The Wonder of It All

Today marks the sixteen-year anniversary of the date I entered treatment for.alcoholism.

I'm what's known as a "one and done" inpatient treatment alumnus.

i.e., I went once and haven't needed to go back.

(Yet.)

By the grace of God, I hope I never will.

I've stayed sober (or, at least, abstinent) for sixteen years. 

(So far.)

I didn't know then that I'm actually somewhat of a rarity.  I'm among the fortunate few, according to inpatient treatment success statistics.

I'm beyond grateful for.that. I was.ready, and I worked.

Hard.

Knowing about the statistics, I wonder about the people I knew back then in rehab.

Especially the.ones I thought would be lifelong friends due to our shared experience and the closeness built over nearly five months of living together and progressing through the stages in our treatment programs.

I wonder...

Where they are now.

What their lives are like.

If they're still sober.

If they go to the reunions at Hanley in West Palm Beach.

(I was never contacted ONCE about attending a reunion. Kinda sucks.)

For the first year or so after leaving treatment, I kept in touch and frequently visited some of the people to whom I was closest.

It was hard, though, once we were all out and living our own lives, separated by 70 miles.

Life after rehab got really busy. Church. Meetings. A new job. Celebrate Recovery. And, most of my closest friends at Hanley were young enough to be my daughters. 

It seemed a natural progression for our "outside" lives to diverge, and for the relationships to gradually dissipate.

Part of me was glad to not have to make the effort any longer. It was sad and disappointing as one, then another, and yet another relapsed or got into various difficult situations within a few months of exiting treatment.

Honestly, I welcomed our moving in different directions. I felt like hanging around the ones who didn't seem to fully embrace recovery put my own sobriety in jeopardy.

It's been nearly sixteen years now, though.

And, I can't help but wonder.

Could I have made more of an effort to invest fully and positively in their lives? Would it have helped them to be strong, stay on the path of recovery?

But, I also wonder, was I even equipped?

That first year, every stressful, unfamiliar, or challenging situation and circumstance I got through without drinking was a victory.

I had to listen to that inner voice warning me when I was about to enter a dangerous situation. Even if it seemed silly.

I  do wonder sometimes, though.

Could I have -- SHOULD I have -- been a better friend?

But, then, I wonder...

...Would I still be sober today?

Remembering Rehab

Tomorrow will be the sixteenth year anniversary of the date I entered rehab for treatment of alcoholism. 

O. M. G 

I was so apprehensive. Anxious. Scared.

I had to stay overnight in Detox, even though I hadn't had a drink for nearly a month. (I count April 10, 2007 as my Sobriety Date, not May 7th as Hanley tried to insist).

I remember the fear.

Fear it wouldn't work.

Fear I'd fall.

Fear I'd succeed and hate my boring, insufferable life, which seemed to stretch out interminably before me (ah, the wonderful naivety of being 50!).

Fear it would all be for naught, and my husband would leave me anyway, that this was his way of beginning the legal process of separating himself from the hell he had endured for so many years, with me conveniently locked away for 28 days.

He was the reason I agreed to go to treatment. 

He'd given me an ultimatum.

Get treatment or he was DONE.

I didn't want that. Him leaving me, that is.

Not because he is a saint and the love of my life.

No.

Because by this point, I hated our marriage, the ways we avoided the elephant in the room, the complete destruction of any semblance of a healthy relationship.

I was just flat-out SCARED.

Scared I couldn't function without him, without someone who tolerated my rages, my major depressive episodes, and most of all, my coping mechanism: ALCOHOL.

Long story short, rehab worked.

It was hard, but I embraced it fully, and I LOVED it.

So much so that I stayed for 4½ months.

I knew within the first 2 weeks, long-term sobriety was possible, but only if I could identify, confront, and begin to work through the underlying issues that prompted me to turn to alcohol in the first place.

So, I stayed.

I worked.

Hard.

And when I was ready, I went home.

Home.

Where the heart is.

When Words Wound

Justt when I think I've really matured, that I deal with slights and hurts by acknowledging them, identifying the underlying insecurities, and nipping them in the bud..

Yeah.

That's the expression on my face when one unexpectedly hits me square in the jaw and sends me reeling.

I can deal just fine with the inadvertent remarks from acquaintances who don't know me or my history or personality well.

Just acknowledge I'm miffed, that it's my reaction to my entire life's experiences, and was not meant the way I perceived it.

Blow it off.

Blow the acquaintance off if he or she turns  out to be an insensitive jerk who likes to put others down on a regular basis.

It stings, but it doesn't last, and doesn't mean anything in the long run.

But, it's majorly different when it's my spouse of thirty-three years. Who knows how I've struggled with feelings of inadequacy and fear of failing since early childhood

Who knows those issues were a huge factor in my becoming an alcoholic.

I clearly DON'T have a handle on this yet. An offhand remark or joking (seriously?) jab or comment can still blindside me and send me into a tailspin of doubt, depression, anger, and resentment.

24 hours later, I'm sitting here not having answers.

Clearly, talking through it hasn't worked. Posting a humorous version of our initial exchange on Facebook only made HIM mad, and embarrassed him. 

I deleted it. But it was out there for a number of hours.

When it was stll on Facebook, I could let go of the anger a little.

Deleting the post brought it back to rage level.

 I try not to go there, but I did raise my voice and express how his comment impacted my feelings.

I apologized for the outburst and even kissed him goodnight (you know: don't let the sun go down on your anger...)

Now, I just feel sad, confused, and depressed.

But, the anger is seething just below the surface. I can feel it rising up, and every time I tamp it back down, I sink with it just a little more.

Because the one I depend on for love, support, and encouragement just yanked those things out from under me.

Not really.

I know he loves me, and he IS supportive and encouraging a lot of the time. 

Yet, my perception of his remark made me doubt not only my competence and capabilities, it made me doubt my worth and value.

As a person, but more significantly, as a wife and partner.

It's one thing to joke about my clumsiness, or my lack of mathematical skills. I poke fun and laugh at myself all the TIME, and humorously share my mishaps with him.

After all, we both love a good laugh, even at our own expense.

I think that what really hurts in this case is, at its core, I am left wondering what prompted the remark.

He's so reserved, even reticent, it's difficult to know just what he thinks of me.

I dread discovering I've disappointed him in some way, that he's dissatisfied with our life together, that I'm not the wife he needs and deserves.

I don't have answers or solutions at this.point.

At least, processing some of it here has allowed me to understand my confoundment a little more.

And relinquish the rage.

What do we say in recovery?

"This, too, shall pass."

Monday Blues

 

Kinda had an epiphany late last night as I was drooling over and coveting all things blue and white and chinoiserie on Pinterest and Instagram: I'm not a high-end girl! Everything I've been pinning and ❤️ing and adding to my shopping carts is stunning, gorgeous, and absolutely perfect on a Christmas tree.

In a more formal home.

One of the things that immediately drew us into our new-to-us home is how pretty, light, open, and perfect it is for our rather laid-back style and eclectic mix of inherited, rustic, and utilitarian furniture. I absolutely adore the brick on our fireplace,  and in the sunroom. I'm obsessed with the granite and hand painted cabinetry in our kitchen. I love the modern, sleek beauty of the appliances (even though I'm still getting used to them and complain about them too often 😊). The light fixtures are exactly what I would have chosen, and bring in a little modern industrial vibe that I'm OB-sessed with. And, y'all already know how I feel about the floors! Love, love, LOVE them! ❤️

So, back to my beautiful blue and white Christmas dreams... I need to keep it authentic to OUR style, and to the style of our lovely sweet home. I have so much stuff already. Roy and I go every weekend and bring back a load from the storage units. I need to cull and curate what we have down to what we actually use and enjoy. All extraneous stuff is ultimately stressing me out, and what's ridiculous is that instead of tackling the problem at hand, i.e., severely downsizing our belongings as I unpack, I start adding stuff I don't need to online shopping carts. 

I don't know where I'm going with this exactly. Just need to get it out and off my chest. I know the Holy Spirit is showing me that this is an area I need to focus on and work through, and revealing to me how incredibly blessed we are. To be grateful for and enjoy what is important: Not stuff. Not decorating. Not having everything look like photos in a magazine or on a design blog. Not outdoing last year's Christmas tree.

What IS important is: Family. Friends. Welcome. Hospitality.

Christ as the reason we even celebrate Christmas in the first place..

I need to stop obsessing about decorating for a holiday season still over 2 months away, and just make a HOME.

A place we enjoy and love being. A place that envelops us with welcome, serenity, and safety when we return.

A place where an air mattress on the floor is fine, because we want a chance to visit and catch up with friends and loved ones. A place where it's okay for a neighbor to pop in for a cup of coffee, even if the breakfast dishes are still in the sink. 

That's what I really want. Not more stuff.

Im wondering how hard it is to cancel orders?? 😳😆

Breakfast of Champions

I found out yesterday in a phone conversation with my parents that my sweet, beautiful Mama has been diagnosed with diabetes. This disease runs in my maternal side of the family. She is now on medication, eating much healthier, eliminating sugar and simple carbohydrate foods, and walking. I'm thankful, and proud of her for taking this disease seriously.

Hearing this news, I was scared and upset, and a little angry. Not at her, not at the disease or our family's genes, but at myself. I have been eating sweets and simple carbs uncontrollably lately. At 5' 0", I'm at my highest weight in 18 years. I've put upwards of 15 pounds on my small-boned frame in the past 9 months. I haven't exercised regularly in 2 years.

The additional weight affects not only my physical abilities, but my mental and emotional health as well. My hormones are out of whack, and I've been having mood swings, depression, outbursts of anger, and hot flashes again, on a pretty regular basis. Everything seems to irritate and annoy me. My self confidence is low, and I avoid going out in public, if possible. My clothes don't fit, and I've long since disposed of my larger "fat clothes."

I feel guilty even complaining or admitting any of this to anyone but Roy. People looking at me still see a smaller woman, with some healthy "meat on my bones," as one of my brothers-in-law, puts it. I'm not fat, or anywhere near obese, or even unattractive.

I AM uncomfortable in my own skin, in this bigger body, though. I'm not able to walk fast without getting winded. I lack the  coordination and balance I had when working out regularly. My joints hurt, and I pull muscles doing normal chores around the house.

I know all this, and what to do about it, but can't seem to make the mental shift to get off my big(ger) derriere and start exercising and making healthier food choices. There is something blocking me, and I don't know what it is. That makes me depressed, despondent, and angry. The really bad thing is that when I'm feeling this way, my old nature starts taking over and directing my emotions outward as anger toward those I love.

I believe in my heart this isn't just a physical and mental/emotional matter. It is also spiritual.  My weight and my body perception and awareness issues easily become an area where I allow the Enemy to gain a foothold and drive a wedge that becomes a chasm between me and the Holy Spirit. I feel insignificant to, and abandoned by God, when the truth is, I'm ashamed to come before Him and admit to Him my failures and stupid choices. I move away from Him slowly, until I'm unaware that it's even occurring.

I've dealt with body dysmorphia, eating disorders, and impulse control since I was 16 or 17. I don't think I will ever have complete freedom from these issues wanting to dominate me and influence my mindset and mental and emotional health. I still struggle with each of these issues daily, depending on where I'm at regarding my weight, exercise, and food choices. 

I don't know what the answers are. There's no magic diet, no radical therapy, no pill or potion that will snap me out of this and cure me once and for all. It's a struggle. And, a spiritual battle.

I DO know that when I make a conscious, consistent effort to spend time each day with God, it becomes easier to take the first steps toward making better choices in my everyday life. If I fail to make my relationship with the Lord my priority, it doesn't matter how fit, skinny, or strong I am. It doesn't matter if I eat healthy, if I'm starving my connection to and awareness of the indwelling presence of the Holy Spirit. If my motivation stems from an image of myself that doesn't begin or align with a desire to be conformed to the image of God, it is vain and fleeting.

I know each journey begins with a single step. This is me, taking my first step. These verses are my inspiration, my motivation, and my prayer for today:

Do not be conformed to this world,.but be transformed by the renewal of your mind, that by testing you may discern what is the will of God, what is good and acceptable and perfect. (Romans 12:2)

And we all, with unveiled face, beholding the glory of the Lord, are being transformed into the same image from one degree of glory to another. For this comes from the Lord who is the Spirit. (2 Corinthians 3:18)

But one thing I do: Forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead,  I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus. (Philippians 3:13-14) 

Or do you not know that your body is a temple of the Holy Spirit who is in you, whom you have from God, and that you are not your own? For you have been bought with a price: therefore glorify God in your body. (1 Corinthians 6:19-20)

Hindsight is 20/20

So... a LOT has happened since my last post. We moved to Mississippi in January, rented an apartment in the 'hood because they allow pets, sold our home in Florida, and bought a new house here 3 weeks ago. We still had a month on our lease, so have been moving our belongings over bit by bit.

As I was leaving the apartment yesterday with almost all of the last small items, I remembered I had left my iced tea inside. I grabbed the apartment key, and  locked the car. 

Oops.

Immediately, I realized I'd locked my car key and my phone inside the car. Long story short ... Yes, it was a bad situation, but I did NOT allow myself to panic!

Do you have any idea how monumental that is for me?

There was a time when this type of thing would have instantaneously, completely dissolved me into tears and a major meltdown. It's times like these that I realize I really HAVE come a long way.

I don't automatically depend on unproductive or harmful coping mechanisms  I don't freak out over the big stuff nearly as often (although the little stuff still can trigger a short period of panic.)

So, I did the sober adult thing, and assessed the situation. 

I thought through my options:

• Going to the management office (it was closed)
• Breaking a window (last ditch option only)
• Walking home (10 miles in the rain, and 3 miles on I-10, plus no way inside)
• Calling a locksmith (no phone and no way to Google)
• Calling AAA (no phone, and membership card inside my wallet)
• Finding some way to contact Roy from a number he wouldn't recognize and pray that he'd pick up, or at least see he had a voicemail

I was blessed to find a kind neighbor who let me use his phone. Roy didn't pick up, so I left him a calm voicemail explaining what happened. (I checked with him. He said it was calm.) I went back into the apartment and began cleaning.

After about an hour, my kind neighbor knocked on my door and said Roy had called him back and would be there in about 45 minutes. I thanked him profusely, and went back to cleaning.

In no time at all my handsome hero showed up to rescue his ditsy damsel. And they all lived happily ever after. The End.

Seriously, all turned out well. Roy was planning to come by the apartment before coming home anyway, so it wasn't a burden or out of the way for him, AND he just happened to have my extra car key with him. 

Funny how life goes more smoothly -- even when it's a bit bumpy -- once we realize we really were never in control in the first place.

We will intuitively know how to handle situations which used to baffle us. We will suddenly realize that God is doing for us what we could not do for ourselves.

Letting Go

Just said something ugly under my breath and (hopefully) out of earshot of Roy. I know it's wrong. I know I feel judged and that I've disappointed Roy by not having things packed and ready to go, and I'm deflecting the hurt and shame and guilt. I hate letting Roy down... But, I'm not willing to let it go yet, or even to ask God for forgiveness. Because if I do, I have to let go of my self-righteous fury and admit I'm wrong, that I messed up, that it's my fault. The anger is easier to feel and less debilitating, even energizing.

I'm so exhausted. No more than 5 hours sleep per night, and that's the top number. For a week. I stay up trying to move forward and get stuff packed and end up walking around in circles because I forget what I was doing or about to do. Until I can't anymore, finally admit defeat, and crash for a few hours, and then the whole cycle begins all over again.

I'm so tired of moving, of feeling that my life is a dress rehearsal for a play that's going to get postponed, and eventually, never open. I'm tired of feeling untethered, ungrounded, and never having a sense of permanency, of being unable to nest and make a real home, because we never know how long we'll be in one place.

When we bought this house, we thought we finally had that, and then during the actual moving process, Roy realized he'd been betrayed and walked out of his job. I didn't even want to unpack anything. 

I'm so over having ¾ of our belongings in storage, only to open boxes and totes and realize that what I'd once treasured has been ruined or is no longer something I even want.

Roy is frustrated and concerned I have a hoarding problem, and I'm beginning to think he's right. I wasn't like this when we first got married. It only started after we began moving and having to leave things in storage or sell them in moving sales. We were limited to 2000 pounds when we moved to Haiti and again when we returned.

That's when it started. That year, 2002. Roy had gone back to Haiti during Christmas, leaving me with my Mom and sisters. Lowes was having a 75% off sale after Christmas sale on all their Lemax Carol Towne villages and accessories. I couldn't help myself. Our ministry was over. Our marriage was on extremely shaky ground. We had just been unceremoniously released from our Mission Organization, and had no clear prospect of our future.

I felt abandoned. By World Team, by Roy, by our supporting churches. And I felt guilty and responsible and totally alone. I had no sense of who I was anymore, of any purpose, vision, or passion. I needed SOMETHING to make me feel like a junior Martha Stewart again.

Roy was furious. Those villages have remained stored in Action Packers for the past 18 years.

Most women have a deep instinctual need to nest, to create a home that is a safe place, a respite, a haven of warmth and welcome. We want to surround ourselves with beauty, with the things that make us aware that loveliness still exists to calm, inspire and energize us. To stir our passions, to remind us of our blessings, to foster our desire for more than ourselves, to ignite our pursuit of God and spiritual growth.

When we are happy and content, we thrive. And we are most happy and content when those around us are happy and content and love being with us. 

It shouldn't depend upon or center around what we have, or what we can acquire, but when there is continuing uncertainty and an absence of being able to call anywhere "home," it's difficult to feel grounded and purposeful. I think that's where my need to fill my physical space with "stuff" began.

This is something I've realized for a while now, but I haven't been able (willing?) to change. I may need to get some outside help to really deal with this issue. I do know for certain that I can't let it continue.