Today is Divine Mercy Sunday. I surely need His Mercy today. And every day.
This week. O>M>G> – so crazy it deserves arrows, not periods. I read the most profound thing on FB. “What we allow is what will continue.” OUCH, baby, very ouch.
So, I can’t say I don’t know why I allow it to continue. I know that I struggle with strength to divide our family and insert sure heartache into our lives. But our lives are already pretty divided and offer heartache daily. I don’t get it, but I know I’m getting better. I think recognizing the shift is a good thing.
I.AM.SOBER. I relish in that. Gotta say, this past week had me worried. And pissed off. I actually questioned my sobriety. On the stairway, looking at my husband, telling him if this continued, I wondered if I could stay sober. Those words just hurt my heart. My journey is hard. It is MY journey. Since January, I have worked with an amazing psychologist, Dominic Herbst, one-on-one, every Tuesday morning, via telephone. He is amazing. He is expensive. He has workshops around the country. I decided to start seeing him out of desperation. All Hell broke loose in my house in April 2014, and I did not bury my head in the sand. I grabbed God, begged Him to NOT LEAVE ME and to SHOW ME where HE WANTED ME TO GO. He did. He always does. He just wants to be invited. God, He loves me so much. He is with me always, holding the pieces of my heart together and showing me that my heart is whole, not broken and that I am worth dying for. Anywho. This journey has been the undoing of horrible neglect and unwantedness since I was in utero. Yes. My mom didn’t want me. I wasn’t planned. Many unplanned humans are still wanted. I wasn’t. That’s okay. My dad loved me enough for the both of them. But then he died. I was 8. You can fill in the blanks. Factor in a mother who wasn’t onboard anyway and suffered her own undealt with losses and there you go – a very misguided, easy to take advantage of kiddo with no one to imprint upon. No one to love her and show her the way to be a lady. My mother likely could have said the same thing.
So, I chose sobriety. First, I chose Alanon. Then I realized AA was where I needed to be. I am so grateful for that choice. 11 months and counting. It is difficult to have alcohol removed as the solution when the problems are all the same. My husband has not changed. He has managed to squelch a lot of his anger, but it squirts out at odd times in odd ways. I won’t be quiet about it anymore. I simply won’t. I realize that I am only as sick as the secrets I keep. Those days are over. It’s liberating. And possibly helpful for someone else.
The problem of the day – why do I feel compelled to keep those old agreements I made with myself? For instance, I have spent YEARS putting everyone else’s needs ahead of my own. So much so that I am now discovering myself in a whole new way and I have to say, I like myself. A lot 🙂 I am strong. Physically and emotionally. I realize I stay to try to absorb the suffering of my children. That’s wrong. I can’t buffer them from life. I am hurting them by doing so. We have to face life on life’s terms. And guess what? Life’s terms often suck. Big time. Before I came up into my oasis of classroom/workout room/happy energy space, I was sucking down a smoothie in the kitchen, sitting at the breakfast bar, feeling like I needed to be “on call” for my husband. Internally, I was thinking, “I need to stay close; he may need something or call for me.” Yuck. Double-fricking-yuck. Go yuck yourself. No one considers me that way. So, then, truth from a healing-yet-raging-codependent, I have to step myself through the crap – ‘what would i do if i didn’t think that way?’ I realized I really wanted to write (here) at that moment. So, I began the walk to the stairway. “Where are you going?” “I have some writing to do.” And that was that.
My 12-steps really keep me plugged in and focused on what is right for me. I try to have balance in my day; I try to be of service; I try to see people in a loving light; I try not to be selfish; I try to make amends right away if I do something or say something dumb.
There, I feel better. Writing is such a therapeutic exercise for me.