One thing about spending three days without a timepiece in sight (they ask that you voluntarily give up all watches, cell phones,etc. for the duration and they cover up all clocks) is that I not only lose track of what time it is but what day it is, too. The only way I seem to be able to know today is Tuesday is to look at the calendar.
It was a wonderful weekend, spiritually refreshing, fun, loving and life giving. I feel blessed to have been a part of it. My spoon supply was adequate, which still seems miraculous. Not that I'm not weary today, but it's a manageable weariness not an overwhelming one. For that I am grateful.
It's a winter wonderland out there this morning. It looks beautiful. Hopefully tomorrow the roads will be driveable because I'll have my last sesion with Fr. Charlie in person for a while. We both drive between one and two hours for our spiritual direction sessions now and I'm not keen on winter driving so after tomorrow we'll talk on the phone until after the snow melts in the spring.
The nightmare that I alluded to in my last post; it's meaning was revealed to me during the weekend. It was the first time I had a dream where I didn't wake up until after the scary, heart stopping scene was finished. Anyway, the meaning went from murkiness for clarity and for that I am grateful. When that happened I acknowledged that scary things don't always have to be pushed to the recesses of our minds.
5 months of no binge eating as of yesterday. Thanks be to God. My session with the counselor from the sexual abuse centre has been rescheduled for next Monday as she forgot it was a holiday yesterday when we booked it. I can wait.
The thought that has been reverberating in my heart from the weekend came from one of the spiritual directors, a priest. We gathered for team Mass before the candidates arrived and he talked about how we didn't know where these women were in their spiritual journey and how our place was not to judge. He said we aren't called to tell people they are lost but rather to be there with them when they feel they are lost. What a freeing perspective.
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
Thursday, November 08, 2007
Sleep Deprived
Tired. Not a good way to start what will be a sleep deprived (I almost typed depraved) weekend. I woke up from a nightmare in the middle of the night last night and my sleep was haphazard after that. I may just go back to bed instead of packing my suitcase.
There's a light dusting of snow on the ground this morning. It looks like a baker took a sieve and sprinkled icing sugar over the land.
Dearest one and youngest son spent a night in town this week rather than risk freezing rain two mornings in a row. Two mornings ago dearest one passed a Greyhound bus about 5 minutes before that bus rolled, killing several passengers. After experiencing several traumatic deaths in our family whenever I hear of an accident I think to myself, "Their nightmare is just beginning."
I'll be gone until Monday night, spending the weekend with 80 other women. I'll be giving a talk on putting our faith in action on Saturday afternoon. Monday morning I have my first appointment at the agency in town that offers childhood sexual abuse counseling. Pray for me.
Here's my favourite posts from the blogsphere this week: tears and laughter in one post. Goodbye.
Have a blessed weekend. Covet your sleep. Hug your loved ones.
There's a light dusting of snow on the ground this morning. It looks like a baker took a sieve and sprinkled icing sugar over the land.
Dearest one and youngest son spent a night in town this week rather than risk freezing rain two mornings in a row. Two mornings ago dearest one passed a Greyhound bus about 5 minutes before that bus rolled, killing several passengers. After experiencing several traumatic deaths in our family whenever I hear of an accident I think to myself, "Their nightmare is just beginning."
I'll be gone until Monday night, spending the weekend with 80 other women. I'll be giving a talk on putting our faith in action on Saturday afternoon. Monday morning I have my first appointment at the agency in town that offers childhood sexual abuse counseling. Pray for me.
Here's my favourite posts from the blogsphere this week: tears and laughter in one post. Goodbye.
Have a blessed weekend. Covet your sleep. Hug your loved ones.
Wednesday, November 07, 2007
Back To The Present
My procrastinating ways are going to catch up with me today. Tomorrow I'm off to a women's weekend. Today will be laundry, lists and packing. I'll be one of a dozen speakers over the course of the weekend. I look forward to that. This weekend is one of great love and fellowship. In many ways it's life giving for me. In others it's a challenge to my recovery.
One of the biggest hurdles for me this weekend will be no bingeing. I've binged my way through this weekend before. There is food. Lots of it. Everytime one turns around it's either meal time or coffee break. There's candy on every table throughout the whole day. And when the bowl gets empty they refill it! Social situations are one of my biggest triggers for bingeing. I'm not a social butterfly, I prefer one on one conversations. In social situations food can seem a safer companion than the person next to me.
On Monday, by God's grace, I'll have 5 months of no binge eating. I don't miss the insanity of it. The inability to stop shoving food into my mouth while my head is screaming at me to stop right this minute. My inability to listen to the voice of reason. My refusal to surrender to a power greater than myself until after the binge is over. I don't miss the shame, the guilt, the self loathing. I do miss the instant gratification.
There are certain foods I avoid today because to taste one bite of them will take me down a road I don't want to go. I can have the greatest intentions while plotting ways to get around my own boundaries. Because one has to eat my food addiction seems harder to navigate than alcohol. Yet in action it works the same way. Deciding to have just one drink when you know the whole bottle's going to call your name until it's empty is the same kind of relationship I have with junk food, candy and pop. Give me a little bit and I want it all and I don't want to share it either.
Today. That's all I have to live. I'm getting ahead of myself yet know I need a plan in place, too. In treatment we came up with a relapse prevention plan. I need to take a copy with me tomorrow and read it every day. I can't do any of this on my own strength. God help me. I can feel the anxiety between my words.
This little excerpt from Be-good-to-yourself-Therapy speaks to me right now:
It's all you have.
One of the biggest hurdles for me this weekend will be no bingeing. I've binged my way through this weekend before. There is food. Lots of it. Everytime one turns around it's either meal time or coffee break. There's candy on every table throughout the whole day. And when the bowl gets empty they refill it! Social situations are one of my biggest triggers for bingeing. I'm not a social butterfly, I prefer one on one conversations. In social situations food can seem a safer companion than the person next to me.
On Monday, by God's grace, I'll have 5 months of no binge eating. I don't miss the insanity of it. The inability to stop shoving food into my mouth while my head is screaming at me to stop right this minute. My inability to listen to the voice of reason. My refusal to surrender to a power greater than myself until after the binge is over. I don't miss the shame, the guilt, the self loathing. I do miss the instant gratification.
There are certain foods I avoid today because to taste one bite of them will take me down a road I don't want to go. I can have the greatest intentions while plotting ways to get around my own boundaries. Because one has to eat my food addiction seems harder to navigate than alcohol. Yet in action it works the same way. Deciding to have just one drink when you know the whole bottle's going to call your name until it's empty is the same kind of relationship I have with junk food, candy and pop. Give me a little bit and I want it all and I don't want to share it either.
Today. That's all I have to live. I'm getting ahead of myself yet know I need a plan in place, too. In treatment we came up with a relapse prevention plan. I need to take a copy with me tomorrow and read it every day. I can't do any of this on my own strength. God help me. I can feel the anxiety between my words.
This little excerpt from Be-good-to-yourself-Therapy speaks to me right now:
"19. When you feel anxious, let yourself know that in your head you've moved into the future to something scary and your body has gotten up the energy for it. Come back to the present."Come back to the present.
It's all you have.
Tuesday, November 06, 2007
Making Saints and Snow Angels
Winter weather is in the forecast for today. Dearest one barely made it to work on freezing rain covered roads early this morning. He'll stay in town overnight rather than risk the roads two days in a row. Snow is expected tonight and tomorrow. And so it begins.
I'm fine with winter but I'm not a great fan of winter driving and do it only if I have to. That means some weeks I get feeling stir crazy and house bound but really, that's temporary.
Nothing lasts forever.
I try to remember that especially when I'm miserable. It took me several hours to figure out just what was irritating me last night. Turns out it was myself. I'd spent the evening yapping at dearest one, having an answer to anything and everything he told me. Eventually I looked at him and told him he was irritating me. Ha. Projection at its finest. It took until we were snuggled in bed last night to realize my own yappiness was the issue. And then I proceeded to yap at him about that while he was trying to get comfy and sleep. He really is a saint in the making. Courtesy of moi.
Nothing lasts forever.
Dearest one whispers, "Thank God." I chime in with "Amen." Okay, okay, I'll be quiet now. I promise.
I'm fine with winter but I'm not a great fan of winter driving and do it only if I have to. That means some weeks I get feeling stir crazy and house bound but really, that's temporary.
Nothing lasts forever.
I try to remember that especially when I'm miserable. It took me several hours to figure out just what was irritating me last night. Turns out it was myself. I'd spent the evening yapping at dearest one, having an answer to anything and everything he told me. Eventually I looked at him and told him he was irritating me. Ha. Projection at its finest. It took until we were snuggled in bed last night to realize my own yappiness was the issue. And then I proceeded to yap at him about that while he was trying to get comfy and sleep. He really is a saint in the making. Courtesy of moi.
Nothing lasts forever.
Dearest one whispers, "Thank God." I chime in with "Amen." Okay, okay, I'll be quiet now. I promise.
Monday, November 05, 2007
Awareness
A new week.
A new day.
A new beginning.
Over the weekend I realized I was trying to hold in my grasp the feeling that life is more than good. As if clutching it tight was the same as the power to make it last forever. As I became aware of what I was trying to do I knew it's more important to accept reality, whatever it is, for this day only. My worth is not dependent on my state of mind. My attitude however, is fully mine to choose. My humanity a reality that's better to accept than deny.
In 10 days, God help me, I'll be celebrating one year of abstinence from sexual addiction. Sometimes I get upset that recovery can only ever be a one day at a time reality. A year ago I didn't decide I'd be abstinent forever but I hoped this time I would be. It wasn't long before I ran smack dab into a for this day only reality check. I find myself cussing a bit about that from time to time. Usually when I am in the midst of struggling and resisting the urge to chuck all recovery out the window. This 24 hours is all I have to deal with. Wrapped in God's grace it's possible to live in this day only.
Living in recovery is akin to living in awareness. I still have these ideas of good and bad feelings and find myself repressing the ones I deem bad. On the weekend I found myself telling dearest one and youngest son I wasn't mad about a situation that involved me setting boundaries that affected them. I must have said it three or four times in a 5 minute conversation. Methinks thou does protest too much surfaced in my mind like a drowning man coming up for air. Ya think? The more I protested I wasn't mad the more I realized oh yes I was. Why was that so difficult to admit? Because I still see being mad as being less than perfect and a bad thing. Oh, this is a journey Hope, stop getting your knickers in a knot about the destination. I need those reminders. They help me relax, take a deep breath and accept reality. Reality often means accepting my humanity instead of trying to outrun it.
Enjoy your journey today.
A new day.
A new beginning.
Over the weekend I realized I was trying to hold in my grasp the feeling that life is more than good. As if clutching it tight was the same as the power to make it last forever. As I became aware of what I was trying to do I knew it's more important to accept reality, whatever it is, for this day only. My worth is not dependent on my state of mind. My attitude however, is fully mine to choose. My humanity a reality that's better to accept than deny.
In 10 days, God help me, I'll be celebrating one year of abstinence from sexual addiction. Sometimes I get upset that recovery can only ever be a one day at a time reality. A year ago I didn't decide I'd be abstinent forever but I hoped this time I would be. It wasn't long before I ran smack dab into a for this day only reality check. I find myself cussing a bit about that from time to time. Usually when I am in the midst of struggling and resisting the urge to chuck all recovery out the window. This 24 hours is all I have to deal with. Wrapped in God's grace it's possible to live in this day only.
Living in recovery is akin to living in awareness. I still have these ideas of good and bad feelings and find myself repressing the ones I deem bad. On the weekend I found myself telling dearest one and youngest son I wasn't mad about a situation that involved me setting boundaries that affected them. I must have said it three or four times in a 5 minute conversation. Methinks thou does protest too much surfaced in my mind like a drowning man coming up for air. Ya think? The more I protested I wasn't mad the more I realized oh yes I was. Why was that so difficult to admit? Because I still see being mad as being less than perfect and a bad thing. Oh, this is a journey Hope, stop getting your knickers in a knot about the destination. I need those reminders. They help me relax, take a deep breath and accept reality. Reality often means accepting my humanity instead of trying to outrun it.
Enjoy your journey today.
Sunday, November 04, 2007
Grateful Reality
No snow. Beautiful sunshine. Frost on the grass. A new day.
My AA meeting yesterday was uplifting. So good to have a place to go where I can be human without apology. No fear of judgement. Just the nod of heads because we all know we can be just as human and messed up as the next person. To be in a place where I know I'm going to be loved and accepted for who I really am.
As I drove up to the parking lot I felt grateful. Then I felt grateful that I was grateful! It only gets better. Before recovery I was only capable of being grateful if life was going my way. With all my ducks lined up in a row, none falling over, then I might feel grateful. That's the insanity of addiction, being grateful for an illusion.
Being grateful for reality is so much better.
My AA meeting yesterday was uplifting. So good to have a place to go where I can be human without apology. No fear of judgement. Just the nod of heads because we all know we can be just as human and messed up as the next person. To be in a place where I know I'm going to be loved and accepted for who I really am.
As I drove up to the parking lot I felt grateful. Then I felt grateful that I was grateful! It only gets better. Before recovery I was only capable of being grateful if life was going my way. With all my ducks lined up in a row, none falling over, then I might feel grateful. That's the insanity of addiction, being grateful for an illusion.
Being grateful for reality is so much better.
Saturday, November 03, 2007
Saturday, Saturday
Saturday, Saturday.....now who sang that song? I'm thinking Bay City Rollers but I could be wrong. Remember plaid sewn into jeans for a cool cuff way back when?
A new day. A gift. I'm learning I just need to stay in this day. That seems so simple. To type, I mean. It's getting easier to live. I'm making baby step progress in doing so anyway.
I'm off to town for my AA meeting this morning. If it works out I may be going shopping with a loved one later on. I do most of my shopping solo so to go with someone will be a treat. I zipped up size 16 jeans this morning and could do more than hold my breath and stand like a mannequin in them. I didn't even have to do that lie on the bed to get them done up trick, either. That's progress, too. I mean not that I could actually sit down in them without feeling like I'd been cut in half but at least now I can breathe. Without a scale they're my progress chart for eating healthier, walking regularly and not binge eating.
I often still want to eat to deal with my feelings and sit on the couch all day. I have many days of wanting to do just that. By God's grace I don't. My gang eats a fair amount of junk food in my presence. Lately I've asked them if they could put the remains away once they're done. Going around and picking up half full bags of chips has the same temptation as if I had to pick up bottles of beer with a swallow left in them.
Usually when I want to binge I'm craving something deeper than food. And no matter how full I stuff my face that empty, craving feeling remains. So I practice asking myself what it is I really want. And often I don't know but asking is a step in the right direction.
In my parent's house eating is the pinnacle event of the day. My mom still cooks fabulous meals and she has ingredients in her cupboards I can't even pronounce. It's my parent's 51st wedding anniversary today. While I don't have the greatest respect for their marriage journey I am grateful they are still together. They had a double wedding (my mom is an identical twin) and every year they get together with my aunt and uncle and have a great meal together. Most likely they'll be cooking up a storm today.
On weekends here dearest one and youngest son do the cooking so I'm off the hook for today. All I have to do today is stay in this day. I can do that. I can. I will.
A new day. A gift. I'm learning I just need to stay in this day. That seems so simple. To type, I mean. It's getting easier to live. I'm making baby step progress in doing so anyway.
I'm off to town for my AA meeting this morning. If it works out I may be going shopping with a loved one later on. I do most of my shopping solo so to go with someone will be a treat. I zipped up size 16 jeans this morning and could do more than hold my breath and stand like a mannequin in them. I didn't even have to do that lie on the bed to get them done up trick, either. That's progress, too. I mean not that I could actually sit down in them without feeling like I'd been cut in half but at least now I can breathe. Without a scale they're my progress chart for eating healthier, walking regularly and not binge eating.
I often still want to eat to deal with my feelings and sit on the couch all day. I have many days of wanting to do just that. By God's grace I don't. My gang eats a fair amount of junk food in my presence. Lately I've asked them if they could put the remains away once they're done. Going around and picking up half full bags of chips has the same temptation as if I had to pick up bottles of beer with a swallow left in them.
Usually when I want to binge I'm craving something deeper than food. And no matter how full I stuff my face that empty, craving feeling remains. So I practice asking myself what it is I really want. And often I don't know but asking is a step in the right direction.
In my parent's house eating is the pinnacle event of the day. My mom still cooks fabulous meals and she has ingredients in her cupboards I can't even pronounce. It's my parent's 51st wedding anniversary today. While I don't have the greatest respect for their marriage journey I am grateful they are still together. They had a double wedding (my mom is an identical twin) and every year they get together with my aunt and uncle and have a great meal together. Most likely they'll be cooking up a storm today.
On weekends here dearest one and youngest son do the cooking so I'm off the hook for today. All I have to do today is stay in this day. I can do that. I can. I will.
Friday, November 02, 2007
Pick a number, any number
I've seen this around on several blogs and it started my brain running on overdrive. What memories to pick from my life 10, 20 and 30 years ago. Let's see what I can come up with.
10 years ago: 1997. 35th birthday. The year I had two lumpectomies to rule out breast cancer. My mom had breast cancer when she was 33 and again at 51.(she turns 69 next week) One of my maternal first cousins, who's in her early 40's, recently had breast cancer too so lumps must be checked. With the second surgery I hemorrhaged at home and had to have emergency surgery to stop the bleeding plus several units of blood afterwards. On the way to the hospital I swelled up with blood so much that I often joke I got to be Dolly Parton on one side for onle day. I don't recommend it. (You could poke someone's eye out) The good part of it all was this experience started doctors checking into the bleeding issues in our family and ultimately ended with the diagnosis of Ehlers-Danlos Type III, a connective tissue disorder, a few years ago. Generations of weird medical issues were finally answered because of that lumpectomy gone wrong.
20 years ago: 1987. I was 25. Very pregnant with youngest son while oldest son is one year old and only daughter is three. Not yet sober. Less than a year from sobriety and faith. One of the rockiest years. Nearly left dearest one. That episode brought him to his knees and back to God. We still get teary when we talk of how close we came to splits ville that day. How it would have boiled down to pride for us to have gone our separate ways back then. How grateful we are that we didn't. We've had lots of rocky times since but thanks be to God, we celebrated 25 years of marriage this past winter. My going to treatment has probably been the greatest threat to our marriage yet. As we both work through our issues and the layers get peeled back, we are beginning to see how beautiful true intimacy could be.
30 years ago: 1977. 15 years old. The year dearest one and I stopped being pen pals. I was heartbroken. He was raised in a conservative Mennonite home where church membership meant no dating, no girlfriends. Never having heard the term Mennonite before, I had no idea what it meant. Isn't that like, uh, me being Norwegian? Not. His immanent baptism meant he had to stop writing me. The night before his baptism he got drunk instead and opted out of the plan. With a few years we would reconnect and by the time I was 19 we were married.
And in the vein of dreaming dreams I'll add:
2017: I'll be 55. Best word I could hear in that year would be "Hi Nana" That would be what I'd hear when they knock on the door of my writing cabin. A place of sanctuary for young and old alike. Not that 55 will be old, but I will be fully grey by then. Heck, I'll probably be fully grey long before that.
2027: Retirement age. Knowing and living what is really important. Fewer words. More meaning. Deeper loving. Strong hope.
2037: 75. What a gift to reach that age. Family. Relationships. Faith. Passing the torch to the next generation. Love. At the end of it all, love is what matters. "God is love. And he who abides in love abides in God and God in him." What better legacy could one leave?
10 years ago: 1997. 35th birthday. The year I had two lumpectomies to rule out breast cancer. My mom had breast cancer when she was 33 and again at 51.(she turns 69 next week) One of my maternal first cousins, who's in her early 40's, recently had breast cancer too so lumps must be checked. With the second surgery I hemorrhaged at home and had to have emergency surgery to stop the bleeding plus several units of blood afterwards. On the way to the hospital I swelled up with blood so much that I often joke I got to be Dolly Parton on one side for onle day. I don't recommend it. (You could poke someone's eye out) The good part of it all was this experience started doctors checking into the bleeding issues in our family and ultimately ended with the diagnosis of Ehlers-Danlos Type III, a connective tissue disorder, a few years ago. Generations of weird medical issues were finally answered because of that lumpectomy gone wrong.
20 years ago: 1987. I was 25. Very pregnant with youngest son while oldest son is one year old and only daughter is three. Not yet sober. Less than a year from sobriety and faith. One of the rockiest years. Nearly left dearest one. That episode brought him to his knees and back to God. We still get teary when we talk of how close we came to splits ville that day. How it would have boiled down to pride for us to have gone our separate ways back then. How grateful we are that we didn't. We've had lots of rocky times since but thanks be to God, we celebrated 25 years of marriage this past winter. My going to treatment has probably been the greatest threat to our marriage yet. As we both work through our issues and the layers get peeled back, we are beginning to see how beautiful true intimacy could be.
30 years ago: 1977. 15 years old. The year dearest one and I stopped being pen pals. I was heartbroken. He was raised in a conservative Mennonite home where church membership meant no dating, no girlfriends. Never having heard the term Mennonite before, I had no idea what it meant. Isn't that like, uh, me being Norwegian? Not. His immanent baptism meant he had to stop writing me. The night before his baptism he got drunk instead and opted out of the plan. With a few years we would reconnect and by the time I was 19 we were married.
And in the vein of dreaming dreams I'll add:
2017: I'll be 55. Best word I could hear in that year would be "Hi Nana" That would be what I'd hear when they knock on the door of my writing cabin. A place of sanctuary for young and old alike. Not that 55 will be old, but I will be fully grey by then. Heck, I'll probably be fully grey long before that.
2027: Retirement age. Knowing and living what is really important. Fewer words. More meaning. Deeper loving. Strong hope.
2037: 75. What a gift to reach that age. Family. Relationships. Faith. Passing the torch to the next generation. Love. At the end of it all, love is what matters. "God is love. And he who abides in love abides in God and God in him." What better legacy could one leave?
Thursday, November 01, 2007
Navigating The Journey
I turned a corner yesterday. Simply and with gratitude.
I've been feeling as if I'd learned nada, nothing in treatment. Felt like I was navigating life from that old place, without a clue how to get back what I'd gained. I was trying, with little success, to accept where I was.
Yesterday during my time of prayer and reflection I read something that reminded me I wasn't God. What a relief. To be reminded, I mean. Grateful that my automatic response wasn't, "What do you mean I'm not God?!" I've had more than a few of those in my day. Recognizing I wasn't God brought me right back to step one (I can't), two (God can) and three (I'll let Him) and with that came surrender and serenity. Thanks be to God.
I've been feeling as if I'd learned nada, nothing in treatment. Felt like I was navigating life from that old place, without a clue how to get back what I'd gained. I was trying, with little success, to accept where I was.
Yesterday during my time of prayer and reflection I read something that reminded me I wasn't God. What a relief. To be reminded, I mean. Grateful that my automatic response wasn't, "What do you mean I'm not God?!" I've had more than a few of those in my day. Recognizing I wasn't God brought me right back to step one (I can't), two (God can) and three (I'll let Him) and with that came surrender and serenity. Thanks be to God.
Monday, October 29, 2007
Today
Monday, Monday. No snow. One year ago we had a foot of snow and the official start of winter. Over seven feet of snow and six months later it gave way to spring.
Today I have an appointment with my after treatment addictions counselor and then on to buying groceries. My commitment today is to buy good groceries. To honour my body with good choices. I'm grateful I have that privilege. Hopefully I'll find a $5 bouquet of pink roses to take home as well.
Small things give me the most pleasure. A cup of tea. A pretty flower. A comfy bed to crawl into. A shower. We spent years hauling every drop of water we used so to have a well that works better the more water we use, makes a shower a glorious event. A simple meal. A library book to read. A warm blanket for my lap.
It doesn't take much to make me happy. Sometimes I wonder if that's because I'm not much of a dreamer. Or if life's struggles have taught me to be thankful for what's right in front of me.
Whatever the case I'm grateful to be going to town today and receiving nourishment for body and soul. Life doesn't get much better than that.
Today I have an appointment with my after treatment addictions counselor and then on to buying groceries. My commitment today is to buy good groceries. To honour my body with good choices. I'm grateful I have that privilege. Hopefully I'll find a $5 bouquet of pink roses to take home as well.
Small things give me the most pleasure. A cup of tea. A pretty flower. A comfy bed to crawl into. A shower. We spent years hauling every drop of water we used so to have a well that works better the more water we use, makes a shower a glorious event. A simple meal. A library book to read. A warm blanket for my lap.
It doesn't take much to make me happy. Sometimes I wonder if that's because I'm not much of a dreamer. Or if life's struggles have taught me to be thankful for what's right in front of me.
Whatever the case I'm grateful to be going to town today and receiving nourishment for body and soul. Life doesn't get much better than that.
Thursday, October 25, 2007
Last Night I Baptized A Book
I was getting settled under the bed covers the other night, my latest read and a cup of tea occupying both hands, when a few teaspoons of golden hot liquid spilled onto the book. As I reached over to get a Kleenex to soak it up a sentence popped into my head:
Yesterday I met with Fr. Charlie. I arrived late and found the front door locked. I yanked on the doorknob once last time, not knowing that if I would've moved my fingers an inch to the left, they would have pressed the door bell to let them know I was there. Sometimes the solution is so simple. Fortunately, when I walked around to the side of the building, someone finishing up dishes from lunch saw me through a window. She opened the side door, told me the front door was always locked, and led me through a maze of hallways and staircases where I eventually ended up in Father Charlie's office.
I miss the serenity of the sitting room in his old office. The one with comfortable furniture and peaceful paint colours. It felt safer there. In this new space there's high ceilings, institutional white paint and two uncomfortable wooden chairs. They're meant to sit facing his desk but when we meet he comes around the side and sits in one while I take the other. With barely enough room to navigate, the chairs are turned to rest against adjoining walls. We turn them slightly to face one another. If only ceiling height could morph into floor space when needed.
But it doesn't and so ensconced in our chairs we began. Back and forth. Probing questions. Tears. Silence. Unbelief that I could find myself in such a state. Again. Not that he was taken by surprise, mind you. I look forward to the day when my humanity no longer slaps me across the face with a ferocity that stuns me. I covered my face with my hands and cried when he reminded me to honour whatever I was capable of on any given day. That good enough was indeed, good enough. I looked at him through the tears and told him I'd forgotten such a simple truth. Celebrate the here and now. Accept myself as is. As is is good enough. Always.
Later on I shared this recurring feeling of having a cry inside me that was begging to be let out. That it came from my core and the thought of giving it a voice scared me. Made me feel out of control. For now all I could do was open my mouth wide and practice without making a sound. He wondered aloud what the cry was trying to tell me. What was behind it. I hadn't felt like this in nearly 20 years I told him. Back then I'd been angry with my mom. Really angry. I'd recently shared my story with someone for the first time. The pain that followed was nearly unbearable. I was in the midst of sobering up and when the pain got too much I would lie on my bed and fantasize about how a six pack of beer would make everything better. Except I'd already been to Al-Anon by then and knew beer wasn't going to solve a thing. It was all my mother's fault. And if she phoned I was going to let out this primal scream to let her know it.
Yesterday though, the cry didn't feel angry. When I sat with it long enough to feel its breath I told Fr. Charlie it was a wailing cry. Deep and painful.
"Like new birth?" he asked.
At his question I turned to look him right in the eyes. Facing him I said out loud, "Last night I baptized a book." At this he sat up a bit straighter. We sat in silence, the sentence making figure eight loops as it circled between us both now. I then shared the story of how this sentence had popped into my head the night before. How this particular book was taking me to raw, painful places.
From there our conversation took several turns when he asked me if any pictures came into my head. So I shared with him that the day before I'd pictured myself as a little girl running into caves. I wasn't very discerning about which I ran into. Some of them were full of fire and some were calm and peaceful. It didn't matter to me, I just wanted a cave to hide in. Once inside it's doorway I sat hugging my knees, rocking back and forth.
Further into the conversation we talked of altars built of stones. Places that marked significant events in one's journey. As we talked I pictured a huge boulder set on my path. One I put there by choice. As a person walked the path that was all my yesterdays, one saw the word RECOVERY painted in white across the middle of the boulder. To get that far you had to navigate chaos, stones, pebbles and obstacles. And my mother. On that side of the boulder I was the little girl who hid in caves and rocked back and forth. As I made my way around the rock I became a woman. Strong. Capable. Facing forward. And my mother couldn't come with me. No one got past the boulder without my permission. As I looked before me I saw a calming white that reached into infinity.
As my session came to a close Fr. Charlie shared what had come to him as I talked. As he reflected on the tea stained book he said the book was where I was in my baptismal journey. New birth, if only I would wail the wail and let it out. Caves and boulders both symbols of resurrection.
A surge of peace enveloped me as he spoke.
New birth.
Wailing the wail.
Deeper conversion.
Cries of my heart.
"Okay," I said, "I can do this.".
Suddenly honouring my story in whatever way its sentences form morphed into the path before me and became something to celebrate, not fight.
The circling stopped.
The plane landed.
"Last night I baptized a book.""Well, that's weird," I thought, "Books don't need rebirth." At that I wiped the tea away, opened my book and began reading. The sentence kept circling my head like an airplane in a holding pattern, though. "Excuse me, I'm trying to read here!" I murmured. By the time I went to sleep the sentence was still in orbit. It was the first thing to break through my consciousness when I opened my eyes 9 hours later, too. It still didn't make any sense.
Yesterday I met with Fr. Charlie. I arrived late and found the front door locked. I yanked on the doorknob once last time, not knowing that if I would've moved my fingers an inch to the left, they would have pressed the door bell to let them know I was there. Sometimes the solution is so simple. Fortunately, when I walked around to the side of the building, someone finishing up dishes from lunch saw me through a window. She opened the side door, told me the front door was always locked, and led me through a maze of hallways and staircases where I eventually ended up in Father Charlie's office.
I miss the serenity of the sitting room in his old office. The one with comfortable furniture and peaceful paint colours. It felt safer there. In this new space there's high ceilings, institutional white paint and two uncomfortable wooden chairs. They're meant to sit facing his desk but when we meet he comes around the side and sits in one while I take the other. With barely enough room to navigate, the chairs are turned to rest against adjoining walls. We turn them slightly to face one another. If only ceiling height could morph into floor space when needed.
But it doesn't and so ensconced in our chairs we began. Back and forth. Probing questions. Tears. Silence. Unbelief that I could find myself in such a state. Again. Not that he was taken by surprise, mind you. I look forward to the day when my humanity no longer slaps me across the face with a ferocity that stuns me. I covered my face with my hands and cried when he reminded me to honour whatever I was capable of on any given day. That good enough was indeed, good enough. I looked at him through the tears and told him I'd forgotten such a simple truth. Celebrate the here and now. Accept myself as is. As is is good enough. Always.
Later on I shared this recurring feeling of having a cry inside me that was begging to be let out. That it came from my core and the thought of giving it a voice scared me. Made me feel out of control. For now all I could do was open my mouth wide and practice without making a sound. He wondered aloud what the cry was trying to tell me. What was behind it. I hadn't felt like this in nearly 20 years I told him. Back then I'd been angry with my mom. Really angry. I'd recently shared my story with someone for the first time. The pain that followed was nearly unbearable. I was in the midst of sobering up and when the pain got too much I would lie on my bed and fantasize about how a six pack of beer would make everything better. Except I'd already been to Al-Anon by then and knew beer wasn't going to solve a thing. It was all my mother's fault. And if she phoned I was going to let out this primal scream to let her know it.
Yesterday though, the cry didn't feel angry. When I sat with it long enough to feel its breath I told Fr. Charlie it was a wailing cry. Deep and painful.
"Like new birth?" he asked.
At his question I turned to look him right in the eyes. Facing him I said out loud, "Last night I baptized a book." At this he sat up a bit straighter. We sat in silence, the sentence making figure eight loops as it circled between us both now. I then shared the story of how this sentence had popped into my head the night before. How this particular book was taking me to raw, painful places.
From there our conversation took several turns when he asked me if any pictures came into my head. So I shared with him that the day before I'd pictured myself as a little girl running into caves. I wasn't very discerning about which I ran into. Some of them were full of fire and some were calm and peaceful. It didn't matter to me, I just wanted a cave to hide in. Once inside it's doorway I sat hugging my knees, rocking back and forth.
Further into the conversation we talked of altars built of stones. Places that marked significant events in one's journey. As we talked I pictured a huge boulder set on my path. One I put there by choice. As a person walked the path that was all my yesterdays, one saw the word RECOVERY painted in white across the middle of the boulder. To get that far you had to navigate chaos, stones, pebbles and obstacles. And my mother. On that side of the boulder I was the little girl who hid in caves and rocked back and forth. As I made my way around the rock I became a woman. Strong. Capable. Facing forward. And my mother couldn't come with me. No one got past the boulder without my permission. As I looked before me I saw a calming white that reached into infinity.
As my session came to a close Fr. Charlie shared what had come to him as I talked. As he reflected on the tea stained book he said the book was where I was in my baptismal journey. New birth, if only I would wail the wail and let it out. Caves and boulders both symbols of resurrection.
A surge of peace enveloped me as he spoke.
New birth.
Wailing the wail.
Deeper conversion.
Cries of my heart.
"Okay," I said, "I can do this.".
Suddenly honouring my story in whatever way its sentences form morphed into the path before me and became something to celebrate, not fight.
The circling stopped.
The plane landed.
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
Purging My Story
"9. When you feel like running away, let yourself feel the scare. Think about what you fear will happen and decide what you need to do."~from Be-Good-To-Yourself Therapy by Cherry HartmanYesterday I wanted to numb the scare right out of my consciousness. To hell with all this recovery work. I wanted to throw it far away from me. But, damn. A person can never go back there whole heartedly. It's like wanting to stop for a lobotomy before committing the crime so one can plead insanity instead of guilty. Well, other than where I was yesterday in my thinking was pure insanity as understood in recovery talk. Knowing there is a better way rains on a parade real quick. So I skirted the fringes, dipped in my toes and eventually made a phone call to ask for confirmation that I was lying to myself, wasn't I? We are only as sick as our sickest secret she replied. So I opened the door and told mine. I made a commitment to stop dipping my toes in; behaviour that will lead to a full blown relapse if I continue. It feels like my recovery is slipping right through my fingers.
Pay attention.
Two words.
So easy to type.
Much harder to live.
They're the price of sanity.
I've been reading a book this week Writing To Save Your Life. I thought it was a book on journalling. That seemed harmless enough. I've journalled for years and a new book on it wouldn't hurt anything. At first I read and thought wow and by the end I was thinking fuck, so much for living in oblivion. The author takes one on an inner journey so raw, so true that to put pen to paper will purge my story right out of my body.
That is my big scare right now.
So I've been journalling short and sweet and mindless all week. Not much different than my grandma's diaries of the 1960's where Monday was wash day and Tuesday ironing. Safe, without revealing anything of myself.
I fear my own story.
I need to purge it anyway.
Monday, October 22, 2007
Tea and Talk
It's a drizzly Monday afternoon. A curl up on the couch with a good book and a cup of tea kind of day. I have several good books to read right now and more on the way via the library so that suits me just fine. I find having a cup of tea an occasion. Dearest one drinks coffee on the go but tea seems to me to be a slow down and enjoy the moment drink.
We have a new priest at our little church and as a community we are slowly getting used to each other. He comes from India and when he came to us he said his bishop had given him a three year vacation in Canada so he was at our disposal for the term. He is devout and deep. He looks much younger than his 63 years, his countenance one of bright eyes and peace. He preaches without notes and my head is still full of things to ponder weeks after every homily. He cuts to the quick with every gospel reading, leaving little wiggle room. Being in relationship with Jesus is his constant theme. Living this life from the heart, authentic in every way is there, too. Grace, mercy, compassion, the call to a continually deeper conversion get woven in amongst it all. As much as we mourn the changes, (we've petitioned the bishop to bring Fr. Charlie back after his term is up in the other parish) one woman whispered to me the other day, "God hasn't forgotten about us" in response to my question as to how she liked this new priest. We feel blessed to have his years of wisdom and his gracious spirit ministering to us.
We missed the way Fr. Charlie had invited us around the altar for the Lord's prayer and communion. We felt a little bewildered the first time we stood in our pews and said the Our Father and then lined up for communion. After a few weeks I approached the new priest and told him what we were used to. He wanted to honour what our tradition was so he now invites us up at those moments as well. Our church is so tiny that to line up for communion causes a traffic jam. Some Sundays we have to stretch out our arms while coming nearly right up against the altar so that we can all hold hands for prayer.
Yesterday a little boy, maybe 3 years old, was a joy to watch as he went around the altar and shared the sign of peace with everyone there. I love how the Mass is not a spectator service but a participatory celebration. This little guy has been sharing the sign of peace since he was old enough to toddle around. No one has coached him, he's simply observed what we do and wants to be a part of the community. After Mass yesterday his older sister brought him up to the front to blow out one of the altar candles. We all watched with big grins as he tried many, many times to blow out the candle but was not big enough yet to manage it. What was really special was that another boy, older by several years, had raced up to do this as well. He did one side and as he turned to do the other he saw this little guy being lifted by his sister and he encouraged and celebrated his attempt as the rest of us did.
This morning I had an appointment with our family doctor. He is a good, patient man. I have never felt rushed through an appointment. He listens well and is a teacher at heart. He has a quick sense of humour that's a little different. One time I ranted to him about a pharmacist in the community that I really disliked. I went a bit over the top calling the man an a**h***. A week or so later I felt prompted to write my doctor a note apologizing for my comments. I met him in the grocery store shortly after that and we talked. When I worked my next women's weekend he wrote me a note of encouragement and added a PS at the bottom that told me to consider the weekend a sabbatical from annoying pharmacists. That made me laugh outloud.
Every time I see him I want to proclaim that my body is falling apart yet again. Last night my knee locked up on me and that has put an end to my daily walks for a while. Between that and plantar fasciitis I'm in pain. But both are treatable so it's really more annoying than anything.
The couch is looking good right about now. Wish you were here to join me in a cup of tea and a good chat. That's my favourite way to spend time.
We have a new priest at our little church and as a community we are slowly getting used to each other. He comes from India and when he came to us he said his bishop had given him a three year vacation in Canada so he was at our disposal for the term. He is devout and deep. He looks much younger than his 63 years, his countenance one of bright eyes and peace. He preaches without notes and my head is still full of things to ponder weeks after every homily. He cuts to the quick with every gospel reading, leaving little wiggle room. Being in relationship with Jesus is his constant theme. Living this life from the heart, authentic in every way is there, too. Grace, mercy, compassion, the call to a continually deeper conversion get woven in amongst it all. As much as we mourn the changes, (we've petitioned the bishop to bring Fr. Charlie back after his term is up in the other parish) one woman whispered to me the other day, "God hasn't forgotten about us" in response to my question as to how she liked this new priest. We feel blessed to have his years of wisdom and his gracious spirit ministering to us.
We missed the way Fr. Charlie had invited us around the altar for the Lord's prayer and communion. We felt a little bewildered the first time we stood in our pews and said the Our Father and then lined up for communion. After a few weeks I approached the new priest and told him what we were used to. He wanted to honour what our tradition was so he now invites us up at those moments as well. Our church is so tiny that to line up for communion causes a traffic jam. Some Sundays we have to stretch out our arms while coming nearly right up against the altar so that we can all hold hands for prayer.
Yesterday a little boy, maybe 3 years old, was a joy to watch as he went around the altar and shared the sign of peace with everyone there. I love how the Mass is not a spectator service but a participatory celebration. This little guy has been sharing the sign of peace since he was old enough to toddle around. No one has coached him, he's simply observed what we do and wants to be a part of the community. After Mass yesterday his older sister brought him up to the front to blow out one of the altar candles. We all watched with big grins as he tried many, many times to blow out the candle but was not big enough yet to manage it. What was really special was that another boy, older by several years, had raced up to do this as well. He did one side and as he turned to do the other he saw this little guy being lifted by his sister and he encouraged and celebrated his attempt as the rest of us did.
This morning I had an appointment with our family doctor. He is a good, patient man. I have never felt rushed through an appointment. He listens well and is a teacher at heart. He has a quick sense of humour that's a little different. One time I ranted to him about a pharmacist in the community that I really disliked. I went a bit over the top calling the man an a**h***. A week or so later I felt prompted to write my doctor a note apologizing for my comments. I met him in the grocery store shortly after that and we talked. When I worked my next women's weekend he wrote me a note of encouragement and added a PS at the bottom that told me to consider the weekend a sabbatical from annoying pharmacists. That made me laugh outloud.
Every time I see him I want to proclaim that my body is falling apart yet again. Last night my knee locked up on me and that has put an end to my daily walks for a while. Between that and plantar fasciitis I'm in pain. But both are treatable so it's really more annoying than anything.
The couch is looking good right about now. Wish you were here to join me in a cup of tea and a good chat. That's my favourite way to spend time.
Friday, October 19, 2007
Stubborn Will
Friday.
The end of a tough week.
Well, not the end yet.
But almost.
Yesterday,
another counseling session.
where's my purpose? I cry.
Anger.
Despair.
Tears pool
and spill over.
A deep cry
from my core.
It brings
New self awareness.
An awareness I thought
I'd mastered.
Guess not.
More work.
Deeper work.
PSFD (my acronym full of swear words)
One day at a time.
One step at a time.
I can do this.
I can.
I will.
God help me.
The end of a tough week.
Well, not the end yet.
But almost.
Yesterday,
another counseling session.
where's my purpose? I cry.
Anger.
Despair.
Tears pool
and spill over.
A deep cry
from my core.
It brings
New self awareness.
An awareness I thought
I'd mastered.
Guess not.
More work.
Deeper work.
PSFD (my acronym full of swear words)
One day at a time.
One step at a time.
I can do this.
I can.
I will.
God help me.
Wednesday, October 17, 2007
My Heart Knows
I can't stop crying this morning. I find that a comfort when I think of all the years I spent numb to their presence. I can sit here and let them be today. This past summer I remember someone telling me that she had cried all the way home from work. I remember envying her ability to do that. To let them out as they rose up in her. My tears were reserved for the big deals of life. The kind where anyone would be in tears. Other than that they were few and far between. So to simply sit here and cry is a good thing. Only daughter has talked about honouring the tears, especially the snotty nose, give me a box of kleenex kind of tears. I think of that every time the tears spill over and it helps me honour them, too.
What started them rolling was this post. I still can't explain why the tears spilled over at the reading of it. They simply did. I'm not even going to try to figure it out. I don't need to. I need to let them be; accepting that my heart knows what my head doesn't need to.
What started them rolling was this post. I still can't explain why the tears spilled over at the reading of it. They simply did. I'm not even going to try to figure it out. I don't need to. I need to let them be; accepting that my heart knows what my head doesn't need to.
Tuesday, October 16, 2007
Grace, Grace... God's Grace
The talk I'm doing for the women's weekend is about putting one's faith into action. A good half of my talk is about a woman who put her faith into action by reaching out to me when I was a lonely, young mother. This woman loved me right into the arms of God. The more I wrote the talk, the more I missed her.
Two years ago this woman abruptly cut off all communication with me. My only inkling that she wasn't talking to me came when I tried calling her and she never answered her phone or returned messages. I had seen her do this with a mutual friend for reasons that were immature. I was sure I was in the same boat. I felt angry, sad and more sad. After several months I left a message on her daughter's message center and that went unanswered as well. Eventually I gave up. I was pissed at her most of the time by then. She had mentored me for 18 years, and the void her absence created was very painful. There were many key milestones in my life without her presence these past two years.
Sometimes I wondered if it would take a catastrophic event to reconnect. Or that one of us would have something serious to deal with in the interm and miss the opportunity to support one another when we needed it the most. She has never been good at staying in contact at the best of times. What she has been good at is being present when in conversation with me.
She is one of two women who have known me through everything (the other one is my college roomate, Liz), who has stuck by me when I was in the pit. She also modeled over the years what it looked like to walk the walk.
Well, until she didn't.
I give my talk this Saturday to the team who is working the women's weekend. I pictured someone raising their hand afterwards and asking me about my current relationship with this woman. "um, she's no longer speaking to me."
So, yesterday I picked up the phone once again and called. She answered.
What followed was a three hour conversation full of confession, repentance, grace and forgiveness. Both of us sobbed more than once. I was able to communicate my hurt, and pain at her rejection. My insecurity that I wouldn't know what to do if she did this again. Honest words flowed between us. Things got said that needed to be said.
She had been in a spiritual desert and had been unable to reach out when she needed me the most. Her life long habit of isolating when in any kind of pain kicked in and despite her knowing she needed me, she curled inward even more. Her two years in the desert, a time where her whole faith journey seemed to be nothing but platitudes, left her feeling dead inside. She had nothing to give. She had no words to even tell me that. Hence her silence.
She's been out of the desert for a little while now. Her faith is deeper. Her words more honest. Our relationship restored. Thanks be to God.
Two years ago this woman abruptly cut off all communication with me. My only inkling that she wasn't talking to me came when I tried calling her and she never answered her phone or returned messages. I had seen her do this with a mutual friend for reasons that were immature. I was sure I was in the same boat. I felt angry, sad and more sad. After several months I left a message on her daughter's message center and that went unanswered as well. Eventually I gave up. I was pissed at her most of the time by then. She had mentored me for 18 years, and the void her absence created was very painful. There were many key milestones in my life without her presence these past two years.
Sometimes I wondered if it would take a catastrophic event to reconnect. Or that one of us would have something serious to deal with in the interm and miss the opportunity to support one another when we needed it the most. She has never been good at staying in contact at the best of times. What she has been good at is being present when in conversation with me.
She is one of two women who have known me through everything (the other one is my college roomate, Liz), who has stuck by me when I was in the pit. She also modeled over the years what it looked like to walk the walk.
Well, until she didn't.
I give my talk this Saturday to the team who is working the women's weekend. I pictured someone raising their hand afterwards and asking me about my current relationship with this woman. "um, she's no longer speaking to me."
So, yesterday I picked up the phone once again and called. She answered.
What followed was a three hour conversation full of confession, repentance, grace and forgiveness. Both of us sobbed more than once. I was able to communicate my hurt, and pain at her rejection. My insecurity that I wouldn't know what to do if she did this again. Honest words flowed between us. Things got said that needed to be said.
She had been in a spiritual desert and had been unable to reach out when she needed me the most. Her life long habit of isolating when in any kind of pain kicked in and despite her knowing she needed me, she curled inward even more. Her two years in the desert, a time where her whole faith journey seemed to be nothing but platitudes, left her feeling dead inside. She had nothing to give. She had no words to even tell me that. Hence her silence.
She's been out of the desert for a little while now. Her faith is deeper. Her words more honest. Our relationship restored. Thanks be to God.
Laughter, Thought and Reminiscing
Do you need a laugh today? Here's a post that made me laugh from the blog: Boobs, Injuries and Dr. Pepper
Here's one that made me think from the blog: Shoved To Them
And finally here's one that took me way back in time to my own days of doing something exactly that stupid: Overdue Letter
Here's one that made me think from the blog: Shoved To Them
And finally here's one that took me way back in time to my own days of doing something exactly that stupid: Overdue Letter
Monday, October 15, 2007
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.
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.
Sunday, October 14, 2007
Doing The Bunny Hop
Second night of insomnia. Not sure what's up with that. Yesterday was a good day. I went to my women's meeting and was blessed to hear story after story of redemption. I get to share some of my story next week and I look forward to doing that. I stepped out of this meeting for a while to go to my AA meeting. There were only 4 of us there, all of who know and trust one another. The sharing was good and deep and we laughed, oh we laughed. It is so very good to have a place to go where I can be totally honest about my humanity and not take it all so seriously, you know? What a paradox. I take my recovery very seriously but myself much less so these days. I don't know if I'm ever going to get over feeling like looking in the mirror and saying "Is that really you?"
Dearest one and I came home and went for a walk down our road while a combine went back and forth in the field across from us. At one point I did a little hop in the air, not unlike a rabbit, and dearest one looked at me as if he didn't know who he was married to. I grinned and said, "Oh, I'm just happy." After several years of having to weigh every step against stored energy I am still so thrilled to be able to go for a walk. Walking is our favourite way to spend time together so we mourned a lot the loss of that these past 4 years. I had two days this week when a walk was going to take up too many spoons so to walk last night and have reserves of energy left over was a gift.
Dearest one and I came home and went for a walk down our road while a combine went back and forth in the field across from us. At one point I did a little hop in the air, not unlike a rabbit, and dearest one looked at me as if he didn't know who he was married to. I grinned and said, "Oh, I'm just happy." After several years of having to weigh every step against stored energy I am still so thrilled to be able to go for a walk. Walking is our favourite way to spend time together so we mourned a lot the loss of that these past 4 years. I had two days this week when a walk was going to take up too many spoons so to walk last night and have reserves of energy left over was a gift.
Saturday, October 13, 2007
Star Bright, Star Light
The stars are beautiful all nestled in the inky darkness. Our bed is such that I can lay there and look out at them. I find that comforting. I even saw a falling star tonight.
I was laying there thinking about how life has changed for me since treatment. I find myself continually amazed at the changes within and grateful that change is always possible. Dearest one is doing his own hard work in counseling now too, and we are very slowly learning how to dance a different dance together. One where we get naked while keeping our clothes on. "This is who I really am" we whisper as we slowly let our guard down, revealing our inner pain, frailties, and hope to one another. There's a rawness to the revelation that is gritty yet soft. I can only risk it because I like who I really am, all of me. I have never embodied the word hope like I do these days. Dearest one has never looked so beautiful as he does when he trusts me with who he truly is. For the past 25 years we've spent so much energy hiding our beauty under masks and defending it with weapons. The pain of shedding our defences is worth it.
At one time, this was the time of night when I'd either give a drunkalogue or hear one. Gah. I've given some doozies. The worst one was when I asked a traveling salesman if he cheated on his wife. We'd been married 5 days and dearest one had no idea yet that I had a little alcohol problem. That night I had my one and only blackout. The traveling salesman was probably glad. Wait. A blackout is where I can't remember what happened next. The poor sap wasn't so lucky. Don't worry I didn't ask him that question so that I could sleep with him. I was just being my nosy self. Dearest one just about choked on his drink when he heard me ask the stranger that question. Between that and thinking I talked some kind of fabulous French it was(n't) a night to remember. So I didn't miss much.
I'm still as curious as ever but now I know the difference between what is my business and what isn't. I'm still not comfortable in social situations but I can get through them without embarrassing anyone these days. Social situations and peer pressure are my two biggest triggers for relapse with booze or food. There was this nifty test we did in treatment where based on our answers they could give us an idea of when we were most likely to be tempted to use.
Dearest one and I rarely, if ever, go to a social event where there is alcohol but there is often food. And yesterday was 4 months since I've binged my way through stress or boredom. One day this week I found myself wanting to binge and I made myself sit with the urge and decipher what was behind it. There was an issue I was avoiding. I decided that spending my energy trying not to binge was just as exhausting as avoiding the issue so I picked up the phone and cleared the air with the person I had the issue with and that was that. I sat there and looked at the phone in my hand afterwards thinking, "wow, that wasn't so hard." So that was a baby step in the right direction.
I didn't wish on the falling star tonight.
My 'one day' is now.
I was laying there thinking about how life has changed for me since treatment. I find myself continually amazed at the changes within and grateful that change is always possible. Dearest one is doing his own hard work in counseling now too, and we are very slowly learning how to dance a different dance together. One where we get naked while keeping our clothes on. "This is who I really am" we whisper as we slowly let our guard down, revealing our inner pain, frailties, and hope to one another. There's a rawness to the revelation that is gritty yet soft. I can only risk it because I like who I really am, all of me. I have never embodied the word hope like I do these days. Dearest one has never looked so beautiful as he does when he trusts me with who he truly is. For the past 25 years we've spent so much energy hiding our beauty under masks and defending it with weapons. The pain of shedding our defences is worth it.
At one time, this was the time of night when I'd either give a drunkalogue or hear one. Gah. I've given some doozies. The worst one was when I asked a traveling salesman if he cheated on his wife. We'd been married 5 days and dearest one had no idea yet that I had a little alcohol problem. That night I had my one and only blackout. The traveling salesman was probably glad. Wait. A blackout is where I can't remember what happened next. The poor sap wasn't so lucky. Don't worry I didn't ask him that question so that I could sleep with him. I was just being my nosy self. Dearest one just about choked on his drink when he heard me ask the stranger that question. Between that and thinking I talked some kind of fabulous French it was(n't) a night to remember. So I didn't miss much.
I'm still as curious as ever but now I know the difference between what is my business and what isn't. I'm still not comfortable in social situations but I can get through them without embarrassing anyone these days. Social situations and peer pressure are my two biggest triggers for relapse with booze or food. There was this nifty test we did in treatment where based on our answers they could give us an idea of when we were most likely to be tempted to use.
Dearest one and I rarely, if ever, go to a social event where there is alcohol but there is often food. And yesterday was 4 months since I've binged my way through stress or boredom. One day this week I found myself wanting to binge and I made myself sit with the urge and decipher what was behind it. There was an issue I was avoiding. I decided that spending my energy trying not to binge was just as exhausting as avoiding the issue so I picked up the phone and cleared the air with the person I had the issue with and that was that. I sat there and looked at the phone in my hand afterwards thinking, "wow, that wasn't so hard." So that was a baby step in the right direction.
I didn't wish on the falling star tonight.
My 'one day' is now.
Friday, October 12, 2007
Surrendering to Reality
Good self care is my goal today. My body is weary and a nap is calling. I am grateful for the ability to surrender to reality today. Tomorrow I start meetings for a women's weekend that I am often involved with. We meet weekly for 3 weekends and then take a break before the actual women's weekend. I'll be giving a talk about putting one's faith into action. Writing and giving talks is life giving for me. This time around I'm bringing a bar stool (how appropriate) to sit on while I give my talk instead of standing for 35 minutes. I'm getting smarter. Spoons don't define my days like they used to, and for that I'm grateful, yet I still have limitations. Today I'm trying to honour that.
Tuesday, October 09, 2007
Beautiful Decay
Saturday afternoon it rained leaves all over the sky and I soaked in the beauty and absurdity of the sight. As I watched the trees do their hula hoop dance I wondered just how tall that tallest tree was. The one that seemed like it could hit me on the head if it snapped right about then. Between the furious music of the wind and the dancing of the leaves I sat entranced.
update: Ha. Not that tree but one just about as tall did crack under the furious music of the wind today, falling away from the house not towards it, thank God.
Last night I was at the treatment centre for a women's AA meeting. Once again welcomed by the warm, caring women who show up week after week to share their experience, strength and hope with whoever is in treatment or detox and with one another. There were a few newcomers last night. One newcomer biking her way there, arriving out of breath part way through the meeting. How beautiful it was to hear them get kudos for having the courage to walk through that door. To have every woman write down her phone number for them and say call us before you take that first drink, day or night we are here for you. To let them know we all had to do walk through the door to get where we are today. And where we are is not an arrived place but in process. To hear in every sharing a story of redemption. And I wonder for the umpteenth time why church often seems to be a place where we prize looking so put together and never less in need of a saviour than on Sunday morning. How guilty I am of giving off those vibes as well. God help me.
I'm finding that the more serenity I have, my need to project an image of perfection lessens.
Every day as I've been walking I leaf watch. There is a beauty to their decay and I take deep breaths as I pass by. As I drove to town yesterday I looked at the near naked trees in the river valley and sighed, mourning that this particular season of beauty is over for another year.
I wonder what needs to die within me and will I embrace its beauty just as much?
update: Ha. Not that tree but one just about as tall did crack under the furious music of the wind today, falling away from the house not towards it, thank God.
Last night I was at the treatment centre for a women's AA meeting. Once again welcomed by the warm, caring women who show up week after week to share their experience, strength and hope with whoever is in treatment or detox and with one another. There were a few newcomers last night. One newcomer biking her way there, arriving out of breath part way through the meeting. How beautiful it was to hear them get kudos for having the courage to walk through that door. To have every woman write down her phone number for them and say call us before you take that first drink, day or night we are here for you. To let them know we all had to do walk through the door to get where we are today. And where we are is not an arrived place but in process. To hear in every sharing a story of redemption. And I wonder for the umpteenth time why church often seems to be a place where we prize looking so put together and never less in need of a saviour than on Sunday morning. How guilty I am of giving off those vibes as well. God help me.
I'm finding that the more serenity I have, my need to project an image of perfection lessens.
Every day as I've been walking I leaf watch. There is a beauty to their decay and I take deep breaths as I pass by. As I drove to town yesterday I looked at the near naked trees in the river valley and sighed, mourning that this particular season of beauty is over for another year.
I wonder what needs to die within me and will I embrace its beauty just as much?
Sunday, October 07, 2007
In Need
"What do you need?" she'd ask.
Inside I would think to myself....how the fuck do I know. You tell me.
Nothing was the word I wanted to reply but when you're in treatment for addictions it's a rather moot point to say you have no needs, you know? I could just hear her say "And you've paid $300 to share that with us Hope?" Once I knew the question was coming it was like willingly exposing my battered soul knowing I'd have to ask (strangers, no less)for what I needed to heal it.
That's the way it went nearly every day in treatment. My counselor would listen to my check in, where I had to explain why I chose whatever feeling word I had for the day, and then she'd ask me what I needed from the group. She started asking me this the second day of treatment, right after I'd been exposed as a caretaker of other people's feelings and numb to my own.
Oh, part of me wanted to cross my arms, send daggers her way and chant the mantra of survival I'd used all my childhood: "I don't need anything." In these sessions I worked hard not to sit cross armed and closed in on myself, although I was sometimes unsuccessful on the sending daggers part. Those close to me know exactly when I'm thinking fuck you and I think counselors get trained in decoding that as well.
Once Fr. Charlie asked me what I needed from my mom that I hadn't received. The first word that rose to the surface was nurturing. Aside from all the physical abuse I endured as a child, I had been born premature and spent my first 3 months in an incubator. In an era (hey, I belong to an era. Does that mean I'm old?) that lacked the knowledge of how much infants need physical touch. Heck, even without the incubator part, children need nurturing. Lots of it.
When he asked me how I could get that need met today, it was a new idea that I could search within and either meet my need myself or ask someone else to meet it for me.
I'm making progress. The other day I sat there with tears streaming down my face telling Fr. Charlie that I just needed to hear someone acknowledge how hard I was working at this recovery thing. In the course of our time together he did just that. Affirmed my journey. Affirmed the pain. Affirmed the hope. He was able to pick out from my sharing one spot of joy in my life. I told him that after my session at the treatment centre the other day I went and bought myself a $5 bouquet of flowers. Three beautiful, deep pink roses nestled in some baby's breath. I bought them as a testimony to my journey. I told dearest one I just might need to buy some every single week as a symbol of hope that the hard work is worth it. And that, dammit, I'm doing it.
Knowing what I need still doesn't come naturally. I have to work at it. But today I'm open to asking myself and either meeting the need myself, if possible, or asking for it from others. What does that look like? The other night it meant asking dearest one to hold me in his arms so I could feel safe. Another night it meant wrapping up in a blanket and rocking back and forth in my rocking chair. Every day it means showing myself compassion. Not too long ago it meant seeking someone out and making an amend. I realized afterwards that the amend came so effortlessly because I no longer define myself by my mistakes. That feels like huge progress.
What do you need today?
I need to know you read this.
Inside I would think to myself....how the fuck do I know. You tell me.
Nothing was the word I wanted to reply but when you're in treatment for addictions it's a rather moot point to say you have no needs, you know? I could just hear her say "And you've paid $300 to share that with us Hope?" Once I knew the question was coming it was like willingly exposing my battered soul knowing I'd have to ask (strangers, no less)for what I needed to heal it.
That's the way it went nearly every day in treatment. My counselor would listen to my check in, where I had to explain why I chose whatever feeling word I had for the day, and then she'd ask me what I needed from the group. She started asking me this the second day of treatment, right after I'd been exposed as a caretaker of other people's feelings and numb to my own.
Oh, part of me wanted to cross my arms, send daggers her way and chant the mantra of survival I'd used all my childhood: "I don't need anything." In these sessions I worked hard not to sit cross armed and closed in on myself, although I was sometimes unsuccessful on the sending daggers part. Those close to me know exactly when I'm thinking fuck you and I think counselors get trained in decoding that as well.
Once Fr. Charlie asked me what I needed from my mom that I hadn't received. The first word that rose to the surface was nurturing. Aside from all the physical abuse I endured as a child, I had been born premature and spent my first 3 months in an incubator. In an era (hey, I belong to an era. Does that mean I'm old?) that lacked the knowledge of how much infants need physical touch. Heck, even without the incubator part, children need nurturing. Lots of it.
When he asked me how I could get that need met today, it was a new idea that I could search within and either meet my need myself or ask someone else to meet it for me.
I'm making progress. The other day I sat there with tears streaming down my face telling Fr. Charlie that I just needed to hear someone acknowledge how hard I was working at this recovery thing. In the course of our time together he did just that. Affirmed my journey. Affirmed the pain. Affirmed the hope. He was able to pick out from my sharing one spot of joy in my life. I told him that after my session at the treatment centre the other day I went and bought myself a $5 bouquet of flowers. Three beautiful, deep pink roses nestled in some baby's breath. I bought them as a testimony to my journey. I told dearest one I just might need to buy some every single week as a symbol of hope that the hard work is worth it. And that, dammit, I'm doing it.
Knowing what I need still doesn't come naturally. I have to work at it. But today I'm open to asking myself and either meeting the need myself, if possible, or asking for it from others. What does that look like? The other night it meant asking dearest one to hold me in his arms so I could feel safe. Another night it meant wrapping up in a blanket and rocking back and forth in my rocking chair. Every day it means showing myself compassion. Not too long ago it meant seeking someone out and making an amend. I realized afterwards that the amend came so effortlessly because I no longer define myself by my mistakes. That feels like huge progress.
What do you need today?
I need to know you read this.
Thursday, October 04, 2007
Hollowing Out A Space
"...our greatest strength was forged in our worst pain and suffering. It was precisely those "worst times" that hollowed out a space in us that wouldn't have existed otherwise. And this space becomes the haven where others find the compassion, understanding and strength we so badly needed ourselves at one time." ~Earnie Larson in Destination JoyDearest one woke me up this morning by placing a snowball in my hand. There were snowy footprints on the deck this morning although we were spared the several inches of white stuff that other areas got overnight. As I look out the window it's nearly all melted now. Soon I will go for a walk and savour the crispness of the air and breathe in the smell of decomposing leaves. I love their earthy smell. They remind me that this journey is temporary.
Thank you for praying. I'm slowly regaining my equilibrium. There is an undercurrent of serenity beneath the pain. Yesterday as I went for my walk I started to name out loud all the reasons I was grateful. After a few moments I burst in tears because the gratitude was genuine and that I could have gratitude in the midst of emotional pain overwhelmed me. I never knew it was possible. Typing that sentence has me in tears all over again. God is doing for me what I could not do for myself. And I'm so very aware and grateful.
My home group in AA is called Gratitude 24/7. When I first went I thought that people who were grateful in the midst of pain were lying. I easily wrote off anyone who smacked of Pollyanna. "Ha. At least I'm realistic," I told myself. And while I still have a hard time liking people who are fake and smiley when everything else about them cries pain, I know my ability to sneer in the face of the genuine gratitude of others is just another version of camouflaged pain. In my all or nothing way of thinking one could either be in emotional pain or be grateful but never the two shall meet. I know now that gratitude is cultivated. It is a perspective one chooses. It doesn't deny reality, it exists in the midst of reality.
As I was walking one day this week I was begging God for the grace to show compassion towards myself. When I'm in the worst places emotionally it hasn't been my pattern to have self compassion. In the midst of my pain and the shame that threatened to overwhelm me I knew that the biggest gift I could give myself was compassion. The old patterns, the inner voices that wanted to accuse and condemn me were competing with the new pattern of loving and forgiving myself for being human. And as I prayed the word mantle popped into my head. It was such a random, strange word that I let it sit in my mouth for a while. As I did the line from a song we used to sing came to me. "His mantle over me is love." How true.
Yesterday I went for a long drive to meet with Fr. Charlie. I've chosen to continue seeing him for counseling/spiritual direction even though he has moved to another parish. As I reflect on today's quote it is Fr. Charlie's own hollowed out place, born out of working through his worst of times, that makes him a safe place of compassion, strength and understanding. It was good to be able to just spill my guts to him, no explanation needed.
On my drive home I returned a call to the sexual abuse counselling centre. As I told the woman my experience of having the rape triggered this past weekend and the battle it's been since to simply get through my days she told me she would bump me up the waiting list. It's now about 2 weeks before I get in to see someone.
It felt good to say I need help and then to reach out for that help. None of us can journey alone. It just isn't meant to be.
Yesterday Fr. Charlie asked me if I was still blogging. I told I was but that it was often such narcissistic crap I didn't know what the point was anymore. Today I know I need a place to say, this is my story. And I know those of you who read here regularly can see patterns, threads and growth that I am blind to. For today I embrace that reality.
Monday, October 01, 2007
Releasing the Illusion
Our Essential Nature by Christina Grof
Because today the journey feels pain filled and precarious. Three days ago the trauma of my childhood sexual abuse was in my face as if every cell in my body was remembering. I don't think I've ever let myself feel the pain of it that deeply before. Immediately I closed in on myself and it's been a struggle to not stay in that state. I've had two nights of messed up sleep since. One of them hours of pain where nerve endings repeatedly sent messages to where there was no real pain. I am weary and feeling fragile. I was a nanosecond from throwing my recovery out the door today. But I didn't. I want to fixate on the almost part instead of the didn't. Yesterday I told my addictions counselor that I had thought to myself the other day "fuck doing the next right thing." And after I thought it I got up and did the next right thing anyway. Right now the next right thing is to get dressed and go for a walk. I feel like I walk a very thin line on a daily basis with the things I need to do to keep my interior house in order. When I deviate from the plan chaos threatens to rule the day.
I can do this.
Just not on my own strength.
God help me.
"The process of hitting bottom, of releasing the illusion of control over our situation, is a mandatory step out of the pain of addiction. The experience of surrender is the key to redemption, the gateway to recovery, healing and the discovery of our spiritual potential. It marks the transition from a limited experience of who we are to an expanded one, and it happens to different people in different ways. Sometimes it is dramatic, sometimes it is relatively subtle.... Everything we thought we were - all relationships and reference points, all ego games, defenses, resistances, and denials - collapses. What remains is the essential nature of who we are. The overwhelming power of our addictions, the persons, places, things or activities we have made into our gods, give way to the healing presence of our true divine source, our deeper Self." (emphasis added)~viaI had all kinds of things I was going to ponder on publicly after reading the above quote yesterday. It was going to be a kind of "hurrah, hurrah" post. So much of the quote I have experienced since coming home from treatment 5 weeks ago. The struggle today does not negate the reality of what I've gained to this point. God help me to remember that.
Because today the journey feels pain filled and precarious. Three days ago the trauma of my childhood sexual abuse was in my face as if every cell in my body was remembering. I don't think I've ever let myself feel the pain of it that deeply before. Immediately I closed in on myself and it's been a struggle to not stay in that state. I've had two nights of messed up sleep since. One of them hours of pain where nerve endings repeatedly sent messages to where there was no real pain. I am weary and feeling fragile. I was a nanosecond from throwing my recovery out the door today. But I didn't. I want to fixate on the almost part instead of the didn't. Yesterday I told my addictions counselor that I had thought to myself the other day "fuck doing the next right thing." And after I thought it I got up and did the next right thing anyway. Right now the next right thing is to get dressed and go for a walk. I feel like I walk a very thin line on a daily basis with the things I need to do to keep my interior house in order. When I deviate from the plan chaos threatens to rule the day.
I can do this.
Just not on my own strength.
God help me.
Friday, September 28, 2007
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.
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.
Monday, September 24, 2007
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.
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.
Thursday, September 20, 2007
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.
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.
Wednesday, September 19, 2007
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.
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
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.
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.
Sunday, September 16, 2007
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:
Thanks be to God.
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'm starting to believe that in my heart.
I did not know I held so much goodness."
Thanks be to God.
Friday, September 14, 2007
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.
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
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.
Saturday, September 08, 2007
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.
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.
"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.
Friday, September 07, 2007
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:
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.
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.
Tuesday, September 04, 2007
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.
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.
Saturday, September 01, 2007
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 longfight 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 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
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."
Thursday, August 30, 2007
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.
Sunday, August 26, 2007
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.
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.
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