Contentment

 "It's my life, it's now or never;
I ain't gonna live forever!
I just wanna live while I'm alive:
It's. My. Life."        - Jon bon Jovi, 2000

My daughter used to listen to this song when she was a teen (she's 31 now.) I hated it. I considered it a selfish, godless, rebellious statement. 

Now, I'm beginning to see the real meaning behind bon Jovi's words. I've spent far too long being dead while I'm alive, going through the motions, regretting yesterday and either fearing or not being able to wait until tomorrow. Never was my mind on where I was, what I was doing, or who I was. 

Contented kitty!
Image by mysgreen1 at pixabay

In my journey of the last five years or so, there is one word that keeps recurring for me. That word is CONTENTMENT. It encompasses letting go of yesterday and of tomorrow. It means living in the present, enjoying the now, and finding YES in as much and in as many ways as possible. It also means accepting myself as I am, and not wishing I were someone else.

It didn't come easily. I'm still learning, as a matter of fact. However, disciplining myself to come back to the present has been one of the most healthful, wholesome exercises I have had the good fortune to stumble upon and practice. Achieving a calm, unruffled state on a regular basis has reduced my stress, improved my sleep, and made me more willing to accept other people and events as they are. This, I have learned, brings contentment: a lasting state of peace. 

In that state, I am free to express my emotions and act for the betterment of others, while not taking anything personally. My life experiences and the people with whom I have had the privilege of interacting all have contributed to that mindset. I am a better person, a better wife and mother, a better friend, and a better citizen because of it. 

I am a spiritual being who just so happens to inhabit a physical body ... for now. The notion of a life beyond this one has inspired me to try to enrich the now, not to bemoan my difficulties and pine away for 'pie in the sky bye and bye.' This, too, enhances my present contentment. I feel safe and secure. I trust. I love. I believe. I act from those core values. 

And along the way, if my journey touches yours and makes it better, I'm perfectly fine with that. In fact, that's where I find another essential of contentment: joy. 

2020 - accepting the good, the bad, and the ugly

 As I sit down to write this post today, my dog is at my side, cuddled up to me, in utter doggie contentment. I think to myself how I can relate to that feeling of being right where I most want to be, doing exactly what I most want to do. It is from that place of fullness that I write about 2020: a year that, for many, has been a horrific disaster from start to finish. 

There is no doubt that historically, the world has changed significantly in the last 12 months. Politics, pandemics, persecution, protests, posturing, and petulance have marked our Western society throughout the year. Many worldwide have felt hopeless, harassed, even hunted. And as we come to the close of it, there are some sparks of hope that the disease which has intensified our societal problems may have an end in sight. However, it does not mean that there are not still problems. 

There has been much to be sad about this year. People have died, either through illness or ignorance. But in the midst of it all, there have also been signs of life, light, laughter, and love.

For me, 2020 has been a time of great sorrow and of great joy. The great sorrow came in February when my brother passed away suddenly after having succumbed to an infection that left him too weak to get to a phone. Feeling empty and alone, I turned my attention to adopting a puppy, who quickly filled our home and my life with laughter, love, and life as he explored and learned each new thing. We got him in the early stages of the pandemic, before we got the hang of this whole social distancing thing. Fortunately, nobody was ill and we were even able to tend to his vaccinations and his neutering as time went on. 

In September, I began a new chapter for me as I started the long-awaited practicum placement that my university requires for me to get my Masters in Counselling Psychology. What I didn't foresee was how wonderfully fulfilling it was (and is) to be there and be present for each of my charges, to listen to them and to watch them grow in themselves and their relationships with themselves, others, and sometimes with God. There have been challenges of course, but I am doing something that I love doing. 

So for me, all told, 2020 hasn't been so bad. Sure, it sucks to not be able to see my friends and family as often, but I have my little family here, which includes a couple of other people in our bubble (the "kith" of kith and kin), and of course the animals. I get to do a lot of things that make me happy, and my stress levels are vastly reduced from a year ago. I guess it has to do with that all-important little word called acceptance. 

Photo "Sun Ray Behind Dark Cloud"
courtesy of Sura Nualpradid at
freedigitalphotos.net

When I accept the things that come my way and don't wish them gone or hurried up, when I receive them and enjoy whatever moments of goodness they bring to me, it is then that I can live in peace. These are lessons I'm learning in this new phase of my life - lessons like living in the now, doing what I can and letting go of what I can't, and making time to laugh and enjoy living without fretting about the future or regretting the past. Too long I have lived with those thieves of joy. It's time to step up, to move ahead, and to enrich my every day by seeing and believing the best, even if things seem bad or ugly. The truth is, there is always some good to be found if you look for it. If you look for bad things, you'll find them. So I choose to look for good things, and let the bad ones go. 

Onward to 2021 - a new year, a new decade. I'm grateful. If our paths cross and we walk together, be that virtually or in person, I hope we part ways encouraged and strengthened. 

The present

In my last post on this blog, written in May of this year, I was talking about waiting for the next phase of my degree, my practicum. I spoke of it as a destination and of the plaintive cry of someone on a journey asking if we were there yet. 

But as it turned out, the practicum was not a destination, but only the beginning of another journey - one that took a sudden turn I wasn't (but should have been) expecting: basically, my practicum supervisor fired me. The sense of failure was very real, and I began to question everything about the last ten years of my life: my recovery from codependency, my personal growth, my relationships with my extended family members, my desire to become a therapist, my self-image as a kind and compassionate person, and my suitability for a helping profession. It was quite wrenching - traumatic - overwhelming.

In addition, the shock of that experience tipped me over the edge emotionally and after the initial days and days of crying, it's like the water that overflowed the dam just froze in place. Nothing penetrated. Nothing affected me. I could not feel sad, or happy, or angry, or worried. Sleep was fitful and gave me no real rest; motivation went out the window. I started to isolate myself from things, lost interest in the things I loved to do (music, word games, etc.) and just buried myself in escapist behaviors: binge-watching shows I had seen so many times I could recite the dialogue, mostly.

So I sought professional help. I asked my doctor about it and he put me on an antidepressant and referred me to a psychologist. I have my first appointment with her next month. And although I didn't want to do it, I forced myself to do certain things for myself: read something inspirational every day, brush my teeth every day, eat regular meals, and find something to do that got me out of the house once in a while. 

Photo by Tirachard Kumtanom from Pexels

And - of late - I have been pondering the idea of staying in the moment, and not thinking about the past or the future. Like yesterday morning. I had eaten my breakfast and was finishing my coffee when I saw a box of Turtles (TM) on the table. I decided that I would like to eat one. Just one. Slowly. And as I bit into it, there was a part of me that said, "Hey. You'll be late for work. This is ridiculous. You're wasting time here. You have to get your makeup on and pack up your stuff to go." And from somewhere inside of me came another voice, one that said, "No. Just enjoy this moment. This is self-care. Taste the taste, really focus on it." And I did. When I was done, that part of me said, "Now, see? THAT is being in the moment. Nothing more simple than that." And I realized that I had rushed through so much of my life trying to get to the destination or the next big thing, and missed out so much on the "in-between" stuff of everyday life: the journey of thousands of moments.

It is a new learning experience for me, this 'savoring the moment' notion. It is this moment right now that I have: the now. Who was it that said, "Yesterday is history; tomorrow is a mystery. Today is a gift - that is why it is called the present"? 

In that same vein, I received another unexpected present this morning, before we even opened our gifts. Our little family was having breakfast together, talking about a movie we had watched together recently, "The Greatest Showman" (which I highly recommend, by the way!), and we were saying how all the little threads of P.T. Barnum's life, which seemed so random and unrelated to each other, the glad and the sad and the mad, weaved themselves together in his life to show him his purpose and help him fulfill his dream. And that's when it hit me. All of those things in my life - glad, sad, and mad - also had purpose and were being woven together in me in the present. 

That was the gift I had been given, and even though it was not yet complete, I caught a glimpse - a freeze-frame, if you will - of becoming who I am meant to be.  In the moment, in the now, in the present, weaving the past threads together, the dark and the bright and the gray and the colored threads that seem so purposeless by themselves seemed, for one brief moment, to coalesce. 

And in that moment, I felt something. For the first time in weeks, I felt something! An emotion, a state of being, a ... whatever you want to call it. The closest I can come to describing it is by calling it hope. But it was not the wishing-for kind of hope. It was more an assurance that I am where I am supposed to be, even if it is hard. That right now is a gift: the Present. That it is okay to be where I am. And my throat tightened, and my nose stung, and tears welled up and spilled over onto my face. 

And I lifted my face upward and whispered, "Thank You." 

Forever

Today is her birthday.
As if she'd ever let me - or anyone - forget.
She would have been 25.
But she's 21. Forever.

Forever young ... full of zest and zing
  and a hundred or two other things
  both maddening and endearing,
I remember the bad and good ... together.

Laughter - long and loud - left us in tears
  gasping for breath in spite of our fears,
  and echoes in my heart through the years
as hearty and raucous as ever.

Sometimes ... with a bang, the screen door closes
  and with a puff of wind and the faint scent of roses
  she rushes in, and yesterday composes
a sweet song as fleeting as a wisp of smoke.

Those moments, swift and elusive to capture
  dance around the black heart of disaster
  and call me instead to all of the rapture
she now enjoys - and oh, such unexpected joy!

See you later, my belle - Arielle - 
  I'll hold the torch, and keep it burning well
  until someday I hear the soundless bell 
and join you in Forever.

                              - - Judy Gillis
                                   (c) July 16, 2017

 

I ... am ... enough

I was reading in Brené Brown's book, Daring Greatly, today during a few moments of self-care time, when I realized that it had been a long time since I had made time for structured self-care! Lately, I have been so frantic about doing what I do (wife, mother, employee, boss, daughter, sister and student) and doing it well in all areas, (what does it matter that I only get three to five hours of sleep a night? right?) that I didn't realize I was once more heading down the path toward co-dependency, or as I have been calling it, "doormat-itis." Or being "Champion of the Underdog."

I had been focusing way too much on what folks expected of me and on the standards others had placed upon me (which I was trying to live up to) that I had lost sight of who I was. Again. WOW that's a slippery slope!! I realized this as I was in the process of unfriending someone on Facebook who had given me yet one more standard or expectation to live up to, one which I do not agree with, and who then proceeded to attack me about some choices I had made, which this person didn't agree with. The person had listened to other people's version of things, and convinced themselves that I was in error and just needed to see the "truth" ... but... and just as I trailed off there, I caught myself spiraling down into the abyss of self-protection, crusading, and other self-defeating thinking. I was taking on too much, and I was taking things in my loved ones' circumstances way too personally because I was the white knight, the defender, the rescuer, the protective "Mama bear" who would defend her own. It was killing me.

Photo "Young Lady Holding Umbrella" by
imagerymajestic at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

 As I was pondering this while reading Ms. Brown's book, I came across this statement and it rocked me back on my heels! 

"We have to believe we are enough in order to say, 'Enough!' " (pp. 144-145). 

 My umbrella of self-care, my affirmations from when I was in therapy, my learning to let go, ... I had forgotten it all - and this "enough!" statement brought me back to those hard-learned lessons and made me remember three very important things: (1) I am worthy of love and belonging (as Brené Brown says), (2) helping someone is a great and noble cause, but when it comes at the expense of my own mental health, I have invested too much of myself, and (3) when I catch myself slipping back into those old patterns, it is time to remember where and what my boundaries are, and to live within them.  This reminds me that others have boundaries as well, and (as hard as it is for me to accept) other people don't have to like me or agree with everything I do in order for me to like myself. I had done all I could do in this circumstance I mentioned, and whether someone agreed with my actions or my beliefs or my choices was irrelevant. The only thing that mattered was that I was following my conscience and that I have remained true to myself. The rest is of no consequence. 

Am I going to apologize? Am I going to re-friend this person? No. I didn't do anything against my conscience, and others' opinions of my choices are not my concern. I don't need to surround myself with people who can find nothing better to do than criticize someone else over something that is none of their business. That puts them (in their minds) in a position of superiority over me, and then I try to assert my superiority, and so on and so forth. I am not playing those games anymore. Will this person ever change their mind? Probably not. But again, that is not my concern. They are going to think what they are going to think, and nothing I say or do will change that. 

I need to be courageous about this lifestyle of letting go, because all of my life, I was hammered into thinking that what other people thought of me mattered, and I became a chameleon and by the end of it, I didn't even know who I was anymore. I have been slipping back into that mind-set. I am going to stop now. I am done with being afraid. I am tired of putting on the junkyard dog mask to hide that fear.  

What I am going to do is follow something that a co-worker's sister made for her. She has some writing, white on black, on a little sign on her bookshelf - two little words in beautiful script writing - "Just Breathe." It reminds me to breathe deeply. And in that breath, I remind myself that I am enough. That I am worthy. That I am loved. That I am all of these things and more besides. That I need to let go of my need for approval. That I need to let go of the need to prove that I am right. That I remember to let go.  

What a relief. Maybe tonight, for the first time in weeks, I will be able to sleep through the night without nightmares or anxious thoughts waking me up. I sure hope so...

The Whole Elephant

A few times in the last school year, someone (student or professor or course designer) has made reference to the six blind men from Indostan trying to describe an elephant.  You know how the parable goes - the man who felt the ear thought the elephant was a fan, the one feeling the leg thought it was like a tree, the one feeling the trunk thought it was like a snake, the one feeling the tusk thought the elephant was like a spear, the one feeling the side thought it was a wall, and the one at the tail thought it was like a rope. Everybody was right, but nobody was.  They argued over which of them was in the right - when if they had just realized that each of them was feeling a different part and that maybe they could collaborate and construct an overall mental picture (or switch positions so all could feel what the other one did), they might understand more about what an elephant was. 

The graduate journey has been like that lately.  As my skill level grows and my confidence expands, I am getting more of a 'big picture' of what this profession is all about. It involves so much more than just sitting across a desk from someone.  It includes things like community involvement, networking, continuing education (i.e., staying current), and a continual process of self-reflection and personal growth.  The more I learn, even though it sounds odd to say, the more I find both my confidence and my humility growing. I am adopting what some post-modernist thinkers have called a "beginner's mind." That is, I have never fully arrived; there is always something to learn, and my perspective might not be someone else's but holds no more merit than theirs.

Photo "African Elephant"
courtesy of africa at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

In the same way, new developments at my job have put me in a role where I am able to step back and get a glimpse of a bigger picture than I had before.  I have been asked to fill a team leader role, which puts me into discussions that I had not previously been privy to, at a level that I knew existed, but didn't have any experience (or very little) with.  The timing of this is quite good, because I have applied to fill that role for real, and I may be invited to an interview for the position sometime in the next month.  My experience in that role will stand me in good stead in the interview, I'm sure. Again, my beginner's mind comes to the forefront: I have adopted a teachable attitude, and that helps me to accept instruction without becoming offended. At the same time, I am also able to see how my increased influence can work toward helping more people at a time than I could have in my team member role (where it was one applicant at a time).  I can still DO that (when I have time) and I enjoy it, but as a team leader, I can see the effects of what I do in a more global sense of the ripple effect that my actions have.  I see my role as of a facilitator - someone who makes it easier for people to feel valued and to do their work unhindered.  If that happens, they can do more work in less time - and the whole team is able to help more people.

All of this (present situation) comes just barely 5 months after I was diagnosed with diabetes, a diagnosis which literally saved my life.  I cannot imagine myself ever being able to even attempt all of the above if I was still feeling the way I was six months ago: bone-tired, dragging myself around, and with aches and pains from a Body Mass Index that was approaching 50 (30 is considered obese). At the moment, it's just barely over 40, and on its way down.  But even before it started going down, I discovered that taking my medication, eating more healthily, and getting my blood sugar under control took away that fatigued feeling, controlled my appetite, and gave me more energy. This was even BEFORE I started becoming a bit more active (and only because I had more energy, not because I was trying to lose weight!) The weight coming off has been a happy side-effect.  (Okay ... I must admit that fitting into smaller clothes - and having people finally notice the difference - really feels good too...) 

But getting back to my original thought: lately, living and enjoying life - more and more in the last year or so - has just begun to make a lot more sense to me. I am noticing that I accept myself and my personality much better, that I am more at ease with being myself rather than doing that 'chameleon' thing that is so counter-productive, and that people can like me just the way I am without all of that panic, pretending, and posturing. I am starting to shed that "don't hurt me" approach to life, and I'm acting as if I have a say in how my life and my future turns out. Hm! And instead of getting locked in my own little silo of how I see the world, I am beginning to see the value in trying to see things from someone else's perspective, even if only to more fully understand (and maybe adapt) my own. (I wonder if that's called 'growing up.')  

The whole elephant is coming into focus. It's not just a fan, or a spear, or a snake, or a wall, or a tree, or a rope. It's starting to look more like an elephant.  And it's beautiful. 

Standing up

The last year or so - at least the non-employment part - has been devoted to finishing my first year of a 3.3-year online Master's program in Counselling, which is designed to be taken by people who are working full-time and can't take 2 years off to go back to school. It's been a time of great learning and stretching of opinions, beliefs, and skills to the point where I wonder how I managed to survive this many years without some of the things I have only learned in the last year.  The experience has been nothing less than transformational. In many ways, it has been like I was taking life sitting down ... and now I am starting to stand up.

The first half of the school year was more about learning how to write to the standards expected of a graduate student in psychology, and to how to think critically (not to criticize but to examine the evidence and form informed opinions) about what I was reading.  I learned that I had opinions and that I would not be judged for them as long as I could back them up with hard evidence.  I found my voice; I learned that in my writing, I could start standing up. 

Then came the hard stuff!  

In the next course on infusing culture into counselling, I learned about the various non-dominant groups in Canada. We discussed various races, sexual orientations, faiths/beliefs, and physcial / mental abilities ... and we learned something about what each group experiences as discrimination by the dominant (that is, white, male, Judeo-Christian, able-bodied, and heterosexual) group.  I learned that just because a group is fewer in population does not make it a minority. In many places in Canada, whites are in the minority but are still dominant in the culture of that society: they hold the power and the privilege that being white (and / or Christian, male, heterosexual) affords them.  The course challenged (and yes, changed) many of my long-held beliefs and prejudices, and highlighted for me the privileges from which I had benefited all my life and of which I had been unaware.  It gave me a new appreciation for the reasons why so many non-dominant groups seem to be so militant and vocal about their plights.  And it opened my eyes in particular to the Canadian cultural genocide committed throughout the 1930s into the latter part of the 20th century:  the residential school system.  I have rarely been as horrified as I was by reading first-hand accounts of what happened to attempt to rid Canadian society of what was considered to be "the Indian problem."  It was just like reading the diaries of those Jewish people, or Jewish sympathizers, or homosexuals, who were sent to the concentration camps in Nazi Germany. Only ... it happened HERE.  In Canada.  That experience of learning in detail about these home-grown atrocities marked me forever.

Photo "Women Discussing Something Casually"
courtesy of stockimages at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

In the following courses on the more hands-on aspects of counselling, my practical skills were next to be targeted.  I learned that I already knew how to do what I would be doing for the rest of my professional life, but that I needed to be able to do it naturally and without having to stop and think about it.  The courses culminated in a three-week intensive face-to-face session in a city that was 3,000 miles away from my home, and at an altitude of over 3,000 feet above what I was used to living at.  I had my first taste of living on my own.  Parts of it were not too bad, and other parts (being away from my loved ones, for example) were abysmal.  Yet professionally, with practice at doing what I had wanted to do since the beginning, I was able to put the things I was learning into practice and watch myself not only do it, but do it well. My confidence grew in leaps and bounds.  Often I wanted to pinch myself to make sure I wasn't dreaming all of this!

But there was more; there IS more than just this one tiny piece of academia.  I have been learning some things about myself that I needed to learn, and that I have needed to learn for a very long time.  Some of these have been positive things about my own competencies and my own character - hence the increase in my confidence level especially over the last month. I have been learning that I have the right to stand up and to be counted among people whom I have just sat back and admired up until now.  It's a good feeling. It's new, and a bit strange perhaps, but it's good. 

And a few things that I have been learning about myself have been downright horrible.  These are painful lessons to be sure ... and things I will need to work on ... not just by myself but (I believe) they are things that will need to be addressed in therapy, since they are deeply ingrained in who I am, and in how I have come to define myself.  One of these things is my life-long terror of being abandoned, which has led me to become a chameleon with people, changing into the person I thought they wanted me to be, just so that they would like me. This has consistently had a domino effect on my relationships, because I can only sustain the chameleon colouring for so long. So, the pressure builds and builds as I deny my personhood and refrain from complaining so as to be around certain types of people, and then I explode! I therefore end up badly hurting their feelings when I overcompensate (in trying to practice self-care) to recover from the situation I created myself by just not being myself.  

That's just one of those things I am learning that will need to be addressed ... and changed. In a way, it is like I (because of fear) have been unable to stand up in the everyday situations of my life and relationships, and when I finally do stand up, it's suddenly, and without clear warning, and something (or someone) usually gets knocked down and could be irreparably damaged.  So I need help in not only standing up sooner in those situations, but in HOW to do that so that nobody gets hurt - including me.  

That's a lot of growing in just one year.  I know that in the year to come, I will grow even more, which I will need to do ... because after that, I will be starting to officially help people to find their own places of growth and healing.  It would kind of help to be able to do that from a place of mental wellness.  In essence, I need to learn how to stand up before I can sit down across from those who need help standing up themselves.

Accepting change

I've not written on "Words That Stay" in almost a year, mostly because life keeps throwing new things at me and I've been a lot more busy than I've ever been.

The last year has brought many things. I am looking at celebrating five years in recovery on February 28. It's amazing to think of how my life has transformed in that short space of time. I am so grateful because the "recovery lifestyle" I learned, and am still learning, has been responsible for everything that is good and special in the last five years, even during the hard times.

In May or June 2013, I decided to go back to school and get my certification to become a counselor, and in September I started my graduate program at an online university, where I spend at least 25 hours a week reading, doing assignments and participating in class discussions. When I'm not at school I am at work, working full-time, or at church, and occasionally at a recovery meeting.

In the middle of all of that, my youngest daughter moved away from home, tried to make a new start, and in a twist of events that can only be described as tragic, was killed in a car crash in late October, just as she was starting to turn her life around. She was 21.

I know she would have wanted me to keep on with my studies, because she was so proud of me for going back to school ... even though school was never a place where she herself felt safe. So instead of dropping out, or even taking a break, I continued on in her honor. I miss her so very much, but I can feel her encouragement when I am tired, and her joy when I get a good mark. It's like I have my own unseen cheerleader. ☺ ♥ 

The addition of grad school to my already-full schedule means that life is much busier. It's true that I'm spending just as much of my at-home time on the computer as I did before; it's just that now, I'm doing it because I have to, for school. So, my writing has taken a back seat for a while. Blogging has become something I do when I need to take a break from my schedule, or when I have gotten a little bit ahead on my studies. 

Photo "Winding Road" courtesy of pixbox77 at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

Change was never something I felt comfortable with. Not knowing what was beyond the next bend in the road was (and still is, to some extent) frightening. I like to have things predictable, and the events of the last year have really stretched me in that way. What I'm learning is that the only thing that stays the same is the fact that things change - and they can change in a split second. 

And it's not just events that change. Attitudes, thoughts, beliefs, knowledge, ... they all change, develop, evolve. As I've been studying more about counseling, I have been pushed to examine how I see people, how I see the world, and how I see myself. I've been challenged to accept people, to accept that there are different ways of thinking, and especially to accept change. 

My world is expanding. Things I never could see myself doing before ... I find myself actually doing, and liking. Things like listening to people, taking an interest in their stories, and letting them talk out their own solutions to their problems are all part of what is brand new territory for me. Oh, to be sure, I've done some of those things with my friends, but now I find that my skills are developing and so is my interest in more than just my own little world. I no longer have the luxury of being a spectator as the universe passes me by. I find that I have a part to play in that grand scheme of things - and as terrifying as that is, it is also quite exhilarating. 

Instead of railing at change (as I once did, kicking and screaming as I was dragged into it) I am learning to face it and accept it with the attitude that if it's happening, there must be some purpose for it. Usually I can see the benefit in it, as long as I'm honest with myself, open to whatever I'm being taught, and willing to take that first step. 

I guess it all boils down to faith, really. Do I believe that the intentions of my Higher Power toward me are good? Am I willing to put my trust in that, to lean my full weight onto that goodness? Or am I just going to shut down and cut myself off from all of the opportunities that He has placed in my path - cleverly disguised as challenges? As long as I trust His motives, I can accept change. Even embrace it.

Besides, I'm kind of wondering what's around that next bend in the road.

A Safe Place to Be

Recently, I marked four years in recovery. The day came and went, and all day that day I thought about how my life had changed in those four years. 

Tonight, I sat in a recovery room among friends - one where I hadn't been for far too long. When I walked in, I recognized a couple of people, and their faces (and mine) lit up when we saw each other. A grin, a wave, and a feeling of being loved, of those that were there being glad that I was there. I had not attended this group last week because of last-minute things, and had promised then that I would be at this Tuesday's meeting. 

And, even though there was another event that came up - I kept my promise to go and celebrate my recovery - to surprise those who were in attendance (only one other person was in the know) by accepting my four-year medallion. Amid the spontaneous applause and the hugs and handshakes came a feeling of true friendship, true fellowship.

Belonging.

The outpouring of love and happiness was palpable. These people had seen me at my worst. They'd seen me through some tough times, and they'd watched me grow. Now they were here around me to offer their congratulations and support for this new lifestyle I was living, a lifestyle that many of my former acquaintances - and even some family members - were less than thrilled about.  

My eyes brimmed up with gratitude. 

"Happy Family" courtesy of
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I stayed while the discussion opened up and folks talked about one thing and another, encouraging growth by sharing their experience, strength, and hope with each other. There's nothing complicated about it. A recovery group - if if follows the principles of the 12 steps - is a safe place to be. You are free to really be yourself, to have fears, doubts, and triumphs: there is no judgment, there is no advice, and there are no agendas. Just acceptance. 

After I left the meeting room, I had another meeting to go to for a drama our church is putting on.  This one took place in a totally different atmosphere, but again, when I walked through the door, I was recognized by several in attendance; the nods and smiles, the waves and even a few hugs - as the meeting progressed - gave me that same sense of being loved, valued. The atmosphere (as I mentioned) was far more busy because everyone was milling around trying to find out what their role was going to be, but I felt like I was part of the group, not apart from it. 

That sense of belonging, of acceptance, was worth a great deal to me. It still is.

The theme song from a popular sitcom years ago is running through my head right now and has been ever since those two experiences. The last line of the theme song goes, "You wanna go where people know that people are all the same; you wanna go where everybody knows your name." (Where everybody knows your name - Cheers) 

That safe place to be ... is priceless. Everyone needs it; not everyone finds it. 

There may be folks who might take that for granted because - well, I don't know - because they're outgoing and because the social thing is easy for them. It's quite another for someone like me (introverted, socially awkward) to find such a place of safety. To find it in more than one place - well, that's unheard of. 

One might even consider it a miracle.  This "one" sure does.

Rigorous Honesty

Would it shock you to know that I, who have been a Christian since age 12 and a committed Christian since age 16, spent most of that time being dishonest?

Of course, it started long before age 12 ... but after I was converted, this was one area where I didn't see the need for change, because I didn't even know I was doing it. 

Don't call it lying

Secrets were a huge part of my upbringing. 

Two rules reigned supreme: 
(1) Don't make Mom angry, and 
(2) Don't ever talk about what happens inside this house. 

I remember a time when I was nine or ten, innocently asking my mother in a store if we could afford this item (I even forget what it was) only to be grabbed by the arm and taken out of earshot forcibly. She got her face twelve inches from mine and hissed, "I don't want these people to know we don't have enough money to buy things!! You be careful what you say in public!!"

Oh. So I'm supposed to not tell the truth. In other words, lying is okay if it protects the family image. But don't call it lying. Cover that part up: it's not lying - it's protecting the ones you love.

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What Career Needs to be Studied to be a Social Worker?

This message was repeated over and over, combined with fear-mongering to keep me in line. When I let it slip to a teacher at age 15 that I'd been abused, he got a social worker involved. They sat in our kitchen and confronted my mother with me present about the situation. She asked for a moment alone with me and took me in the other room. "You know what's going to happen here don't you? They're going to come in and separate you and your brother from us and put you in foster care, somebody might even end up in jail, and none of us will ever be able to look anyone in this town in the eye again. Do you really want to be responsible for that?"  

My eyes grew wide. She continued, "I want you to go back out there and tell those people you made the whole thing up. It's the only way out of what you did." 

What I did? 

I reluctantly did as she told me, feeling betrayed and wounded to the core, and deep inside I learned once more that the truth would always need to be sacrificed to make loved ones look good. Even if it was wrong.

So, when as a young mother I figured out that my husband had been an alcoholic for several years, I was understandably upset, but soon naturally bought into the cycle of lies that repeated more and more often to get him out of tight spots, so he didn't look bad, and so his (and possibly my?) reputation didn't suffer. "He must have had something that disagreed with him." "He won't be in to work today, he's not feeling well, probably some 24-hour thing." "He's been feeling a little weepy lately. I'm sure it will pass."

Things started to unravel in February 2006, when he ended up fighting for his life after drinking windshield washer fluid. The doctors treated it like a suicide attempt and he let them (and me) think that rather than admit the depth of his addiction. (Not until much later did I learn that he just wanted another drink and couldn't afford to go to the liquor store.) Thanks to the love of friends, I managed to make it through that ordeal. In the process, though, I was forced to tell the children that their father was an alcoholic and that he'd been one for their entire lives. 

They didn't take it well. They blamed ME.

The beginning of rigorous honesty

When the house of cards fell apart in April 2007, and he ended up in Detox for a week, that's when he had to admit to himself that he was an alcoholic and that maybe he needed some help. We started attending a 12-step group in May 2007, where we learned about a whole new way of living which demands "rigorous honesty." In the practical sense, that meant that if members "fell off the wagon" they would be honest enough to admit it to the group, and start off all over again from square one. Instead of the condemnation they expected, they received nothing but acceptance and encouragement to keep on keeping on, to take one day at a time and move forward. 

It took nearly two years of attending meetings, relapsing and ending up in the hospital on occasion for him to get the full extent of the Program - and it took me nearly as long as it took him. All the while, I tried to protect him, afraid of the negative repercussions on our reputations, on our ministries, on our children. They were already feeling the effects of a father-absent home even with him here. And, I had sucked them into the same web of deceit I'd been weaving; this time though, it backfired and they kept his drinking from me so that I wouldn't "freak out." 

I was supremely unhappy by that point; I considered leaving him to save myself the anguish of seeing him in blackouts and drunken stupors. Secretly, I felt that it was my fault that he was drinking, that if I was only a better wife, a better housekeeper and a better mother, he'd not feel the need to drink. I didn't understand the true nature of addiction. And I truly believed that were I to admit all these feelings to people in the church, even to my friends, that nobody would understand and that I would be judged, criticized and condemned. 

When he lost his driver's license in December 2008, something snapped inside of me. I saw this long, six-month period ahead of me in the dead of winter, and me being the only driver in the house, as the straw that broke the camel's back. I was scared. I needed help. So, I called a family counselor who understood addictions, and I talked to him. We set up regular sessions, and he began to walk me through the Twelve Steps, a blueprint for relationship with God, with self, and eventually with others.

That's when Rigorous Honesty started to make more sense to me. It wasn't just about telling the anonymous people in a group about my failings, and compartmentalizing that portion of my life without it affecting anything else. It was about being honest with ME. It was about being honest with God. And THEN it was about being honest with other people. 

Over the course of the next year, my life did a complete one-eighty. The outside looked pretty much the same - but I was a different person as I reached my 1-year anniversary of "recovery" from the need to control, intimidate, and manipulate people and circumstances. I was also recovering from being a doormat - learning to set boundaries, to let people bear responsibility for their own actions instead of blaming myself for them. I was learning that it is perfectly okay - indeed, even preferable and very freeing - to live a lifestyle which demands rigorous honesty.

Best of all, when I was about 2 months into my own healing process, my husband began his own journey of freedom from alcohol, independent of me and without my help. His first Christmas sober (2009) was the capstone for him; he celebrated nine months sober that day, and realized that his hourly cravings to drink were a thing of the past, and that he was even beginning to feel content without booze. In April 2010, he and I agreed to do a ten-minute Youtube video for a production for our church: a video about the miracles we each had experienced in the area of our addictions: his to alcohol and mine to control-freaking and doormat-itis, and we found such freedom in that. We also discovered which people among our circle of friends hung around with us because of us, and which ones were only attracted to our reputations.

About six weeks ago, my husband celebrated three and a half years of sobriety. 

Reminders like this necklace, hand-made by a new friend of mine, make sense now. Looking back over the last four years, with all those dark days and tough slogging of those first few months followed by a gradual emergence into light and truth ... and yes, happiness, I marvel at the contrast. I can't get over how drastically our lives have changed in such a short amount of time. 

And I wouldn't trade that for anything.