"It's Like Taking Buckley's..."

Last week I hit the eight months mark of this healing and recovery journey of mine. Eight months without a drink, and eight months of finally looking at myself, my thoughts and behaviors, and working to make healthy and positive changes.

I’ve had the usual daily “life” stuff, raising my child, working towards getting back to work, and turning forty to deal with. Beyond that, I have also faced deeper, dysfunctional family issues, three deaths in the family, situations and emotions surrounding my ex-husband, and the break-up of a relationship.

Much to my surprise, I haven’t fallen on (too many! LOL) old behaviors, drank, or done what I previously would have assumed to be the only option; I haven’t crumbled to my knees! Well, its close some days!! LOL But in a vastly different and less threatening manner.

During these eight months, I have found it (knock on wood!!) far less difficult than I imagined it would be to get through it all without a drink. I’ve been feeling the feelings, living life on life’s terms as they say, and so far, I seem to be surviving!

I have become more aware of, focused on, and am working at healing other areas of my life, outside of the alcohol, or maybe because of the alcohol?, where my toxic, unhealthy thoughts and behaviors continue to wreak havoc.

I find myself in moments, where I can laugh (or emit a sound that slightly resembles a laugh, perhaps a snort, or maybe some other sarcastic, pfffft, like sound), recognizing what has truly come up for me, and am easily able to change it around and re-frame it into a healthier thought or action. Other times, the moments prove to be a little more difficult to accept and work through.

I’ve been consumed by the depth of some of what has come up; I have sat absorbing it with tears streaming down my face, feeling raw and worn to the bones.

I've also been filled with pride, and reminded of the strength, courage, and wisdom that already exists within me.

I keep going to my groups, CAB and Smart Recovery, counselling, talking, reading all kinds of books, writing, painting, meditating, working with my crystals, and feeling all that comes up.

I am doing it.

It sucks. It’s hard as shit. It hurts terribly.

But I am doing it.

And I AM healing.

With a smile on my face, I reflect over the words someone spoke in CAB on Friday, “It’s like taking Buckley's, all this work… Tastes and feels like shit, but it works.”

Single Mama Rant

Despite the growth I have been experiencing on my healing and recovery journey, the hard work that I’ve been doing, digging into myself, my thoughts and behaviors, there is still one area that is kicking my ass. Royally.

The role that I am in, “The Single Mom”.

These days, the role is eating me up inside, it’s overwhelmingly consuming and crushing me.

I remind myself that I am not the only one in this role. I remind myself that there are others with more children than my own, one daughter. I remind myself that while we have experienced hell, there are others who have gone through worse to get here. I remind myself that these others, moms, dads, aunties, uncles, grandparents, friends, etc., are in the same boat as I, and they are succeeding. I remind myself that I am strong. I remind myself that I am capable. I remind myself that it will get easier. I remind myself that I am doing the best that I can.

I am trying.

The struggle is real my friends.

My nights lately, intended for reviewing the personal work I am doing, catching up on homework (I am doing my English 12, and just started 2 online courses to brush up on my skills in the areas of computers and the fundamentals of being an Administrative Assistant), and quiet time to wind down with some self-care, have turned into a war zone, leaving me with little time to catch my breath or get a decent sleep.

I sit on the couch crying, the weight of my responsibilities feeling as though they are crushing me, and, as was the case last night, with the music LOUD, the fan on high, in attempt to drown out my daughters nasty screaming and wailing, and the urge to scream at the top of my lungs while running out of my apartment.

The yelling and friction between us have surpassed anyone’s comfort zone, even beginning to frighten one another, so really, releasing a blood curdling scream is not an option, nor is running away.

I know others can relate to having another parent in the house who really doesn’t contribute to their role in the family, in any physical or emotional manner. But, because you both created this child, you don’t feel completely alone or misunderstood in your hopes, plans, beliefs about the child. Until you are alone. Then, I know others can continue to relate to finding a partner who steps in to take on a parental role, thankfully, and wonderfully, but we still feel alone on the deeper levels of parenting this child who was created by two, then left with one.

And I know there are others who have experienced both of those situations, and then still find themselves where I now am: ONE. SINGLE. PARENT.

The strongest words racing through my mind lately?

OH. MY. GOD. HOLY. FUCK. FUCK. FUCK. FUUUUUCCKK.

(followed by huge tears and sobs, deep breaths, and loneliness)

I recognize the elements of age/stage that are present; the “normal” tough stuff. I am aware of the effects on her from the grief, loss and traumas that she has experienced. I realize that she has seen people treat her mom in unhealthy, unsafe and negative manners. I accept, with a giggle, that she IS my daughter after all; those who know me… LOL But, there is another side that I see too, a darker side that regretfully reminds me of her father, though I would NEVER say that to her. A side that is beginning to resemble a person who bullies her mom, a negative, unaccepting, unwilling, take no responsibility, constantly pointing fingers to blame side.

This “side” of her though, is beginning to feel like it might break this single mama.

Beneath the crushing and suffocating weight, overwhelming tears and need to vent, I continue to maintain vigilance. I continue to reach out to our counsellors, friends and family, I read anything “parenting”, and I just keep trying, one foot in front of the other.

I am determined.

The cycles end here. The healing begins. I will, and AM showing her a better way. I am sharing tools and skills with her. I am conversing about the tough stuff with her, attempting to ensure open communication with her for when the “big” stuff comes along.

One day, I remain hopeful, she will fully understand and appreciate this “role” I currently struggle to fulfill. I hope that she will be proud of me, for kicking ass at BEING a “single mama”.

The Death of "Insidious" : His Return

Insidious: “Alluring but harmful” 

That is one of three definitions found on Word Hippo, and a very good way of describing this particular “Insidious” problem of mine. MY personal definition: when something IS insidious, it is like a hidden system of veins, as it stealthily seeps its way in, and around its target. It begins as a mere trickle, but given the opportunity, it’s flow surges, gaining power, and it becomes a debilitating force in the end.

I introduced the monster on my back, "Insidious", in my previous post, Vulnerability, Values, and "Insidious". That day I (we) worked to truly put a face to him (our inner demons) in Day Program was, undoubtedly, an extremely difficult and draining process to get through, and thankfully, the second part to the work, was held off until the following day.

The writing meditation (we utilized different types of meditations each day, to expose us to something new, and to start firing some new connections in our brains, speed up some of our healing, by utilizing the creativity inside of us) that we did the next morning was prompted with “Write a Letter to your Gremlin/Demon”.

I gladly, and proudly share with you the letter that wildly erupted on paper (and YES, it is highly vulgar). 

(I am working on “vulnerability”, being open and authentic, true to myself, and, I also believe/feel that in sharing our stories, in the raw, we extend opportunities to inspire healing in another. We have the power to help someone, without having any knowledge of that fact, with our words.) 

I called him out, and announced his fate!!

Clearly, expending that kind of energy was an incredible procession through hell, and I desperately needed to have some type of closure to the process itself. I suggested, wheedled, and then successfully encouraged the others to join me in my request: I felt it would be extremely healing, and supportive of one another in case of overwhelming emotions, to burn our letters; to have a ceremony around the release of these gremlins.

We went outside, with a garbage can, and we each took a turn tossing our letters and pictures into the fire, uttering whatever words we needed in our own moment above the flames.

I felt so empowered in that moment. I felt lighter. I finally felt free.

Having identified “Insidious”, addressed him, and given him his walking papers, I still knew that these demons are relentless, and they really don’t like to be denied or ignored. I knew that I would have to remain vigilant in keeping "Insidious" away. I continued on with the daily grind of my recovery and healing, learning new tools, trying to continually be mindful and AWARE of my thoughts and behaviors, and tried to catch myself whenever I could sense his presence.

I really worked hard at being cognizant of, and catching my thoughts, AND busting "Insidious". I began to, have fun with it; proudly laughing at him, throwing him the finger over my shoulder and telling him: “Ha Ha Ha!! Nice try!! But, F@#% OFF!!” I enjoy it. I find it quite satisfying.

Recently though, in addition to simply having to deal with life on life’s terms, and “feel the feelings” (oh the joys!!), I just really began to feel off. Balance, self-trust, and self-care/self-soothing have all been a lot of work in trying to establish, and I’ve been practicing being kinder and gentler to myself. I really do have a very powerful propensity towards, an often twisted, sense of “perfection”, and I “have a tendency to be”, AM “extremely hard” on myself, but I really began to feel like I was being too gentle with myself. I found myself easily making excuses and avoiding little things; all of which begin/began to slowly pile up, with a little red flag sticking out the top.

I began to wonder, and paid a little more attention to what I was feeling vs. what I was doing, loudly questioning myself, my decisions and thoughts… I felt that Insidious had begun to move back in. Like a spider, he had spun his intricate, detailed, and well-planned web, again, and I, like a little bug, was becoming sticky, almost stuck.

“He’s trying to weaken me, keeping me home, feeling low, b/c “it’s ok to be gentle with myself right now”. He’s really done his homework, and he’s trying to use my new knowledge and skills against me. I say “Fu@% YOU!!” each time I catch him lurking, but he’s pretty sneaky these days. He’s messing with my motivations and sleep, he’s urging me into lazy and smoking a lot, he’s not wanting me to eat, and especially not healthily. He’s got me procrastinating, putting off, avoiding, making excuses, and rationalizing. Shit! He’s making a real go at trying to bring me down again! COMBAT! I beat him before, and I will AGAIN and AGAIN if I have to!! So, given what I know, I now need to make a plan! I need a safety, action plan to bury him!! I’m not playing with you INSIDIOUS!! I AM STRONGER AND SMARTER!!”

I wrote that last week, after the last, very powerful, Smart Recovery session.

The next day, at CAB, I had the opportunity to REALLY work with "Insidious". It turned out to be the most intense, eye-opening, WOW., experience that I have had so far in this journey of mine. (and it happened in a room full of mere strangers!! Talk about allowing myself to be vulnerable!!)

Vulnerability, Values, and "Insidious"

To say that it has been a long week, is, well, FEELS redundant.

There have definitely been some "themes" that have been arising around me, calling for my attention, and so I have been doing a ton of writing, pondering, thinking, questioning, digging, deleting, letting go, forgiving, surrendering; a lot of work happening during this personal renovation!!

Here's a snippet of some thoughts I had on Vulnerability:

"Tonight, as I wound down, I found myself coming back to “vulnerability”, and I felt compelled to watch Brene Brown’s TED Talk, The Power of Vulnerability (which I absolutely LOVE, and I urge you to watch!!). I have now seen it several times, but with this increasing clarity and awareness I've got going on, I felt it resonate even deeper this time. I admire her wisdom, sense of compassion, and her strength. Her message is valuable, if not life-saving.

 

I am beginning to see how my lack of vulnerability has been the block in my moving forward, in anything, throughout my entire life. I have rarely, if ever, fully allowed myself to be vulnerable, in any relationship or situation. Fear of the ramifications to be found in "exposing" myself were felt too scary. Fear of the unknown. Fear of myself. Fear of others. Fear of judgment. Fear of failure; real or perceived. 

I didn't know how to be authentic, and really, that's probably because I myself have never known the "real me"."

The things I value in life is another area where I am learning, growing, and "getting it":

"Last night at Smart Recovery, we had our first closed group (smaller, more efficient and effective), and we are starting at the beginning! Point 1 – Building and Maintaining Motivation, which introduces the tool Hierarchy of Values (HOV). Many of us have made these kind of lists throughout our lives, and I'm sure some of you can appreciate how difficult they can sometimes be to do!! I have never enjoyed making them myself, and had a very hard time with it. In this past year, I've done SEVERAL different worksheets, and HOV's, and while they have gotten easier, it has typically still been a source of discomfort.

This time was different!

For the first time in my life, I joyfully realized, my list was EASY to compile, AND prioritize. On top of that, I proudly WANTED to identify MYSELF as something (of) I value. (The facilitators were also blown away, because in their experience thus far, I was the first person to think of including myself as a value while doing an HOV!) My perceptions and beliefs about myself have been growing substantially stronger in the face of different events recently, and I am truly beginning to allow myself to recognize and honor those things that are important to me, and in me. I am finally allowing myself to recognize how valuable, precious, and amazing I am!

This healing and recovery journey of mine, as I refer to it, has definitely been at the top of the list in recent months, but I had to re-examine where my "addiction’s” ranked on my list of values. It’s a struggle to accept that one as even belonging on my list of values, as I (anyone) don’t WANT to give any sense of significance or power to this negative monster in my life, and am working at moving past it. But, I/we have to realize and accept that, every time we CHOOSE our "addiction"(behavior, DOC, thinking, etc.), by default, we ARE choosing it, making it a top priority, over anything and everything else that is most important to us."

I had a lot of productivity, growth and progress, AH HA!! moments, curiosities and discoveries going on, and I enrolled to complete my Grade 12 English; which it turns out is now the only thing between me and my Adult Dogwood!! I also turned 40. (!!) So, yes, the week has been draining, in all the right ways. 

Underlying all of this good stuff though, I have felt a current of something dark flowing.

Which brings me to give you a brief introduction to my "Inner Demon", and the end of this post.

Insidious.

Back around February, I was working with my daughters counselor; she was DEFINITELY an amazing member of The Team. During one of our typical, empowering, and creative sessions, she prompted me to think about that mean and nasty inner voice, my inner demon; to identify it with detail, and give it a name. She opened the doors to shelves full of art supplies, and left me to create a representation. I immediately went to work, furiously forming various colors of clay, producing something dark, ugly and menacing. As we discussed this, thing, and I thought, described, and reviewed my negative thoughts and behaviors, the word “insidious” kept coming to me.

 And so became the name of the monster within; Insidious.

While in Day Program, one day we were given a stack of assorted coloring pages, from which we were instructed to choose one that represented our personal villain(s), demons, addictions; color it and name it. I had begun work on this guy already, Insidious, and so I knew exactly what I felt he looked like, and instantly found his picture.

(His appearance, paired with my description of him, and imitation of his voice and demeanor, seriously triggered some of my “group peeps”; he is insanely creepy, scary, and has a strangely strong sense of familiarity to others)

My apologies for the scary guy as an end, or start, to your day!!

Don't worry!! I have his number, his jig is up!!

Change?! MY?! Addictive?! Behaviors?!

Last year at this time, I was beginning to see the validity in the suggestions I had been hearing from my team and others. I realized that, I had to fully focus on my healing and recovery, which I desperately needed to do; for myself, and for my daughter. Which meant that I had to stop homeschooling my girl. I finally, and reluctantly, decided to enroll her in school. I felt like I was giving up, as though I was weak because I couldn’t get it all under control. But, big surprise, I AM NOT SUPERWOMAN! (That was a hard one to accept! LOL) Amid the feelings of grief and loss that I had over this transition though, I also began to give up the twisted sense of control that I thought I had, and the many excuses that I was desperately clinging to.

With my daughter in school, I now had the time and opportunity to attend this CAB (Changing Addictive Behaviors) group the team had been encouraging me to try. I was beyond nervous, and my anxiety was through the roof again as I prepared myself to go.  Many irrational thoughts bounced around my mind, excuses and reasons as to why I shouldn’t and couldn't go. I mean seriously? Me? Attend a GROUP?! People? Strangers? Talking about my feelers? HOW was this going to be good for me?! I had many fears surrounding the stigmas held about Mental Health and Addictions, the people I might see, specifically and generally. I was also full of my own expected and perceived unreasonable judgments about others.

The group was small, consisting typically of 2 facilitators, and about 4 or 5 of us clients. I immediately felt comfortable with both of the facilitators, one a comically serious, chatterbox, and the other a down to earth, peaceful, wise mama figure. Despite the intimacy found in a smaller group, I felt very uncomfortable. Each session began with a brief check in, which I consistently glossed over, only sharing how I currently felt that morning, and occasionally suggesting a topic. I totally avoided acknowledging where I was in my “clean time”, because I didn’t have any; though I was certainly not alone in that. I typically showed up hungover. I began to have a sense of relief in the comfort of being among people who not only GOT my fucked up ways of being, they too HAD these thoughts, patterns, behaviors! I listened avidly, absorbing bits of the Smart Recovery tools that they shared, even taking a few worksheets home to "work on". Still, I shared very little about my own journey and struggles. I was too afraid, and fully immersed in shame and guilt. I felt like a fraud.

While I always felt a sense of peace and acceptance after attending CAB, I still easily, and readily succumbed to the many excuses I was able to create in order to NOT attend. The team continued to gently push and encourage me to go, but I still wasn’t ready to commit to myself, to dive into my healing and recovery.

I needed to get honest with MYSELF before I could begin to share my truth with anyone else.

The months grew darker, literally and internally, as we came in to November and December and the holiday season. My motivation lessened, the Rabbit Hole became a dangerous place of comfort, and there I set up camp, prepared for, and anticipating the warm blanket of numbness. 

I stopped going to CAB and fully immersed myself in dangerous behavior, depression and drunkenness.

Falling Down the Rabbit Hole

It was around this time last year that I fell into the “rabbit hole”.

From very early on, I had never taken the time to know myself, I didn't learn any of the skills and tools to handle anything that occurred in my life. I was like a zombie really, just moving mindlessly through my life. I expected things to be ok, to just work out, get better... Tomorrow. Tomorrow I'll be ok, this will all be over, I'll do better, I'll be better... Tomorrow.

I have spent my life living on the edge, moving from one crisis or trauma to the next. There didn't seem to be any respite, perhaps a glimmer of hope once in a blue moon, but it never lasted. Of course, without doing any of the work I needed to do, and without an ounce of self-care, self-love, or self-respect to support any type of healing, it never would. I just carried obliviously onward, continuously slipping into the rabbit hole, pulling myself a few inches out, until the next thing happened, when I'd slide back down to the bottom.

 

My world as I had known it began to seriously crumble shortly after moving 5 years ago. After 13 years, the abuse and violence in my marriage erupted, and I separated from my husband, and promptly fell headfirst, deep into that rabbit hole. The couple that took my daughter and I in for a few months after the explosive break up of my marriage became my best friends; we were a part of each other’s daily lives, despite the healthy and unhealthy dynamics of the relationship between the three of us was. Almost 2 years ago now, I witnessed the husband, my friend, someone very close to me, and my boss, have a massive heart attack, and subsequently pass on. After he passed, the house cleaning, deliveries, other odd jobs, and Administrative/Booking Assistant work that I had been doing with/for them for 3 years, came to a sudden end. The growing anxiety and realization of how unhealthy, co-dependent and toxic things were becoming in my life had begun shortly before he died, and afterwards I promptly fell apart. I had been tending to the needs of everyone close to me, taking their stuff on as my own, using it as an unhealthy distraction, and I had used up my resources. I was empty. I had nothing left for myself, let alone anyone else.  Panic and anxiety took over. I had a hard time leaving my house, breathing, I had severe chest and heart pains, I cried constantly, I couldn’t sleep, think, function…Out of fear and shame, I clung to the hope/”need” to continue home schooling my, then 8 year old, daughter. (Perhaps an attempt to retain some sense of (false) control?) My behaviours and thinking were completely distorted and irrational. I had no clarity. I was making horrible decisions while, of course, attempting to rationalize them. I was numbing the pain by drinking more and more, and at times of the day I never would have before. I was drowning.

A lifetime of abuse, violence, alcohol dependency, grief and loss, co-dependency, toxic relationships, taking on the role of the "victim", fucked up, irrational thinking, every other “major event” or ”defining moment” that I had ever experienced, buried, avoided, came bursting out, PTSD and GAD symptoms blew up… My entire life caught up to me. I was collapsing, falling apart, scared, and out of control.

As I have since been learning, I was stuck in the "Fight, Flight, or Freeze" state for nearly my entire life. My amygdala had been running the show, without a break, in overdrive, which was causing a whole slew of other things to occur in my mind and body.

...my story isn't over yet... ;)

Recovering My Writing - Healing Through Words

Hello again, or maybe for the first time!!

I've been under construction. Digging deep, and working on myself. Reading and meditation have been where the majority of my time has been spent. The only writing I was doing came in the form of worksheets, answering the questions in the books I was reading, exercises, homework...

I  have been wanting to write. I have been needing to write. Intending to write. Trying to write. Being "encouraged" (pestered!) to write by mom. There were few times I was able to get much out, and my attempt at using a journal just didn't stick. I wanted to get back here, to my blog, and share my stories. I wanted to use my writing, and this platform, to aid in my healing journey, and maybe to help or inspire your own. I attempted to establish a new writing routine. I thought about how to begin again here. I pondered where to begin my story. I just could not seem to bring myself to do it. Nothing came.


The majority of my focus has been on my healing and recovery, but I've also been working with a Job Coach on my Job Search path. I need to find work again, or go to school; something to generate a sustainable income AND feed my passions.

I told myself, despite the feedback around me, that the writing would have to wait, the blog would have to wait. I told myself there were more important things to be doing with my time. These thoughts still did nothing to get me moving, feel inspired or motivated.

The only thing I was really able to see was the work I needed to do on my healing and recovery.
(I am pretty certain most of us know what that tends to looks like...)

Photo

Until now.
I have spent a lot of time in recent weeks in Solitude. Not completely and totally, all alone by myself; I do have a 9 year old daughter, and life just doesn't allow that opportunity! Throughout my life, I have been afraid of solitude, and instead immersed myself in Isolation. This time has been different.

I have come to the point where all roads, messages and suggestions have come together, with flashing arrows pointing at a sign: FOLLOW YOUR PASSIONS.

The fire within is roaring, and my gifts are wanting to expand. Writing, photography, rocks/crystals, nature, inspiring others, these are the things screaming to be heard, seen, felt. I NEED to put some time and effort into expressing these parts of me.

I realize that my story is not over, and so, there really is no specific place to begin in the sharing of it.

I must begin where I currently sit.

I must begin here and now.

Life Lessons in Our "Less Than Perfect-Mom" Moments"

I was having one of “those” nights last night. Again.

There are just so many things not going smoothly in my life, and aside from feeling worn out from the stress and worry, I am tired of battling with Ms. Magoo, which in turn makes me question myself, worrying that I am not doing it all “right” with her.

By the time we got to her bedroom at bedtime I felt ready to crack. Tears spilled over, and I couldn’t seem to get myself under control for over half an hour.

Then, as these things happen, I sat down to check out Facebook and some blogs that I follow. Great timing.

First up was a great read, shared by Pamela Price, and Marnie Craycroft, called “Yeah. I’m THAT mom.” by Amanda Morgan of Not Just Cute. I almost continued to cry as I read, but realized I was feeling comforted by Amanda’s words. She reminded me that we are not alone. While we can try to tell ourselves over again that we are not the only one who makes mistakes, sometimes we need to actually hear it from another mother to really get it: we can’t be perfect, do it all and get it right every time.

Next, I popped over to a blog I recently discovered, Winds of Lindy, man this girl has a way with words! I read through some of her posts from the week that I had missed, and again, found myself feeling soothed by Lindy’s words as she too spoke of this illusion of perfection that we, as mothers, seem to strive for.

We can only do the best that we can, and each and every one of us makes mistakes. That is part of learning and growing.

Which is one of the most important things that we can teach our children: to get up, try again and learn from their mistakes.

So instead of beating ourselves up when we have a rough day, perhaps we should be patting ourselves on the back for a job well done.

Keeping our chin up, doing the best we can and making the most of it all; those are not really bad things to be teaching our kids are they?

Quit Waiting - Just Do It!

Have you ever spent time waiting for the “right time”, or thinking, “if it is meant to be, then it will be”?

I know I have. Truthfully, I realize that I have lost a lot of time lingering in this place of waiting.

There is never a “right time”, as perfectly formed as it exists within the mind’s eye. And, for something to BE, that would involve putting forth the effort to make it so.

One could spend their entire life waiting on one flawless moment, or for the timing to be ideal for another person, and ultimately never accomplish the things they hope and dream to.

If it is the right thing for you, then the time is NOW.

Everything else will fall into place exactly as it should.

Life will absorb the rest; the people, the circumstances, the money, the time, it will all respond as is intended.

If there is something you want, go out there and get it!

The time will never be more perfect than it is now.

Day of the Grumpy Bitch

No beating around the bush on this one; I was a grumpy bitch today.

“Why?” and “What’s wrong?” were certainly not the questions I wanted to answer. I am sure the loud, high pitched response, “What isn’t wrong?!” wasn’t the desired answer to the questions either.

It wasn’t just one thing, it was several things weighing heavily on the mind, and that damn Tupperware lid that ceased to appear was just icing on the whole disgusting cake.

It’s definitely been one of those days where the crazy just keeps piling up, and, there was no relief to be found for the tight looking, screwed up face with eyes that could kill if you look too deeply into them.

As the day finally begins to wind down, the tears begin to fall.

Regret at wasting a day being stuck in such a dark place, not finding (enough) time to laugh and giggle with my girl and allowing anger, sarcasm and impatience to rule instead.

Well, it was what it was. No changing that now.

I did what I could, and that’s that.

Tomorrow is a new day.

Bring on the beautiful, fresh new day. Let the sun shine brightly and the laughter flow freely.

I can’t wait.

Lesson of the Week

The past few months (perhaps if I were to be completely honest, I would admit that it’s actually been closer to a year) have held vast amounts of uncertainty and worry in my life, and I realize how that has impacted the job I have been doing as a Mommy.

Days where my inability to concentrate or fully BE with my daughter have added up, run together and become more of a consistency at times than the days where she was my world, fully. I “have” to do this or that, it’s time to make lunch/dinner, we have to go to the store, it’s “time” for this and that, “in a minute honey!”, “not now”, “later”, all becoming more and more frequent.

I have observed changes in her that I, out of feelings of guilt, attribute to the change in our patterns.

It makes me feel horrible. I have moments where these realizations cause me to panic.

After allowing stress to be the ruler of our days for so long, and tired of the walls closing in around us, I hit a point in the past week where I decided that it was time to let her have some fun. I found a couple of new, free activities for us to attend; I wanted to get out and do some things that were new and different, in addition to the regular Storytime at the library and her Music Class.

What started out as a plan with the best of intentions, I now realize, was not the required prescription.

Instead, I feel totally wiped out; not to mention the gazillion things that didn’t get done this week.

My girl? She is exhausted and cranky.

She hit the nail on the head when we got home this afternoon, just in time for me to start dinner, “I just want you to sit down and read with me!”

Lesson of the week: She doesn’t want to do more, get out more, see more. She wants me. Fully present, happy, fun and engaging, ME. 

Gift From an Angel

That time of year again, when my mind drifts backwards, slipping back to the day that is now seventeen years ago.

My belief that things happen for reason, nothing is an accident or a coincidence, falters, and I am blindsided by that old feeling of fault and blame.

 Forever etched in my mind and heart; like a scar.

I am sure that for the rest of my life I will remember this day, in full detail. All of the time that led up to the day and even the brief period afterwards; and sadly, it will not be a day of happy recollection.

Deep down inside, I know and I can say, rationally, that what happened was a plan that had nothing to do with me; it was someone else’s journey, the path that was meant for them and my own path did nothing to effect theirs.

Somehow though, I can never seem to fully accept that as the truth.

Had I not been willing to be an active participant in something that I knew was not right, perhaps several other paths wouldn’t have had to take a turn down a horrifying, heartbreaking and dark road. If I had not been involved, maybe their lives would have been brighter and happier, not broken by sadness and loss.

Is it right that I put such a heavy weight upon my own shoulders, by accepting blame that was never voiced? Is it selfish of me, just as I was then, to even consider that they would waste time and energy blaming me?

A family that likely would have encountered the same issues, whether it was me or another, met with something bigger than all of that could have ever amounted to. And it wasn’t someone else, it was me. While I may not be to “blame”, physically, I didn’t cause it to happen, I did add other physical and mental stresses that couldn’t have made things any better, easier or healthier.

What happened taught me though. It taught me a few things then that have absolutely stayed with me.

I learned how sacred and special certain connections are, and how in an instant they can be taken from you. I learned how no one has the right to step in between that which they have no possible way of understanding of the workings to begin with.

That night, seventeen years ago, after being pressured into going to the hospital, I broke down. I couldn’t believe what I saw, and realized that I couldn’t begin to imagine what this family had been, and was now forced into, dealing with. I knew that I had no business being “close” to this family.

I wasn’t running from pain; I was running away from being the cause of pain. From that moment, I couldn’t stand the thought of being involved any longer. My heart was aching, throbbing with pain that I couldn’t fully understand, but that I knew was bigger than anything I had dealt with before.

 I struggled with how to end the misery. After all that had recently happened, who was I to now add my departure to the mix? (There’s that old selfish talk again!) Despite all of the hurt and pain that already existed, it was easier to prolong the disengagement until things had calmed down a little bit. And so, I pretended that everything was the same and that I could handle it all; indifference being one of my strong suits. If I didn’t care, nothing could hurt or affect me.

So, I walked the fine line between being involved and doing my own thing, quietly, carefully and “thoughtfully”.

The old wasn’t ready to be tossed to the side, and soon became that annoying entity that wouldn’t leave, or allow me to quietly go. That friendly old situation that pulls strings, manipulates, threatens and frightens, all with the belief that they will be able to make you change your mind and find your will to actually be their own.

But, for once, it clicked, and I realized I was strong when I needed to.

The attempts at reining me back into the web were never going to succeed, and I wasn’t going to be a player or even a bystander any longer. I broke the tie as quickly as possible and never looked back.

That perfect, sweet, angelic face was more than I ever needed to realize the truth; I learned my lesson.

Thank you angel. And Happy Birthday.

A Long Overdue Thank You

For the past couple of years I have been allowing myself to feel angry with someone who had previously meant the world to me.

 I was angry because I felt that she had changed, and as my feelings grew a little stronger, I also suddenly had open ears for whatever anyone else had to negatively say about her. I allowed myself to become stuck in a place of anger, distaste and regret, when it came to her.

Something I heard the other day stuck out, like a message kind of hitting me over the head, and it told me it was time to really look at this situation, and clearly.

Whatever happened in her life, before or after our special time, is of no matter. Most importantly, it is of no matter to what our relationship meant to me.

What IS important was the role that she played in my life back then, what she was able to give me and show me about myself. The closeness that we shared gave me so much; taught me, allowed me to be me, and gave me warmth and comfort when I most needed it. She was the one I ran to, escaped to, when my world felt like it was crashing down around me. She was, what I felt at the time, the sole provider of unconditional love and support in my life.

It comes down to that whole thing about judging other people, and who am I to do that to her after all she offered to me?

As I have pondered this over the past few days, it has made me feel a little ashamed, and sad. While I may not have been the one to “change” our relationship, neither was she really. She grew and I grew, we just happened to grow apart; sad as that is.

I miss the closeness that we shared, the ability to openly and freely express exactly how I was feeling, the fun that we had together.

But, perhaps, the teacher’s job was done. The time that was needed between us passed, she was needed elsewhere, and I had to move forward in my own life of learning and teaching others.

Instead of grieving what had felt like and seemed to have been lost, instead of feeling angry and betrayed, I should have simply celebrated the role that she played in my young life. I should have been remembering to keep gratitude in my heart for all that she gave to me.

And so, for now, while I likely won’t be able to bring myself to actually say all of this to her directly, I still want to acknowledge it, say it aloud, put it out there, back into the universe and all of our energies…

Thank you. Thank you for being that special person in my life, the lifeline that, truly, kept me alive. Thank you for being understanding, non-judgemental, and, loving. Thank you for being there when nobody else seemed to think I was worth it. Thank you for believing in me, when no one else seemed able to. Thank you for letting me be who I needed to be then, for it has made me who I am today. Thank you. And, I love you.

Gifts Can Be Found in One of "Those Days"

Those days…

When you know that you have over-reacted, but can’t bring yourself to apologize.

When you remain stuck in anger instead of letting go.

When you realize you’ve given over the power that is your own.

When you want only to mourn that which feels lost, as it sits before you.

When you miss out on joy, seemingly in preference to misery.

When that smile seems the most difficult to produce.

When you want to run and hide, but are forced into “action”.

When the to-do list seems insurmountable.

When every action and word seems to suck all the energy from you in an instant.

When you really want to be comforted, but can’t help yourself from being a bitch.

When all the words you long to say nearly escape, but don’t.

When you wish that you had a rewind button for your life.

When you wish that you had a fast forward button for your life.

When you wish that you had a delete button for your life.

Those days are the ones that have the most to teach us, and yet, it is the hardest to learn anything on those days.

Those days are the ones that we shouldn’t dismiss or try to forget, they are the ones that need to be looked at and carefully considered, as they are the days that will often repeat themselves until we are finally willing to open our eyes and do the right thing.

Next, A Trip Through Shame

Shame - noun

1.     1.  the painful feeling arising from the consciousness of something dishonorable, improper, ridiculous, etc., done by oneself or another: She was overcome with shame.

I have recently had some deep, thought provoking, revealing conversations with a few wonderful women, ones that I am thankful to have in my life. 

I interacted with these women in, what seems to me, the sequence required, the time for me to awaken and open up enough to receive the wisdom they were going to share. The first came at the EXACT moment of “impact”, the time when everything came to a breaking point for me, slamming into the second interaction, when I was simmering, stewing away in my realizations. The third was as the calm began to take over, I had reached a point where light was beginning to shine through again and my breathing was finally slowing to a manageable pace. It was then that it hit me, and hard.

What began from feelings brought up when I took Makiya to her first Music Class, progressed into a struggle to write out my emotions, which then also became something much more. A perceived difference between people, women, mothers, and a worry about being judged for past mistakes, became the catalyst for a much bigger discovery within myself; like it or not.

I had been thinking back over my life, looking at, digging through and trying to understand the giant leaps I have taken back and forth; between being a social butterfly and something more resembling the caterpillar, tucked away safe and warm while awaiting its transformation. I was trying to decipher whether I was in one of those states as a response TO my surroundings and circumstances, or was I dictating the surroundings and circumstances by CHOOSING to be in that state. What I began to realize was, at least in that moment, that I was being the caterpillar in response to circumstances and situations I had lived, in the PAST. I began to accept and admit to this to myself as I acknowledged it to be a truth about who I have become.

I brought up this realization in conversation with one of these women, who was quick to point out how damaging “shame” could be. I hadn’t thought, yet, to put “shame” into the equation, I hadn’t put my finger on it as the force that it really was, and yet as strongly as I began to feel this addition to my truth, I still hadn’t really gotten the complete picture.

A few weeks later, I was chatting with a friend, who has been discovering some hard self-truths of her own for some time. We spoke of ignoring signs and/or clues that sit boldly before us, the ones that are finally “noticed” later on, of being tired of pretending and not being heard, and as we shared our thoughts, insights and feelings on it all, I began to see more cracks in this truth I was coming to terms with.

A week later, I spoke to the other woman (that wonderful friend who has the ability to see clearly, and between the lines, when I can’t, and vice versa, at times, thank god!). I admitted what I was beginning to see as the whole truth, and with a deep breath, she responded “That is huge.” As I heard her utter those words, the entirety and enormity of it truly and fully slapped me in the face, with a WHOOSH; it WAS huge, especially in saying it aloud to someone else. I was really putting it out there.

What I realized opened my eyes to so many things, and is still continuing to do so, which I suppose, was my biggest fear. This was NEVER what I wanted it, and yet, I went ahead and created it anyways.

I realized that for all of the pride I carry in not regretting, hiding or “feeling shame” in things that I have already shared about my past, I hold on tightly to the truth about the present and the little left over bits of recent past. Those are kept close, without the warmth of sunlight or the ability to take in fresh air, they are hidden away, left to bend and twist, morphing into an ugly form of “shame”.

There are these “things” that I let slide out of control in my life, and the feelings of guilt in not tending to them have transformed into something darker and uglier. Instead of staying truly strong and continuing to speak clearly and loudly, I became comfortable in a place of denial, falsely labelling it as hopeful.

These things have caused me to feel shame, and I am finally able to admit it to myself.

Action MUST Be Required...

Oh my goodness.

My heart is racing, I feel like I am vibrating and I did shed a few tears.

Given horrifying news that leaves me desperate to act and yet asked to not repeat a word.

Pride (and relief) in a strong, courageous, brave and ABSOLUTELY NECESSARY decision.

Utter shock and disgust.

Total understanding, relation and empathy; but impelled to confront in one way or another.

A new role, new issues and concerns; more responsibility, deeper thinking and inevitably I suppose, more heartache, worry and desire to protect.

If I allow this to remain inside much longer, I may actually explode!

If I act upon my instincts, chaos will certainly erupt.

Several possible avenues of action to take; depending on one’s own filter, the answer may be obvious. Silence (in the hopes it really will NEVER happen again), physical retaliation (a desperate, in-grained, protective, adrenaline rush, eye-for-an-eye punishment) or perhaps even a phone call to the cops (almost never the preferred action, but one wonders…maybe this time it SHOULD happen…).

Asked NOT to speak to my best friend, my “confidante”, my partner, lover and husband; the one that every inch, every fiber of my being is calling out for me to turn to. Isn’t that a sign in itself? I actually pride myself on not being ABLE to hide things (ok, confusing women, mental issues aside!) from my husband; I tell him EVERYTHING! In confidence, non-life threatening things said to me are one thing, but when there is a serious twist to it, young and un-informed, uneducated and innocent to the SERIOUS things in life…even with the promise that there will be no opportunity, no option for these events to occur again… I KNOW what can happen inside of our minds. I KNOW the excuses we can be given, the apologies and promises.

Mmmmmppphhhh (inhale) ….hhhhhhhhmmmmpppphhh (exhale) ….

I really need to sit with this one for a short time, and I think re-visit the conversation before ultimately deciding to open my mouth and let the words pour out…

Stepping into the Past to find Gratitude

I was on Facebook the other night and a photo album of a friend caught my eye; more accurately, a vehicle I recognized captured my attention. It was an old photo, taken 16 years ago, and yet instantly I was taken back, fully. The emotions of the time; the people that were involved and the timing of the photograph made my heart race as though I was 16 again!

These were pictures of people that were in my “circle”. The pictures were taken at a time when a “friend” that was a few years younger than myself set her sights on a guy that I was off and on involved with. This obviously presented a problem for the 3 of us and in the end they decided to proceed together, and I walked away from them both. So, these pictures captured for me what I had already only imagined and created images of in my mind. They had gone on a camping trip, one that at the time I felt was supposed to include me. I laughed to myself as I looked deeply into the young faces that stared back at me. Some of us were just as I imagine/know we still are today, and others, such as the “friend”, looked like babies. I thought of the range in ages of the people in the group, and I thought of our lives at that time; the things that kept us all together, what drew us to each other.

Then I looked down at the comments on one of the photos. There was comical interest in recognizing the un-named faces and then the tone changed to that of sadness. Someone commented that seeing the pictures made them feel sad, and they added a question; did they hear about a friend that was connected to everyone, but not actually in the picture? Comments end there.

The person referred to was my first boyfriend; the tie that brought me to most of these people in the beginning. In complete honesty, my heart lifted slightly as my heart raced and my mind asked “Is he dead?!” as I read the question. I wanted more, I wanted to know the details of the conversation that ensued. It piqued my interest and I wanted to comment back, “No?! What happened?!” I couldn’t do it, I couldn’t (as of yet…?!) even ask anyone else that would likely know or be able to find out!

I talked to my best friend yesterday, itching to tell her about my finding, and when I did, her response was the same as my own; only she verbalized what I only said in my mind! She proceeded to encourage me to enquire within the larger circle of “old” Facebook friends that I have.

This guy in question; he, for me to vaguely say, had serious issues at the young age that we met him at. He was only 17 then, but already had severe family issues that he was the perpetrator of, although I didn’t find out these details until near the end of our relationship. He was in a foster home and didn’t have much, if any contact, with most of his family. To be blunt and to the point, I will say that aside from the anger, control issues, insecurities and many other things, he had an appetite for young, inexperienced girls. He worked his way from me, to, secretively, my best friend and her younger sister, with another of my younger friends in between! Without further details, I will only say that he was a sick little puppy in those early days of his life.

A part of me feels sheepish as I write; as I confess to such a dark response inside of me. We aren’t supposed to wish ill upon anyone, and certainly not with such finality. It’s not that I actually WISH that he was dead, although, again, I will admit I have had those thoughts in the past. It is more a feeling of relief that he would not be out in the world continuing to have seriously negative impacts on the lives of those around him.

I find myself being captured by the strangest things these days; things from my past seem to come up, begging for attention. Obviously a whisper in the ear that there are details requiring re-examination; as I grow, I need to look a little deeper for the lessons that were there for me to learn. Sometimes, 16 years later is the perfect time to finally “get it” in some cases?!

This time, for reasons that I still explore, I received three nudges in the same moment; three people with meaning came back for a visit and I need to know why. What in my life right now calls for the guidance of the experiences that I lived with these people back then?

Trust; I learned many things about both sides of trust from these three.

Strength; individually, I was forced to learn different things from the them.

Acceptability; as I sit here now, I can see many facets of this that I faced with these individuals. What is and is not acceptable in my life. I also learned about what makes a person “acceptable” or “unacceptable” in the eyes of certain types of people.

Doing wrong to another that is close to you; Ha! With the people in common, where would I begin on the things that I was taught?! How easy it is for some people; they either don’t truly care or they are so blinded by things in their life that they can only operate in ways that fill THEIR own personal “need” in a given circumstance.

I sat explaining my feelings, or considerations, on this subject to my husband last night, and I was relieved to discover that he related to what I had to say. It didn’t seem strange to him that my thoughts were swirling upon the finding of these photos and the heavy/confusing comments that were involved. In some ways, he made me feel more justified in my curiosities; as though I didn’t have the right before?!

While I still have some work to do to understand it all, I will offer gratitude to the universe for these people; the lessons they taught me then and the things that I seem to have to learn from them now.

Be a BIG Girl/Boy - Quit Lying!!

Lies. How do you recognize when someone is lying to you? Can you tell?

Most times you just KNOW. Some of us know how to read body language well enough to pick up the signals, the involuntary body reactions. Maybe you find out later from someone else. Maybe you overhear the liar in conversation to another. Perhaps they stumble and you catch them in their lie. We usually have an intense physical reaction to their energy; whether we choose to listen is another story.

“Oh, what a tangled we weave when first we practice to deceive.” – Sir Walter Scott

I have never thought myself to be a good liar. Sure, the rebellious teenager learns to do it fairly well, and we all tell those little ones; “I’m good”, “I’m so happy”, “Oh, I can’t today” etc., but beyond that I never was very good at it. I know before I even try; my face must be burning, I must be shaking, my eyes must be looking in that direction (the one that gives you away, I can’t remember if it’s left or right, but I know it’s up and…!!). It is just not something I have ever been good at and something that as I have grown, realized is just harmful, to myself as well as the person involved. It is a waste of everyone’s time and energy.

Some people just cannot seem to avoid lying. They open their mouths, and oops, another lie! They forget the lie they told before; they’ve told so many that they have a hard time keeping the story straight. Evidently it doesn’t matter who it is that they lie to, it’s a part of who they seem to be.

There are times when we know this person and we KNOW they are a liar. We find ourselves tangled in their web of deception. We don’t want to be there, but we’ve been woven into it. We call them on it occasionally, but it’s either “not true” or “ok, what of it?”. In response; we shake our head, we tell ourselves that we won’t believe a word next time, or we pretend that we didn’t notice.

Every lie told deprives someone of a truth that they have the RIGHT to. No single person truly has the right to deny another of knowledge about that which may have direct impact on them. “For every action, there is a reaction.” (I guess we all say that one, not sure the origin though…) We respond to what we are told; to not have the full truth to work from is certainly not a fair option to impose on another. While it may seem like such a minute thing to do in the moment, the after effects of a single lie can be truly devastating to another. That lie can cause an avalanche within a sensitive, or scarred, or even a completely honest person. It can send them down a path they have no clue how to navigate; a road they did not and never wanted to go down.

Sometimes it is very true that the truth hurts. If that truth WOULD cause me pain, I would still absolutely prefer to have known from the earliest point in time. I would prefer to have FULL knowledge about ANY THING that I am embarking on. I don’t think it is fair to deprive someone of the response they would naturally have given to a certain circumstance; especially if that response is feared by the liar. The liar has the responsibility to own up to their actions; they DO NOT have the right to hide something because they don’t want to deal with the effects of what they have or have not done.

To the LIARS: STOP IT!! Quit ruining others lives, breaking others trust/belief, taking the fire from the moment and stealing others time! Tell the truth and take the consequences that are deserved and earned like a BIG girl/boy!!