Just take it back.

I don’t like how I’m feeling. It seems as if I feel worse on this medication than off of it. I’m stuck in the middle of stubborn acceptance of these side effects and calling Doctor to inquire about another drug. I know only too well that there is no easier, softer way, yet there’s got to be a something that doesn’t decrease the quality of my life.

Doctor is the one educated in these matters, however, I am the one stuck inside this body that seems to be turning on me. How much faith do I place in him and his personal and professional experience with this drug? Sponsor thinks it would be a good idea to call him today. And that is my plan. Yet it’s hard to swallow that this may be the wrong drug for which I paid out-of-pocket. I have only used 5 pills of 30. What a waste. And there are no refunds. (I don’t know why I just giggled at that…)

Refunds, huh? When something doesn’t fit or work, we take it back. It’s sometimes a hassle, but for the most part we walk away with something more suitable to our needs/wants. Or so we think. Sometimes we come home with nothing as there was no acceptable replacement. Sometimes we do this on our own, but sometimes we discuss our bad decision with someone else and get their ideas before we take action.

In any of those scenarios, we’re acting on faith, in a way. Faith that whatever the result, our needs will be met. We either enjoy our new item or learn to live without it, and somewhere in the back of our minds we keep an eye open for the perfect fit. Always hoping.

I don’t know why this seems so significant to me today. But there is something here that obviously needs a closer look.

Oh, joy...

Thank you for paying me a 12 Step call.

Take two and call me in the morning.

Well, it’s official. I have high blood pressure. Shocking, I know. Being overweight, consuming an unhealthy diet, practicing a Type A personality, and possessing a genetic predisposition to heart disease did not spare me. (And let us not fail to acknowledge the Alcoholic mindset: stinkin’ thinkin’.)

The doctor, also a friend of Bill W., prescribed an antihypertensive and bedrest for a few days. At least until the danger zone is no longer my baseline BP. The headache and low ringing in my ears persist, but I am breathing a little easier and have less of that doomsday feeling. (And I’ve shed 8 pounds in the past two weeks between the intestinal issues of last week and the diuretic effect of the meds the past 3 days.) I have an appointment for a full work-up in a month. The doctor, in all his infinite wisdom about how the alcoholic mind works, only prescribed enough to get me through until my next visit. I think I may like this guy.

The events of the past week have given me an opportunity to touch base with a few friends in the fellowship, 4 of my siblings and my favorite April Fool. The effect of actually letting them know what was going on with me and hearing their genuine concern and unrestrained support has been calming. It is also somewhat of a source of shame that I do not reach out to them unless I am experiencing discomfort or looking to engage in drama (other than my own). Since “rising from the dead” in mid-2008, they have been nothing short of amazing in their love and support of me. Yet I have kept them on the periphery. Character defects at work.

I shut down my Facebook page 2 weeks ago. This was actually a well thought out action, though not necessarily well executed. It spurred concern from my family and friends. The only two I informed of this decision were my son and my baby girl (firstborn and I were not “friends” through tremendous insight on her part). I did not want them to think the worst (i.e., that I was drinking) or that I was reacting to anything they posted...blah, blah, blah. Maybe I should have given those who love me a "heads up" also. I actually thought about it, but didn't want it to become a drama. Least of all, my drama. And if I'm going to be honest, I guess I didn't think it would matter. I didn't think I would matter. Wrong, again. (Doggone shortcomings.)

My purpose was simply to remove a source of “all about me” reactions. Meaning: I was reading a lot into status updates and taking them personally or using it as a way to divert my attention through the drama of others. By removing that temptation, I have thwarted the formation of new resentments or the perpetuation of old ones. Ahhh.

The truth of the matter is: anyone, with whom I have a “real” relationship that was also my Facebook “friend”, deserves more personal communication from me. And I have phone numbers or email addresses with which to do that. The superficial means of staying in touch that this forum provided was actually a means of avoidance. I was living in a virtual world. Not the real world. So, by closing down that method of communication, I will be forced to have real conversations about real issues, not maintain or support the persona that is/was reflected in the virtual world. And I will be inspired to get out of self by initiating contact with those I love, just for the sake of catching up. It may have taken almost two weeks and a health crisis to do so, but I believe I am on the right road. (Now, if I could just bring myself to quit visiting the blog of APS [Antisocial/Psychopath Sister].)

I think this all comes back to acceptance. I’m not sure how yet. I haven’t gotten that far in the processing. But there’s this niggling feeling, in the pit of my stomach.

You know the one.

And there’s medicine for that, too.

Thank you for paying me a 12 Step call.

From the moral high ground.

I woke up restless. I’m bugged about a few things. Prayer and meditation did not relieve my mind and heart.

Most of what is on my mind this morning has to do with integrity. So I looked up synonyms searching for a firmer grasp.

Integrity: honesty, principle, honor, virtue, goodness, morality, purity, righteousness, probity, rectitude, truthfulness, trustworthiness, incorruptibility, uprightness, scrupulousness, reputability.

A definition:
1 : firm adherence to a code of especially moral or artistic values : incorruptibility
2 : an unimpaired condition : soundness
3 : the quality or state of being complete or undivided : completeness

An opinion: Integrity comes from the Greek words 'integritas' and 'integra' meaning whole. It enters into any aspect of one's life. It's belief system without faltering no matter how dangerous, how unpopular the person makes themselves to others. It includes: sincerity, keeping one's word and agreements, honesty, truthfulness, ethics, fairness and justice, punctuality and never faltering for what one believes in.

Nowhere in my quest did I find permission to judge another person’s integrity.

So the question is: if I choose to live my life by a certain “moral code” can I escape judgment of others with the simple mantra “Live and Let Live”? And how, if I am to be true to what I believe is right, can I abide what I believe to be wrong within my circle of friends? Is it enough to close my eyes to maintain the friendship, or need I walk away? And is walking away a form of judgment, placing myself and my values on a moral high ground?

A favorite quote of mine was delivered to me by Firstborn during the depths of my active alcoholism.
“No man, for any considerable period, can wear one face to himself and another to the multitude without finally getting bewildered as to which may be the true.” Nathanial Hawthorne—The Scarlet Letter.

Another is on my 2 year coin: "To thine own self be true."

My heart is aching just a little. I must tread lightly. It's a long way down.

Thank you for paying me a 12 Step call.

Any lengths.

Since yesterday’s romance, I have been talking to anyone who will listen. I phoned my sponsor after I spoke with my daughter, I told my roommates, I told M and others at the recovery home, I shared about it from the podium tonight. I was of service again to the woman who is renewing her vow of sobriety. I lead tonight’s meeting as the secretary, and secured speakers through the end of June. I attended a planning meeting for a fundraiser for AALA and offered my services without hesitation or self imposed restrictions. And I received and accepted warmth, love, hugs, and kisses at the meeting’s end. (Even from the person I’ve been avoiding who happened to show up tonight for the first time in months…Providence?)

The advice I received is as varied as our backgrounds and stories. What rang louder than anything for me was the chat I had with JBM, the woman that relapsed after a significant number of years of sobriety. I really picked her brain today (and it was her infinite wisdom that I share tonight so she “arranged” for my lottery ticket to be pulled…yeah, we do that sometimes when schtuff like this happens in our fellowship). I was most shaken by the fact that I could not sufficiently conjure up “the consequences” of taking that drink. What she said was…”Honey, if none of those things could stop you then, what makes you think they’d stop you now?” That made sense. She brought me back to what I was feeling on my last drunk (which was actually anticlimactic) and the hamster wheel I was on to kill those feelings. That was painful.

I don’t usually re-read my journal entries but I did this afternoon. The ones from the first days sober, and the ones from the first few days living in the recovery home. (I was sober 23 days when I moved in there, not that it matters. The feelings were the same.) I can’t even believe I am the same person. I’m not actually. The packaging is the same, but everything else has changed.

Even today, when I think back on yesterday’s seduction, I can’t believe that was me. My brain. Without mental defense against the first drink. There are moments when I am shaken, but for the most part, I feel like an objective observer. OO. It already feels like eons ago. I don’t know whether that’s a good thing or not.

Someone asked me this evening if it was the interruption by the phone or the person calling that stopped me. Would it have made a difference if it were my son, my baby girl, a friend, a bill collector, etc.? I honestly don’t know. I never want to be close enough again to find out. I’m assured by long-timers that it still happens even with 15+ years. With that in mind, I will pick brains, work the steps, listen, pray and meditate, go to meetings, work with other alcoholics, be of service, pick up the phone, and stand on my head if I have to. Any lengths.

Thank you for paying me a 12 Step call.

Shake-N-Bake for Easter Dinner?

I was blessed beyond measure to spend Easter Dinner at the recovery home that taught me to live life again. It was a small gathering as most of the residents spent the weekend with family or friends. Among the guests were 2 current residents, the weekend staff member, myself, and 2 women (alumni) whom I met my first day in the House. The three of us have seen each other consistently since I moved out of the House a year ago, but we have not spent the amount of one-on-one time together that we had become accustomed to. Both of these women are my Sober Sisters. Women for whom I would move mountains, and who have done that very thing for me. It was dinner tonight with these women that gave me the gift of feeling like you can go home again.

My tears at the end of the movie “Talladega Nights” actually were the catalyst that brought me to this conclusion. (For anyone that has seen that movie this may sound insane. And I kind of giggle at the thought myself. It truly was an awful movie, but the thrill of seeing a race track today when NASCAR did not race was worth the pain of watching.) I knew I felt a feeling of peace within that hasn’t been there for a while after I left the House, but I wasn’t sure exactly why until after the tears had begun falling.

The three of us have very diverse backgrounds. Back in the day, we were people who “normally would not mix”. Our current paths are just as different as our pasts. Life has taken us in what seems at times like opposite directions. By virtue of the fact that we share a connection to the House and have many mutual friends, we have remained acquainted with the surface structure of each others’ lives. Any involvement deeper than that, sadly, has been somewhat swept away by the business of life.

At dinner, as C lovingly prepared her mother’s Bunny Salad, I was reminded of the demons with which she struggles. Her path has not been easy, yet she gives to others without expectation of anything in return. There are many times I wish I were more like her. If I could conquer her demons for her, I would. Instead, all I can do is love her the way I know that she loves me. Unconditionally. It has not always been this way for us. It amazes me to think of how far we each have come in our recovery and our friendship since the day we met over 2 years ago. It was her invitation (and the chance to pass on to her the boxes I had not yet sentenced to the trash heap) that prompted me to accept the invitation extended by the staff member earlier in the weekend.

M was not expected for dinner so it was a wonderful surprise that she should join us. I spend less time with her than I do C, so being able to sit down and chat was a welcome event. She is a beautiful, strong woman whose aura oozes peace and serenity. She has an incredible connection to her HP which bubbles over to how she relates to others. M often makes a point of making one feel very loved by letting you know how often you are in her thoughts. She did just that tonight when she told me that one of her journals flipped open the other day to an entry about me. She had tears in her eyes as she spoke. It was an entry from our trip to Chicago for my father’s funeral. It was something she did out of love and without hesitation and it was my first feeling of true friendship.

So…how does “Talladega Nights” fit here? Sharing the Winner's Circle with a true friend. It gets me every time.

Thank you for paying me a 12 Step call.

Don't cross THIS line.

Date and I went to the meeting in Long Beach tonight that I cancelled 2 weeks ago. It was nice to take an evening drive and spend some time with my new friend. Outwardly he appears in a good place, or as good as he can be after the loss of his mother, and I think it did us both well to escape the city for a short time. This is a relatively new meeting a fair distance from home and I was looking forward to being anonymous. Well…if I didn’t believe it before, I certainly believe it now. It truly is a small world.

I was recognized and again called by name by someone I did not remember. It was a warm, instead of disorienting, feeling this time and I have made a mental note to pay attention to the friend requests I accept on Facebook. You never know who you’re going to run into. Seriously.

The uncomfortable moment came when I noticed that someone I have been trying to avoid and from whom I discourage communication was also there. I try not to avoid many people. I find it rude and hurtful. Yet, I just can’t shake this person. I feel smothered and just plain icky in his company. I haven’t heard from him in a couple of months, so I thought I had neatly gotten my message across without having to speak hurtful words.

But who was I trying to spare? Me, of course. My unreturned phone calls, ignored texts, and false interest in other things when we are in the same room served my purposes very well. I could easily blame him for not being intuitive, being clingy, or just plain creepy. What I can’t seem to do is look at how I am unable (or unwilling) to set boundaries. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that my sponsor and I talked about this very issue this morning over coffee. The irony of the meeting’s name, “Principles Before Personalities” and the speaker’s chosen theme, “Honesty” also did not escape my notice.

Why can’t I be honest about my interest (or disinterest) in a relationship, or how my willingness to remain involved at a level at which I was once comfortable has changed? Why do I find it so difficult to articulate my needs? Why do I fear a display of hurt feelings in response? Why do I assume that THAT response it the one I will receive? This is an issue with which I have made very slow progress, if any at all. My sponsor may say I’m being too hard on myself and that I have made progress setting boundaries, but tonight I feel as if I took a few steps backwards.

With this chance encounter, I fear there will be an attempt at renewed contact. My brain is in a twist. And my gut tells me it’s going to be there for a long time unless I just do the work. If I set my boundaries in a loving way and stay out of the business of how that affects the other person, aren’t I giving both of us a chance at growth?

Of course, I need to learn how to set healthy boundaries at the onset of a relationship. I see serious work in my future.

Thank you for paying me a 12 Step call.

Tic...Tic...Tic...

A favorite AA quip of the old timers around here is: “If you want to make God laugh, tell Him your plans.” Well, uh…yeah. So last night as I prepared for bed and ruminated over the task of moving towards a solution to the crisis I experienced earlier in the evening, I began to pray for the knowledge of His will for me and the power to carry that out…tomorrow. Yep…He laughed.

As it turns out, my Cuban roommate overheard portions of my telephone conversation with my sponsor. He knew I was distressed which distressed him. (Yes, we’re all codependent around here!) So he approached my closed door and my darkened room and knocked.

I couldn't help overhearing your phone conversation. Would you like to talk about it?
Yes, I would, but I need to put some distance between my initial reaction and actually talking about it.
Okay, but you know we are here. But I won’t be able to sleep until we get this out in the open.
(Grrrr…) Okay, I’ll be right out.

You know what happened? The fuse that was lit earlier, so rapidly and so potentially destructive, fizzled out as if a bucketful of sand had been thrown on it. The paralyzing fear of talking about my hurt feelings turned out to be a product of my alcoholic thinking. Catastrophic thinking. Stinkin’ Thinkin’.

The three of us talked for over an hour, related to each other on a level that we hadn’t previously and resolved this misunderstanding. We methodically covered each point, not moving on until all of us were in agreement and comfortable. Huh! It felt good to face the fear and talk about where it came from, why it was so incapacitating, and take a positive action to prevent further misunderstanding and resentment. When all was said and done, I felt like I had conquered K2.

I believe that God knows what is in my heart whether I consciously articulate it or not. Prayer is a way to make “conscious” contact with my Higher Power and I believe it is more for me than anything else. What I didn’t realize is that in my prayers last night, I was attempting to control the outcome by postponing this confrontation (for lack of a better word) by praying for the right moment, praying for the right words, praying for the willingness, blah, blah, blah. Things happen in my life on God’s Time. I just need to take the first step in faith.

Thank you for paying me a 12 Step call.

It's on the shelf where I put it.

My firstborn child, a daughter, called this morning. What a joy! I was planning on calling her later in the day, after the race. While it’s not unusual for her to reach out, the fact that she was doing so on the very day I planned to call her, without pre-arranging via text, was a sign I should turn off the TV and turn my attention to her.

As usual, we talked about a variety of things. She’s a junior in college and not only well informed on many topics, but just plain fun. She is well read, and a gifted musician and writer. She’s also street wise and had to grow up very quickly when my disease put on its running shoes. Our conversations are always interesting. I do tread lightly at times because her pain over the hardships she suffered at my hand is often palpable. Lately she has let me see that she has comforting memories that affect her positively, even now. It touches me deeply that she can reveal these things to me. It didn’t used to be that way. She’s opening up and I couldn’t be more grateful.

When I suggested she make contact with her brother (to check his liberty schedule) when she travels to within driving distance of where he is stationed next month, it opened a wound. She and her brother haven’t spoken since a disagreement they had over the New Year’s holiday. I had no idea. (This is actually a triumph that indicates I’m fairly successful in keeping our chats focused on who I am talking to at the time.) I know only bits and pieces but did not pry. I wanted to…yes, I wanted to meddle. But this is between them.

My mother’s heart aches for time lost. Her pain is obvious when she talks about this rift between them. What I wanted to say is that this is silly. That life is too short. That no matter what, they are siblings and in the end, family is what matters. I wanted to say so much, but didn’t. What I did say was that as their mom, of course I would like them to reconcile, but that in the end, they needed to work through this themselves,and if she wanted to talk about it, I'd listen. When I think about it now, I think I may have meddled after all. I did tell her that he once told me that before he left for boot camp, they had become close, and it was her absence at his graduation that disappointed him the most. I wish I hadn’t done that. I now realize I was attempting to tug at her heart strings. Manipulating. (My nephews would recognize this and say to her: “Pack your bags, you’re goin’ on a guilt trip!”) And my motives are difficult to accept. I wanted to fix their relationship to feel good about me.

Enter: my own codependency issues. I guess it’s time to take a certain suggestion down from the shelf, dust it off, and step into another phase of my recovery. Why doesn’t this surprise me?

Thank you for paying me a 12 Step call.

You got here in that?

I spend a lot of time avoiding activities that may bring certain memories to my conscious mind. For the most part, I generally don’t think I’m aware of that as the reason. (Okay, so maybe there’s a little denial in that statement.) But I do know it was my inability to deal with the feelings associated with these memories that inevitably led to hitting my bottom, so maybe it’s a form of self-preservation against taking that first drink. In the past, when faced with certain memories without the aid of alcohol, I could feel my heart and mind shatter into a million pieces. Now, by using my spiritual tools, I can have a very different experience.

Today, a friend and I went somewhere I’d been dying to go, yet in 3 years of living here, I have not even attempted. As we wandered through the exhibits at Petersen Automotive Museum, I experienced certain flashes of pain and at times felt the walls closing in on me. I wanted to get out; run. And then it happened. I spoke the words that I had avoided thinking much less uttering out loud. “I’m having a tough time differentiating between the things that are truly me and the things that are a by-product of who I used to be.” I put a voice to the fear and took the power out of it. It suddenly sounded so ridiculous.

What I realized in that very moment is that it really doesn’t matter. What matters is that I was enjoying the moment fully and completely. This is who I am-- Today. And what it took to get here was necessary. It’s a part of me. In all honesty, there are a lot more pleasurable memories than painful ones. And they are a package deal.

I don’t want to run from place to place anymore, searching for the true me. It’s exhausting. I am recovering alcoholic with a past and a future, period. I can no more change that, than I can change when the sun rises or sets.

I love antiques. I love old black & white movies. I love Prairie Style homes and furnishings. I love camping and fishing. I love American Art Pottery. I love all things that go fast. And on this day, I discovered that I do love cars.

Who cares why? It is a part of my patina.

Thank you for paying me a 12 Step call.

It's only me...

I got to talk with my son last night. He is in the Navy and between his school schedule and his duties, it’s difficult to know when he’s available to chat. I texted him a couple of times over the last few days and received no response and that got the committee in my head started. What did I do, or not do to make him avoid me? Oh yeah…I’ve got it bad.

My mom used to call me and when I didn’t answer, she’d hang up. When I saw her number on the missed caller ID and no message was left, my mind would race to places way out there. I finally got her to start leaving messages so that I knew: 1) when she called, and 2) if it was a “hey, there’s something important we need to talk about” or “it’s been a while since we talked and I just wanted to catch up”. (Yes, this was more about me than anything else.) So her messages started and more often than not it sounded like this: “Hey Jul, it’s only Mom. I never know when to call you, so…um…give me a call when you have time, okay?”

It’s only been in my sobriety that I have begun to think about this as another extension of how unimportant she felt. It’s difficult to look at my part in that. Did I do what I could to show her exactly how valued she was? Probably not. Okay, definitely not. And I wish I could do it over again. But I can’t. So instead, I’m working on staying in touch with my children, accepting their limitations, strengthening my own feelings of self-worth, and trying to not project my insecurities on them. When I remember my mom and try to conjure her voice, it is that voicemail that is played in my memory. And I embrace it.

So my son and I did talk. And it was as wonderful as always. It wasn’t too long ago that he would have nothing to do with me, so I feel eternally blessed that we have the relationship we do today. It turns out he’s got a lot going on and didn’t want to rehash some of it with me. I did my best to reassure him that I won’t push if he just says that he doesn’t want to talk about that right now, but I will ask because what’s important to him is important to me. Only time will tell if he can ever trust me again. As I try to live my life based on integrity and principles, I will become a better mom, giving my children what I didn’t give to them for so long.

“When we knew better, we did better.” (Thank you, Pammie.)

Thank you for paying me a 12 Step call.

Baruch dayan emet: Blessed be the one true Judge

It’s a gloomy morning here in LA, which complements my mood perfectly.

I awoke to the news that my “date’s” mother passed away early this morning. It was one of those moments that took my breath away. She had been in the hospital and her discharge was planned for today-tomorrow at the latest. He had been reeling over the ramifications of finding an ideal living situation that would provide her with the care that she would need on a daily basis. What a difference only a few hours can make. When I messaged him this morning, he was in a meeting. He was doing what he needed to do to take care of himself. Something I am not doing for me.

My “date” knows of the difficulty I am having right now. He does not sit in judgment of me or my actions. He does not question my willingness, my work, or my “way”. He is just “there”, providing the love and acceptance I cannot seem to muster up for myself at this very moment. And he is doing what is right for him today.

Being raised in the Catholic faith, I am fairly ignorant to the beliefs and rituals of other faiths. I have many AA friends now that are of the Jewish faith, so I am learning slowly, but this morning, in my desire to provide him with the support he needs, I did a little research into the proper etiquette in this situation. I was struck by the phrase “Baruch dayan emet” and its significance, not only for my Jewish fellows, but for me, today.

I am not finished pondering this concept. I have a lot of work to do.

For my “date”: I wish you long life.

Thank you for paying me a 12 step call.

Stuck

Wow! It’s been a while since I’ve felt this stuck. I have absolutely no desire to do anything.

This is the second Wednesday in a row that I have missed my favorite meeting. Missed? MISSED?? Uh, no. I made a decision to NOT GO. I have the every other month commitment of secretary. This is my month “off” and in true alcoholic fashion, if I don’t have to be there, the slightest excuse can get me to stay home. Never mind that this is the first meeting where I felt safe. It was the first place where I shared openly and honestly without fear of judgment. Oddly enough, it is not the women’s meeting at the recovery home I lived and worked in for 10 and 4 months, respectively. This is a gay men’s meeting.

These wonderful men have loved me, unconditionally, since the day we met. You know, I was thinking yesterday when the treasurer of this meeting called me pretty…he meant it. I laughed at first, but then I realized that he doesn’t see the outside me. He sees the inside me. It took me a long time to realize that what I love about this meeting is that I don’t have to dress pretty, put on make-up, try to lose a tremendous amount of extra weight, or become someone I’m not to be loved and valued. I get to just be me. It's like I have this gay entourage who have adopted me for the sole purpose of teaching me that I am worthy of nothing but the best. It is a wonderful thing to not worry about committing a faux pas of one variety or other and to be able to concentrate on my sobriety. In every other area of my life, though, I feel as if I am lacking—somehow less than.

Though I am accepted fully, I am starting to feel as if I do not belong here. And I know the longer I stay away, the more difficult time I will have convincing myself to go back. And we know what follows. So, what is the real problem here?

I’m being selfish, self-centered, and self-pitying. I’m having a tough time and I just want to feel miserable. It’s easier than doing the work. I know what I need to do. I am just not willing. I suppose when the pain of holding on to this becomes greater than the pain of letting go, I’ll do the work. Until then…

I don’t know.

Thank you for paying me a 12 step call.

A precious gift.

Sometimes a day is just a day. Nothing out of the ordinary happens; nothing to inspire self reflection or offer opportunity for growth. Usually, I welcome those days. They give my mind a rest, and lately with all of the step work I’ve been doing, I was beginning to think there was no reprieve in sight.

Today was such a day. I just did what was in front of me. The morning rhythm that I have come to enjoy since I broadened my recovery community by blogging was interrupted by an early venture, but I’ve learned to be flexible. “Improvise, adapt, overcome”, (from the Clint Eastwood movie Heartbreak Ridge) has become my mantra when my mojo is threatened. It works. I just postponed my routine a little. No need to run amok. The remainder of the day was uneventful.

Then…

My baby called. (The youngest of 3) She is 17 years old. I was pleasantly surprised to hear from her during the week. I try to call each of them once each weekend (I’m trying not to smother them) and she & I had already spoken on Sunday. Usually the call times are arranged through text messaging. I know it sounds so impersonal, but when you have kids that grew up with text messages, sometimes it’s the most effective way to communicate. I arrange my schedule around theirs as much as possible for this call because it is about THEM, not me. For so long I put my needs first. They deserve to have their needs supersede mine now and for a long time to come. I do let them know they can call me anytime. Sometimes they do. Like today.

She had a rough day. Preceded by a rough night. Nothing she really wanted to talk about. I didn’t push. Sometimes kids just need to hear Mom’s voice, I guess. (I can’t get the image of me righting the crystal chick yesterday out of my mind!)

What a precious gift!

Thank you for paying me a 12 Step call.

Feeling...

A veil of melancholy is covering me today. I miss my mom. As it so often happens when “celebrating” the anniversary of a significant event, my thoughts have taken me to the dangerous neighborhood of sorrow and regret.

I cancelled an evening meeting tonight with my “date” from the fundraiser of last week. We were to go to a new meeting he wanted to try in Long Beach. I’m just not feeling social. I had read his FB post about visiting his mother in the hospital earlier in the day; first there was envy, then floods of memories of visiting my own mother in the hospital 7 years ago came rushing back. Instead of making excuses when I phoned, I was honest about my need to just "be" tonight. Sometimes I feel the need to sit with the feelings I was so accustomed to erasing with alcohol. It's a miracle to be able to acknowledge and survive their existence now. He was loving and supportive and truly a blessing in my life.

Before I left Mom's hospital room the evening of the 20th, she tried to tell me not to “bother” coming to visit the next day. She didn’t want to be a burden. She wanted me to go to work and not let her illness worry me or alter my plans. (She was always saying things like that which leads me to believe she was unaware of her profound importance in the lives of those who loved her.) My baby brother was there with me and we sat with her for a while as she faded in and out of sleep. We were both there when the priest came to perform The Anointing Of The Sick. I remember feeling alone in the moments immediately following the prayer. Incredibly alone. There was a dread that settled in my heart as we left her. That dread has resurfaced today. And the pain is as crippling now as it was then.

Thankfully, I was blessed to be with her as she passed from her earthly life to her eternal life the following afternoon. Those memories I will put away until tomorrow.

I am starting my day tomorrow at one of my favorite meetings on the beach. The tumultuous crashing of the surf somehow brings me peace and that is where I feel most connected to my Higher Power. I didn’t used to seek God in times of emotional distress. I used to escape into the alcoholic abyss. Today, prayer is my first thought; my first action.

And that is how I choose to honor my mother.

Thank you for paying me a 12 Step call.

TCB (AKA: Self-Care)

Haircut and pedicure day. I don’t know why I put them off for so long. I wait until I absolutely can’t stand it anymore. My hair gets out of control and I am ashamed to wear open toed shoes (which in LA is positively sinful this time of year). Unmanageability. Yep. That sounds right up my alley.

So why don’t I take better care of myself? Wow. I don’t have an answer. I could blame it on finances, but that is only a recent ailment that prevents me from doing things. I fear the issue has its roots in my childhood as I watched my mother do very little for herself. She was busy raising 8 children, doting over my father, and working a full-time job. I have none of those excuses. She wore the same clothing day after day, went infrequently to have her hair done, and I don’t think she ever had a professional manicure, much less a pedicure. (Oh, wait. I think she may have had her nails done for my sister’s wedding when the bridal party had ours done the morning of the wedding.) I remember watching her hands when I was young and thinking how beautiful they were. The few times she did polish her nails were really a treat. Always a light shade with sparkles. As she aged, it was sad to witness that her skin had lost its elasticity and sometimes when I look at my own aging hands, I remember my mother.

In any event, they say children learn what they live. While I’ve always been a fan of that sentiment, I believe in this case it’s a cop out. Where the problem really lies, I think, is the overall feeling of unworthiness that is planted deep inside of me. Penance for the wreckage of my alcoholic past. And while I’m beginning to shake that pall that I wear so comfortably, it requires a lot of hard work and deprogramming.

My stylist is a man, and “one of us”. For the first time ever, I went to his home for my cut. He knew I would be coming soon as he had been following my grow-out (as any stylist worth his mettle would do) via the pictures on Facebook. (Life as it is revealed on the World Wide Web…it’s mind boggling, isn’t it?) We sat for a while before the actual cut in his cozy living room chatting like old friends. This is incredible since this is only the 3rd or 4th time I’ve interacted with him, and the second time he’s cut my hair. But as only another alcoholic can understand, there is an instant kinship…an understanding which can only be explained through the language of the heart. This was a wonderful start to my day. God’s work is an amazing thing. I don’t know who benefitted more from our morning, but I have the feeling we each went on with our days just a little lighter in our steps. (And I was minus a whole lot of hair!)

I went with a floral design of color for my French pedicure. After all, it IS spring. I don’t have pretty feet by any stretch of the imagination, but I should treat them kinder than I do. They have the tremendous task of carrying my frame for the rest of my life. Making that statement just now made me realize that my connection to my Higher Power is very much like my feet. Not necessarily well tended to, but not a failure to me thus far. Both require more attention than I have been giving.

So, by taking care of business today, I am investing in myself. And that is definitely progress.

Thank you for paying me a 12 Step call.

Dinner on the homefront.

I really felt uninspired all day today. I think the step-work I’m doing is taking its toll.

I usually look forward to cooking a meal, but I was considering cancelling making dinner this evening for my 2 roommates. This normally wouldn’t be a big deal, but it’s the first time since I’ve lived here with this couple that we’ve made a point of having a “family meal”. After the shenanigans of the last couple of weeks with my aborted move, I made the suggestion so that we could hopefully bond and get to know each other a little.

Grilled Chicken Kabobs with Red and Green Peppers. Steamed Long Grain and Wild Rice. Sautéed Mushrooms. I forgot how much I enjoy cooking and entertaining. We all stood in the kitchen chatting as the meal was prepared, then sat at the table pleasantly conversing while we enjoyed the meal. Nothing mind-bending. Just light conversation about our days and our plans for the upcoming weekend.

All in all, I think it went well. I was surprised that my Irish roommate attended at all as he was not thrilled with the suggestion to begin with. His suggestion was that we meet for dinner after a meeting. His schedule is far too busy to commit to spending any time at home. To me that kind of blew the whole purpose: creating memories in our home. In the end, his schedule allowed him to participate with my Cuban roommate and me, and he seemed surprised at how things turned out. I wasn’t surprised at all. It’s what families do to stay in touch. My parents taught me that. Thank you, God!

This dinner, though, I fear will be an anomaly. It truly isn’t often that our schedules permit us to share an evening together at home. And that somewhat saddens me. I long for the feeling of a family unit again. Oh, I know that my AA family is ever present in my life, but for me, the memories of “home” and sharing a meal, a movie, a game of cribbage, or just sitting around the table having coffee, all in your own home, is a hole in my life I am yearning to have filled.

I realize now as I sit here lamenting over better days gone by, the anniversary of my mother’s death is bearing down on me. (Sunday the 21st will mark 7 years.) With the step-work I’m doing, there are a lot of memories, good and bad, being brought to the surface. My sponsor has taught me that I cannot ignore the emotionally toxic memories. They have just as equal a part in who I am today as the fluffy feel-good memories. In recovery, the two can co-exist. It is my choice which I project.

So today, I will accept this dinner as a token of hope that I am making forward progress in my recovery and in my relationship with my roommates. I will view it is a success in taking contrary action. I will acknowledge that maybe the family dinners of my childhood may just be a little romanticized in my mind. And I will thank my Higher Power for another day sober.

Thank you for paying me a 12 Step call.

When the light goes out.

What do you do when your favorite lamp quits working? Yes, I tried changing the light bulb and checking the breaker for the outlet. Nothing. The problem clearly lies within the wiring of the lamp itself. I’m handy with a lot of things around the house, but wiring is something for which I have a great deal of respect. And I don’t mess with it. My father was constantly repairing all things electrical. My ex-husband did as well. There were a few incidents that occurred as a result of incomplete or hurried repairs, and thankfully no one was hurt, but for the most part, I trusted that the power that ran though the wiring would do so without serious interruption to my comfort.

I have a few options here:
1) Do nothing and keep the lamp in the corner, as a purely decorative piece which serves no purpose other than as a reminder of what it once provided.
2) Have the lamp repaired which will require time and energy, knowing it is injured and at some point may become a danger to my well being.
3) Discard the lamp, mourn its loss, and replace it with a new lamp which, if chosen carefully, quite possibly will provide me with longer lasting enjoyment as well as be more complimentary to my current needs.

This lamp thing has me bugged. Not because it is broken, but because of the similarities between the options for resolution of the broken lamp and the options for resolution of broken relationships.

None of the options here are perfect. But a choice must be made. It’s not working anymore. And when something isn’t working anymore, we take action. Right? If repairs are made thoughtfully and with the help of others who have some experience, hopefully the changes that are made out of necessity will create only a tiny disturbance to my comfort. Discomfort with change is always a given in my life. But eventually I accept it and move on. Moving on is easy, what it leaves behind is difficult.

Thank you for paying me a 12 Step call.

What have I got to lose?

Some days I just really get so emotionally worn out. Take today for example.

I wasn’t able to make it to my usual support group at 6 because I couldn’t pee. (Yeah, there’s a story there, just not today.) I did the responsible thing and notified the facilitator that I would be coming to the 7 PM meeting instead. Rushing through downtown LA traffic to actually make good on that was harrowing enough without the committee working overtime in my brain over the pee thing. (Seriously, this is an issue which requires more time to explain than I have now.) I received a text message in transit that was upsetting. Potential bad news for a loved one. Sigh. “This is the last place I want to be” was my mantra as I walked to the meeting room. Ever feel like that?

WELL…person after person described in detail how hopeless they felt. So hopeless that using again seemed like a viable option. The monologue in my head was going something like this: "OMG! This is taking forever. Can we not move it along so we can just get out of here?" (Sound familiar?) At some point I stopped being self-obsessed and started actually listening. And to remember what it felt like to be there. To feel that desperation. To not be able to see a way out. To just say “screw it” and have a drink. It’s overwhelming.

When it came my time to share and the words started flowing, my gratitude over how much my life has changed in the past 2+ years hit me solidly. Things may not be the way I planned at this stage of my life, but they are far better than when I got here. And I never have to go back to living like that ever again.

I think one of the reasons I don’t drink is that I never want to have to stand up as a newcomer again. To admit I lost the time I accumulated in front of friends and loved ones would really suck. But what I need to remember, is, that the only way to lose is to end up in a body bag. So, I’ll keep coming back. Just one more time.

Thank you for paying me a 12 Step call.