The first step.

I haven’t been feeling well the past few days. My stomach is kind of feeble and my head feels like it is swimming. The physical aches are there, too, though not as bothersome. The combination of the three makes me feel disoriented. I am performing those things that are really only the bare minimum as I have no energy. I wonder if I’m coming down with something, or if clinical depression is settling in for an extended visit.

I’ve neglected my laundry and cleaning my room and bathrooms. My desk is piled with clutter. It’s not terribly disconcerting. I feel as though it reflects my current state of affairs.

I am not working and that is definitely a source of angst. Yet I can’t seem to get serious about my search. I think there’s a certain sense of shame I’m feeling over having been laid off. It’s not rational. For the first time since my spiral into the abyss of alcoholism, I did nothing to bring this unfortunate result. I was a worker among workers. I showed up on time, even early, every day. I didn’t goof off while I was at work. I stayed late. I went above and beyond my job description when my director was on an extended medical leave, performing her duties as well as mine. And above all else, I didn’t drink.

So why am I in such fear? It wasn’t the ideal job. There were many downfalls. If I had it to do over again, knowing what I know now about the company, the people, and the philosophy, I probably wouldn’t take the job. The biggest source of distress was acting as interim director. It put me in such a position to remember and feel every horrendous feeling I had at my last position. Without the ability to blot it all out without the aid of alcohol. I was angry I was again in a position that brought such unpleasantness. I didn’t like myself much back then, and those feelings came creeping back to the surface. I heaved a sigh of relief when the director returned, though I doubted her ability to continue in her position. The few months I worked with her, I felt like I was looking at myself in a mirror from 2 ½ years ago. I think that was the scariest thing about it all. (I’m saving her a seat.) I was starting to become that person again in my thoughts. A week after her return, I was downsized. I’ve come to believe that God did for me what I could (or would) not do for myself.

Sigh. It’s uncomfortable to try to explain my job-hopping in an interview. I don’t want to have to go through that again, then jump at the first offer I receive, only to have it end up like this. I am good at what I do. Very good. And I love it. Why am I feeling so paralyzed now?

Illness or depression? Sloth or fear? Victim of the economy or shame?

It doesn’t matter I guess. I just need to start putting one foot in front of the other. Whether I feel like it or not. And leave the results up to God.

I don’t need to see the whole staircase. I just need to take the first step in faith. (Credit: Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.)

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.

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.

You can't always get what you want.

I went to my former, almost-roommate's apartment this morning to pick up a piece of mail. (I had changed my address, a little prematurely, and apparently the correction hasn't taken effect yet.) Being the trusting person he is, he messaged me that the key would be available in our pre-arranged location. In hindsight, I should have returned his message to let him know that I was on my way over. (Character defects can sneak up and smack you at the oddest times.) Instead, I arrived, unannounced. Upon entering the apartment, I heard his voice, then saw he was talking on the phone. His distress was obvious, as this kind, gentle man wears his emotions on his sleeve.

Through our brief association, I have come to adore him. We've bonded over CMA chips (of which I am not a fan...early recover story to follow someday), lumpia, stories about butterknives, wonderful dreams of sharing our new home with mutual friends, and then the disappointing blow to our plans. ( "Our plans". Therein lies the root of the problem.) We did what was asked of us by the landlord. We decided that if we are going to live our lives honestly, that is, differently than we have in the past, we would follow direction and not lie or cheat (AKA: manipulate) our way into what we wanted. I would not move in until the "approval" was final. We would leave the results to our Higher Powers and live in acceptance of whatever the outcome would be.

Ah, yes. Acceptance.

As it turns out, my credit is horrible. (Like THAT was a newsflash!) That was the basis for the denial. Funny how things work. I pushed ahead, without any knowledge of the details of my credit report, but imagining it was pretty bad. Talk about denial! (DENIAL=Don't Even Notice I Am Lying) So, my lesson here has been to take care of what's in front of me instead of living in the future. Things like finding a job, concentrating on my program, and performing financial amends. The amazing thing is, that I've looked at my report now, put it on paper, and when it comes down to an actual dollar amount, it's not a scary as I thought. Well...once I have a job, anyway. But that's another story for later.

Then there's the component of my current living situation. Which isn't horrible, in all honesty. What I was doing, in part, was running from one situation, to another without examining what my part in my discomfort here really is. That needs to change. Pronto. I am not a child who cannot stand up for herself. The roommate with which I have difficulty, may resemble my father and my ex-husband in many ways, but he is not them, nor is he responsible for my feelings. I forget who said this, but it certainly fits: "You are not responsible for the programming you picked up in childhood. However, as an adult, you are one hundred percent responsible for fixing it." So, I am resolved to live in the moment and do what's in front of me, today. Open my eyes to the reality. And change what I can about me.

Back to my former, almost-roommate. He too, made peace with the final decision. He began "nesting" and was doing his best to come to terms with the uncertainty he felt about living alone as a sober individual for the first time in a very long time. I was actually envious. While I dream to be living in a place of my own, I am not ready financially or strong enough in my recovery yet. His distress this morning was with his landlord. Apparently, he was served, just moments before I arrived, with a 3-day notice to vacate. He took the bit in his teeth and called the landlord to inquire into the infraction that would bring such a harsh action, only to be told that he was in violation of the lease by having an unauthorized tenant living with him. Oh, brother, did my brain grab this and run with it! See, again we go back to our "plans". Though I stayed in my current situation pending the final decision, I was so certain that this was a done deal, that I had my new (well, new to me) bedroom set delivered to his apartment a couple of days before we got the final "no". Then a week after the blow was delivered, had the bedroom set removed again. All of that activity spurred the resident snitch to phone the landlord. What a mess! My friend is facing eviction, and all I could think about was how I was at fault, or not at fault. Self-centered? You bet. But as I watched my dear friend, who has shown me nothing but kindness and compassion since we met 2 years ago, agonize over this terrible turn of events, I was suddenly mute. I ran some of the AA slogans through my head and decided to not utter a single one. Instead, I listened, hugged him, and left. Hopefully it was what he needed.

I don't know what lies ahead for my former, almost-roommate, nor do I know what lies ahead for me. I do know, however, that we each have grown in our recovery. We got what we needed. And we have grown in our friendship. Now all that's left is to accept it, learn from it, and pass it on.

Thank you for paying me a 12 Step call.

So, I'm starting a blog...

What am I thinking???  Why would I open myself up to scrutiny by publishing a blog?  Especially one that has my recovery from alcoholism at its foundation?  I don't really have an answer to that question myself.  I do, however, know, that through writing, I have made some of the most profound discoveries about myself.  These have helped me to grow as a person and extend myself to others suffering from the disease of alcoholism.  One of my favorite movies, "Pay It Forward", echoes but one cornerstone of the AA philosophy.  By helping others, we are helping ourselves.  The realizations I have made, and continue to experience about myself thoughout this journey may help another alcoholic.  If I can make a difference in just one other person's life, then I have accomplished much.

In the spirit of my handwritten journals, I will be open, honest, and non-editing.  What I post here will be my unique thought process.  I will maintain the anonymity of my fellowship, so please don't tear up the airwaves, BBM, tweet, Facebook, MySpace, Xanga, etc. by blabbering what you read about so-and-so.  And if what you read strikes a cord because it resembles you, please know that I am including it here, not for shock value or as a point of gossip, but because it has somehow touched a place deep within me. It has given me pause, provided an opportunity for self examination, led me to personal growth, and obviously helped me in my journey. 

Thank you for paying me a 12 Step call.