A-holic

Do you ever feel like you're getting your shit together for like the nine hundredth time this year? That's me. I mean, do people who aren't a-holics just understand this all their lives? I'm getting used to the ebb and flow of my life, although I'm still surprised by how it does it. After almost four years sober I know what's coming mostly- about four times a year I get sad and lost, and about four times a year I pick myself up and find a way around that corner again. 

I wonder if it's stretching out my life suit, like growing but instead of in sizes in measures of prayer and hands up. But also like my ass is spreading out some, like I'm settling it down into the mud that is my life, wiggling it into the mud for a long stay. Getting comfortable. Finding a home.

I was laughing with my therapist the other day about how impossible it seems that until about eight months ago I had no idea that I struggled with anxiety. And now that I know it I recognize it everywhere- in traffic, at work, teaching yoga, when my kids argue, when my husband doesn't seem to see me, when people disagree and I'm not even involved, when I feel lost about who I even am anymore, should I have a cup of tea or water- there it is: anxiety. Is it attachment to outcome that makes me grab on so hard or just the fear of being an afterthought? 

But because I recognize it I can recognize it. And then that helps me to understand that if I recognize it then I can surrender to it because it's something I know. It's like the day I decided to quit drinking- I recognized myself as a person who is an alcoholic and so I understood that I could surrender to that, that it was safer to be an alcoholic than it was to be someone who would spend another day denying what I knew was the truth. 

Is there a difference between an alcoholic and a problem drinker? I only know that as soon as I slapped the label of "alcoholic" on myself I got sober. How fucking weird is that. It brings me a strange comfort in a way to be able to call this strong forceful part of myself something. Over the years that grew into calling myself an "a-holic" because I don't just only want to drink all the booze, in varying degrees I am driven to have more more more of anything that feels like permission. Giving this part of me a name gives it a form, it gives me something I can grab on to and hold and shake and shape. It gives me a part of myself I can identify and recognize. It makes it so when I feel anxious and I'm holding a handful of chocolate covered raisins I can think about who is holding those raisins and be able to put them back. It gives me someone to run to in the dark, someone to hand the light and pull in and tell sweet things like "it's okay" and "I think you need water".

I'm interested in your thoughts. 

(Not) Crossing the Line

Yesterday was a two bowl of ice cream after dinner kind of day. With a big bowl of marshmallow oaties after that to crunch down the well of sadness.

Well, that's pitiful, ain't it?

Actually, I spent most of yesterday trying not to cry at work, then crying some at my women's meeting. Then a little more in the parking lot after with my dear friend Amy. But then there was a little dinner to make, and my folks were here so that was good. The kiddos went to be without complaint- youngest singing himself to sleep, oldest with contraband video game buried under the covers. I didn't have the energy to have him not to, or to read youngest a story. It was a bury your head and eat kind of night.

It should have been a connect and feel some love kind of night. Sometimes what we want (ice cream) isn't really what we need (love).

I'm reading another great book and the last bit I read was about boundaries, and also compassion.

So I started thinking about setting boundaries for the kids, and how I am really really bad at that ("second chance queen" might be my nickname, or maybe "don't do that, oh well it's OK") and how (F.O.B.) (flash of brilliance) I am totally bad at that for me too!

And then I started wondering about who is making the rules around here anyway?

It seems like I have one really really good hard fast rule: DON'T DRINK.

And then things get a little muddle-y and cloud-ly and I sort of don't really have any other rules. Well, damn.

I feel like was kind of ruled-to-death as a child, so I'm really glad to break all rules and stomp over all the fences. As in "Ha HA! You can't tell me what to do! See? I just did just what I wanted. So THERE!" I practice extreme boundary breaking. My drinking was my biggest boundary buster: "I can drink as much as I want and you can't stop me!" And then my body wouldn't even stop me by throwing up or passing out or making the hangovers so so terrible that I never wanted to drink again. (well, then again on the hangover part.....)

But, wait. Boundaries are good. Without them we'd be all over the place. And I like rules, funnily enough. I like limits, and reasons. Ones that keep me sane.

Boundaries can also be really friendly ways to not have to have the morning mental beat down. I am so much better at not having it, but I still wake up and do a kind of inventory: "Oh. What time is it? What day is it? Oh. I ate two bowls of ice cream last night. And that cereal too. And I cried all day. And didn't even really look the children in the eye. Oh. well, shit."

And that is not the way to wake up. Boundaries can be a good way of preventing regrets. If I'd had boundaries (simple rules for myself- truths that stick for the way I know I like to live my life) then I.....well, I can't really say. But for me, for at this time in my life, some boundaries seem like a pretty good idea.

Things like:

Not checking Facebook and email fourteen times after dinner. How about not at all? The computer has become a big time suck for me. It kind of gets in the way of me connecting with the real people and dogs around here. I check every morning- sometimes I'm on it for a few hours in the morning! That is enough.

Or not eating after dinner. Have a little dessert after dinner, but don't take ice cream and sesame sticks and bowls of cashews up to snack on in bed. That feels like I'm taking care of myself, but it's really sabotaging me mentally and physically in an irritating way.

Those two are good.

Oh, and one more. When discipling the children ( That is a total typo that I like that better than "Disciplining") stick to it. Be fair and firm. I will disciple them. Spread the word about manners, and not calling your brother a stupid poop head.

I'm going to start with the second one. It's OK for me to try the other two out, but for this week the only really really good hard fast rules are these:

DON'T DRINK
NO LATE NIGHT SNACKS

Cool. Simple Boundaries. Little Life Rules. I think I'm finally ready for some. Boundaries can help prevent regrets. Life management. Not everything is OK. And that is.....OK. :)

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.

A First

It used to be that every so often I'd get "creative". In other words, get a little drunk then want to paint or create something. It would be fun, and there were loads of cigarette breaks and tons of swilling and I'd inevitably go about three steps too far and ruin it when all was said and drunk.

This week I've done TWO projects that would have called for some serious wine drinking and cig smoking. Both without any of that. Monday I planted plants and fixed up the back porch (my old private drinking spot) with new chairs. I've been dreading the spring- how will I sit out there and not want to head right back to drinky town? Like this: change that mother fucker completely. It looks nothing like it used to. It looks like a great place for a book and a cup of tea. It's going to be heavy with tomatoes and herbs, peppers and flowers by the time July arrives. It looks like a place a sober woman like me wants to be. I just have to twirl some lights around the railing as a finishing touch. I threw away the flower pot with all the cigarette butts in it. Did you know I quit smoking the same day I quit drinking? I don't miss that stinky habit either. Now I can have zinnias instead of cigarette butts. This new life rules.

And! Project number two...painting my desk. I sanded it and everything. This project would have been perfect for wine etc. As I was sanding my desk I kept thinking about how I would have stopped for "breaks" and how I would not have been as careful or as caring about my pretty new desk- I would have just been rushing to get it done so I could take more breaks. Instead I did it right, took my time. Leaned my head back and forth. Breathed in and out. Stopped to have a coffee and a cookie when I started feeling impatient. Two more coats of paint and an overnight to dry and I'll be all set. A few days left. Me and my pretty peacock blue desk. Blogging about how awesome it is to be sober.

As hard as it is, as sad as I feel sometimes, I still get the magic of this life. I get so grateful to have even just this one another day to be sober. To be me and me and me. To wait for the good parts. To put in the time to make it what I want, not just rush muddle it to be finished. The patient part is the part that makes it all worthwhile.