Moments of Powerful Release

The room was completely quiet, everyone respecting the request for a moment of silence.  Sniffles were softly heard in the distance as I felt tears slowly slipping down my cheek.

I was envisioning a small, mended bird being released from the hand of a human healer. I experienced in my mind the bird flapping its delicate wings to fly freely toward the sky.

As many gathered at the funeral to honor my sister-in-law and all she endured to resist the fate of a pancreatic cancer diagnosis, there was a powerful sense of release rather than relief.

For most, hands had been tightly gripped for weeks wondering if that day, hour or minute would be the last they would have to share with her. I do not doubt there was an almost collective breath-holding as we all awaited the word through planned channels that minute had come.

When the message came, in unison hands were opened from their clenched state and collective exhales were expressed.  My sister-in-law’s weakened body was finally set free from pain, her courageous fight had come to an end.

This is but one reason I have been using the word “release” rather than relief, when asked to describe how everyone is feeling following the ceremonial weekend of her death.  The other is, I was given the incredible gift of making a living amend.

Making amends to right the wrongs done while in active addiction is part of the recovery program I’ve dedicated my life to.  This particular process is about acknowledging personal change so as not to repeat the past.  There are many ways to go about offering amends as there are reasons for them.  A “living” amend is made by action rather than word.  For example, every day I remain sober and free from unhealthy behaviors is an amend to all those who experienced my life otherwise.  I am living the change, not talking about a change needing to be made.

Twelve years ago my husband’s family went through an equally horrifying death. My father-in-law died suddenly and for the most part, without warning. He was the pillar of not only my husband’s family but for the community at large.  This past weekend a friend shared he did not attend my father-in-law’s funeral because traffic was backed up for miles to get to the church.

I wasn’t there either.  I was in the hospital being tended to after having an alcohol withdrawal seizure the morning of the funeral.

I was not there to sit beside my husband during one of the darkest days of his life. I was not there to lend a hand of desperately needed comfort while receiving the same in return.

This past weekend I sat beside my husband, holding hands in silence where touch speaks louder than words. I was deeply engaged with others, sharing a tear and a laugh recalling moments with my sister-in-law with literally hundreds who came to share in mourning.

Over the years I have spoken personally with those who experienced my behavior of 12 years ago, some more difficult than others but eventually we moved on.

This past weekend I was given the opportunity to walk the walk rather than talk the talk, freeing the remaining shreds of guilt and shame I hadn’t realized still lingered for my behavior long ago.

Like the little bird and my dearly departed sister-in-law, I was released from a wounded experience, now able to fly free toward whatever is next.

    

Why Not Me?

I’ve been staring at my computer screen all afternoon trying to make sense of what’s been cycling through my head.

The question on a continuous loop is, “why not me?”

Last weekend I sat at the bedside of my sister-in-law who is dying of Stage 4 cancer.  This insidious disease has ravaged her body bit by bit, day after day for 10 months.  She was given the diagnosis of pancreatic cancer last July and here we are, praying for her as she shifts toward a peaceful transition.

When the opportunity presented itself for me to be alone with her, I held her hand trying hard not to let the droplets of tears fall from my eyes onto her delicate skin.  I gazed upon her face and could see in her eyes the words she’s no longer able to express.

These are the same eyes that warmly looked at me during the depths of my addiction offering support I refused to acknowledge.  I remember thinking she was judging me, silently scorning all the lies and secrets only I knew were being kept.  Once again, a reflection of how addiction can cast such shadows over the truth.

As I sat quietly sat in her bedroom I thought about why, for the third time in four years I’d be witnessing how powerful the human body is in the fight to stay alive.  The first was watching my father slip away in April of 2009.  Then, seven months later, my brother.  Being present for their final exhales were moments I will never forget and am grateful to have experienced.  Yet in that room with my sister-in-law I didn’t feel grateful, I felt bewildered to once again be wondering, “why not me?”

My sister-in-law didn’t constantly make unhealthy choices once she knew of her cancer diagnosis.  She didn’t lie about her disease.  She didn’t try to deny the recommended course of action to take toward healing.  She didn’t try to manipulate others (and herself) into believing her disease didn’t exist.  She didn’t deny anyone’s expression of support.

She didn’t do any of that.  But I certainly did.

Long before admitting to having the disease of alcoholism and a few years later being diagnosed with the disease of anorexia, I knew I had both.  I was obsessed with the idea of being just drunk enough to feel at ease while watching the numbers drop on our bathroom scale.

I made constant unhealthy choices of how to treat my body.  I lied about my addictions.  I denied the suggestions I was drinking too much and appearing unhealthy.  I manipulated everyone and every possible situation imaginable.  I tried hard to disregard the truth about how I was disrespecting myself and those around me who tried to offer support.

So why did I survive stepping up to death’s door not once but twice?  Why, after all I did to disrespect my health, my family, my friends and (mostly) myself am I still here?  Why, after everything I did to play that game of Russian roulette with my life, am I still alive?

When I’ve expressed my curiosity about these things, many others have offered kind and loving responses centering on the fact my experience in recovery might be helpful for another struggling woman to hear.  While I agree and am very grateful for the opportunity to do that whenever I can, this does not negate the fact my sister-in-law has an equally powerful story others may find comforting and healing too.

What makes my story any better than hers?  What makes what I’ve experienced any more important or profound to share?  The answer to both these questions, as far as I’m concerned is nothing, absolutely nothing.

She struggled with the truth as I did.  She was resistant to hearing the name of her disease as I was.  She tried to make sense of what she couldn’t just as I did.  She fought hard and so have I.  She is profoundly loved as I believe I am.

These are the thoughts I’ve struggled with over the last few days.

This is why I began writing because I’ve taught myself I’m able to gain perspective when I do.  Once again the lesson was well learned.  In just the time I’ve taken to type this blog post I’m realizing my sister-in-law’s message of hope will not end when her body finally rests.  Her story will live on through the shared experiences of her children and her husband.  They will be the ones to carry her message.

I will know they are speaking the words she wants someone to hear simply by looking into their eyes.  They will hold the silent smile she now carries as she moves softly, gently and peacefully into allowing her spirit to soar.

In her honor and for all those who have passed before me, I acknowledge the privilege of life I’ve been so graciously given and will continue to offer my heart, my hand and my practical experience to someone who seeks to find their own sense of peace.

“One Step At a Time”… Really?

When I entered treatment for addiction, all I really wanted was for someone to tell me in very simple terms, how to get through a day without drinking and with food.

Those instructions were not offered no matter how many people I asked.  Instead I was told healthy, foundational recovery is achieved one slow and steady step at a time, one day at a time.

C’mon, really?

I was coming from a place of knowing how to, and needing to, become instantly gratified.  I could go from feeling one way to another in seconds.  Picking up a drink while skirting yet another meal was mere magic.

During those early days all I wanted was to be over and done with recovery yet what I needed was to be “in” recovery.  I just didn’t know that yet.

I didn’t have the foggiest idea about why building a strong foundation for sustainable growth was necessary.  Throughout my past if an item appeared on my tangible or imagined “to do” list, I wasted no time doing just enough to apply the check mark confirming completion.  Every check mark meant I was a success, every check box left blank screamed failure.

Day after day, month after month, year after year, all I wanted was to place a check mark next to the line item “stop drinking” and the one underneath titled, “eat better.”  What I needed was to become willing to do these things, otherwise known as the first step.

So a big “thank you” to all those who helped me embrace that idea.  One step, one moment, one breath at a time was how I got from hell to a life that makes sense.

Now, fast forward to everyday issues I encounter today.  While I certainly try to put into practice the wise and wonderful things about I’ve learned about taking my time, I’ve had the occasion of wishing I could just snap my fingers and have everything fall into place.

For example, my husband recently had shoulder replacement surgery.  I witnessed the process this brave man went through as a team of medical experts literally removed his arm, reconstructed most of the upper portion and put him back together with more metal than any TSA agent would be confident to inspect.

His first few days at home after the surgery unleashed every maternal instinct within me.  I would have done just about anything to remove the pain I saw on the face of the man I love more than life itself.

Per direction from his surgeon, a physical therapist was scheduled to arrive at our home for an assessment the day after his hospital release.  I almost barreled her down as she approached the front door.  I stood ready with pen in hand to write down exactly how we were going to get him from sheer agony to blissful repair.  She looked at me and said, “Today we will see if he can raise an empty glass one inch from this table.”   My pen dropped at equal speed as my jaw when she outlined how delicate the recovery process needed to be in order for his shoulder to heal properly.

Hmmm, seems I’ve heard that somewhere before.  There I was, once again reminded nothing foundational and sustainable can be achieved in rapid fire; in an ever-demanding pace to place a check mark next to the line items on a to-do list.

This morning I participated in webinar offered by The Renfrew Center (
http://renfrewcenter.com/
).  One of the co-hosts, Johanna Kandel(
http://www.allianceforeatingdisorders.com/staff
) suggested this analogy about why steps not leaps are important for positive recovery which I will find hard to forget.

When we are sick, the doctors don’t ply us with every medication identified as suited for our condition.  They will try one, see how we respond and then try another course of action if that one didn’t address the issue.  Moreover, not every protocol meets with every human body.  Right actions, right decision and right answers always require some element of time.

So yes, one progressive movement after another is to be remembered if I find myself wishing I could be Samantha Stevens from the TV show, “Bewitched”.  I can’t twitch my nose and have my house clean; I’ve got to tackle that job one room at a time.

While on the topic of doing one thing at a time, I’m honored to be sharing my recovery story in a 4-part series at Eating Disorders Online www.eatingdisordersonline.com. Click over and take a peek!

 

Letting Things Go

I tend to get easily frustrated with things others may consider as seemingly minor. I know this to be true because I’m often on the receiving end of the words like, “C’mon Alison, you’ve got to let that go.”

Easy to say. Hard to do.

I get the idea. I’m supposed to shift my attention away from obsessing about whatever is frustrating me and focus on something else. In essence, just forget that I’m irritated, short-circuited and/or annoyed.

Well that’s fine in concept and I’m sure there are people all over the world who are able to instantaneously flip a proverbial light switch in their head and completely obliterate any notion of disturbing thoughts. I’m not one of those people.

The same holds true for other emotions. For example, when I’m sad about something and I’m told to let the feeling go because I needn’t feel that way, I can’t just suddenly not be sad. That’s like expecting my car to go from 60 to zero in the blink of an eye. Transitioning from one frame of mind to another takes time.

Yet I heard something today that helped me realize what actually is being suggested when I’m told to let something go.

I was investigating the website of Dr. Jennifer Nardozzi (http://jennardozzi.com/), a clinical psychologist providing individual treatment for women with eating and body image issues and who I consider a dear, deeply respected friend. Upon signing up for her newsletter I received a free relaxation MP3 as a gift. (To note, she offers this to everyone who signs up.) As soon as I launched the recording, her gentle, calming voice settled my mind and awoke my heart.

In her message she offers an idea about the process of letting something go. She suggested what is actually needed isn’t a matter of dropping but rather releasing.

Bingo! I don’t need to stop and start in an instant. I can release things slowly not drop them immediately.

If I’m feeling worried, fearful or frustrated I can let go of whatever is burdening me by releasing elements of the issue little bit by little bit. Eventually I’ll find myself disengaged from the problem entirely.

Well now, I know I can do that. How do I know? Because that is precisely how I got from living in addiction hell to having a life that makes sense. I simply released myself from that which did not serve me anymore, one day, one moment, one slow deep breath at a time.

Thank you Dr. Jen Nardozzi. Once again you helped me shift my perspective and grow in my awareness.

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“Well yeah, but …”

If you were to have told me 20 years ago I’d one day be encouraging others to reconsider kept secrets about drinking and unhealthy eating habits, I would have dismissed you entirely. Back in those days I could hardly keep my own secrets and lies straight.

Yet time marched on and here I am doing exactly what I could not have imagined; offering insight based on the practical experience of getting from there to here.

During these times of intimate conversation most people I encounter believe at the very least they’re willing to make some changes in the way they’ve been managing their day-to-day life. On the other hand, there are those who believe they have not hit bottom. These are the folks who can’t seem to understand why their lives are unraveling right before their eyes while their hand can’t let go of a drink or their lips can’t open to a fork.

As I sit in my favorite rocking chair, the one my Mom used to rock me in during childhood asthma attacks, I’m thinking about this idea of hitting bottom.

I love knowing lessons are usually learned first as a whisper and will continue to grow in intensity until the lesson is finally learned. There were whispers all around me for years before I addressed my alcoholism and an eating disorder. So many times I’d hear a little voice inside saying things like, “You really shouldn’t be drinking this much”, “No one drinks at this time of day”, “You need to eat more than just that little bit” or “Don’t worry, you won’t get fat if you eat that.”

Each time I’d hear those messages of seemingly right thinking, almost immediately a silent argument would begin with the words, “Well yeah, but…”

When the whispers about my drinking would creep in I’d find myself saying, “Well yeah but at least I’m not homeless, drinking out of bottle nestled in a brown paper bag and seeking shelter in the vestibule of a building.” Never once did I realize I was already living in isolation, secretly (or not so secretly) drinking and hiding out in my own home.

When the whispers about my interaction with food would drift through my mind, the rationale would be, “Well yeah but at least I’m eating something unlike so many other women I see in the news who flat-out refuse to eat anything, looking so sick, tired and frail.” Not once did I realize what I was eating was nowhere near nutritious, I got winded climbing stairs, I felt light-headed almost daily, I was forgetting important business-related issues, I was distancing myself from my husband because I hated my body, and in general I looked pale, aged and sad.

My bottom was when I realized all my “yeah buts” weren’t convincing me anymore. I realized I had dismissed my own conscience for so long I couldn’t live with the woman I saw in the mirror. I lost sight of being true to myself, being true to that little voice inside.

Years ago I had the privilege of attending a renewal weekend at Hazelden. Walking through those doors as a sober woman versus when I entered them drunk, scared and lost was an experience I will cherish forever.

During this renewal weekend I engaged in a conversation with one of the group leaders about moving forward in recovery. As I was telling him a bit about myself I used the word, “but” while in the middle of a story. He stopped me mid-sentence and asked me to stand up and retell that same story. The minute I used the word, “but” he again stopped me and told me to take three steps backwards.

He explained every time we use the word, “but” we’re actually going backward, moving ourselves further away from what we are trying to accomplish, attain or change. I’ll never forget that tactical experience and ever since then have been unable to say that word without questioning what I’m moving away from.

I believe people hit their bottom when saying the word “but” doesn’t work anymore. You can’t move backward when you’re up against a wall.

=========================
The next time you say the word “but” in the middle of a sentence, take notice. What are you trying to distance yourself from?

Wonder What Dad Would Say?

I opened my iPad this morning to read the following inspirational thought. When I finished the passage, I closed my eyes, smiled and mentally thanked my Dad for entering my heart in this way on this day. April 19 marks the date, four years ago when God brought him home.

I’d give anything to talk to my Dad today. I’d ask him what he thought of what’s going on in Boston. I’d wait to hear him take that slow deep breath he always took before saying something profound knowing what would come next would be simple perspective gained from life long-lived.

I love when I’m presented with what I’ve come to call, “God Nods”; opportunities for me to stop, pay attention and know a moment of recognition is before me. For today, I’m recognizing how fortunate I am to honor those who have walked this world before me.
———————————————————————–
Embracing the Disinherited

In tribal cultures, the elderly play an important role. They are the keepers of the tribe’s memories and the holders of wisdom. As such, the elderly are honored and respected members of tribes. In many modern cultures, however, this is often not the case. Many elderly people say that they feel ignored, left out, and disrespected. This is a sad commentary on modernization, but it doesn’t have to be this way. We can change this situation by taking the time to examine our attitudes about the elderly and taking action.

Modern societies tend to be obsessed with the ideas of newness, youth, and progress. Scientific studies tell us how to do everything – from the way we should raise our kids to what we need to eat for breakfast. As a result, the wisdom that is passed down from older generations is often disregarded. Of course, grandparents and retired persons have more than information to offer the world. Their maturity and experience allows for a larger perspective of life, and we can learn a lot from talking to elderly people. It’s a shame that society doesn’t do more to allow our older population to continue to feel productive for the rest of their lives, but you can help to make change. Perhaps you could help facilitate a mentorship program that would allow children to be tutored by the elderly in retirement homes. The elderly make wonderful storytellers, and creating programs where they could share their real life experiences with others is another way to educate and inspire other generations.

Take stock of your relationships with the elderly population. Maybe you don’t really listen to them because you hold the belief that their time has passed and they are too old to understand what you are going through. You may even realize that you don’t have any relationships with older people. Try to understand why and how our cultural perception of the elderly influences the way you perceive them. Look around you and reach out to someone who is elderly – even if you are just saying hello and making small talk. Resolve to be more aware of the elderly. They are our mentors, wise folk, and the pioneers that came before us and paved the way for our future.
http://www.dailyom.com/

Selfishly Creating A Following

My husband and I are mesmerized by a new TV show called, “The Following” which stars Kevin Bacon. The dark storyline is so well written, we’re literally at the edge of our seat through the entire show.

Every Monday night we set the DVR at 8pm so we can watch the program uninterrupted. Although I spent decades in the advertising business and have a profound respect for what goes into a television commercial, for a show like “The Following”, commercial breaks must be avoided.

The story focuses on a good-looking, well-spoken, well-educated, mentally manipulative serial killer. As each episode unfolds, we see how he has come to collect a “following” of other heinous murdering men and women. They all appear to be everyday people, leading everyday lives. Problem is, their addiction is to take lives. They get their fix with each killing.

I believe I now know why I’ve become so fascinated with the program. I’m captivated by this man’s ability to maintain a perverse hold on the minds of others because in truth, I worked hard to perfect that art myself. To be clear, I most certainly wasn’t on a killing spree and don’t even remotely understand the underling elements of a serial killer, cult leader, I did indeed orchestrate a “following” of my own.

For years before getting the help I needed to overcome addiction, I would seek out other like-minded people, surrounding myself with others who drank like I did or ate like I didn’t.

For example, when I was managing a large group of people, often as the lunch hour approached I knew just the right words to use with the right staff members to join me for the mid-day break. As the boss I’d pull a group together with a plan to have a “working lunch” which was the well-known code for “we won’t be coming back to the office because we’re going to have drinks.” Once at the restaurant I’d deflect attention from my lack eating by talking a lot and assuring more drinks were ordered than food for me. Looking back fun was had by all including me but the truth is, I used my scheming ways to take those people hostage to fuel my addiction needs.

The more I watch “The Following”, the more I bear witness to how a human being can make the most horrific behavior seem rational. How a quick glance, a soft sexy smile or the wink if an eye at just the right moment can provide a powerful return on investment.

I shudder while watching this extremely provocative show, never knowing what the killer’s next move will be or how those held captive will find their way out. Which is just like how I never knew what my next move would need to be but if I stayed just drunk enough to not feel hungry, I figured I had nothing to worry about.

As I write this I’m realizing why very subtle instances like this TV show are opportunities for me to be reminded of the woman I once was. Perhaps the shudderI feel has more to do with gratitude for releasing the mental grip I held on others and finding a way to break free from myself.

Feeling Manipulated For All the Right Reasons

“You know Alison, things happen for a reason.”

Years ago as I perceived life with addictive eyes, every time someone uttered those words to me I would smile, thank them for expressing concern and walk away thinking, “Is that overused, glib phrase the only possible option someone can come up with to help me feel better?”

Today I think differently. Not only do I agree things happen for a reason, I’ll go one step further. I believe interactions with other people happen for a reason. My experience has been, when I need to learn something about myself or practice handling a situation differently, an opportunity will appear.

One such occasion happened just the other day.

I was on the phone with someone who, after many long hours of self-examination, was one of the people I’d taught how to manipulate me. I didn’t enjoy uncovering that fact about our relationship but nonetheless, I’m now aware of this pattern of behavior and have options to act differently.

I learned of these options because as a work in progress, I make sure to keep a seat warm in the best classroom setting I’ve ever been in, the rooms of recovery. While in that seat I’m sure to hear the practical experience direction I need to better interact with others so I might help them unlearn what had been long taught.

Confident? Yes. Always ready? No.

When I picked up the phone that day, I was not prepared to respond when a subject I thought was settled clearly was not. During a previous call we had agreed getting together on one particular day wouldn't work for me, that we'd look for another mutually agreeable time. The truth was, I just didn't want to spend time with this person on that particular day. There is too much emotional baggage I'd have to haul along with me and sometimes I just don't have the energy.

Apparently she forgot our earlier agreement because she opened up the conversation by saying, "What time are you arriving? I've got everything all set." My first thought was to remind her of how we left things when we last spoke, but instead my mouth opened and I heard myself saying, “Oh, um, well…” to which she immediately said, “Well, if you have something better to do, I understand.”

The guilt bullets flew without warning and suddenly all mental hell broke loose.

Faster than the speed of light my head exploded with memory cards flashing words I had been advised to use in such cases. I had practiced with trusted friends so when the time came I'd be prepared.

In what felt like hours but was actually only seconds and with the sting of those bullets of guilt still afire, I remembered who was at the other end of the phone. I knew our emotional history causes me to hear what isn’t being said and perhaps I was overreacting. So even though she often works my last nerve, I do love this person and I know all too well that life is short. I didn’t hesitate. I simply said, “Of course not, I’ll be there at 1:30.”

She was thrilled. I was not. I knew my choice was the respectful one but let's be honest here. The reason I deflected a get-together in the first place was based on me not wanting to deal with old emotional baggage.

When I hung up the phone, my husband who overheard the tail end of the conversation said, “So, what’s up?” I literally fell apart. Tears poured down my cheeks like raindrops falling to the ground. In between gasps of emotional breathing I recapped how I had allowed myself to feel manipulated yet again. He tried to comfort me by telling me to just call back and cancel. I got mad at him for suggesting such an awkward option and with shoulders hunched, walked away feeling defeated yet knowing I had an appointment to keep.

I got into the shower and felt the soothing elements of warm water begin to slow the tears. A sense of calm set in as did clarity of mind. In that moment I had an unbelievable awakening.

I realized I was not upset over feeling manipulated by someone else, I was mad for feeling I’d been manipulated by my healthier way of thinking.

As crazy as this may seem, when the idea is unwound the concept makes sense.

After decades of teaching myself how to act, react and speak in ways that best served me, I find myself completely caught off guard when I respond to others with consideration and regard for them.

In this particular incidence, I had orchestrated the outcome of the first phone call to best serve me. The opportunity to learn more about myself happened with the second call. I was given the chance to course correct my selfishness by putting into action what I’d learned while keeping that classroom chair warm. Thankfully I had listened with intention on the many days the lesson was about the reacting versus responding and the importance of keeping myself as far as possible from being the center my own attention.

I realized my old self reacted to help me feel better while my ever-improving self responded to hopefully help someone else feel better.

So yes, manipulation can actually feel good for all the right reasons.

I’m Not Responsible for My First Thought, Only My First Action

I established this blog because I wanted to create a space where I could write about my journey to, into, and through mid-life recovery from co-existing addictions. My intention remains to share practical experience by offering recovery-based solutions for everyday situations that have worked for me.

What I post here is what I wished I could have read when I felt so alone, scared and absolutely sure no one else did what I did or thought the way I thought. This is why while writing I try to imagine I’m talking to my old self, using language that isn’t too “recovery-ish” so the message might be best received.

I am so grateful to have found the pathway to foundational change and sustainable growth. I am learning, changing and growing every day because I remain open to looking at my own actions, behaviors, and perspectives. No one “graduates” from recovery. I know this to be true because I’ve seen, first hand, what happens to those who believe they do.

Today I want to share about something I recently went through with complete transparency and from my heart. My intention for this is to be an example that there are no guarantees. Recovery is a continuous process, requiring my attention every day.

I’m the kind of person who learns best from experience. I’m far better able to accept change based upon what I learn by the actions I take. Thus, until I go through something, I’m not going to truly understand why I need to learn or change so I can become healthier in mind, body and spirit.

Even though I’ve strung together many days of continuous sobriety and healthy living, I’m not exempt from my thinking to get off track if I’m not careful. What I mean is, if I’m not dealing with something like an emotion or resentment, undoubtedly I’ll be presented with something that will force me to deal with what I’m resisting.

Case in point, last Saturday I woke up feeling uncomfortable in my body. For those who struggle with body image issues, you understand what I mean. For those of you who don’t I’ll just say the feeling is comparable to feeling bloated or otherwise “thicker” for whatever reason. Anyway, I’ve felt this way before. I’m a woman. I’m getting older. This is certainly not unusual.

What was unusual last Saturday was I found myself flirting with old eating disorder thoughts.

Now, I haven’t been in that place for a very long time and I must tell you, the instantaneous shift to old patterns of thought scared the daylights out of me. I began to panic. I felt goose bumps emerge and the feeling of being unable to control my thinking started to creep in. I tried to tell myself to just push past the thoughts because I should know better.

Wait, pardon me? What did I just mentally say? Did I just tell myself I “should” know better? Well clearly, for whatever reason, in that moment, I didn’t know better.

Yet just as quickly as the unhealthy thoughts came to mind, a very healthy one did too. I remembered that while I’m not responsible for my first thought, I am most certainly responsible for my first action.

This is exactly what I mean by practical experience. I’ve learned I will be relieved of my “off” thinking when I talk with another person about what’s rolling around in my head.

Last Saturday morning I had to be accountable for my thinking before that thinking could lead me straight back to hell.

Picking up the phone to call another like-minded person is always a fantastic option but in this particular instance, I needed to be face-to-face with someone so I wouldn’t be tempted to gloss over the intensity of my fear from those flirtatious thoughts.

I had already planned to attend a recovery meeting but since that wasn’t for another couple of hours I went downstairs, stood in front of my husband and said, “You’re not going to understand a thing I’m about to tell you, but right now I just need you to listen and for me to feel heard.” (To note, he and I have been down this road before. He knows when I tell him I need to feel heard, that’s code for “don’t try to fix me.”) When I was done talking I thanked him for listening. He told me he loved me and I got myself to the meeting.

When that meeting was over I talked with another woman who shares in the quest to better her life. Our conversation allowed me the opportunity to get out of my own head for a while by focusing on someone else rather than just me. That evening I spent time with my sponsor, seeking guidance from the one person who knows me better than I know myself. We had a lovely dinner during which I was able to open my heart and mind, to turn my attention inward and uncover what was causing the old patterns of thought to arise earlier in the day.

On my way home I smiled. I felt better, understood and back in line with myself.

So here I am today, continuing to face up to things I clearly wasn’t willing to face just a few days ago. I’m so relieved to have learned there are always options, or “tools of recovery”, available to me any time I find myself getting lost in old, unhealthy thinking.

Thoughts will come. I’m going to have off days. I’m human. Recovery is not about how perfectly I live but the progress I make. And as long as I remember I’m not responsible for my first thought but for my first action, I’ll be OK.

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What is your experience with not reacting to that first thought? I’d love for you to share your experience and or comments here.

How I Read What You Write

“All human hearts know the same truth. All we writers do is bring those memories back to life.” ~ Roxana Jones

I love this quote because I write a lot. Sometimes I write based on what I feel and sometimes I write because I don’t know what I feel. Mostly I write because by doing so, I’m able to get to know myself better. Somewhere between my brain and my hand, a transformation happens. The solution I can’t just think my way to find will somehow flow though my pen onto paper or through my keyboard onto the screen.

In the beginning of my recovery journey I was taught the best course of action when thoroughly confused by a life situation, is to defer to someone who knows me better than I know myself and/or take time to be of service for someone else. I was told, and now thoroughly agree, these are two profoundly helpful was to give my brain a break from trying to fix myself. Over the years I’ve incorporated yoga into my life which while doing, I get quiet and listen for some inner knowledge to help me better understand what I may be struggling with. However there are times when even after I’ve tried all these options, the awareness just doesn’t filter in.

Yet when I flip open my laptop to write a blog post or grab a pen to fill my journal, invariably I’ll find myself experiencing a shift in my perspective about whatever is bothering me. Sometimes what I uncover is so extraordinary I’ve been known to shout out loud, “Oh my God, now I get it!” In this state of revelation I can’t wait to share what I’ve learned.

I’ll either pick up the phone to talk with one of my like-minded friends or I’ll write something to post within an online recovery community. I know from experience how much I’m helped by hearing or reading about what others experience as they grow and shift and change.

I’ve been using the option to connect via the written word for a while now. The more I do, the more I’m aware of the fact that even though I share a common connection with those in my recovery circles, not everyone fully knows me or my history or my personal nuances. Yes, they can relate to a topic or a situation I describe but they don’t have any practical experience with hearing my voice or seeing my body language through the words I write.

Without a personal connection or a thorough understanding of my past, there is no way to know what else might have been going on, or has gone on, to provide further background to what I write about. The reader doesn’t have the sound of my voice or the image of my facial expressions as they read my words so instead they resonate by way of their experiences, provoking their memories and the associated emotions.

This very thing happened recently, not due to something I had written but what a friend of mine had read elsewhere. She called me terribly upset after reading something written by someone she only knew via a few electronic communications. She identified her very strong reaction to what she’d read as feeling fearful for the writer’s next action step. After we talked thought that fear, a clarity came to my friend about how she interpreted the words was not so much about the writer as about something she herself had struggled with in the past.

From that conversation I learned something very important about this social media age we live in. The more our society relies on communicating via the written word (blogs, texts, email, etc.), the higher the propensity to misinterpret the message. We’re connecting faster with fewer words which can easily lead to false conclusions and mass confusion.

If what I read sparks an immediate emotion, I need to stop and ask myself, “What is arising within me right now? Since I already know I can’t rely on what’s rolling around in my head, I need to make a phone call like my friend did, get to a meeting of fellow recovering folks or simply grab my pen and start writing.

Simply put, I’m better off relating to what someone else has written by not recreating my past to do so.
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Has this happened to you? Have you read something that sparked an old emotional wound? If so, share that experience here by replying with a comment.