Sort of Surrender

This is what I looked like while I was praying/pleading with the universe for some patience and also understanding. Except there was more crying and not as much of a pretty glow.

The past two days have been rough. Like, rough.

I swear when I was sobbing and pleading for help on the bedroom floor earlier I was not all the way crazy. I mean, I knew I was down there doing that. I felt like I could cry my very heart out. Like I wanted to cry it out. "Just get out, heart," I would say. "All this caring and hurting and living is so hard. Please, just go away."

I thought about when I drank while I was laying there. I thought about that when the going got rough I got drunk. Now I just get on the floor and cry. I'm sure the children don't understand either way, but at least after my cry I gave them baths and then we cuddled up on the couch and watched TV for a bit before bed.

So I did surrender and listen to Jack's teacher. He is a kind young man who feels a kinship with Jack. He thinks up things for Jack to do when he finishes ahead of everyone else. He and Jack have a journal they write back and forth in. Jack's problem is not behaving at recess. They have a whole enrichment thing for that: a Personal Empowerment Program (PEP) (what the hell? Isn't he, um, eight?) that Jack will complete since he gets overwhelmed by Four-Square. My husband actually said, with no trace of sarcasm, "You're telling me my kid can't behave at recess?"

But the head banging is cause for concern, and also Jack's holier than thou attitude. He alienates himself because he thinks he's smarter and better than everyone else. And he puts so much pressure on himself to be the best, and first. And the best. And first.

The whole thing was surrealish and good but weird. And we all lived.

I did three asking for help things today. Help for Jack- finding a counselor for him to talk to about why he's so hard on himself and dealing with his anger and sense of entitlement and injustice. Help for me- my women's group ends Monday. I won't be joining the other group that meets on Tuesdays, and we can't afford for me to see my current therapist. So another counselor for me. And more help for me- an appointment with a new GP who does acupuncture and nutrition therapy. Someone who can help with my foot, and my hormones. Word. Word.

What really sucked was when the nice woman who was helping me figure out what I wanted in a counselor asked me what I was looking for I had to say, "I'm a recovering alcoholic. That part is more important than the holistic part. That's the most important part." Saying it out loud, to a stranger, over the phone seems like it could be a piece of cake. Except it isn't. Telling her that Jack's counselor needs to know that about me too doesn't make anyone feel like mother of the year.

Then I got off the phone and cried a little and whimpered to my husband, "It's hard to ask for help."

Because, God. It really is.

Bogged and Boggier

 I have been so wiped out by my self lately. It's all ho hum, and meh, and blah around here. I was having a conversation with someone today about how why life just keeps on dishing it out when it's totally clear that right now you just cannot take it? How can I call "Uncle" or put up a "T" for time out and then I get a break from my head and my heart and I just be while laying out in the grass watching the clouds roll by?

I get so bogged down by things I'm not doing, or the things that aren't going right that I completely forget about the good stuff. And then I'm impatient with myself for feeling that way, and then I need an all day run to straighten myself out- or to at least slog out of the bog and maybe into the tall grass.

There's this thing I do. It's called: TOO MUCH. I am very good at too much. Perhaps a pro even. I eat too much cookies. Too much wallowing. Too much negativity? I've got it. I'm a gold medalist in too much self criticism. Numero uno at wanting to hide and hibernate, and also great at too much blaming other people when I'm not feeling good with myself. Too much afraid of life, of always being in this position I'm in and never getting on with it.

This part of early sobriety is not fun at all. It's not too much fun, it's the opposite of that. So I don't have the market cornered as far as the too much there.

So I guess I'm running up the boggy hill, bogging it up. I'm still going, but not very happy about it. I want my clouds back- pink or whatever. I liked that better. I feel better for a bit and then back to *sigh*.

And then I read about people dying in Boston and I feel like an asshole. So I guess what to do is this: keep slogging, keep bogging. And most important keep blogging. And really most important: remember to be grateful even when you feel like a grumpy black cloud. Because I'm sober and alive, and I can never get too much of that.

Growth Spurt

This picture is what sobriety looks like to me. That first one- the radical one? Right on. Then in the middle the hyper part. Then that taller wearing a hat part. Then the stretching up part . The shedding of the shell part. The look at my beautiful leaves part. And don't forget the roots. Extending. A little hairy. Just like life.

A seedling is such a fragile thing. So is a newly sober person. And then, sixty days go by. You start to get really really really great ideas about your life. You start to get unafraid. Suddenly there are chances to be taken. Dances to be danced. Hair to be let down. How cool.

I started thinking about how I want to spend my life. How to earn money since I need to work unless we want to live in the car. What will satisfy the bill collectors and my soul. Before I would have immediately told that little self to shut up, none of that "pie in the sky" stuff for you. Plod along. Make decent money. Good benefits. Give your soul to the "man". Be a minion. A playing it safe sycophant. Please- don't rock the boat.

But I started thinking about what I could do that would make me feel "real" on the inside. I got really brave and thought things like "go back to school" and "master's degree". I told my parents about it and they acted like I'd said I was abandoning my husband and children and going to join the circus with the bearded lady.

Things were said like "Too old" and "Children! Responsibilities!" There was crying. Yelling. Leaving.

I'm forty one years old. I know I don't need their approval. I was looking for encouragement and found quite the opposite. (Giant life clue: This could be part of my problem. Stop trying to get everyone to like you and what you do. Approve of self.)

So I left and didn't call. My mom wrote me and said sorry. We talked and I stood up for myself. I didn't try to soothe her, and it hurt to hear her cry over the phone, but I said my truth. Mine.

What surprised me the most of how strongly I felt that ANYTHING IS POSSIBLE. That I don't have to be afraid anymore. Life doesn't have to be this grand ship I'm waving to from shore. I don't have to wonder about all those lucky people, I can be one of them. Or I can be a total fucking failure at something and then hop on another ship. People on boats are especially friendly.

God. Sobriety is such a magical place. I can compare it to this: I have been a seed in a packet. You know a seed is just a seed. It can roll around in the bottom of the drawer just being a little round seed. Until you give it some love. Until you plant it with intention. You put it in the ground and grow it. You grow. You don't ask all the other seeds if you're doing it right. You don't try to be like all the other seeds. You don't settle. You push your tiny seed-y self towards the sun as hard as you can. You grow.

You grow. Up.

Through the Wringer

This is me yesterday, only I'm not the woman with the purple hair, I'm one of those flat women. I think the one in green. I had a meeting at work and it was a doozy. Add that to the great ground beef fiasco Sunday night and maybe both of those women are me-well, the one in green is me, then the one in red is my nerves. Since my nerves could be on the outside of my body they've been tested so hard this week. And I think they have that surprised look, like WTF just happened here?

Yesterday, after this two hour meeting (which was not all bad, most of it was very good, but the bad part was bad. I'd been having trouble with my boss. He said sorry and his boss said put it in the past.) I felt like I'd been run over by a truck. I was jangle-y, tense, spent. I sat in the driveway on the phone trying to give my husband a five minute synopsis and all I could think was, "I NEED A FUCKING DRINK." (see comments in picture above)

Of course then I remembered that I don't do that anymore. And I only intensely wanted one for about a minute. Because then I also remembered that a drink wasn't what I really wanted, and it surely wasn't what I needed.  What I needed was some dinner. Lots of deep breaths. Some normal life.

Normal life. As in go inside. Hug kiddos. Make dinner. Let my inner mama take over. (my mama, as in me mothering myself) I was patient when I wanted to fuss and grrrrrr. I somehow got through pj's and stories without losing my mind.

My inner mama doesn't play. Now that she knows I'm listening she is not afraid to speak up. And she doesn't like excuses.

Me: "But I had that awful meeting at work and I want to bury my head under the covers and feel sorry for myself. Wah wah wah."

Inner Mama: "That has nothing whatsoever to do with these two boys who love you and want to spend time snuggled close to mommy. Chop chop. And do try to enjoy it. Plenty of time for sad burrowing in a bit."

I made myself do it.

Y'all, no matter how bad and hard and sad and terrible some things have been this week I know that because I'm sober I am getting through it instead of going around and around again. It's been hard to feel- really feel all these roller coaster emotions- to throw my hands into the air for the biggest hills, mouth wide open wailing with fright and sorrow. Feeling the grace of comfort and the warmth of pride for doing it all without my old avoidance technique- i.e. seven glasses of wine. Phew. This shit is real.

I have been through the wringer this week. And the most important part is that I made it out to the other side.

Ground Beef

Doesn't it look innocent, just sitting there, all ground up and no place to go?

You'd never think it would have caused a three hour long sobbing meltdown at our house this weekend. And before you start wondering which child was responsible, it wasn't them. It was me. Me.

It all started because we were having burgers, but also spaghetti later in the week. I thought husband was using too much meat for burgers leaving our spaghetti painfully short. It turned into a "kids stay outside" argument. It turned into me sitting on the bed rocking back and forth sobbing and saying "help me help me help me" and "please please please" in a tiny voice. It turned into a lot of snot and tissues.

I tried to come back down for dinner. I remember trying to eat dinner this upset as a child- the food is an unswallowable lump. It all tastes like nothing. I could not stop crying, just quiet tears rolling down my cheeks. Husband mad, children totally confused. I had to leave the table. I grabbed my wine glass of ruby red grapefruit and seltzer and went up to start the bubble bath for the kids. I keep right on crying.

The kiddos came up to hop in the tub. I managed to pull it sort of together. My oldest and I read our book on the floor of the bathroom for a bit. Youngest started blowing bubbles and wanting us to pop them. It was almost fun. Husband cleaned the kitchen, came to check on us, went to watch football. Oldest and I had a hard four minute conversation that went something like this:

"Mom, are you OK?"

"Yes, dad and I are just in a fight right now, but we'll talk about it and we'll be fine."

"Oh."

"What's up?"

"I worry that you and dad aren't going to be together."

"Oh." (We've talked about this a couple times before. I ain't gonna lie, sometimes I wonder this too. Sometimes things have been tough and not so happy around here. I hope with all my might that it was mostly my fault and that since I'm not drinking anymore, ever, that things will slowly get better. And they are.) "Dad and I will sort it out. We're going to be just fine. Just like you and your brother fight, dad and I fight too. But we'll be OK."

I looked at that wine glass I brought up with me. I was so relieved it had grapefruit and seltzer in it, so relieved that I was sober and not half drunk. So grateful that I was in the middle of something so hard because I was in the middle of something so hard. Glad to be sitting on the bathroom floor able to look my son in the eye showing him who I am without feeling ashamed. To show him that life isn't always perfect. To show him I can deal with it.

The hard part about being sober isn't the not drinking, it's the dealing with all the things that come up without the booze cocoon.

Eventually the kids went to bed. Husband came in and sat on the bed, not mad anymore. We talked, really talked. Tossed some old hurts out there, made apologies, offered forgiveness. I cried more.

And then things were better. We curled up and laughed lightly, just a little, still tender from the great ground beef fiasco. We went to sleep.

I woke up the next day, eyes swollen swollen swollen. But my heart was swollen too. Big and proud that I let it out. That I was brave and vulnerable and sober.