Slowly

I've had a couple of oh wow moments this week- I'm reading this book and this book and both are so much food for thought that I've just been reading voraciously and trying to get into my head space but totally out of my head space.

The Recovering Body has been such a terrific reminder that my body is just as important as my mind, if not even more important. I spend so much time finagling and think-a-ling that I forget to listen to my own messenger. Then I'm surprised that I'm so hungry, or sooo a little cranky, or sooooooo almost overwhelmed and needing a minute. But my body isn't surprised at all. "Duh!" it wants to tell me. I told you we needed to eat like over an hour ago. Or a sarcastic "Shocking!" when I feel twitchy and realize I need a little minute. "Remember how you felt that in your gut a while ago?" I count too, my body is speaking up to say, and slowly I am learning to listen.

I have spent a goodly amount of years on this planet feeling so mad at my sweet body. Mostly mad because I am not 5'7" with coltish legs like I was sure I was meant to be. I am coltish, but more in shortish sturdy donkey way. Mad that I have freckles, and a gap in my teeth. Mad that I can never look in the mirror and be glad to see myself. Many of those same years were spent abusing my body, and my body just kept on showing up: no matter how many times I bulldozed over myself I would always uncrumple the next morning and somehow keep on being alive. It was all like the ultimate fuck you to myself. How could I be such a bully?

Why have I never just told my brain to sit down and shut up? My thinker is always right up front arms waving pushing for all the attention. It's so exhausting maintaining a relationship with myself sometimes: it can't ever just be me, and my body, and my brain biologically meeting for tea. It's the three of us, bratty brain bullying my simple body into submission. In the battle of wills we are all losers I think.

Plus, my brain is the thing that talks me out of all of my good ideas. "Mmmmm, yoga" says body. "BLAH BLAH BLAH no time not in the mood" says brain. "I want to work on my chair" says body. "BORING!!!!" says brain. "Sit down and write" says body. "YOU SUCK AT THAT!" says brain. "Please quit drinking. We have to." said body. "BUT WINE IS SO GOOD!" said brain.

Since I finally was able to listen to that one I feel much more qualified to hear this other stuff. I meditated three times last week and it was hard but lovely. I am going to keep doing that- the relief I feel deep down from the quiet rather than the chatter is palpable. Instead of pushing myself in yoga I've been doing restorative classes online- lots of props and support and surrender. Slowly making all of me strong instead of thinking about weight or what I look like. Taking care of my self rather than my image.

It's a damn hard thing to love all of oneself. Eastern Body, Western Mind has me thinking about Chakra one: how I am safe and grounded to the earth. How to have a steady base I have to have a steady base. And that base is my body. How to feel safe and rooted I have to NOT be the one abusing myself: either with booze, or food, or words, or criticism. Slowly getting back to the basics like I have plenty of time.

All of this winds up with me doing a lot of thinking, but a lot of not thinking too. I made me think of this: I am mostly so grateful all of this happens slowly. I need time to get my feet under me, to feel them touch the ground and support me fully. Time to breathe. Time to listen. Time to get to know me- and my body.

Working Things Out

I have been doing some different things since I found out I might have MS. It got me to thinking about how I want things to be- that and that journal I was reading- the one that said the same stuff over and over again for like two years about cookies and not doing yoga.

Almost three weeks ago I made a promise to myself to walk every day. Do yoga every day. Brush and floss and wash my face before bed. Write each day.

I'm doing it.

It's kind of incredible what listening to yourself can do for you. I had coffee with my dear friend (my bridge moment friend) and we talked about shame. She's reading Brene Brown and totally groovin' on it and made me realize that I want to revisit that book too and got me to thinking about my progress since I read Brene Brown last. The patience I find for myself increases every day, the delight in my own me-ness is such a new and tender thing I'm still surprised when it shows up.

So many of our decisions can be based on shame. I drank because I was ashamed of who I was, and who I wasn't. Either way I was never good enough. I was full of shame for all the things about me, and I drank to stop feeling so bad about it. Which made me feel bad about that. Then I got sober and I wasn't ashamed about my drinking anymore but I still hadn't really looked at the person I wanted to be. For a long time being sober was enough. But then I realized I was still here- and I was still not tuning in to my nature, things were still wonky because I was still not turning to my own true North.

That inner voice is damn hard to hear because it gets overrun by the voice of shame. It all is attached.

There's something about being told I might have a disease that might put me in a wheelchair. It makes me want to walk. It makes me want to bend and twist and feel my breath. It made me look at of all the time I spend being sorry at my life, at all the time I spend in my head wishing I was one thing yet being another. It's making me try harder to be good at my life: not good for any one reason other than it is mine.

A while back I listened to Anne Lamott give an interview. She said something that I will never forget: "YOU WILL COME THROUGH." Until now I didn't realize that there are two ways to see that. One is that, yes, you will. You will reach the end or the other side. You will, with patience and time, come through all the things. All things good and all things bad- you will come through. I was only thinking of it as it defines the journey, not as it connects my soul to my outer life. Now I can see that not only will I come through, but that I will come through. I will, despite my efforts to not, come through. My self-ness will seep through until I become saturated and unable to ignore my own self.

I do that by remembering that I am no longer ashamed. I don't have to hide the woman I am because I was so drunk last night and did embarrassing things again. I know my mind, so I can speak it. I can feel strong enough to be who I am in the world without fear. I am connecting these things because I am listening to my voice- my conscience that wants to love and protect me that I mistakenly thought hated me all along.

Once in a while it takes a big something to motivate you to change. Other times it's just time to be different. But I have always known who I am, in my heart of hearts- I know. I'm working out how to be brave enough to be that person. Although it sounds kind of morbid it helps me to think that one day this life of mine will be over. How will I have wanted to spend it? Fearful and ashamed or at least trying my fucking heart out for the best life I can have? I don't want to be dying and wishing I'd done the simple things my heart desired. I want to do all the things. I want to live out loud and wide open and unafraid and unashamed with a balance of gentle and strong. But most of all, I do not want to keep wishing for things that are in my power to make come true.

I have a spinal tap scheduled for April 22. The day after my 44th birthday. Then there will be an answer: a yes or a no that changes my life either way. I am not afraid. I am not afraid because I am who I am, I am strong enough to handle hard things and ask for help. Being sober gave me life, and it also gives me something to live for. It gives me the courage. And for that I am forever grateful.

How the Story Goes

I read this book and I loved it. I'm reading this book now and I also really dig it.

You know how the life of an alcoholic is- well, I know how mine is: I drank for a long time, then I stopped. And now I have a pretty good time figuring stuff out about myself like I'm really an introvert, or I need time by myself to stay steady, or I will be lazy about things unless I push myself to do them.

In the second book Donald Miller talks about the story our lives tell. If my life were a story it would be me being little, then me being drunk, and then the much more interesting me sober and getting on with it. It really got me thinking about the story I want my life to tell, the story my children might tell about me. The story my husband might tell of our marriage.

It made me think about how many things aren't under my control, but then how many things are.

Books always seem to show up right when I need them. I have been in that winter rut where I do the winter thing I do: gain weight. Abandon everything except Facebook and avoiding all the things. I let the boys fry their brains on computer games and I sink into my own version of hibernation until thankfully spring happens and I find some books and some sunshine and get off the couch and back out into the world.

I also found a journal entry that I can't stop thinking about. It's the one where I talk about telling myself no, and doing the things I want to do, and how sad it makes me feel when I just give myself full license to eat all the cookies. But it isn't just one journal entry- it's a lot of them. Then I came across the book that talks about our life stories and I knew I needed to start writing mine instead of it writing for me.

It's like this: when I was drinking I just told the same story over and over again. And over, again. I don't want to do that now that I'm sober- it's just the same thing over and over but without being drunk. (which is a huge plus)

I sometimes feel like I'm in limbo land. Sober long enough to not be newly, but not sober long enough to be consider totally "there". I feel like when I put myself out on a limb people still want to tell me to "be careful" and "take it easy"- like they think if I take on too much I'll drink again. Or are they comfortable with me the way I am? Or am I always changing things?

I feel very comfortable in my sobriety. What I don't feel comfortable with is carrying the alcoholic behavior on in my story. My perhaps MS has got me thinking about the many things I would be sad I didn't do when I had the chance to do them. And then I think about when I get to the end of my life will I wish I'd eaten more cookies or gone for more long walks? I don't think I'll be heading into the light wishing for more time on Facebook.

The idea that my life is my story to write is all at once kick ass and scary. It's a balance of control and free fall. But it is mine. And it's up to me to choose it: the people in it. The things that happen. I can't control outcomes but I can write them as close to my desires as I want them to be.

Think about your story. How you want it to be. How to write it, how to read it. How it's true, and hard, and lovely, and yours. I'll be out on a long walk in the sun thinking about mine, too.

Bridge

Thursday in between one job, my follow up appointment with my neurologist, and my other job, I went for a walk on a trail I used to run frequently. I set my timer for fifteen minutes so I wouldn't worry about the time and started walking.

I love this trail. Three plus hilly and woodsy miles. Challenging in spots. Back when I was still drinking and I was still running I would go and punish myself with the two big hills- one steep and one endlessly long. On my way I would always look for a rock to pick up because towards the end I would stop at this bridge and hold that rock tightly in my hand and wish. I would wish I could stop drinking. I would whisper intently to the woods and my rock that I needed help please. Then I would look at my rock, squeeze it hard, and gently toss it into the creek below.

I had forgotten about this.

Until the other day, when I'd just been to the neurologist, and she said things like "spinal tap" and lumbar puncture" and "up to you". I had an hour before I had to be at work. I remembered that this trail was on the way. I had just enough time to take a thirty minute walk in the woods to think on this. Right at the time I needed to turn around I came to the bridge. I stopped walking and went over to the rail. I grabbed it with both hands and took a shaky deep breath. The memory of me, and my rocks, and my wishes came flooding back. I could feel my old self standing there next to me. I stood quiet for a long minute. Then I cried a little, then smiled.

I have been sober for over two years y'all. Right there, in that picture up there, in that spot, is where I wished so hard for myself to hear me, to help me. Below the bridge is the creek that took all my rocks and kept my secret until it was time to tell it, to tell it out loud.

Yesterday a beloved friend and I walked this whole trail. We were talking about some heavy shit, but when we rounded the corner and came to the bridge I said "Wait. I have to interrupt. I have to tell you this." My face crumpled all up and I started to cry.

"I used to run this trail," I told her. "And I would be sad, and hungover, and I would pick up a rock." We walked over to the rail, and held it. "When I would get to this bridge I would wish into my rock. I would wish for help. I would wish to be sober. I would say 'I wish I could stop drinking' and I would throw my rock into the water, then watch for a minute and try to hold it in." I cried harder. "I've been sober for two years and three months now. I am a miracle." I whispered it again. "I am a miracle."

She grabbed me and held me tight. She looked at me and told me she was proud. Proud to know me, proud to be my friend. I hugged her back, and then we laughed at ourselves crying on this bridge- both of us with our big life stuff but still brave enough to show each other who we are and ask each other for love and support. I said out loud what I hardly ever say: how proud I am of myself.

Sometimes when winter has been too long, and the grey is holding me down, life just really shows up. It shows up as a bridge, a book, a dearest friend. It reminds me of all the good I do for myself, the meaning I give to my life, the meaning I give to the lives of others. It reminds me that I am an important person in this world, that I matter.

I have been doing the things I said I was going to do for five days now, and magic is happening. Whether it's because I've been making it or keeping an eye out for it so I notice when it shows up I'm not sure. But it's here, every day. I've been being the person I wish I am.

It's all a bridge, wherever you are. There is always that place, that time, when you wish so hard for things to be different. When that voice inside cannot let go of that wish. The thing about wishes is that most of them are ones that we can make come true, you just have to be brave enough to embrace your inner wizard and to remember that you are worthy. No one ever really plans that one moment when wishes start to be real, where you start from a new spot. You only know that happened when you look back, when you conjure your old self and see who you aren't anymore.

My neurologist wants to do a spinal tap because she is suspicious that I may have Multiple Sclerosis. That day in her office I turned her down. She told me I could change my mind, and I have. Because that's the thing about wishes- I wish I didn't have MS. I don't even know that I do. But I have to look, I have to see, because then I'll know what to do. It's just like me wishing I wasn't an alcoholic- I wish I wasn't one. But I had to look, and I had to see so I could stop wishing and know what to do. To not wish for wasn'ts but for things that can be.

What I know is this: there is nothing wrong with wishing. Whether it's with pennies and fountains, rocks and bridges, or in your heart alone in bed at night, there's a reason that wish keeps coming back. When you get to that place, your bridge where you made your wish, you will know that wishes really do come true. And you will know, no matter where you are, that you are a miracle too.

Quick Post

Today is the first time I've posted away from my computer. I was just talking with one of my work mates about responsibility. How sometimes it feels like you do so much and there just isn't any tangible reward.

Here's the thing: I work hard. I do what I'm supposed to. I show up on time, I rarely call in (and only if I'm sick- I took my first "mental health" day a couple weeks ago because I was wiped out) But there are no parades, no t-shirts, no big or small thank yous. I work for a corporation. There isn't a lot of time for hugs and Kumbaya. Sometimes I feel really frustrated that someone isn't saying "thanks" and "we notice you working hard".

Then I think about what my head would sound like if I wasn't doing my thing. It would suck. It would sound just like all the guilt trips I give myself about other stuff, but on top of all the other stuff. No thanks.

It's my responsibility to take care of myself- whether it's staying sober, working hard, walking, writing, or yoga. Even if it's just brushing and flossing my teeth at night it's still up to me. Maybe there aren't fanfares and big prizes but there is the peace of mind I get when all is right in my world.

That's good enough.

Hamster Wheel

I was out for my walk a few minutes ago and I remembered a blog I posted with a picture of a girl sitting in a box and how I've been feeling very in my small box lately (and by lately I mean all winter). So I looked it up and I was amazed that I wrote it two years ago almost to the exact day.

Am I really on a big hamster wheel here or what?

I picked up my journal last night to jot some thoughts down for the first time since the end of January. To be honest my journal and I have always had very whiny and inconsistent relationship. Both are totally my fault. I noticed that the last thing I wrote about was the thing I was about to write about again- weeks later! Then I bet myself that if I read back it would all be the same thing: me bitching because I was eating too many sweets, or not doing enough yoga, or going for walks or runs, and I'm not happy because I'm not writing enough, and also when will my pants fit right again.

Jesus H on a biscuit. I am the hamster wheel.

It was the same journal when I was drinking: why can't I quit, what will I do, making paper floor plans for when I finally quit that always fell through. Oh my god. How boring can I be? No wonder I need all these distractions now that I'm sober- I can't even stand to hear myself think all these same old tired thinks. I'm like a worn out circus act: same shit, different day. Gah!

If you didn't read it my old post was about getting out of the same old box. Not really getting out of it, but building on to it. I was all spring inspired then just like I am now, but what a jolt to the system to know that I've been trying to do these new same old things for another two years!

I have changed so much, but maybe not as much as I thought....

I'm not sure about you, but I seem to stay frustratingly the same at some things: mostly not doing things that make my life cozy and good. More like knowing what feels good and then heading in the opposite direction. I'm not sure if it will make sense but I feel like I'm on the verge of figuring something out here. I have this head full of "rules" that make my life work, but I keep avoiding them almost out of spite. I wonder sometimes if I stagnate some because I have been isolating myself- not blogging much, no recovery friends, not reading my favorite blogs or finding new ones.

Is it staying safe?

Is it fear?

The hamster wheel is pretty safe. It just goes around and around with the same old scenery, the same old groundhog day days. Plod plod spin spin. I wonder how many days I can run amok before the siren song of the wheel calls me back again? Or if I ignore that voice and just keep happily heading up the hill enjoying the scenery dropping old luggage like flies? What if I just stop checking Facebook all the time? Or I promise to write and yoga and walk and keep it? Huh. What if I do?

Well. What if I do.

Change is Fucking Hard

I get letters with some frequency from people who want to quit drinking, who quit and then started again. Who have quit and I helped and they send me a letter of kind thanks. Which always delights my soul and amazes me all at once.

Change is fucking hard. I've been mishy mashing around reigning in some bad habits and general constants all winter. Getting the thought from floating in my head to actual bodily practice is so...erratic. From great idea to maybe tomorrow happens every day. Every day. And then I'm comfortable and in the same place I was yesterday. Sigh.

It's like even though I know what will keep growing me I keep on hiding from the rain and the sun. I stretch a little new green leafy arm out towards the light and then get distracted and lazy and there withers my new leafy little arm and there I am- dirt buried and too tired to try again. But just like a little seed I just can't resist the wanting to grow.

This is the hardest part: the wanting to. The knowing, the need. The have to but I don't want to. Someone was explaining to me how our bodies are like pendulums and how they want to be aligned the up and down swing side to side way, but how they can just get used to being off sideways after a while and then sideways is the right way, even though it is really really the wrong way. Then that fucked up way is the comfortable way, but still way in there you know it isn't the right way so you just yearn to get back to where you belong. But fight it the whole time.

Ack.

I have started and stopped so many things this winter: things that have to do with food and sweets and yoga and hikes and writing. I have started, but I have not. Sometimes I use quitting drinking as an excuse to not push myself harder because SHIT. I already did that one hard thing, right? Can't I just go with that one? Forever? Lol.

I made a list of the simple things I want to do to feed my soul. I made them things that I know make me feel the most like myself: most like I'm living according to the inner blueprint that just will not shut up. I suppose that voice will nag me until I actually do what it wants me to do.

I thought about how wonderful it was that first year I quit drinking to not have to listen to that never ending voice that constantly begged me to please just stop. I thought about how now I have more room inside for more big stuff, and how because I'm scared I just keep on staying the same- scared to be anything but guilty and miserable- scared to really really live this life for all it's worth. I thought about all the time I waste on Facebook, and playing Two Dots, and checking my email again, or Facebook. Ugh. How all of that shuts up the inner voice during that mind escape and then it just comes back. I thought about how I love to write, but then I don't because I'm afraid it won't be the very best thing I've ever done, or that it will be stupid. I thought about how I love to run, but I don't because I can't even run a mile anymore without it being hard. I don't do yoga because I am not as good at it as I used to be. I just tug on the waist of my jeans, wish for what used to be, and grab a cookie and my phone to forget what I really want to be doing, but I'm just so afraid to be good at life. I'm so used to sucking at it.

This all sounds pretty miserable, and truthfully it really is. I'm exhausted trying to pretend I'm OK when I am not.

The good thing is that I am exhausted but not done. The nagging voice keeps telling me the answer, and I want to listen. I realized that I tell people all the time: do it. Quit drinking: you will not regret it. I realized that I was being a total hypocrite. I can't stop what I've started. Getting sober wasn't the finish, it is only the beginning. And maybe that voice is not a nag, but my biggest fan.