Permeability

 

Permeability

Out on a run/walk/wander I remembered what I thought on a recent early morning: I am separate from other people. It really struck me that what I feel, think, decide, am... it's all mine. And that other people's those things are all theirs. Like I am a cloud, and you are a cloud, and we are each our own weather systems that can also create weather together. 

I spend a lot of time thinking about humans- how we behave, our histories, our family histories, our behavioral legacies, our training, choices, conditioning, changing, stagnating- it's all fascinating to me. I think about myself and how I got sober and what it took to get there. 

What it was like to live the life I lived before I quit drinking. 

What it was like to live that life. 

What it's like to live this life. 

The things I have learned and how much I still have to go. I remember being out on a run in the beginning of my recovery and thinking "What if I never finish?" and starting to cry because then I thought with relief and joy "I will never finish!!!" 

I realize periodically that something I do unconsciously pretty often is: I try to not make any mistakes by being me the individual. I really guard myself closely, collecting myself, looking for loose threads or flyaways of self. Oh this? That's nothing! And I scoot that part of me you might have seen under the rug. It's weird for someone who is like me- I am open to talking about your behaviors or your life so I seem like I am open and revealing, but just try asking me about myself and I will probably clam right up like a... clam. I'm so good at it you may not even notice that I change the subject or that I'm very brief and that I rarely talk about myself. 

I am working on this. It can feel like being pushed out onstage naked when I talk about myself. I watch the audience closely. Was that my line? Am I saying it right? I watch for signals. Did I mess that up? Am I in the right place? Did I hit my mark? Your mark? I try to be palatable. Too much of me and I start looking around for you, but you coming from me. Talking about myself makes me feel afraid. I don't like it. I worry you/the world won't like it. 

My afraid is the fear of being ridiculed or looking foolish, of making a mistake. My therapist and I have discussed this for several years now and I am at this place where I really love and trust myself inside. How to put that on the outside? It's like if you had a beautiful treasure but you keep it hidden. I love my beautiful treasure and I'm afraid if I show you you'll make fun of it or tell me it's stupid or that I don't know what I'm talking about. So it's much easier to live inside myself where I'm safe. 

Vulnerability is hard. 

Except.. I want to connect. I know I'm mostly not breakable fragile like that anymore, and I'm working on remembering that I'm a 50 year old woman who made my own recovery (don't we all?) and I've been purposely living and studying human behavior for almost 10 years in my own cool way and I have pretty terrific things to share about that and about me. I have mothered and run my own business and been married and separated and/or ended and/or repaired signifiant relationships- like my marriage, my relationship with my parents, a couple of friendships. 

These boundaries, the separation from other people is not a wall, it's a defense mechanism. A coping skill. I was thinking about how I tend to think people in my life think like me, but it's more like I try to guess what people are thinking and then I make myself like them. Writing that makes me think about how I don't really do that as much anymore but I feel like I do and I need to catch up to where I actually am. 

The idea that I am separate from other people means that we might be in relationship but we aren't the same person. 

What a relief. And what a mind fuck. For a lifetime I have thought that if someone was in my life it meant we matched. A strange sort of branch of codependency. Gaining the understanding that we can be in each others lives and differ vastly feels like maturity. It feels like I'm responsible for me, you're responsible for you- and we are responsible for each other too, but not dependent on similarity to function. 

This gleaning of personal separation feels like a wise expectation. 

As in: 

I expect me to be like me, and you to be like you. 

That seems real, and honest, and much less confusing than thinking the people in my life are mostly like me but I actually have to be mostly like them. It was a blind spot. It feels validating to see myself in the pool of that insight. 

I was reading something somewhere about how lately these days we all think we are unique and separate and individual and that's what's getting valued- that the collective has become the pieces, not the picture. I think it's both. 

It's the permeability. 

The ability to allow things to pass through you. To keep your self while keeping community. A frog's skin is permeable to water- but the frog does not become water, and the water does not become frog...they exist together, and apart. The frog is a frog, the water is a water. And there is the frog in the water, and there is the water surrounding the frog. 

Putting yourself - the youest you- out into the world as yourself is crazy: hard/easy/hard/easy on and on. There are so many ways we are bombarded with different options and opinions...how do you know? And then how do you not short circuit when rejected or laughed at or made fun of- even if it's only in your own mind? Being the "right" frog in the "right" water- it can be exhausting. 

And such an unconscious habit to be absorbed instead of be permeable. 

When I am absorbed I do not have boundaries. Something I have started noticing is that I do have boundaries, but I tend to set them and then erase them. It's wild to watch. I'm learning that if I am permeable I don't lose myself, or my boundaries- and it feels healthy and care full. I know where I am. It's kind of like always telling myself the truth and being willing to stand with that truth, and knowing that truth can change. That it isn't a threat to know more or do things differently. 

Taking it apart- here's me in a situation:

Me deciding what feels wisest for me. 

DOING THAT THING. 

Wanting to erase it (oh no! I didn't mean it! never mind! it's okay!), but not erasing it. 

Feeling totally uncomfortable in the itchy scritchy sweater of not erasing it. 

The sweet nugget of warmth that comes, a bit of confidence, of trust, of love. 

I have to do things in these kinds of instructions because then it makes more sense: I slow down, recite my practices to myself- whatever they may be- First you do this, then you do that. It's not about right or wrong. Please slow down. You don't have to go fast. 

There's a sense of recognition and congruency that arrives. I am me, and I am here, standing next to you, apart and together- permeable. 

3 Days Until Christmas: Countdown of Good Reasons to be Sober Day 3

Day 3

3rd Good Reason to be Sober

I never trusted a word I said when I was drinking.

Trust & Truth

One of the biggest lies I continually told myself when I was drinking was that I was going to quit. Another one I told myself, and always at the end of the day, was that my drinking was not a problem, everything was OK. I lied to myself every day for years.

But no matter what I told myself I knew. I knew that I was not telling my truth. I knew that I might make guarantees at 7 AM but that I would never keep those promises. I knew that I was a liar. Not to be trusted.

Telling the truth is hard. But trust doesn't stand on a liar's foundation. And once you start telling the truth it gets easier and suddenly you have two feet. And you are standing. The truth is like the hike to the top, and the trust is the view.

Now I can trust myself. I have never felt a feeling quite like it before. Because I finally stopped lying to myself about hurting myself I feel safe with myself again.There's something about seeing your eyes in the mirror and knowing you can trust the person looking back at you. There's something about looking inside and knowing that you can search around your soul for some help and not come up with a stick.

Being sober keeps me honest. A truth-teller. A woman of her word. Counted upon. Trustworthy.

Finishing Lessons

My parenting style is sort of like this: "You can't play Wii for a week!" Then two days later....."Wellllllll, I guess it's OK. Just don't blah blah blah ever again!" That was kind of my drinking style too. "You can't drink for a week!" Then after the hangover passed....."Wellllllll, I guess some wine wouldn't hurt. Just don't have blah blah blah glasses again!"

I guess we all know how well that worked since I'm writing a blog about sobriety.

My oldest is on day two of a week long "grounding" from the Wii. I wrote the date when he can play again on a post it and stuck it to one of the kitchen cabinets. No Wii until May 28th.

Now I have to stick to it. (Heh, no pun intended!)

I've never been good at finishing the lesson. I'm great at the pre-lesson excitement. I'm awesome at the first bit. Then I slowly slide back into the easy chair of the old way. Even if the new way is working markedly better. And then I sort of take that mental look around....."Um, what has happened here?" and kind of cobble together some new way, mostly old way. Never finishing the lesson.

It's sort of like learning math: there are these logical (mostly, math is not my best subject) steps to take and then you get the answer. Maybe math is a bad analogy since its' answers are absolute (again, mostly) and life lessons have a little more leeway. But the finishing is the most important part- at least trying to complete the problem. And asking for help if you need it. You know, sometimes you just don't get it and someone else does. And so you ask for help and suddenly the clouds part and you can move on to the next question, the next problem.

Being sober, for me, feels like I'm finishing my life. I don't mean ending it, I mean finishing it. Taking the next step. Solving the problem. And waiting for the answers.

Trusting the Universe

Or the title could be: How I Stopped White Knuckling It and Started Letting Go. Having faith that whatever happens happens. Not in the "it is what is is" way (which I hate) but more in the "What will be will be" one. Que sera sera. In the I can't control it but I'm OK with it way. Not in the nothing I can do anyway so who cares way. But with some control included. See?

Sometimes I am grasping at everything: concentrating on how life isn't what I want it to be rather than making it what I want it to be. Be a better runner? Then run. Be in better shape? Then don't eat dessert twice every night sometimes twice a day a week. Be a better mom? Then pay a-fucking-ttention to what's going on and stop checking the computer. Clean house? Take an hour or two and just do it. Plant the garden? Plant it then!

I have a habit of wanting things, and then waiting for someone else to do them,. And then getting mad when they don't get done. Lord, help me.

Or the subtitle could be: Getting/Giving Up Control. I have another habit: Giving things up. Now that I've finally given up booze forevah I have other stuff to take care of. I never drank coffee before when I was hungover a few/several/every day a week. It made me nervous and sickish, and I already felt bad enough without the cursed thought patrol coursing at ninety miles an hours through my head. So I would just chug water and ibuprofen and wait for 5 o'clock somewhere.

Then sobriety arrived (hello there and welcome, and thank you sweet baby jesus) and I started drinking coffee. It was innocent at first: just a cup in the morning while I wrote my blog. Then another a little bit after I got to work. Then another before I left work. Then maybe another after I got home before I walked over to get my oldest at school. And then all these cups became necessity not luxury. And suddenly I was pissed off every evening, gritting my teeth through bath time and stories please please please is it time for fucking bed yet? And I was waking up at 2:30 in the morning mind racing unable to get back to sleep. (and when you get up at 4 or 4:30 what's the point?)

So, sadly, coffee and I aren't meant to be either. It would have been much cooler if we were, but getting sober isn't just about giving up booze. It's also about learning what works now that I am coherent enough to identify what does and what doesn't. Learning myself. Getting comfortable. Being mostly happy, or at the least content-ish. Which means I'll be experimenting with things. Like giving up coffee.(yes, this obviously works- I feel mucho better-o today (day 4)) Or running more. Running longer distances slower, running short distances faster. Giving up things like cheesecake and cookies and having things like dark chocolate or a little maple syrup in my oatmeal. Because those things make me feel better in my head for a long time, while eight cookies makes me feel better until the last crumb goes down and then I regret them all immediately. Which might make me reach for a couple more cookies. So giving that stuff up gets me some control. And with that control comes peace. Peace in my mind.

Which is my new prayer. I am not spectacularly religious, but I do believe in prayer. And so my new prayer goes like this: "Please help me do the things that make me happy and give me peace." I'm relaxing my knuckles by gaining some control. Giving myself permission to do whatever I want makes me unhappy. Just because I stopped drinking it doesn't make it OK for me to keep passing my stopping points. That just starts the rounds of bad how-could-yous that I've given up. So being sober is all about not drinking, but also all about not behaving like an       -aholic. Whether that includes cookie-aholic or coffee-aholic or giving things up-aholic. Setting some damn limits around here. Like I'm five years old and don't know any better. Parenting myself. Teaching myself.

And trusting that the universe is listening. And that maybe, just maybe, I'm listening too.

Life As A Box

I was talking with a new friend about possibilities the other day. We were talking about life. And how it can be kind of like a box. And how you are the one who decides how big your box is.

I've had several people ask me what the benefits of sobriety are. In other words, why be sober when drinking is so a-) socially acceptable and sobriety makes you a weirdo and b-)  so easy and comfy. This is the best way I can explain it. Drinking makes your life box small. My legs are cramping up a little already just from looking at her in there.

It's like, if you drew a box on the floor and put yourself in it, the ways you would stretch when you drink are just arms length. A reach out to the fridge for another bottle. A reach over to turn the alarm off for the fifth time. A reach up to massage your aching head. A reach inside to push yourself around for being hungover again.

When you really quit drinking your life box grows. You can start to push your boundaries. When I first quit I think my life box even got a little smaller at first- I was so scared to do anything. And the only thing I really wanted to do was stay sober. It was all I thought about. Then, suddenly I was walking around a bit. Taking a look around. Peering out the windows. Hell, making some windows. There are trees. And birds. Possibilities.

Because I am sober I can make my life box just what I want it to be. I can add whole rooms if I want to. Growth is feasible because I'm not suffocating from a hangover. I can commit myself to my life. I can make plans. Invite other people in. I can say, "Look! See what I'm doing? Isn't this nice? Aren't you proud of me?" My life is a place other people want to be.

I can give love to other people since I'm feeling love for myself. Sobriety makes my heart bigger. Whereas I used to hide- not answer the phone. Oh, God. NOT the doorbell. (This still takes practice. The phone rang last night, I picked it up, looked at it, didn't answer. Then I called right back. Silly. But I didn't answer the phone before, or call back, ever. I didn't want anyone to know I was drinking. And then I didn't want to have to make up excuses for why I couldn't make plans.) Now the kids can have friends over. I make lunch plans for my days off. Sometimes this even happens two days in a row.

You know how, when a house or building gets built, you use these things called cornerstones? Look at the definition: a stone representing the nominal starting place in the construction of a monumental building, usually carved with the date and laid with appropriate ceremonies. And: something that is essential, indispensable, or basic. Holy crap. That's what happens when you make a sober date. You make a cornerstone. A nominal, indispensable starting place. A strong place to start your new life box.

OK, now, also. It can get a little crazycakes when you start making the box bigger. You might have to go whoa whoa whoa! Hold up. Tooooo many changes. I can't even find the other side of my box now. I need to go back to my cornerstone. Have a seat. Think a minute. And you can do that since you aren't drunk so you know where you put it. Here it is. Ahhhh. Right where I left it.

You also might forget that the box is yours and start trying to make it look like someone else's. You get turned around then too because you don't recognize your surroundings. Head back to the cornerstone. Walk the perimeter. Trust.

Imagine your life as a box. Imagine how booze makes that box jail. Imagine how you can make a cornerstone. Or two. Or as many as you want because this is your box. A box to shape and grow. A box to open. A gift to share.

A life.

The 11th Commandment

Ooops. I forgot one!

I've been thinking a whole lot about the messages I tell myself, the way I react to me, and how I handle decisions.

I figured something out that anyone with a grain of sense could have seen. Easily. But you know how the seeing things thing is, and how you just don't until you just do.

I have...trust issues. And by 'trust issues' I mean the kind that you have with the most important person in your life. I don't trust ME.

I notice that when it comes to making decisions I waffle all over the place. "Well, maybe this? Or that? Whatever could be good, too. If I do this then will that be mad? Blah blah blah." I also think I tell myself in that destructive whisper-y voice that you can't hear with ears or your head but the one that you just know in your heart that I'm not doing it right. Ever. That I can't be trusted. That I don't know what's best for me. I have zero credibility with myself. My motives are always questionable. That I have been given the opportunity time and time again to do what's right and I failed. Miserably.

I was listening to The Bubble Hour again yesterday. It was the one about early sobriety. The first guest was a  woman who had to move herself and her young child in with her mother. Her mother was having a hard time trusting her now that the woman was sober because for years the mother had been lied to. Let down. This is me. I am the liar and the distrusting mother. Talk about a tough crowd.

Learning to trust someone after twenty some years of letdowns is a big big big deal. Sometimes I can feel myself not even wanting to try, having given up on me so many times- and maybe even for good years ago. Don't get me wrong, I am trying so hard. And I want to try so hard. I haven't ever wanted anything more in my whole life. It's the knowledge that the person that hurt me the most is ME that blows me away. It's knowing that my soft place to fall has it's arms crossed and is eyeing me suspiciously. It's that I can't be trusted to make even simple, seemingly easy decisions without the scrutiny squad tearing them to bits looking for hidden agendas. And I'm paralyzed and frustrated and skeptical. And brimming with self-doubt.

So I suppose this all boils down to instincts. And hearing. And trust.

And my 11th Commandment: Honor Thyself. Because if the neighbors can be part of it, then I can be part of it, too.

Those two words give me such pause. Honor Thyself. I would have never though to do that before. Hold me in high esteem? Me deserving respect? Having dignity? Credibility? Whoa. No wonder I'm feeling a little awed at the prospect of bestowing myself with all that. No fucking wonder it's hard to trust that, and that something like that is confusing to hear. Especially since I haven't really ever done that, and so I'm extra extra out of practice.

Sobriety is hard, but really life is hard. When you choose to get sober and turn around to face your life you just can't imagine all the remarkable things you're in for. When I made the choice to quit drinking forever I declared my intention to honor myself. Out loud, into my universe, to my higher power, to myself. Every day  is an act of building trust. A lesson in self respect. Every day I stay true to the promise that I've made to myself strengthens my integrity, my self worth.

If I can choose to honor my higher power, the lives of others, a day of worship and rest, and to not lie about my neighbors or want their stuff then I can make a new commandment too. A commandment to be taken earnestly and holding monumental significance. Maybe the most important one of all.

HONOR THYSELF.

Every one of these eighty-six days shows me that my word has value. And that I am not a liar after all.