would have asked me to leave for not following the rules. Funny what can motivate a person!

It's been a full week. I decided to resign from all my volunteer work. Work that has not been life giving. I knew that all along but was unwilling to do anything about it until now. I will choose carefully any volunteer work I do in the future.
I had my final session with Fr. Charlie yesterday. He heads for his new parish next week. Our parish farewell potluck will be on Sunday. There will likely be many tears but I cheerfully told him yesterday that I was okay with crying in public now. I spent most of the session grinning from ear to ear because I feel transformed and that is such a gift. He told me I looked radiant and that the transformation was apparent just from looking at me. I've had so many sessions with him where I wanted to curl up in a ball and rock in the chair; closed up tight with emotional pain. Yesterday half way through the session I realized I was sitting with such open body language that I laughed outloud. I looked at him and said, "Isn't this a miracle?"

Tomorrow I have my first follow up counseling session at the treatment centre. I am blessed that counselling is free for as long as I need it. I also had a phone intake interview with a local counseling centre this week. A place which specializes in providing help for sexual abuse survivors. That was a tough one. At the end of it the woman interviewing me told me to do gentle self care for myself that day as taking the first step in phoning was a huge one. Next week I go in for a more in depth interview and after that they will try and match me up with a counselor. This counseling is also pretty well free. I took one workshop at the treatment centre that was for sexual abuse survivors and it triggered so much in me I wanted to escape my body. This counseling will help me deal with the long term affects of the abuse. I can't say I'm looking forward to it but I am willing to take baby steps there, too.

Dearest one and I are having quite a time adjusting. It's almost like I went away to an extreme makeover place and came home a stranger, a more beautiful one at that. It's no wonder he's feeling a bit adrift because I am no longer doing those things that came so effortlessly before. Things like trying to control him and take care of him and when I wasn't doing that I was playing the martyr with ease. Those are roles I can still fall into at the drop of the hat but roles I no longer want to play. At one point this week he said to me, "You're, you're so calm".
It took us 25 years to get comfortable in our ruts together, it's going to take some time and hard work to get out of them. I am still blown away that there is a different way to navigate the journey and that I've been given the tools to do just that.

Lingering Sadness

If tears are a form of prayer then I prayed a lot during my 20 days in rehab. Good, healing tears. In front of other people. And I survived to tell you about it. I also wrote more in my journal in 3 weeks than I did in the previous 3 months. It was good to have a place to process my thougts and feelings. It was my first experience of having to lock up my journal in case others might read it. At home I leave my journal lying around because we respect one another's privacy.

If I ever needed confirmation that I was where I was supposed to be, I got it. My second day there I passed a bulletin board and was stopped in my tracks when I saw a prayer from a retreat I spoke at 18 months ago. I gave every woman at that retreat a copy of it and the one on the bulletin board was the exact piece of paper I printed it on with my handwriting on the other side.

I have been a caretaker extraordinaire. My body's been trying to tell me that's not a healthy choice. It really got my attention after an evening of unconsciously trying to be the emotional caretaker of loved ones. I woke up the next morning hardly able to function and so short of breath I couldn't talk and walk at the same time. I had to phone my loved ones and ask them not to visit me the rest of my time there because it took too many spoons. That whole experience was heart breakingly eye opening. Who knew my spoon supply was being depleted by my being a caretaker, people pleaser, perfectionist and martyr far more than any physical demands I put on it?

After 10 days of walking a huge building I stopped taking the elevator and took the stairs. I have more physical stamina now than I've had in over 4 years. I have a new way to listen to my body and a new appreciation for following through on what it's trying to tell me. I find that both liberating and sad.

Having someone else cook for me was absolutely wonderful. Every time someone complained about the meal I just reminded myself what a treat it was to not cook. Because of my food allergies I basically was able to eat just like I do at home so it wasn't much of a change, other than salad, soup and dessert at every meal, too.

One day I was so pissed off at a group of people that I yanked open the dessert case, took out a brownie and thought to myself, "piss on it, I'm going to have this even if I am allergic to it." The next moment I thought, "I'm not going to give them that much power in my life" and I put it back and chose something else. That was progress. What an 'aha' moment when I saw my addiction operating so smoothly. AA says alcohol is cunning baffling and powerful, so is compulsive overeating.

Despite being fed so very well I managed to drop some weight. Enough to fit into clothes I haven't worn in a long time. I hadn't expected that. I found myself eating slower and more mindfully than I have ever done. Whenever I found myself pacing in a "Give me something to eat otherwise I'm going to blow up at someone." mode I became aware of my pattern of behaviour and the need to stop and deal with my feelings. It means I can no longer indulge in comfort food eating. Feeding my feelings instead of dealing with them will take me down a road I can't afford to go. I find that liberating and sad, too.

Did you know good isn't a feeling? We had a four page list to choose from every day of how we were feeling and good was not on it. Neither was fine. For two solid weeks I chose words that described emotional pain of some kind or another before I was able to honestly write on the board the word peaceful.

Which I think came about directly because of your prayer support. Dearest one would drop off emails and comments from online so that I could read and gather strength from them. There were several stretches where I could really feel the support. There is an abundance of people out there who have no one to support them in their recovery. They leave rehab and have to find a whole new support group and have to cut ties with family, too. I feel blessed to have a strong support group both at home and online.

However, I did not want to come home.
The treatment center was safe and predictable. I was able to practice the things I learned in a supportive, caring enviroment. I was overwhelmed much of the first two weeks in treamtent, and overwhelmed when out on pass. So much so that I chose not to go out on pass after the first time. Leaving the center on Friday found me scared and bewildered. Lingering sadness is my feeling phrase for today.
Coming home Friday night felt like culture shock.
I'm still adjusting.

Merciful Compassion

This will be my last post before I go for treatment at the local Alcohol and Drug Abuse center August 4th to 24th. This morning I attended my AA home group. I realize many enter rehab without a supportive group of people behind them. I am blessed to have support from several different communities, inlcuding online.
Thank you.

I am also asking prayer for my mom, the alcoholic of my childhood,who is still actively drinking. I had a long chat with her yesterday. It took me most of the conversation to clue in that she'd been drinking. She has congestive heart failure with permanent damage to 50% of her heart. Drinking can hasten her death.
For many years all I had towards her was intense anger. There was a time, right before I sobered up, that I swore if I heard her voice all that would come out of me was a never ending scream. The more I do recovery work, the less anger I have towards her. Facing my own demons and shortcomings has helped me look at her with compassion, knowing she judges herself harshly for making a lifetime of choices that have damaged every relationship she's had. My prayer is that I don't add to her condemnation. There is a part in the Big Book of AA that talks about an alcoholic pointing out every flaw in every situation and person because they want perfection and think everyone else does, too. That sums up part of my mom's story and certainly my own as well.
I also know that there will be a chunk of time devoted to working through my childhood issues concerning my mom while I am in treatment.
Lord, have mercy.
Christ, have mercy.
Lord, have mercy.

Fragile Surrender

When I started writing this blog I had no intent on turning it into a recovery blog. Could be that because back then I was still in denial about being a sex addict and a compulsive overeater. The sobriety I had when it came to alcohol seemed to be a non issue. How wrong I was on all counts. How far I've come. Pure gift and grace.

I'm turning a corner in my recovery and I feel fragile. Fragile in new behaviour and thinking. Feeling more alone, not less. It's taking every bit of energy I have to do those things on a daily basis that support my recovery. I often feel more selfish, not less for doing them. There are moments when it would be easier to relapse. I read last night a quote [from Patrick Carnes book on recovery from sexual addiction called Don't Call It Love] that resonated with me:

"Preserving a hard-won sense of self is not an easy task. A coaddict name Juilee spoke of the difficulties of "having to stay focused on recovery when every fiber in my body wanted to say, 'Okay, you win! I'll stop my meetings. I'll go back to who I was. I'll be me again. I'll be who you want me to be: a people pleasing codependent.'"

I'm in the home stretch now as I prepare to go to rehab August 4th. The first thing on the list of things I'm supposed to bring is a bathing suit. Are they nuts? This 240 pound woman is not bringing a bathing suit. It's enough to go into a situation where I will be bearing my heart, never mind my body. Gah.

I can't receive phone calls when I'm there, neither will I have any access to computers. I need support throughout those weeks from people who have journeyed with me to this point. Some of you out there are such people. I'm asking if you could drop me a note of encouragement to my email sometime between the 4th and 24th of August. I'll get dearest one to bring them to me if he can come visit. My counselor told me last week that sometimes the homework is to ask your spouse to come visit to hash through issues. Sometimes they recommend that no family come visit. I'll have to wait and see what they think for my own situation. If you'd like a snail mail address instead just email me and I'll send it to you. Thank you in advance.

Today is 8+ months of abstinence from sexual addiction, and 6 weeks of no binge eating. My primary addiction is alcohol and today is 19 years and nearly 4 months of sobriety. I cannot do this on my own strength.

Father, I abandon myself in to your hands,
do with me what you will.
Whatever you may do, I thank you.
I am ready for all, I accept all.
Only let your will be done in me
as in all your creatures;
I ask no more than this.
Into your hands I commend my soul.
I offer it to you with all the love of my heart,
for I love you, Lord,
and so need to give myself,
to surrender myself into your hands,
without reserve, and with boundless confidence,
for you are my Father.
~the Abandonment Prayer of Charles de Foucauld

Being Held

I wrote the following this week for an online friend who is struggling with many adversities in her life. Scary uncertainty keeps cropping up for me.


Wanting to escape is so human.
I've been in almost all those scenarios
you are now in.
I desperately wanted an escape.
A fix.
Something to numb how scared I felt
about accepting life on life's terms.
I had my methods.
They never really fixed anything
for more than a moment.
But I wanted them and
went after them
all the same.

Food.
Pornography.
To name a few.

Without the
numbing
there is
now
a gaping hole
that I humbly acknowledge
and beg for the grace
not to fill it
with those things
that will not satisfy in the end.

Even though some days
the gaping hole feels
like a bottomless pit
and my desire to escape
a screaming
that never ends.

But I am held
and so are you
by something
much bigger than
a gaping
empty hole.

If that wasn't true
I'd return to
every one of
my addictions.
Today.

It's easy for me to
write this
now
that I'm no longer
in that place
of scary uncertainty.

I pray
that you will
let yourself
be held.

For strength
to do
the next right thing.

To know that the
feelings
are temporary
even if
they last
a lifetime.

And that
being held
is
eternal.

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.

This Path

I took those words, "It is not what you are nor what you have been that God sees with his all-merciful eyes, but what you desire to be." with me to Mass this afternoon. I felt a quiet joy within me as I went.

It was one of those Sundays where tears just kept welling up within me. Good tears. The kind of tears, had I been in solitude, would have become a torrent. It's been a long time since I felt so weepy at Mass. Every time I turned around [what, you didn't know we turned around at Mass?! :)] hearing God's word proclaimed reduced me to tears. It's been a long while since I felt pierced by God's word. Or had pictures come into my head in response to prayer.

One picture that came into my mind was that of being carried into rehab in the arms of Christ. And after it came into my head I thought to myself, wait, that doesn't make sense because where is he carrying me? Shouldn't I be getting carried towards him not by him? I mean is he carrying me to the counselors? They aren't going to heal me. Or are they? I had quite the little arguement in my mind about it all. Eventually I let it go and kept with me the picture of being carried by him into rehab.

Then, after receiving the Eucharist I felt like I was being held and rocked within safe arms. I turned, lifted my head and told Jesus, with one finger, you could heal all of me....the physical, the emotional, the addictions. And as soon as I said that I got a picture of myself with bleeding knees and a rocky path ahead of me. And he seemed to say, this is your path. Tonight I trust that this path I'm on is right where I'm supposed to be and that healing will come. It just might not look like what I'm expecting. But I do trust that I'm being carried, being held as I go.