It was like pulling teeth sometimes to have Jim follow through with couple's therapy sessions. I knew that he'd said that he found it valuable and had really bonded well with Fleet. Yet, it always appeared to be the last thing on his priority list. It was always being bumped. And I'd become frustrated and hurt - as if making it last on the priority list was also saying that I, and our marriage, was. His day was busy, he'd say. It was hard to cut out at the end of the day, leaving things undone at work.
But tonight was important. I needed him to be there. And, knowing what I had growing inside me, I needed him to make a full commitment. We had a LOT of shit to do.
In session that night, I'd asked him if he understood what I'd been asking of him. What I needed. I wanted him to tell me if he thought I was being selfish. (Yes, he thought he understood., for the most part anyway. No, I wasn't being selfish.)
I was curious to know what he felt the working parent's role in a single income family was besides finanicial stability - if any. He'd become defensive on that one. And began to feel that he was being drilled.
I asked him how valuable he thought couples' counselling was for us personally? Is it worth our spending 100-200 bucks a month? (Underneath this was a feeling of guilt that I'd done this to us. I put us here. I was the one that wanted it. I needed to know that he felt it was worth it too). A good way to the get the "right" answer from Jim, though, was to ask it in front of witnesses - witnesses that were highly invested in counselling as well. I was fairly certain I'd get a positive answer from this one....which I did.
So I moved in for commitment. I needed for him to promise me that he'd be willing and capable to put his family first -- me first -- over his job. If he needed to lighten his patient load, or whatever he needed to do in order for him to be there with me regularly.
He agreed, hell or high water, he would do whatever he could to make it on a regular basis.
I told them it was important to me - especially important to me now. Then entered into a long diatribe:
I told them that I'd been resentful for so long with Jim because I didn't feel that he pulled his weight around the home; he didn't play as a team member. Out of selfishness or necessity - it was hard for me to discern- his work and needs always trumped any issue or need of my own. That his life never skipped a beat since having kids.
But in further reflection, I'd told them, I could see that my resentment was mostly for myself. For never having accomplished anything of importance of my own, nor having any sense of accomplishment or success within the household. Resentment was harbored for wanting kids so much for so long, then realizing what a sacrifice I'd made for them. Trying so hard to find happiness in devoting myself to them and my role as a housekeeper, but always devaluing that role. Feeling lost in such a lack of true purpose that I ended up saying yes to everything, mistakenly believing that it WAS my role, believing it was my only outlet for self-worth. I'd realized how my resentment resulted from being so reactive to Jim - making his life easier. Keeping my own desires silent because it was just easier not to have to argue about it.
I was resentful with realizing just how much I'd taught Jim to treat me so that he could be so disrespectful without having a conscious thought about it. For instance, in the past week, my parents were in town for the National Figure Skating championships and we were rushing to head out the door to one of the competitions. Jim was grumbling about doing his monthly chore of going through the bills. Sitting in front of a sports event on TV, his lap was full of mail and the computer, as he tossed all the trash to the floor beneath him, creating a large mound of discards at his feet. I was rushing, my parents at the back door waiting for me, as I searched in the cabinet behind him for our tickets. He proceeded to ask me if I could please pick up the garbage at his feet on my way out.
It wasn't just a couple things.
I didn't make the mess - nor would I dream of asking him to pick up after me.
But rather than start an argument - especially in front of my parents - I bent over, kneeling at his feet and cleared the floor, then bringing over the garbage can to him.
Being aware of how much I cater to him, in that moment I never felt more his slave.
Fleet asked, would you have been angry with her if she'd just said, No?
Jim said he probably would have. It wasn't a job he enjoyed. Thought that I should have been doing it all along, and besides, it was just "a bit" of garbage. But bottom line, I should have spoken up.
Right. I should have. I was also resentful -- no disgusted, actually -- with my inability to stand up for myself. Especially when it's something so important to me. So Important that by my not doing it would affect my whole life.
Not demanding a vasectomy. Or enforcing my own right to decide to have my tubes tied.
And ending up pregnant. The EPITOME of my disgust with myself for bowing to everyone else -- to JIM's expectations of me.
Tears just streaming down my face, their faces blurring in front of me.
You mean....you, you're pregnant.....NOW?! Not sure if that was from Jim or Fleet.
Nodding my head, just letting it all loose now. Sobbing, shoulders shaking.
Jim sat at the other end of the couch in shock. I don't think he moved for the longest time before he slowly moved over on the couch to embrace me.
We said nothing more for the longest time as I tried to gain control of myself.
Finally able to speak again, I said, I'm absolutely..... DISGUSTED..... with myself for being 41 and putting my head in the sand.
Lots of silence. I think Fleet was quite shocked himself. Unsure how to proceed.
He asked if we knew - had any gut feeling - what we were going to do. What we thought about the pregnancy. If there were religious ramifications. I said that I couldn't possibly imagine having a baby right now. Jim just shook his head.
Later that night, as he held me in bed, my body wracked once again in sobs, he told me he was so sorry. Sorry for causing this. That it was all his fault. And there was no reason for me to feel pressured to go through with this pregnancy.
But you were the one that wanted another child.
Not like this, he said. Not like this. I'm so sorry.
And I knew he was. Even though I was much more angry at myself.
Once again, God's sledgehammer came weighing down on my head, opening my eyes even wider to my own co-dependency.
OK God...I got it. (sob)
Thursday, January 28, 2010
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
Life Happens
What a difference 24 hours could make.
Just after writing about appearance, fat, and beauty for Sherry one day, the very next I had a huge surprise. Well, for me, more like a nightmare.
I found out I was pregnant.
I'd been excessively tired for days and ignored it given the stress of early recovery. Given our wishy-washy birth control techniques for the last 11 years since Mariah was born, I was always a bit leary of my red ribboned present arriving each month. Anxiety was always overkill, though. It always arrived to greet me within a day or two of the expected time. So when I was tired.....AND late, I thought Okay, quit stressing. Just get a test. Be done with it.
You can't imagine the shock of seeing those two horizontal blue lines.
No. Way.
No FUCKING way.
It made all the rest of the concerns I'd written about in my journals, talked about in therapy, shared around the tables in meetings seem ultra trivial -- or paradoxically ultra meaningful because everything that I'd felt to get me to where I was now was tied up in the finality of this very real and tragic situation. A situation that I, for the life of me, never had wanted - yet allowed to happen. It was the epitome of what I'd done in my life; to ignore or be SO unaware of my needs and the importance of standing up for them while devoted to the process of meeting other's expectations of me. Allowing myself to be just carried by the wind and where fate should take me, letting the chips fall where they may without taking active control over MY life. Allowing others impressions of me or their possible disappointment/hurt to rule my actions.
I stupidly, niavely thought that this couldn't possibly happen. And at 41, I most surely did not want to be here!
WHY?!
I'd enjoyed my kids growing independence and ability to regain some of my life. I was finally able some time during the day to explore the me I'd left behind.
Even though it took Jim and I five years to have Ian, I could see that I had so little sense of who I was was and what I wanted out of life at that time. I was 29. And then, waiting so long to have children, feeling the rollercoaster each month of hope, when Ian finally arrived and Mariah two and half years later, I completely lost myself in them. I sacrificed myself, not knowing how to seperate or ask for more from Jim. I dug my head so deeply into the sand with loving them, I wondered why I felt so unfulfilled. I mean, come on! I loved kids! I felt gifted in my ability to relate to them. Why in the world wasn't I gaining satisfaction in my role as a mother? It was one of the tasks in my life that I really felt accomplished at! I'd heard so many moms say that motherhood was the light of their existence. The most rewarding job they'd ever experienced.
What the hell?! Why didn't I feel that??
I felt that our children had been the stimulus that allowed Jim and I to grow distant with each other. Our focus on them, their struggles, and the exhausting energy to keep up with them left little for us as a couple. Add to that Jim's and my inability to unify in our parenting role made me feel so alone, isolated and often overwhelmed with my job as a mother.
How could I.....WHY would I want to repeat that?!
This was a major example of one more thing that Jim wanted of me when he really had no clear understanding of what that was asking of me.
It was the biggie. Jim was getting his way again. This was a MOMUMENTAL request forced upon me....and another lifetime long.
Too, given my thoughts the previous day about weight and body image, that was surely out the window. I would have to admit defeat. There was no dieting or diet pills allowed now. Nine months of growing out of control then a struggle afterwards to drop the weight. In your 40's. When metabolism is slow as tar. I was currently at the acceptable edge of my tolerance for my body. I really, REALLY didn't want to lose what I'd gained by that point -- though understandably, it was done unhealthily -- I really wanted to remain a size 8. I'd grown enough. There was no guarantee, I thought, unless I chose meth amphetamine again - that I'd get back there again.
Through my drug use and ultimate recovery, I'd been awakened to SO much about mysef and I'd felt a freedom to be able to seek out answers for myself. Seek MY needs/desires. Now I felt as though everything would be put - once again - on a halt. I'd be sacrificing myself again.
Jim and I would have been back to JUST US in just 7-8 years. The freedom to rediscover, be together without the interuption that sadly, by no fault of their own, children caused in a marriage.
The thought that this was God's will was difficult to accept - but I wanted to try to accept that possibility. I knew deep down in my philisophical side that babies were not a choice.
These were damning thoughts.
Am I just being selfish? Whining about the trivial when this is given to show me that there are more important things in life?
Would termination of this child be snubbing my nose to Him and His will for my life?
It put me in a forced position of being truly healthy about my body. I'd have to quit smoking. No coffee. There go the rest of my addictions! I'd not felt ready to do that. I knew I'd been using *them* as a crutch...and another method of appetite control. Even though I knew they *were* an addiction still in my life and that I needed to drop them eventually through God's help and AA/AlAnon, I really didn't feel ready to have it forced upon me now.
Is it really God's will for our life? For Jim and I???
Or was it through our own choice of inaction that allowed it to happen? My own fucking stupidity for not standing up for having my tubes tied! I'd had the date set! DAMMIT!! What the hell?! Not pushing him to have the vasectomy.
FUCK!!
I just didn't feel I had the tools and the power and the awareness to see me through the tragedy to not repeat the same mistakes.
Then.....Did I really need to have all of it now? Or could we develop them together in the next 9 months so that we were more prepared parents of a newborn?
I really didn't think I had the stamina and endurance for this now in my life; the lack of sleep, being a floor-playing mom, playing chase, tolerating the tantrums.
I didn't want to be fucking SIXTY before Jim and I were done and "free"!
Dear God forgive me, but I just DID NOT WANT TO DO THIS!!!
Luckily, Jim and I had a therapy session that night. Sur- priiiiiiiiiiiiiise!!!
And this time, I was fully prepared....and I wasn't going to be naked.
Just after writing about appearance, fat, and beauty for Sherry one day, the very next I had a huge surprise. Well, for me, more like a nightmare.
I found out I was pregnant.
I'd been excessively tired for days and ignored it given the stress of early recovery. Given our wishy-washy birth control techniques for the last 11 years since Mariah was born, I was always a bit leary of my red ribboned present arriving each month. Anxiety was always overkill, though. It always arrived to greet me within a day or two of the expected time. So when I was tired.....AND late, I thought Okay, quit stressing. Just get a test. Be done with it.
You can't imagine the shock of seeing those two horizontal blue lines.
No. Way.
No FUCKING way.
It made all the rest of the concerns I'd written about in my journals, talked about in therapy, shared around the tables in meetings seem ultra trivial -- or paradoxically ultra meaningful because everything that I'd felt to get me to where I was now was tied up in the finality of this very real and tragic situation. A situation that I, for the life of me, never had wanted - yet allowed to happen. It was the epitome of what I'd done in my life; to ignore or be SO unaware of my needs and the importance of standing up for them while devoted to the process of meeting other's expectations of me. Allowing myself to be just carried by the wind and where fate should take me, letting the chips fall where they may without taking active control over MY life. Allowing others impressions of me or their possible disappointment/hurt to rule my actions.
I stupidly, niavely thought that this couldn't possibly happen. And at 41, I most surely did not want to be here!
WHY?!
I'd enjoyed my kids growing independence and ability to regain some of my life. I was finally able some time during the day to explore the me I'd left behind.
Even though it took Jim and I five years to have Ian, I could see that I had so little sense of who I was was and what I wanted out of life at that time. I was 29. And then, waiting so long to have children, feeling the rollercoaster each month of hope, when Ian finally arrived and Mariah two and half years later, I completely lost myself in them. I sacrificed myself, not knowing how to seperate or ask for more from Jim. I dug my head so deeply into the sand with loving them, I wondered why I felt so unfulfilled. I mean, come on! I loved kids! I felt gifted in my ability to relate to them. Why in the world wasn't I gaining satisfaction in my role as a mother? It was one of the tasks in my life that I really felt accomplished at! I'd heard so many moms say that motherhood was the light of their existence. The most rewarding job they'd ever experienced.
What the hell?! Why didn't I feel that??
I felt that our children had been the stimulus that allowed Jim and I to grow distant with each other. Our focus on them, their struggles, and the exhausting energy to keep up with them left little for us as a couple. Add to that Jim's and my inability to unify in our parenting role made me feel so alone, isolated and often overwhelmed with my job as a mother.
How could I.....WHY would I want to repeat that?!
This was a major example of one more thing that Jim wanted of me when he really had no clear understanding of what that was asking of me.
It was the biggie. Jim was getting his way again. This was a MOMUMENTAL request forced upon me....and another lifetime long.
Too, given my thoughts the previous day about weight and body image, that was surely out the window. I would have to admit defeat. There was no dieting or diet pills allowed now. Nine months of growing out of control then a struggle afterwards to drop the weight. In your 40's. When metabolism is slow as tar. I was currently at the acceptable edge of my tolerance for my body. I really, REALLY didn't want to lose what I'd gained by that point -- though understandably, it was done unhealthily -- I really wanted to remain a size 8. I'd grown enough. There was no guarantee, I thought, unless I chose meth amphetamine again - that I'd get back there again.
Through my drug use and ultimate recovery, I'd been awakened to SO much about mysef and I'd felt a freedom to be able to seek out answers for myself. Seek MY needs/desires. Now I felt as though everything would be put - once again - on a halt. I'd be sacrificing myself again.
Jim and I would have been back to JUST US in just 7-8 years. The freedom to rediscover, be together without the interuption that sadly, by no fault of their own, children caused in a marriage.
The thought that this was God's will was difficult to accept - but I wanted to try to accept that possibility. I knew deep down in my philisophical side that babies were not a choice.
These were damning thoughts.
Am I just being selfish? Whining about the trivial when this is given to show me that there are more important things in life?
Would termination of this child be snubbing my nose to Him and His will for my life?
It put me in a forced position of being truly healthy about my body. I'd have to quit smoking. No coffee. There go the rest of my addictions! I'd not felt ready to do that. I knew I'd been using *them* as a crutch...and another method of appetite control. Even though I knew they *were* an addiction still in my life and that I needed to drop them eventually through God's help and AA/AlAnon, I really didn't feel ready to have it forced upon me now.
Is it really God's will for our life? For Jim and I???
Or was it through our own choice of inaction that allowed it to happen? My own fucking stupidity for not standing up for having my tubes tied! I'd had the date set! DAMMIT!! What the hell?! Not pushing him to have the vasectomy.
FUCK!!
I just didn't feel I had the tools and the power and the awareness to see me through the tragedy to not repeat the same mistakes.
Then.....Did I really need to have all of it now? Or could we develop them together in the next 9 months so that we were more prepared parents of a newborn?
I really didn't think I had the stamina and endurance for this now in my life; the lack of sleep, being a floor-playing mom, playing chase, tolerating the tantrums.
I didn't want to be fucking SIXTY before Jim and I were done and "free"!
Dear God forgive me, but I just DID NOT WANT TO DO THIS!!!
Luckily, Jim and I had a therapy session that night. Sur- priiiiiiiiiiiiiise!!!
And this time, I was fully prepared....and I wasn't going to be naked.
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
Losing the Weight Battle
I can't over emphasize how fearful I was during this time of gaining my weight back. I was hovering around 140 lbs - a full 10 lbs heavier than I was at my "meth weight". Though no one, as I said, would have called me over weight before I'd started using, I was no skinny minny (as a friend once told me - as a compliment!) The meth made me the skinny minny I so desired. I could wear the smallest string bikini and feel confident like I'd not done since shedding mega-pounds with breastfeeding. I'd bought a tiny crocheted olive bikini in Florida while I was still using, my daughter commenting, "You look like a Super Mom in that!" I FELT like a Super Mom in that, knowing full well that men took notice of me at the beach/pool. The power I felt in that headiness. Yea, girl....you still got it!
That was quickly going, however. I could see the pounds inch on daily. I'd work out. I took Diet Pills (until Jim told Fleet on me). I ate small portions.
My metabolism wasn't working like a rat on a spinning wheel anymore, though. I was losing the battle.....quick.
I was petrified.
Why, Lauren? What's behind that feeling? You're at a normal weight. You're healthy. Your meth weight made you haggard looking. Your body's probably not built to carry that little of weight anymore. What is behind the need to be ultra-skinny or more, to be attractive? Maybe you need to delve into that a little bit more, Sherry suggested.
Okay. How very superficial this all is, but let's get to the nitty-gritty:
Physical attractiveness has been shown in studies to sway the viewer to think more positive things about the subject than would normally be given if the subject were just plain or fat. When I was younger, I noticed this; I was always thin, but I was rather a "plain" child until approximately 14-15 years old. And at THAT time, I started getting what I wanted socially. I had lots of friends, usually landed the boyfriend I wanted within time. In my adult life - especially since I'd quit work and had little source for self esteem in my stay-at-home position, it was important to me to maintain a good outer physical image, because in my mind, people were automatically more accepting or appreciative and find WORTH in me without my needing to open my mouth! I was someone they'd like to get to know. Surely, I didn't really feel worth getting to know because I wasn't doing anything important or interesting. I've never been accomplished at anything. So that initial acceptance and desire for someone to like me on appearance put me one step ahead of the game. I thought beauty/thinness made me fit the part of "put together" when in judgement by others. Then, when they might get to know me more fully, though I still didn't feel I pulled my weight in accomplishments, intelligence, wit/humor, I knew I had enough of all so that people might say, "Wow...she's not just a pretty face."
I thought that being overweight or "ugly" caused a person to lose that edge up. The foot in the door. The "handicap". And writing that pisses me off, because I do feel I have so many other personal qualities that don't require me to need a "head start" so to speak. Thinking, "of course people will like me - I'm a very likable person!" But I think I enjoy the "easy" part - the automatic - and maybe have depended on that ability to "cheat" fate a bit. That I would be given a little extra favor or chance because I was first noticed and look good. I've since understood that I'm an introvert (though I've tried hard to overcome that and become the more acceptable/likable extravert) so initial social interactions - especially in groups - are intimidating and stress inducing for me. I think beauty gave me a tool that I could use to combat that initial discomfort. I'd be more automatically accepted, or better still, people might come to *me* rather than being unnoticed, feeling like a zero and needing to seek others out.
On more of a male/female level, however, I enjoy feeling that I might be desirable to the opposite sex. I like to feel noticed by men - maybe moreso as an adult because it's more unique and a challenge to remain fit and look good as we age. To hear - wow, she's 40+ and look how good she still looks! What a body! I'm intensely jealous of that when I hear it being said by men. I'm competitive - it's not okay to hear, "Your body is fine; you're not overweight." I want to be the WOW - she looks GREAT. I want to be able to still turn a head despite being 40/50. I want to be the Cougar. It makes me feel powerful, "accomplished", even if just succeeding with battling age.
I mean really, is it "good enough" to just be "good enough"? Or just fine to just BE fine? My weight, my appearance.....no. Not really. It hasn't been.
Maybe in part because I didn't often hear the "Wow! You're gorgeous!" from my husband, knowing that his perfect body type was way leanner than my own. Even so, I'm not sure I'd have believed him anyway. Your husband is supposed to think you're hot.
(Still nice to hear.)
It's even better to have that affirmation from outside your marriage. What a power trip. I could *still* conquer the conquest!
When I'm even a little overweight, I *feel* dumpy, not as smart, more disorganized, not "put together" and unnoticed. Passed over and not as worthy of getting to know.
My old tapes from my family - especially my dad - suggest that you are truly VALUABLE if you're good looking AND smart/funny, etc. People in the dating scene would judge themselves and others accordingly - you wouldn't even *think* of approaching someone with a lot of physical beauty unless you felt equally so or on their level. But once achieving the welcome sign - they were even more special if the person was actually SMART too! But let's face it, guys, our society truly values beauty in women and affluency in men. (Befitting the statement that beauty is valuable.) That's why docs and sports heroes always landed the hotties! Truly, if you saw an affluent man with a dog, or a gorgeous model with a "loser"...we question. Wonder why they don't fit the stereotype. That dog must be good in bed. We don't have an answer for the model with the loser.
Maybe she's enlightened.
I had noticed that I often wore the "costume for impressing". Social armor! Whenever I'd go out, it was important for me to give that good impression - look "good", "put together". By putting on that costume/dress, it made ME feel that way. Put together. Smart. Accomplished.
So, yes, I was petrified of letting myself get overweight - really overweight - because I could anticipate people's disgust and pity. And judgements from others about my willpower, stamina, etc. And become unnoticed. Unworthy. Unaffirmed.
Not valuable anymore to my husband. No longer worthy of being his "trophy wife" (though I'd cringe at the label, it was flattering to think that I might fit the definition). Deep down, maybe I feared that Jim would leave me. I hadn't felt I'd been a "good wife" to Jim in a long time. I'd held resentments, not confided in him, sex was infrequent....if I allowed myself to get overweight too, there'd be more reason to look elsewhere.
So, yes....I was petrified.
******************************
I've just returned from a Women's Spirituality group and I can see, thinking back on this, how much I"m anxiously hanging onto society's expectation of women today. That we all have these unnatural "Barbie doll" bodies. I'm filled with angst trying to achieve that kind of "perfection" that doesn't come easily to 95% of women. We're just not typically built like that - a woman is naturally curvy, voluptuous. I've got that in spades. Rounded hips, full thighs, ripe breasts, a curved belly. We're soft - not these hardened angles that fill our tv and movie screens or magazine covers. This isn't a new idea - for years now, I hear this affirmation to women espoused across Oprah or women's journals. Yet I don't know one person, one woman, who is absolutely satisfied with their shape.
Oh Lord! To strive to *merely* be healthy - to treat our bodies as a sanctuary, a gift from YOU, to live in YOUR image - the Goddess, full of your ripe roundness - and be HAPPY!!
That was quickly going, however. I could see the pounds inch on daily. I'd work out. I took Diet Pills (until Jim told Fleet on me). I ate small portions.
My metabolism wasn't working like a rat on a spinning wheel anymore, though. I was losing the battle.....quick.
I was petrified.
Why, Lauren? What's behind that feeling? You're at a normal weight. You're healthy. Your meth weight made you haggard looking. Your body's probably not built to carry that little of weight anymore. What is behind the need to be ultra-skinny or more, to be attractive? Maybe you need to delve into that a little bit more, Sherry suggested.
Okay. How very superficial this all is, but let's get to the nitty-gritty:
Physical attractiveness has been shown in studies to sway the viewer to think more positive things about the subject than would normally be given if the subject were just plain or fat. When I was younger, I noticed this; I was always thin, but I was rather a "plain" child until approximately 14-15 years old. And at THAT time, I started getting what I wanted socially. I had lots of friends, usually landed the boyfriend I wanted within time. In my adult life - especially since I'd quit work and had little source for self esteem in my stay-at-home position, it was important to me to maintain a good outer physical image, because in my mind, people were automatically more accepting or appreciative and find WORTH in me without my needing to open my mouth! I was someone they'd like to get to know. Surely, I didn't really feel worth getting to know because I wasn't doing anything important or interesting. I've never been accomplished at anything. So that initial acceptance and desire for someone to like me on appearance put me one step ahead of the game. I thought beauty/thinness made me fit the part of "put together" when in judgement by others. Then, when they might get to know me more fully, though I still didn't feel I pulled my weight in accomplishments, intelligence, wit/humor, I knew I had enough of all so that people might say, "Wow...she's not just a pretty face."
I thought that being overweight or "ugly" caused a person to lose that edge up. The foot in the door. The "handicap". And writing that pisses me off, because I do feel I have so many other personal qualities that don't require me to need a "head start" so to speak. Thinking, "of course people will like me - I'm a very likable person!" But I think I enjoy the "easy" part - the automatic - and maybe have depended on that ability to "cheat" fate a bit. That I would be given a little extra favor or chance because I was first noticed and look good. I've since understood that I'm an introvert (though I've tried hard to overcome that and become the more acceptable/likable extravert) so initial social interactions - especially in groups - are intimidating and stress inducing for me. I think beauty gave me a tool that I could use to combat that initial discomfort. I'd be more automatically accepted, or better still, people might come to *me* rather than being unnoticed, feeling like a zero and needing to seek others out.
On more of a male/female level, however, I enjoy feeling that I might be desirable to the opposite sex. I like to feel noticed by men - maybe moreso as an adult because it's more unique and a challenge to remain fit and look good as we age. To hear - wow, she's 40+ and look how good she still looks! What a body! I'm intensely jealous of that when I hear it being said by men. I'm competitive - it's not okay to hear, "Your body is fine; you're not overweight." I want to be the WOW - she looks GREAT. I want to be able to still turn a head despite being 40/50. I want to be the Cougar. It makes me feel powerful, "accomplished", even if just succeeding with battling age.
I mean really, is it "good enough" to just be "good enough"? Or just fine to just BE fine? My weight, my appearance.....no. Not really. It hasn't been.
Maybe in part because I didn't often hear the "Wow! You're gorgeous!" from my husband, knowing that his perfect body type was way leanner than my own. Even so, I'm not sure I'd have believed him anyway. Your husband is supposed to think you're hot.
(Still nice to hear.)
It's even better to have that affirmation from outside your marriage. What a power trip. I could *still* conquer the conquest!
When I'm even a little overweight, I *feel* dumpy, not as smart, more disorganized, not "put together" and unnoticed. Passed over and not as worthy of getting to know.
My old tapes from my family - especially my dad - suggest that you are truly VALUABLE if you're good looking AND smart/funny, etc. People in the dating scene would judge themselves and others accordingly - you wouldn't even *think* of approaching someone with a lot of physical beauty unless you felt equally so or on their level. But once achieving the welcome sign - they were even more special if the person was actually SMART too! But let's face it, guys, our society truly values beauty in women and affluency in men. (Befitting the statement that beauty is valuable.) That's why docs and sports heroes always landed the hotties! Truly, if you saw an affluent man with a dog, or a gorgeous model with a "loser"...we question. Wonder why they don't fit the stereotype. That dog must be good in bed. We don't have an answer for the model with the loser.
Maybe she's enlightened.
I had noticed that I often wore the "costume for impressing". Social armor! Whenever I'd go out, it was important for me to give that good impression - look "good", "put together". By putting on that costume/dress, it made ME feel that way. Put together. Smart. Accomplished.
So, yes, I was petrified of letting myself get overweight - really overweight - because I could anticipate people's disgust and pity. And judgements from others about my willpower, stamina, etc. And become unnoticed. Unworthy. Unaffirmed.
Not valuable anymore to my husband. No longer worthy of being his "trophy wife" (though I'd cringe at the label, it was flattering to think that I might fit the definition). Deep down, maybe I feared that Jim would leave me. I hadn't felt I'd been a "good wife" to Jim in a long time. I'd held resentments, not confided in him, sex was infrequent....if I allowed myself to get overweight too, there'd be more reason to look elsewhere.
So, yes....I was petrified.
******************************
I've just returned from a Women's Spirituality group and I can see, thinking back on this, how much I"m anxiously hanging onto society's expectation of women today. That we all have these unnatural "Barbie doll" bodies. I'm filled with angst trying to achieve that kind of "perfection" that doesn't come easily to 95% of women. We're just not typically built like that - a woman is naturally curvy, voluptuous. I've got that in spades. Rounded hips, full thighs, ripe breasts, a curved belly. We're soft - not these hardened angles that fill our tv and movie screens or magazine covers. This isn't a new idea - for years now, I hear this affirmation to women espoused across Oprah or women's journals. Yet I don't know one person, one woman, who is absolutely satisfied with their shape.
Oh Lord! To strive to *merely* be healthy - to treat our bodies as a sanctuary, a gift from YOU, to live in YOUR image - the Goddess, full of your ripe roundness - and be HAPPY!!
Step One
I could fully accept that I was powerless over alcohol at that time in my life. When I got truly honest with myself, I could clearly see that I was currently working within the "allowable" constraints of my drinking. I'd always had a glass of wine with dinner - so I was doing that, maybe two, however I was "white-knuckling" that amount. If left to my own devices, I'd surely have a couple more. Further, I was absolutely pissed that anyone would suggest that I have a problem with IT, the one drug I'd used in my life - openly - with NO ONE taking an issue with it or having any concerns. I initially was so pissed to be so "unfortunate" to be willing to seek answers/understanding of my drug use - and then "punished" - that I was targetted to give up something that's never been an issue. I could see SO many other people in my life that had JUST as many issues with alcohol or WORSE and they were still "allowed" to be walking around oblivious! THEY have the problem, NOT me. And just because I was so willing to seek understanding - they're taking my one allowable drug away!
I truly believe that it was only through an act of God that helped me to see how telling my anger and resistance was. As Jim had said, if it's not a problem, give it up. It may be detrimental in recovering from meth. I think my response was shocking to him, realizing ahead of me that the alcohol might be an issue. Or become a serious issue if we continued to ignore that "allowable" amount. I had just substituted the drugs with alcohol at that point. God most certainly did what I couldn't do for myself at the time.
Understanding that has helped me look especially at my smoking - that it's clearly because of addiction issues that I've been unable to quit forever. I'd quit after being pregnant with both children, but started back again after both. I'd had several years after Mariah was born, starting off slowly, using only when I'd go out for a drink with the girls. But it picked up. I was smoking a couple packs a week and hiding it from the kids and most of my social circle. I wanted to use the program to work on *that* addiction when I was through with the first go round of the 12 steps for alcohol.
I talked with Jim one evening at this time about his comment about how STUPID it was to risk taking meth that first time - knowing how much I enjoyed coke in college. I had tried to help him understand my point of view at the time. Given my memory of how much I loved coke in college, I knew I'd never let myself use on a daily basis here in town around the family. I had thought that distance would make the decrease the risk. But given it's potency and our inability to finish what we bought -- AND not wanting to waste, heaven forbid -- I'd broken that promise to myself.
Later, I had a revelation in how that same scenario could be repeated with alcohol in the future. My 3 month challenge was up in February of '06. Jim and I were taking an adult-only trip with friends on a ski trip. This was a time I could see myself being free of the 3 month challenge where I'd be tempted to test the waters, so to speak. I'd be away, Jim most likely wouldn't raise an eyebrow. Would I then spiral into a pattern of breaking my promises to myself, crossing boundaries when I returned home? Would I again start white-knuckling the bottle or worse, start hiding my usage? I'd never done that before with alcohol, but is that because the disease hadn't progressed that far yet? It was scary to think about. I knew I had a lot of work to do before I got to that time.
I truly believe that it was only through an act of God that helped me to see how telling my anger and resistance was. As Jim had said, if it's not a problem, give it up. It may be detrimental in recovering from meth. I think my response was shocking to him, realizing ahead of me that the alcohol might be an issue. Or become a serious issue if we continued to ignore that "allowable" amount. I had just substituted the drugs with alcohol at that point. God most certainly did what I couldn't do for myself at the time.
Understanding that has helped me look especially at my smoking - that it's clearly because of addiction issues that I've been unable to quit forever. I'd quit after being pregnant with both children, but started back again after both. I'd had several years after Mariah was born, starting off slowly, using only when I'd go out for a drink with the girls. But it picked up. I was smoking a couple packs a week and hiding it from the kids and most of my social circle. I wanted to use the program to work on *that* addiction when I was through with the first go round of the 12 steps for alcohol.
I talked with Jim one evening at this time about his comment about how STUPID it was to risk taking meth that first time - knowing how much I enjoyed coke in college. I had tried to help him understand my point of view at the time. Given my memory of how much I loved coke in college, I knew I'd never let myself use on a daily basis here in town around the family. I had thought that distance would make the decrease the risk. But given it's potency and our inability to finish what we bought -- AND not wanting to waste, heaven forbid -- I'd broken that promise to myself.
Later, I had a revelation in how that same scenario could be repeated with alcohol in the future. My 3 month challenge was up in February of '06. Jim and I were taking an adult-only trip with friends on a ski trip. This was a time I could see myself being free of the 3 month challenge where I'd be tempted to test the waters, so to speak. I'd be away, Jim most likely wouldn't raise an eyebrow. Would I then spiral into a pattern of breaking my promises to myself, crossing boundaries when I returned home? Would I again start white-knuckling the bottle or worse, start hiding my usage? I'd never done that before with alcohol, but is that because the disease hadn't progressed that far yet? It was scary to think about. I knew I had a lot of work to do before I got to that time.
Homework
Prompted by Sherry to summarize the reasons I thought that I might have used sustances to medicate, I pulled the following list together:
Low self esteem/low self worth - This was difficult to identify. I thought I'd come leaps and bounds in liking who I was. In fact, I could easily say that I was happy with who I was - the image I put out. However, I would pick and choose which groups I'd share which part with. What if they didn't like me, or were disappointed or disapproved of what they saw? Being a stay-at-home mother, it was hard to gain self-worth from doing the laundry and making dinners. No longer was I a good student, a knowledgable servant to families as a social worker, so esteem/worth fell back on appearance (which was going), being a good housekeeper (I wasn't), a good mom (entirely subjective), good friend (hard to define), good wife (our sex life sucked), and good Christian (I was dragging my feet). So, I was quickly failing with esteem and worth.
Feelings of lonliness - I used to have a hard time staying home alone, needing a devoted friend to share my time. Most moms worked. And I needed someone on a regular basis, not realizing that I was running from my own negative thoughts. If left alone for too long, I began to feel that we really were all alone in the world, that no one can really know what we're going through, that you have to do it all on your own.
Pressure/stress - to live up to other's expectations of me, and especially to live up to the high standards I set for myself (but was unconscious to my doing so).
An inability to ask for help - due to those high expectations on myself or the perceived expectations set upon me. Probably too, because I felt overly responsible for everything around me.
An unwillingness to feel "ugly" emotions like anger/sadness. Anger reminded me of my mom's anger. Sadness was just too painful -- unless it was someone else's. I could feel your pain much easier.
Putting myself last on the priority scale.
Resentment/anger at the people I'd taught to take advantage of me.
Fleet asked that both of us identify what our major issues were in the marriage. My issues centered around unequal responsibilities to the home/family, lack of parenting the children - or undermining my authority with them, and lack of intimacy/compassion/interest shown.
When I was working, it was easier to justify more equal roles in the household. We both worked outside the home, so we both needed to work together to make ends meet at the end of the day. I didn't ask that Jim do housework once 6pm arrived, I truly saw that as my job working during the day. And I was lucky to have help with a housecleaner once a week! I became angry, however, when I felt as if he weren't being a team player, picking up after himself or the kids. Many nights, if I was busy in the evenings outside the house, I'd prepare the dinner (even if I weren't going to be there) and still had to clean up when I came home. Or he'd refuse to stop on the way home to pick up something needed. "I'll come home and watch the kids. You can go get it." Or he'd grumble with being asked to take a turn with taxiing the kids around. "Awwww, I wanted to get a work out in before dinner!" Weekends were encouraged to be spent in fun time so that the scut work was left to me - my job - during the week. He didn't like that he should have to do any work around the house - he'd worked hard for his "off time". I don't know how many times I'd heard from him "I think I'm the only cardio-thoracic surgeon in (our town) that is doing _________!" Though that's a nice pleasant thought, WELCOME to REALITY! No one likes to do chores, but it's a part of life. LIFE is MESSY; you gotta clean up after it and maintain it! And I'm not the only one living in this house! He did the bills and cleaned the pool on a regular basis, complaining about both. It felt very unfair to me. I'd commented, asked, played passive agressive (and left things undone), but it always came back to the same thing.
Discipline with the kids I've shared about quite a bit already. We had different parenting philosophies and he didn't want to make the kids upset in the few hours he had with them. This quite often led to his undermining me by going against what I'd already said. No further explanation needed about my feelings on that!
I took a lot of the blame for the state of our relationship. He claimed to be happy, unaware of any issues. If he had any responsibility, it would have to do with being oblivious to anything other than himself. Many a night I'd spent listening to his woes about work. Of course, I *wanted* to hear his problems - it made me feel a more worthwhile wife! But it was definitely uneven. He didn't ask and I didn't offer. That unwillingness was probably because I felt such guilt over feeling angry/resentful, knowing what a truly wonderful guy he was and was living a lifestyle that anyone else would envy. How could I ask for more? Sure he was self-centered, but he wasn't an ass. He was a loving soul with a good work ethic, who loved nothing more than to spend time with his family. Who was I to complain? My problems seemed so trivial in comparison. I'd end up feeling over-extended, puttinghim everyone else first. So, I withdrew sexually. Not consciously out of spite. But I was tired. Emotionally, physically. By the end of the day, I really wasn't interested. Besides, I had a great fear of getting pregnant again. Birth control options weren't appealing or had side-effects that I didn't like. Upon making an appointment to have my tubes tied, he begged me not to go. He promised he'd do it; it was easier for the man. He'd have a vasectomy. But he never went. Which I kinda understood his reluctance, letting him off the hook. He wanted more kids. And well......ouch! I didn't feel cared for by him. I mean sure, we both said "I love you" regularly, we took regular dates together, enjoying the same things and each other's company....but in terms of really caring, wondering what I was feeling/thinking, what was going on in my life, there was little attention or apparent interest.
Like I said earlier, he didn't have any complaints. Just asked that I not hide what I was feeling. Be more honest with him. And well.... he was a man.
He wanted more sex.
Low self esteem/low self worth - This was difficult to identify. I thought I'd come leaps and bounds in liking who I was. In fact, I could easily say that I was happy with who I was - the image I put out. However, I would pick and choose which groups I'd share which part with. What if they didn't like me, or were disappointed or disapproved of what they saw? Being a stay-at-home mother, it was hard to gain self-worth from doing the laundry and making dinners. No longer was I a good student, a knowledgable servant to families as a social worker, so esteem/worth fell back on appearance (which was going), being a good housekeeper (I wasn't), a good mom (entirely subjective), good friend (hard to define), good wife (our sex life sucked), and good Christian (I was dragging my feet). So, I was quickly failing with esteem and worth.
Feelings of lonliness - I used to have a hard time staying home alone, needing a devoted friend to share my time. Most moms worked. And I needed someone on a regular basis, not realizing that I was running from my own negative thoughts. If left alone for too long, I began to feel that we really were all alone in the world, that no one can really know what we're going through, that you have to do it all on your own.
Pressure/stress - to live up to other's expectations of me, and especially to live up to the high standards I set for myself (but was unconscious to my doing so).
An inability to ask for help - due to those high expectations on myself or the perceived expectations set upon me. Probably too, because I felt overly responsible for everything around me.
An unwillingness to feel "ugly" emotions like anger/sadness. Anger reminded me of my mom's anger. Sadness was just too painful -- unless it was someone else's. I could feel your pain much easier.
Putting myself last on the priority scale.
Resentment/anger at the people I'd taught to take advantage of me.
Fleet asked that both of us identify what our major issues were in the marriage. My issues centered around unequal responsibilities to the home/family, lack of parenting the children - or undermining my authority with them, and lack of intimacy/compassion/interest shown.
When I was working, it was easier to justify more equal roles in the household. We both worked outside the home, so we both needed to work together to make ends meet at the end of the day. I didn't ask that Jim do housework once 6pm arrived, I truly saw that as my job working during the day. And I was lucky to have help with a housecleaner once a week! I became angry, however, when I felt as if he weren't being a team player, picking up after himself or the kids. Many nights, if I was busy in the evenings outside the house, I'd prepare the dinner (even if I weren't going to be there) and still had to clean up when I came home. Or he'd refuse to stop on the way home to pick up something needed. "I'll come home and watch the kids. You can go get it." Or he'd grumble with being asked to take a turn with taxiing the kids around. "Awwww, I wanted to get a work out in before dinner!" Weekends were encouraged to be spent in fun time so that the scut work was left to me - my job - during the week. He didn't like that he should have to do any work around the house - he'd worked hard for his "off time". I don't know how many times I'd heard from him "I think I'm the only cardio-thoracic surgeon in (our town) that is doing _________!" Though that's a nice pleasant thought, WELCOME to REALITY! No one likes to do chores, but it's a part of life. LIFE is MESSY; you gotta clean up after it and maintain it! And I'm not the only one living in this house! He did the bills and cleaned the pool on a regular basis, complaining about both. It felt very unfair to me. I'd commented, asked, played passive agressive (and left things undone), but it always came back to the same thing.
Discipline with the kids I've shared about quite a bit already. We had different parenting philosophies and he didn't want to make the kids upset in the few hours he had with them. This quite often led to his undermining me by going against what I'd already said. No further explanation needed about my feelings on that!
I took a lot of the blame for the state of our relationship. He claimed to be happy, unaware of any issues. If he had any responsibility, it would have to do with being oblivious to anything other than himself. Many a night I'd spent listening to his woes about work. Of course, I *wanted* to hear his problems - it made me feel a more worthwhile wife! But it was definitely uneven. He didn't ask and I didn't offer. That unwillingness was probably because I felt such guilt over feeling angry/resentful, knowing what a truly wonderful guy he was and was living a lifestyle that anyone else would envy. How could I ask for more? Sure he was self-centered, but he wasn't an ass. He was a loving soul with a good work ethic, who loved nothing more than to spend time with his family. Who was I to complain? My problems seemed so trivial in comparison. I'd end up feeling over-extended, putting
Like I said earlier, he didn't have any complaints. Just asked that I not hide what I was feeling. Be more honest with him. And well.... he was a man.
He wanted more sex.
Sunday, January 24, 2010
Continued process
Over the next several weeks, I settled on my three meetings - the wild child group on Friday night, the supportive moms on Monday morning, and out of frustration for other women's daytime AA groups, settled on a "Double Winners" Wednesday meeting that happened to be co-ed. This meeting, incidentally, continues to be my primary meeting I still attend. And though co-ed, Fleet would be happy to know that I've *never* been hit on in the almost 4 years I've attended! I also settled on a sponsor from the wild child group, who I was touched by in her making time to meet with me to hear my story. I know that's part of the deal in AA and being a sponsor, but there is something very touching when you're new to have someone - a volunteer, a stranger - agree to put aside time (she was a single mom of a young girl) to meet with someone that they have no guarantee will even work the program. End up being a waste of their time.
I was still shocked to hear her response to me when we first met when asked about the consequences I'd had so far in my drug/alcohol usage.
None, I said.
Nothing legal? No threats of divorce? No DUI's? Why the hell'd you quit, then?
Shrug. God?
Shit, she says, I'd still be out there. You have a real high bottom.
That's maybe a scary thought. Because, of course, a person would wonder if they really do have a problem. I know it's been my question about alcohol since day 1. I had talked to this Addiction Doctor guy on the phone, this Dr. McCauley. And he agreed that within 4-6 months, once my dopamine levels were normalized that I very well could go back to having a normal relationship with alcohol. But one would never know unless they went back out there -- and hopefully came back in when they realized it wasn't working. A potential sponsor from the Monday supportive mom meeting asked me, if drinking isn't an issue (you can take it or leave it) and you know it might be a risk....why risk it? Good question. I think I needed to verify it really being a problem since it hadn't been in the past.
Anyway, my wild child sponsor, she didn't think I was a waste of time. She met with me, listened to me, offered her phone number, and gave me assignments to work through the beginning steps. Of course the hardest to me was admitting I was powerless over alcohol and that my life had become unmanagable.
I was almost offended by the word - alcoholism. I felt as if everyone in the place was just waiting for you to claim yourself an alcoholic. I mean, why would you come in the first place? As if they were bitter that there might be "normies" out there that could drink with control. But for the time being, I could admit that alcohol was an issue right NOW and that alcoholism was in our family through my grandfather. But unmanagable? What the hell? That word pissed me off too. Heck, I was known as the rock in the family. I was the one that held everything together. I KEPT things from being chaotic!
I've since realized chaos/unmanagability doesn't have to exist externally for there to be a major dump of chaos going on inside our heads. My brain, my co-dependent thinking, was in considerable bedlam. Sure I was intelligent enough to piece together the healthy things to think, yet up til this point, and certainly when not putting effort into it, my brain went amok. I was a veritable unmanaged emotional wreck.
But I was learning too. We were coming up on Thanksgiving of '05 and headed to Ohio to visit Jim's family. He had wanted to skip therapy to get on the road earlier. I knew, however, how extremely important it was to go -- if only for the symbolic coaches' pep talk before the big game of meeting up with family. Who else better to push buttons and put us right back into our own internal hell but Family.....and oh. my. heavens. The in-laws! I needed a bit of support to grasp hold of. AND I needed for my husband to see therapy as important. But more than anything else, I needed to stand my ground. We'd already missed an appointment together the week before, so we really hadn't spent much time at all delving into our issues as a couple. Looking back, I also needed to acknowledge that Jim wasn't a tough customer about many of the requests I feared asking of him. I just needed to stand my ground and ask. And usually, he did come around.
We were able to talk about the need for me to be an observer more than a participant, identify my feelings and thoughts around his family members. Take note. Be an outsider, a bystander. Journal and have a plan for coping or getting away if I needed to. I also planned a "special drink" that I could have in a wine glass so that I didn't feel that I was being deprived. (I loved soda water with a lime.) And I also confided in two of Jim's three sisters so that I didn't feel the questions behind my back about why I wasn't drinking wine with dinner. I remember them being so supportive (Oh God bless your little heart!) Fleet also gave me a smooth, handheld stone to remind me of the rock of strength I had through my Higher Power.
My observations? Not drinking wasn't ever an issue - for me, or for others. There was no talk that I was aware of that I wasn't drinking, nor did I feel the need to imbibe. Yet, I did find that I felt self-conscious and defensive. Anxious with how my kids acted, running around the house without care, fighting with one another with nary a comment from their dad. Or in observation of whether or not we'd demand that the kids attend church, Jim would rather not go than cause the kids to fight about it. Also, there seemed to be a tendency for Jim to act like a hard-ass to me around his family, almost as if to show that he wasn't "whipped" which in turn would cause me to show how little crap I'd tolerate from him. It was an antagonistic relationship that we didn't have at home. I could also notice an irritation with his family for allowing Jim to be disrespectful - like coming to the dinner table when called - as if he was the special child. The Doctor! And though I could acknowledge that I made myself feel that way, I noticed that I felt very much outside the family. It was my own responsibility to include myself - no special concern was made by Jim or his sisters to make me feel welcome....even though I'd been part of the family for 18 years.
Most of all, I was able to sit back and acknowledge a great amount of anger burning inside. When all else was quiet like this, and I just sat back and listened - and watched - I was increasingly surprised by my anger, despite making such tremendous strides recently and feeling so many blessings. I was so PISSED with my household role! I felt that anger and resentment first started when having kids - and I was hugely shocked by that. I loved kids and tried for years to have my own; would have been devastated if we couldn't. So being pregnant after years of trying, I was so blissful! Imagine my shock and surprise when I had this baby that often seemed inconsolable, who I was also up every two hours for breastfeeding all night! I never imagined how all consuming, how self-sacrificing children would be - especially when you wanted/still want/love them so much. Jim was of little help 1) because he was a resident and 2) because he didn't have nipples! His life hardly skipped a beat - and still hadn't to that point - he was able to run, go out on an errand at the drop of a hat without another thought. He could say, "I'm going _____ or doing ______" no matter what was happening at home. I could never do that - even when he was home. I needed to make sure the bases were covered, the schedule was reviewed, people were going to be fed,etc. I was always the one to handle the chaos/the tears. As they grew, I needed to handle their tears and fighting but only in the way HE was okay with - because my mother was always held up as a threat to me. I couldn't spank or seem overly too harsh. Yet he wouldn't take part himself. There at Thanksgiving, for example, he'd been able to hide away at his sister's computer or behind the paper, the kids arguing/running in circles around the house - and he was oblivious. Took no action at all. The fact that my entire life had changed and his had hardly skipped a beat was tremendously frustrating, especially when I was nagged to do it all over again with another child. By not just him, but his mother too. It'd be so easy for him - he could just easily enjoy their child wonder as it worked for him, but whenever he needed/wanted something else - he'd just get up and do it. When they were younger, and the stress and strain became too much that I voiced something (which really had to reach some horrendous level for me to say boo), he'd encourage me to go out/leave. And on the few occasions that I did that, I really wanted him to handle it all. I wanted desperately for him to juggle everything - the house, the chaos of the kids, so that he'd GET it! Even though, I knew he'd do it in his own way, probably multi-tasking way less so that, of course, he'd never be able to feel what I felt on a daily basis. However, he never would do it on his own. He'd have his sister or his mom come and help him out over the weekend.
All this was brewing over Thanksgiving that year, though I can look back and truly say that it was a decent holiday weekend despite my new recovery status. Amazing what you can neutralize within yourself given years of practice.
Little did I know what forshadowing it held for months to come...
I was still shocked to hear her response to me when we first met when asked about the consequences I'd had so far in my drug/alcohol usage.
None, I said.
Nothing legal? No threats of divorce? No DUI's? Why the hell'd you quit, then?
Shrug. God?
Shit, she says, I'd still be out there. You have a real high bottom.
That's maybe a scary thought. Because, of course, a person would wonder if they really do have a problem. I know it's been my question about alcohol since day 1. I had talked to this Addiction Doctor guy on the phone, this Dr. McCauley. And he agreed that within 4-6 months, once my dopamine levels were normalized that I very well could go back to having a normal relationship with alcohol. But one would never know unless they went back out there -- and hopefully came back in when they realized it wasn't working. A potential sponsor from the Monday supportive mom meeting asked me, if drinking isn't an issue (you can take it or leave it) and you know it might be a risk....why risk it? Good question. I think I needed to verify it really being a problem since it hadn't been in the past.
Anyway, my wild child sponsor, she didn't think I was a waste of time. She met with me, listened to me, offered her phone number, and gave me assignments to work through the beginning steps. Of course the hardest to me was admitting I was powerless over alcohol and that my life had become unmanagable.
I was almost offended by the word - alcoholism. I felt as if everyone in the place was just waiting for you to claim yourself an alcoholic. I mean, why would you come in the first place? As if they were bitter that there might be "normies" out there that could drink with control. But for the time being, I could admit that alcohol was an issue right NOW and that alcoholism was in our family through my grandfather. But unmanagable? What the hell? That word pissed me off too. Heck, I was known as the rock in the family. I was the one that held everything together. I KEPT things from being chaotic!
I've since realized chaos/unmanagability doesn't have to exist externally for there to be a major dump of chaos going on inside our heads. My brain, my co-dependent thinking, was in considerable bedlam. Sure I was intelligent enough to piece together the healthy things to think, yet up til this point, and certainly when not putting effort into it, my brain went amok. I was a veritable unmanaged emotional wreck.
But I was learning too. We were coming up on Thanksgiving of '05 and headed to Ohio to visit Jim's family. He had wanted to skip therapy to get on the road earlier. I knew, however, how extremely important it was to go -- if only for the symbolic coaches' pep talk before the big game of meeting up with family. Who else better to push buttons and put us right back into our own internal hell but Family.....and oh. my. heavens. The in-laws! I needed a bit of support to grasp hold of. AND I needed for my husband to see therapy as important. But more than anything else, I needed to stand my ground. We'd already missed an appointment together the week before, so we really hadn't spent much time at all delving into our issues as a couple. Looking back, I also needed to acknowledge that Jim wasn't a tough customer about many of the requests I feared asking of him. I just needed to stand my ground and ask. And usually, he did come around.
We were able to talk about the need for me to be an observer more than a participant, identify my feelings and thoughts around his family members. Take note. Be an outsider, a bystander. Journal and have a plan for coping or getting away if I needed to. I also planned a "special drink" that I could have in a wine glass so that I didn't feel that I was being deprived. (I loved soda water with a lime.) And I also confided in two of Jim's three sisters so that I didn't feel the questions behind my back about why I wasn't drinking wine with dinner. I remember them being so supportive (Oh God bless your little heart!) Fleet also gave me a smooth, handheld stone to remind me of the rock of strength I had through my Higher Power.
My observations? Not drinking wasn't ever an issue - for me, or for others. There was no talk that I was aware of that I wasn't drinking, nor did I feel the need to imbibe. Yet, I did find that I felt self-conscious and defensive. Anxious with how my kids acted, running around the house without care, fighting with one another with nary a comment from their dad. Or in observation of whether or not we'd demand that the kids attend church, Jim would rather not go than cause the kids to fight about it. Also, there seemed to be a tendency for Jim to act like a hard-ass to me around his family, almost as if to show that he wasn't "whipped" which in turn would cause me to show how little crap I'd tolerate from him. It was an antagonistic relationship that we didn't have at home. I could also notice an irritation with his family for allowing Jim to be disrespectful - like coming to the dinner table when called - as if he was the special child. The Doctor! And though I could acknowledge that I made myself feel that way, I noticed that I felt very much outside the family. It was my own responsibility to include myself - no special concern was made by Jim or his sisters to make me feel welcome....even though I'd been part of the family for 18 years.
Most of all, I was able to sit back and acknowledge a great amount of anger burning inside. When all else was quiet like this, and I just sat back and listened - and watched - I was increasingly surprised by my anger, despite making such tremendous strides recently and feeling so many blessings. I was so PISSED with my household role! I felt that anger and resentment first started when having kids - and I was hugely shocked by that. I loved kids and tried for years to have my own; would have been devastated if we couldn't. So being pregnant after years of trying, I was so blissful! Imagine my shock and surprise when I had this baby that often seemed inconsolable, who I was also up every two hours for breastfeeding all night! I never imagined how all consuming, how self-sacrificing children would be - especially when you wanted/still want/love them so much. Jim was of little help 1) because he was a resident and 2) because he didn't have nipples! His life hardly skipped a beat - and still hadn't to that point - he was able to run, go out on an errand at the drop of a hat without another thought. He could say, "I'm going _____ or doing ______" no matter what was happening at home. I could never do that - even when he was home. I needed to make sure the bases were covered, the schedule was reviewed, people were going to be fed,etc. I was always the one to handle the chaos/the tears. As they grew, I needed to handle their tears and fighting but only in the way HE was okay with - because my mother was always held up as a threat to me. I couldn't spank or seem overly too harsh. Yet he wouldn't take part himself. There at Thanksgiving, for example, he'd been able to hide away at his sister's computer or behind the paper, the kids arguing/running in circles around the house - and he was oblivious. Took no action at all. The fact that my entire life had changed and his had hardly skipped a beat was tremendously frustrating, especially when I was nagged to do it all over again with another child. By not just him, but his mother too. It'd be so easy for him - he could just easily enjoy their child wonder as it worked for him, but whenever he needed/wanted something else - he'd just get up and do it. When they were younger, and the stress and strain became too much that I voiced something (which really had to reach some horrendous level for me to say boo), he'd encourage me to go out/leave. And on the few occasions that I did that, I really wanted him to handle it all. I wanted desperately for him to juggle everything - the house, the chaos of the kids, so that he'd GET it! Even though, I knew he'd do it in his own way, probably multi-tasking way less so that, of course, he'd never be able to feel what I felt on a daily basis. However, he never would do it on his own. He'd have his sister or his mom come and help him out over the weekend.
All this was brewing over Thanksgiving that year, though I can look back and truly say that it was a decent holiday weekend despite my new recovery status. Amazing what you can neutralize within yourself given years of practice.
Little did I know what forshadowing it held for months to come...
Saturday, January 23, 2010
Feelings
Those first few weeks finding and attending new AA meetings were filled with an array of feelings. Writing became my coping skill in dealing with the rush of emotion I'd encounter. I had a very hard time sleeping, so I'd be up first thing, jotting away.
I remember feeling frustration and anger with the meeting schedules. Both Sherry and Fleet told me to focus on AA groups - not NA - because they weren't sure of the "quality" of NA. True or not, I don't have any idea. At that point in my recovery, and probably still, I just did what I was told! However, after a bit of google research, I became ticked after reading that the largest statistical group of people starting use of meth right now were middle to upper class housewives! I agreed to attend 3 WOMEN'S meetings a week (Fleet was afraid I'd be hit on.) Just how many meetings, do you think, were held *during the day* when housewives were most available? Less than 1%!! Not many choices for women unless you could go to meetings right at the busiest time of day - dinner! I knew they are catering to the multitude - most women today had joined the workforce - but do your research, guys! Those frustrated, bored domestic slaves were having trouble - lots of it! We needed to cater a bit to them, too!
I was also quite frustrated with the inability not to have cross talk. To have a back and forth discussion of support. At AA meetings, people laid their problem out there given their time to speak (if you were able to jump in), the feelings sometimes hanging raw in the void over the middle of the table.....and then the next person had a chance to say their two cents without regard for the prior speaker. It felt foreign and lacking in compassion to me.
I've since realized that it teaches us (many things), but one being the ability to listen. So often in conversation, we blurt out our first thoughts, interupting the person talking - possibly taking that speaker off course. Normal conversation often keeps the listener focused on what he's going to respond, rather than just listening without any stress to offer anything in return. Rather than allowing a multitude of irrevelant, though well-meant, solutions by the various attendees, limiting cross-talk causes the solution to arise from our Higher Power - who I now firmly trust as the God Within all of us.
But at that time...I have to admit, it was hard to get used to. Revealing...that.
I had found one female group close by that was attended by a handful of older women having decades of recovery behind them. I remember gravitating towards the younger women, however, I can easily look back now and see the older as these wise mom-like souls. Mothers that I needed in my life at that time. Loving, forgiving (we've all been there) but tough. There was talk about co-dependency issues, which of course were well known to me at the time. They strongly discouraged attending AlAnon, though, saying that I didn't need to mix meetings and confuse the issue. I remember feeling an ominous foreshadowing upon meeting one younger woman attending who was there after several relapses. She was an alcoholic with a cocaine addiction as well who was now in fear of the impending loss of her family and children. I mentioned after the meeting (no cross talk!) that I'd not had any negative consequences (from family, work, the legal system) with alcohol or drug use. Her response, "There's still time! I've been where you are." That shook me up. She also warned me of what I'd heard before. Every relapse she'd had, no matter how much time inbetween, it took her back to the stage in addiction as though she'd never quit. I knew that I was holding on to the hope that my sober lifestyle would not have to be forever. But there was definitely fear in that statement of hope. And I knew that Jim was in full support of my AA actions now, but did not feel that sobriety forever would be necessary for me. There was comfort in that, knowing that he wouldn't be judgemental were I to decide to drink again 4-6-12 months down the line. But there was also a justified fear planted within that I might step right back into abusing alcohol, which could lead to hiding, isolation and drug use.
There were also intense feelings of self-love and gratitude during that time. I remember thinking to myself that I'd never had any idea how to "take care of myself" before. People, in hearing that you were struggling over something, might mention, "Pamper yourself. Do something good for you today." What the HELL did that mean? Go shopping?! That never did an ounce of good for me. Get a massage? A bandaid! Take a bath? Read a book? What???! What did one do to take care of oneself??!! Never before in my life was I spending so much time thinking only of ME. Here I was going to three meetings a week, meeting with my counselor on another of those days, our couples counselor on another, spending hours journaling, reading, without much concern for housework, errands, making dinners. I felt so self-serving. Almost narcissist? The kids were loved and cared for, but I was consumed with everything recovery. Never before since I'd first given birth to my kids was I so immersed in what I was doing. Every thought, from the moment I woke til the moment my eyes drifted off in sleep, were filled with recovery....and I'd never felt so self-loved. That *this* was what taking care of me meant. Putting aside everything else in the world for what I most needed to do. Fleet and Sherry had debated on putting me into inpatient treatment, as that was what was recommended from the evaluation, but they were reluctant with the local choices. Neither of them had very high opinions of them. Given our financial status, going to more successful programs like Hazelton or Sober Living By the Sea, was a possibility -- but I imagine they were grasping onto the hope that I was an eager newbie. And that I was. Each morning my only thought was, "What do I most need to do for ME on this day? What is the next best step?"
Indeed, that should still be *all* of our questions each day. Lord, point me in the direction I need to go today. What is best for ME today. Let me hear your voice. Then help me to DO it.
I'll end this note today on an epiphany that I had at that time that still brings tears to my eyes. I love listening to Selah (or even Josh Groban, but he glosses over the God-part) sing the song, "You Raise Me Up". The Lord's unconditional love always brings me to tears. Not only because it's an acknowledgement of His constant presence in my life despite my resistance and fear of completely "letting His will be done" - but also because I feel in His view that I am a very special person despite all my weaknesses, big and small. "I am strong when I am on your shoulders". On your shoulders - not at His side....not walking hand in hand...not even allowing me to walk as the lead - but on His SHOULDERS is reminiscent of that child being lifted high on his parent's shoulders, feeling on top of the world, able to conquer all, fly free, feeling so special and loved by the support beneath him, and knowing in return, as a parent myself, that He felt so fully proud of me- no matter my weaknesses and mistakes.
That song enabled me to put myself within it, flying high over God's shoulders, seeing myself more clearly through His eyes, so that I was able to write to my counselors:
"I am beginning to forgive myself for being flawed - for not being all that I had tried to be but knew that I was forever falling short of. So I'm not as intelligent as my husband, not as thin and beautiful as those gorgeous people in the media (and around me), not as organized and successful as those type A people in my life that I admire so much, not as verbally eloquent as I'd like to be, much more forgetful than many, and more like Mom's unpleasant side than I'd like to admit! However, I've disregarded and minimalized so many of the truly wonderful and special things that I am - how much of a gift THAT is - in and of itself - without my DOing a thing for another that makes me worthy and special. Even going so far to say that even the qualities that I say I don't have....I have more than I give myself credit for. I've realized that much of my use was seated in a feeling that I'm somehow lacking, that I don't quite measure up, that I might disappoint someone. It's through that acknowledgement and acceptance of being flawed, as well as the praising of all that I really AM that's not only been a worthy gift to myself, but worth mounds to others that I can share that with."
I remember feeling frustration and anger with the meeting schedules. Both Sherry and Fleet told me to focus on AA groups - not NA - because they weren't sure of the "quality" of NA. True or not, I don't have any idea. At that point in my recovery, and probably still, I just did what I was told! However, after a bit of google research, I became ticked after reading that the largest statistical group of people starting use of meth right now were middle to upper class housewives! I agreed to attend 3 WOMEN'S meetings a week (Fleet was afraid I'd be hit on.) Just how many meetings, do you think, were held *during the day* when housewives were most available? Less than 1%!! Not many choices for women unless you could go to meetings right at the busiest time of day - dinner! I knew they are catering to the multitude - most women today had joined the workforce - but do your research, guys! Those frustrated, bored domestic slaves were having trouble - lots of it! We needed to cater a bit to them, too!
I was also quite frustrated with the inability not to have cross talk. To have a back and forth discussion of support. At AA meetings, people laid their problem out there given their time to speak (if you were able to jump in), the feelings sometimes hanging raw in the void over the middle of the table.....and then the next person had a chance to say their two cents without regard for the prior speaker. It felt foreign and lacking in compassion to me.
I've since realized that it teaches us (many things), but one being the ability to listen. So often in conversation, we blurt out our first thoughts, interupting the person talking - possibly taking that speaker off course. Normal conversation often keeps the listener focused on what he's going to respond, rather than just listening without any stress to offer anything in return. Rather than allowing a multitude of irrevelant, though well-meant, solutions by the various attendees, limiting cross-talk causes the solution to arise from our Higher Power - who I now firmly trust as the God Within all of us.
But at that time...I have to admit, it was hard to get used to. Revealing...that.
I had found one female group close by that was attended by a handful of older women having decades of recovery behind them. I remember gravitating towards the younger women, however, I can easily look back now and see the older as these wise mom-like souls. Mothers that I needed in my life at that time. Loving, forgiving (we've all been there) but tough. There was talk about co-dependency issues, which of course were well known to me at the time. They strongly discouraged attending AlAnon, though, saying that I didn't need to mix meetings and confuse the issue. I remember feeling an ominous foreshadowing upon meeting one younger woman attending who was there after several relapses. She was an alcoholic with a cocaine addiction as well who was now in fear of the impending loss of her family and children. I mentioned after the meeting (no cross talk!) that I'd not had any negative consequences (from family, work, the legal system) with alcohol or drug use. Her response, "There's still time! I've been where you are." That shook me up. She also warned me of what I'd heard before. Every relapse she'd had, no matter how much time inbetween, it took her back to the stage in addiction as though she'd never quit. I knew that I was holding on to the hope that my sober lifestyle would not have to be forever. But there was definitely fear in that statement of hope. And I knew that Jim was in full support of my AA actions now, but did not feel that sobriety forever would be necessary for me. There was comfort in that, knowing that he wouldn't be judgemental were I to decide to drink again 4-6-12 months down the line. But there was also a justified fear planted within that I might step right back into abusing alcohol, which could lead to hiding, isolation and drug use.
There were also intense feelings of self-love and gratitude during that time. I remember thinking to myself that I'd never had any idea how to "take care of myself" before. People, in hearing that you were struggling over something, might mention, "Pamper yourself. Do something good for you today." What the HELL did that mean? Go shopping?! That never did an ounce of good for me. Get a massage? A bandaid! Take a bath? Read a book? What???! What did one do to take care of oneself??!! Never before in my life was I spending so much time thinking only of ME. Here I was going to three meetings a week, meeting with my counselor on another of those days, our couples counselor on another, spending hours journaling, reading, without much concern for housework, errands, making dinners. I felt so self-serving. Almost narcissist? The kids were loved and cared for, but I was consumed with everything recovery. Never before since I'd first given birth to my kids was I so immersed in what I was doing. Every thought, from the moment I woke til the moment my eyes drifted off in sleep, were filled with recovery....and I'd never felt so self-loved. That *this* was what taking care of me meant. Putting aside everything else in the world for what I most needed to do. Fleet and Sherry had debated on putting me into inpatient treatment, as that was what was recommended from the evaluation, but they were reluctant with the local choices. Neither of them had very high opinions of them. Given our financial status, going to more successful programs like Hazelton or Sober Living By the Sea, was a possibility -- but I imagine they were grasping onto the hope that I was an eager newbie. And that I was. Each morning my only thought was, "What do I most need to do for ME on this day? What is the next best step?"
Indeed, that should still be *all* of our questions each day. Lord, point me in the direction I need to go today. What is best for ME today. Let me hear your voice. Then help me to DO it.
I'll end this note today on an epiphany that I had at that time that still brings tears to my eyes. I love listening to Selah (or even Josh Groban, but he glosses over the God-part) sing the song, "You Raise Me Up". The Lord's unconditional love always brings me to tears. Not only because it's an acknowledgement of His constant presence in my life despite my resistance and fear of completely "letting His will be done" - but also because I feel in His view that I am a very special person despite all my weaknesses, big and small. "I am strong when I am on your shoulders". On your shoulders - not at His side....not walking hand in hand...not even allowing me to walk as the lead - but on His SHOULDERS is reminiscent of that child being lifted high on his parent's shoulders, feeling on top of the world, able to conquer all, fly free, feeling so special and loved by the support beneath him, and knowing in return, as a parent myself, that He felt so fully proud of me- no matter my weaknesses and mistakes.
That song enabled me to put myself within it, flying high over God's shoulders, seeing myself more clearly through His eyes, so that I was able to write to my counselors:
"I am beginning to forgive myself for being flawed - for not being all that I had tried to be but knew that I was forever falling short of. So I'm not as intelligent as my husband, not as thin and beautiful as those gorgeous people in the media (and around me), not as organized and successful as those type A people in my life that I admire so much, not as verbally eloquent as I'd like to be, much more forgetful than many, and more like Mom's unpleasant side than I'd like to admit! However, I've disregarded and minimalized so many of the truly wonderful and special things that I am - how much of a gift THAT is - in and of itself - without my DOing a thing for another that makes me worthy and special. Even going so far to say that even the qualities that I say I don't have....I have more than I give myself credit for. I've realized that much of my use was seated in a feeling that I'm somehow lacking, that I don't quite measure up, that I might disappoint someone. It's through that acknowledgement and acceptance of being flawed, as well as the praising of all that I really AM that's not only been a worthy gift to myself, but worth mounds to others that I can share that with."
Thursday, January 21, 2010
AA
I dragged along one of my friends to my first AA meeting. By this time, I'd begun to share with a few of my closest of friends. The non-judgemental ones. Added in the rest of my small group members Responses were surprisingly supportive. In fact, my honesty seemed to create a certain respect and understanding with those I told. Though none of them had resorted to illegal drug use, my frustrations as a stay-at-home mom were well known to them. Coping skills come in a multitude of forms - many of us not embracing the healthiest of them.
My good friend was not in need of giving up alcohol - she was a closet smoker. And like my street drug usage, she felt the same shame. She'd been secretly attending a 12 step progam - Smoker's Anonymous - but had not yet been able to gain the strength to put the sticks down. She said she'd be more than honored to attend my first meeting with me.
I still remember walking into that goverment building basement where the meeting was held. Friday night girls meeting. I didn't know what to expect. Were they all a bunch of losers? A bunch of liars and criminals and washed out drunks? Would I find any commonality there?
To this day, I call them my party gals. My wild child(s). They were of varying ages, but mostly younger. Little rebels. Crazy, rockin' hair and clothes. Some of them open lesbians. They spoke honestly. They said FUCK. They were living life as I'd hoped to live one day- boldly. Without excuses. Caring, open and loving....but a daringness to be who they were. They even had a group that went down to the local bar and grill after the meeting - to drink soda and order up appetizers! I was stunned people could be that "on the edge" and have fun - but without a drink or drug!
I'm not sure I'd seen that on my first night there....but that is my memory of them. How awesome for that to have been my first introduction to AA.
It was November, so the meeting centered around the 11th step - prayer and meditation. I raised my hand to introduce myself and share. Listening to others do the same, I wasn't sure how I'd introduce myself to them. I wasn't an alcoholic. What was I? Why was I here?
"Hi, I'm Lauren. I'm an meth amphetamine addict and am choosing not to drink right now." Guess that covers it.
I told them a short version of what I felt in my heart. I could see God's work and presence in my life. Even when I was resisting Him - He's always been there. when I'd been most resistant in my past, it's been the people that He's placed in my life that have helped me open my eyes.(as I squeezed my friend's hand). Even to the extent of Mary (my supplier); of course He didn't will my meth use, but I know that befriending her specifically helped me to see. The spiraling down of my usage, the dynamics of our friendship through her neediness, and my feelings of commonality with her, were the BILLBOARD I needed to help me see/understand. I was sure then that there had been numerous times that He'd knocked on my door, perhaps even LEANED on the doorbell! With my own busy-ness going on in my head, however, and the denial of all my negative feelings, I was able to block out the incessant nuisance at the front door.
I'd been able to recount a number of miracles that I was sure had occured over the past month:
My good friend was not in need of giving up alcohol - she was a closet smoker. And like my street drug usage, she felt the same shame. She'd been secretly attending a 12 step progam - Smoker's Anonymous - but had not yet been able to gain the strength to put the sticks down. She said she'd be more than honored to attend my first meeting with me.
I still remember walking into that goverment building basement where the meeting was held. Friday night girls meeting. I didn't know what to expect. Were they all a bunch of losers? A bunch of liars and criminals and washed out drunks? Would I find any commonality there?
To this day, I call them my party gals. My wild child(s). They were of varying ages, but mostly younger. Little rebels. Crazy, rockin' hair and clothes. Some of them open lesbians. They spoke honestly. They said FUCK. They were living life as I'd hoped to live one day- boldly. Without excuses. Caring, open and loving....but a daringness to be who they were. They even had a group that went down to the local bar and grill after the meeting - to drink soda and order up appetizers! I was stunned people could be that "on the edge" and have fun - but without a drink or drug!
I'm not sure I'd seen that on my first night there....but that is my memory of them. How awesome for that to have been my first introduction to AA.
It was November, so the meeting centered around the 11th step - prayer and meditation. I raised my hand to introduce myself and share. Listening to others do the same, I wasn't sure how I'd introduce myself to them. I wasn't an alcoholic. What was I? Why was I here?
"Hi, I'm Lauren. I'm an meth amphetamine addict and am choosing not to drink right now." Guess that covers it.
I told them a short version of what I felt in my heart. I could see God's work and presence in my life. Even when I was resisting Him - He's always been there. when I'd been most resistant in my past, it's been the people that He's placed in my life that have helped me open my eyes.(as I squeezed my friend's hand). Even to the extent of Mary (my supplier); of course He didn't will my meth use, but I know that befriending her specifically helped me to see. The spiraling down of my usage, the dynamics of our friendship through her neediness, and my feelings of commonality with her, were the BILLBOARD I needed to help me see/understand. I was sure then that there had been numerous times that He'd knocked on my door, perhaps even LEANED on the doorbell! With my own busy-ness going on in my head, however, and the denial of all my negative feelings, I was able to block out the incessant nuisance at the front door.
I'd been able to recount a number of miracles that I was sure had occured over the past month:
- just 4 days after turning up empty handed, the topic in our small group being temptation. Reading words about secrets harming you and needing to open up to someone you can be accountable to.
- The group being held at our house - comfort in a very uncomfortable situation
- Jeanette's monopolization of the meeting with my very own story. Needing that monopolization to identify it in myself.
- Dana's seemingly intuitive action of lining up the chain on the cross
- My brother's family visiting for the first time in over 4 years THAT very WEEK - and this timing allowing me to be able to see the commonality between us. How we cater to our spouses and deny feelings of unhappiness.
- The doc just happening to have Sherry's card when we were discussing his fears of my relapsing.
- Sherry just happening to be exactly the person I'd been looking for. That strange immediate connection and genuine mutual fondness. The immediate feeling of support and forgiveness even though she was harping on the same theme of giving up alcohol.
- Fleet just happening to be flexible enough with his schedule that he could allow my busy husband a later appointment. And that even though he was a recovering alcohol/drug addict, (a failed soul in Jim's eyes) was someone who was intelligent enough - yet frank and warm enough - to capture not only Jim's "doctor" side, but my own needs as well.
- In the short amount of time that I'd met Sherry and took the evaluation - going from an attitude of NO FUCKING WAY would I give up alcohol when it wasn't the problem to acknowledging that it was a problem NOW and being able to actually visualize what my life would look like without it in the future.
- That, by opening up to a dear friend, she could surprisingly open up about her own issues with addiction and attend my very first AA meeting with me, giving me support in a scary "first" situation, while giving continued support back to her with her own issues.
- That that first meeting was full of these bold rebels, speaking with garingly harsh reality. Exactly what I admired in a person. And people from all walks of life. One of them was a female doctor.
- In the meditation book that I'd picked up from Central Services just the other day, there was a page folded down when I'd brought it home. "An element of recovery", it said, "is learning that we deserve success, the good things that come to us, and also that pain is a reality. We have the strength to deal with that pain without medicating, and it will pass." What I most needed to hear in starting out this journey: I was worthy of uncompromising happiness and that all pain was temporary.
- On the day that I first recognized my anger with Jim, at the time for making me feel like I HAD to give up alcohol, the meditation book read, "Because society would rather we always wore a pretty face, women have been trained to cut off anger." Yes! Affirmation!
- In my first full day of complete sobriety, both clean AND sober - feeling the acceptance and sadness of it all, the reading on that day read, "Life has got to be LIVED - that's all there is to it. In recovery, I would say the advantage is that you take time more calmly. You know that, this too shall pass." Affirmation that I had a full life to live - with all of its joy and sorrows. That the pain I'd go through to get there would be over soon.
- That despite Jim's worst fears of betrayal from his most beloved, he'd overcome his disgust in having a street drug abuser as his wife, his feelings that I was the problem, and performed a complete 180 to be supportive and go into treatment with me.
There was no doubt in my mind that all of this was divine. How could it not be? All this in such a short time? All those variables coming together at one time. Like I said, He may knock many a time in our lives - surely He had in mine. But I needed all of this TOGETHER - like the sledgehammer to the side of my head - in order for me to answer the door.
Perhaps its also a miracle I did.
Some never do.
Meth - The Good, the Bad and the Ugly
One of the things Sherry first wanted me to look at was what I got from meth amphetamine. What did it serve me....and what was it's lie?
On both occasions of first using cocaine, back in my college days, then meth on the Girl's trip, there was an immediate feeling of everyting being right with the world, an extreme feeling of love for everything in it. Both times, I have a distinct memory of those firsts, looking at the trees and the sky, and seeing with such clarity and wonder over God's creation. The beauty that it held.
I'd label myself as "high" on the drug, but I'd never felt that way, at least not in the way that a high might suggest to someone; being spaced out, loopy, and unfocused. Just the opposite: in the beginning there was a very strong sense of calm clarity with a ton of extra energy. At the beginning, I felt I was so much better when using, because I could think so much clearer, remember a multitude of details, and have the energy to carry out more than my share of tasks.
On a number of occasions, however, there were episodes of a "bad" high. A bad dose, I'd wonder? (A foreshadowing.) Jittery hands, a knot in my stomach, sometimes feeling the blood rushing behind my ears with a strong undercurrent of panic and worry. Who knows about me? Am I dying? What am I forgetting to do? On those occasions, I'd lie on the couch with my eyes closed, willing those feelings to pass. On those occasions, I'd drink.
It killed my appetite and taste buds. I mean killed it. I had no desire to eat anything -nothing looked good. And that was confirmed when I forced myself to eat-everything tasted like cardboard. It was hard to swallow. I was intelligent an person though. I knew that I had to eat in order to maintain my secrecy. I couldn't get sick! So, the drug helped me to make wise choices, ironically speaking, I had better eat the good stuff that might provide me with the most vitamins so that I look as healthy as possible. I'd seen those pictures of meth addicts online. Their gaunt bodies,hair falling out,losing their teeth. I wouldn't be one of them. So I ate my vegetables,got a rounded meal(on the smallest plate possible).
I marveled once again that I felt SO normal on this drug, with such increased energy and clarity, that the only negative was it being illegal, making it impossible to live openly while using it. Shouldering that guilt and shame was overpowering....but the benefits it provided at the time overshadowed guilt by a longhaul.
Towards the end of my usage, the drug began to reveal it's lie to me. I was completely hooked at this point, so meth could reveal itself a bit more clearly to me. Almost like heading to bed with the guy of your dreams, only to wake in the morning, turn your head for a kiss and recognize you'd bedded this horrible monster.
My blood pressure was really racing. I could feel it pounding behind my ears. I was fearful of working out anymore. For the past 8 years, I was a regular at our local gym in aerobic classes and weight training. No longer. I was sure I'd stroke out. Though meth was supposed to make a person sexually stimulated, I kept my distance from Jim. I was worried our sexual escapades might make me have a heart attack. Too, I didn't want him to hold me and feel my racing heart. Look lovingly into my eyes and recognize a rim of residual white powder ringing my nostrils.
My fingers were so often in the crevice behind my earlobe feeling for my pulse, I began to fear that the part of my skull that framed this area was filling in. There was bone structure there that I'd not recognized before.
I felt my heart skipping beats. At one time I was completely convinced there was something wrong with my heart so that I'd be dead within the year. I'd lie in bed and think of my children: Ian finally starting to have an interest in girls, Mariah's adoration of her 4th grade teacher. I lay there and accepted that I was probably not going to see them grown up. Life wasn't so wonderful.
But I kept using.
I realized towards the end that it wasn't curbing my apetite as it had. And now, I'd resorted to sugar. Forget vitamin fulfillment. I could at least count on sugar to always have a great taste.
I'd become convinced there was a hole straight through the back of my nostril to my brain. That it was frying right though the grey matter.
And I knew that it was my usage that was making my mind so foggy, it's machinery feeling as if it were covered in some sticky glue. I couldn't remember SHIT! My brain seemed to react SO slowly to put together information from various sources. I was embarrassed to talk to friends and extended family members in any kind of intellectual conversation because I couldn't put two rational thoughts together. And I was extremely paranoid of their humor thinking that I was being laughed at - my stupidity. I became highly defensive.
Fear of dying, of stroking out, of someone finding out - checking my nostrils a gazillion times a day, of being forgetful and stupid, of my brain disintegrating. Pure isolation from all but my supplier and resulting lonliness. This was the ugly truth I lived with after meth took off it's beauty mask. This was the monster I awakened to after falling head over heels with its beauty.
But damn....that was a great drug.
On both occasions of first using cocaine, back in my college days, then meth on the Girl's trip, there was an immediate feeling of everyting being right with the world, an extreme feeling of love for everything in it. Both times, I have a distinct memory of those firsts, looking at the trees and the sky, and seeing with such clarity and wonder over God's creation. The beauty that it held.
I'd label myself as "high" on the drug, but I'd never felt that way, at least not in the way that a high might suggest to someone; being spaced out, loopy, and unfocused. Just the opposite: in the beginning there was a very strong sense of calm clarity with a ton of extra energy. At the beginning, I felt I was so much better when using, because I could think so much clearer, remember a multitude of details, and have the energy to carry out more than my share of tasks.
On a number of occasions, however, there were episodes of a "bad" high. A bad dose, I'd wonder? (A foreshadowing.) Jittery hands, a knot in my stomach, sometimes feeling the blood rushing behind my ears with a strong undercurrent of panic and worry. Who knows about me? Am I dying? What am I forgetting to do? On those occasions, I'd lie on the couch with my eyes closed, willing those feelings to pass. On those occasions, I'd drink.
It killed my appetite and taste buds. I mean killed it. I had no desire to eat anything -nothing looked good. And that was confirmed when I forced myself to eat-everything tasted like cardboard. It was hard to swallow. I was intelligent an person though. I knew that I had to eat in order to maintain my secrecy. I couldn't get sick! So, the drug helped me to make wise choices, ironically speaking, I had better eat the good stuff that might provide me with the most vitamins so that I look as healthy as possible. I'd seen those pictures of meth addicts online. Their gaunt bodies,hair falling out,losing their teeth. I wouldn't be one of them. So I ate my vegetables,got a rounded meal(on the smallest plate possible).
I marveled once again that I felt SO normal on this drug, with such increased energy and clarity, that the only negative was it being illegal, making it impossible to live openly while using it. Shouldering that guilt and shame was overpowering....but the benefits it provided at the time overshadowed guilt by a longhaul.
Towards the end of my usage, the drug began to reveal it's lie to me. I was completely hooked at this point, so meth could reveal itself a bit more clearly to me. Almost like heading to bed with the guy of your dreams, only to wake in the morning, turn your head for a kiss and recognize you'd bedded this horrible monster.
My blood pressure was really racing. I could feel it pounding behind my ears. I was fearful of working out anymore. For the past 8 years, I was a regular at our local gym in aerobic classes and weight training. No longer. I was sure I'd stroke out. Though meth was supposed to make a person sexually stimulated, I kept my distance from Jim. I was worried our sexual escapades might make me have a heart attack. Too, I didn't want him to hold me and feel my racing heart. Look lovingly into my eyes and recognize a rim of residual white powder ringing my nostrils.
My fingers were so often in the crevice behind my earlobe feeling for my pulse, I began to fear that the part of my skull that framed this area was filling in. There was bone structure there that I'd not recognized before.
I felt my heart skipping beats. At one time I was completely convinced there was something wrong with my heart so that I'd be dead within the year. I'd lie in bed and think of my children: Ian finally starting to have an interest in girls, Mariah's adoration of her 4th grade teacher. I lay there and accepted that I was probably not going to see them grown up. Life wasn't so wonderful.
But I kept using.
I realized towards the end that it wasn't curbing my apetite as it had. And now, I'd resorted to sugar. Forget vitamin fulfillment. I could at least count on sugar to always have a great taste.
I'd become convinced there was a hole straight through the back of my nostril to my brain. That it was frying right though the grey matter.
And I knew that it was my usage that was making my mind so foggy, it's machinery feeling as if it were covered in some sticky glue. I couldn't remember SHIT! My brain seemed to react SO slowly to put together information from various sources. I was embarrassed to talk to friends and extended family members in any kind of intellectual conversation because I couldn't put two rational thoughts together. And I was extremely paranoid of their humor thinking that I was being laughed at - my stupidity. I became highly defensive.
Fear of dying, of stroking out, of someone finding out - checking my nostrils a gazillion times a day, of being forgetful and stupid, of my brain disintegrating. Pure isolation from all but my supplier and resulting lonliness. This was the ugly truth I lived with after meth took off it's beauty mask. This was the monster I awakened to after falling head over heels with its beauty.
But damn....that was a great drug.
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
Agreement
Within the following week, I decided to give up alcohol.
Equally as much of a shock, my husband agreed to go into counseling.
It was partially that first visit with our counselor that pushed me the final mile of making the decision to give it up. I'd found this counselor, Fleet; male, a family counselor in the 12 step network, through Sherry, the drug/alcohol counselor that gave me the evaluation. I'd since dropped the doc, as well, given my focus now on substance abuse (what I'd told him) and my strong emotional connection to Sherry (what I felt in my heart).
Fleet shared with the two of us the outcome of that evaluation. Moderate to Severe. Recommended inpatient treatment. I told him how frustrated I was with the parameters of the test - that most of the answers would be a "no" if I answered specifically about drinking. My husband, sitting at the far end of the couch from me, supported me somewhat in saying that as long as he'd known me I'd had a glass of wine with dinner - and that was it. But as well, he was shocked in my attitude. I felt as though he looked at me like a child through a parent's disapproving eyes. "If it's not an issue to you, why not just give it up and show them it's really not. What's the big deal?"
We'd listened to a great CD by Dr. Kevin McCauley (www.addictiondoctor.com) who is one of the leading doctors in the nation that is scientifically affirming the debate that addiction is a disease. Dr. McCauley's lecture, "The Disease Model of Addiction" stated that scientific studies showed that upon using a drug, recordable change occurred in the midbrain, the subconscious (without *conscience*) part of the brain. With abuse, your ability to experience pleasure or joy was greatly decreased, causing the addict to use more often and frequently, without regard to their moral principles. Following that framework, my husband argued, it would make sense that giving up the substance for a period of time could return that "pleasure center" to a normal state for the person that was not an alcoholic. Jim argued that were I to give up alcohol for a period of time, that it was quite likely that I could drink again in the future if I, in fact, were not an alcoholic.
Fleet agreed it was possible. He wasn't a doctor. I think he was just anxious to have me quit.
I felt like a child. Small. The bad person. I'd put myself in the hands of the professionals, open, honest and willing. And they sat there, Fleet and my husband, with expectation in their eyes asking me to give up my last crutch. I was still feeling highly emotional, uncovering more about myself on a daily basis, and they looked at me....expectant....disapproving of anything but *their* solution, waiting for me to make the obvious decision.
So there it was.... a challenge of sorts held out to me. If it's not a problem, give it up.
In that instant, I understood. I was incredibly scared about that option because I could acknowledge in that moment that it was a problem. I could see how much I was white knuckling that alcohol bottle, depending on it, using it strongly because of all the emotional upheaval I was feeling. Aha moment right there in Fleet's office, sitting on his couch with those expectant eyes waiting on me.
*Progressive doesn't mean you progress to the point of being the stereotypical drunk, homeless person under the bridge with a filled, wrinkled paper bag. It means that your dependency on some kind of chemical becomes stronger so that if it's not available, you'll just switch chemicals to have some kind of relief or satisfaction.
I got it.
And I hated it. It was almost if, I thought, that in that decision in April of '04 on that girl's weekend to use meth, I'd forever give up alcohol. I wish I could have foreseen the future. I wish, I wish...
But it was obvious to me that I needed to stop drinking. Stop using any substances that helped my brain continue a connection of substance = relief.
And I wanted to learn as much as I could about alcoholism and substance abuse so that I could wield myself with knowledge - not only for myself but for my kids as well. Quickly leaving the tween stage, my soon-to-be teens needed me to be beefed up with any knowledge I could get my hands on about alcoholism. Make them aware of the dangers ahead for themselves if this were genetic in our family. Besides my grandfather, I was still not willing (and still hold out judgement) to label anyone else in the family- including myself - an alcoholic. But knowledge was power.
I'm willing. I will, I'd answered those expectant eyes.
What are you willing to do, Fleet asked.
Stop drinking for at least a period of three months. Attend 3 meetings a week, continue couple's counseling with you once a week, and individual therapy with Sherry.
Deal.
In for a penny, in for a pound. Here we go.
Equally as much of a shock, my husband agreed to go into counseling.
It was partially that first visit with our counselor that pushed me the final mile of making the decision to give it up. I'd found this counselor, Fleet; male, a family counselor in the 12 step network, through Sherry, the drug/alcohol counselor that gave me the evaluation. I'd since dropped the doc, as well, given my focus now on substance abuse (what I'd told him) and my strong emotional connection to Sherry (what I felt in my heart).
Fleet shared with the two of us the outcome of that evaluation. Moderate to Severe. Recommended inpatient treatment. I told him how frustrated I was with the parameters of the test - that most of the answers would be a "no" if I answered specifically about drinking. My husband, sitting at the far end of the couch from me, supported me somewhat in saying that as long as he'd known me I'd had a glass of wine with dinner - and that was it. But as well, he was shocked in my attitude. I felt as though he looked at me like a child through a parent's disapproving eyes. "If it's not an issue to you, why not just give it up and show them it's really not. What's the big deal?"
We'd listened to a great CD by Dr. Kevin McCauley (www.addictiondoctor.com) who is one of the leading doctors in the nation that is scientifically affirming the debate that addiction is a disease. Dr. McCauley's lecture, "The Disease Model of Addiction" stated that scientific studies showed that upon using a drug, recordable change occurred in the midbrain, the subconscious (without *conscience*) part of the brain. With abuse, your ability to experience pleasure or joy was greatly decreased, causing the addict to use more often and frequently, without regard to their moral principles. Following that framework, my husband argued, it would make sense that giving up the substance for a period of time could return that "pleasure center" to a normal state for the person that was not an alcoholic. Jim argued that were I to give up alcohol for a period of time, that it was quite likely that I could drink again in the future if I, in fact, were not an alcoholic.
Fleet agreed it was possible. He wasn't a doctor. I think he was just anxious to have me quit.
I felt like a child. Small. The bad person. I'd put myself in the hands of the professionals, open, honest and willing. And they sat there, Fleet and my husband, with expectation in their eyes asking me to give up my last crutch. I was still feeling highly emotional, uncovering more about myself on a daily basis, and they looked at me....expectant....disapproving of anything but *their* solution, waiting for me to make the obvious decision.
So there it was.... a challenge of sorts held out to me. If it's not a problem, give it up.
In that instant, I understood. I was incredibly scared about that option because I could acknowledge in that moment that it was a problem. I could see how much I was white knuckling that alcohol bottle, depending on it, using it strongly because of all the emotional upheaval I was feeling. Aha moment right there in Fleet's office, sitting on his couch with those expectant eyes waiting on me.
*Progressive doesn't mean you progress to the point of being the stereotypical drunk, homeless person under the bridge with a filled, wrinkled paper bag. It means that your dependency on some kind of chemical becomes stronger so that if it's not available, you'll just switch chemicals to have some kind of relief or satisfaction.
I got it.
And I hated it. It was almost if, I thought, that in that decision in April of '04 on that girl's weekend to use meth, I'd forever give up alcohol. I wish I could have foreseen the future. I wish, I wish...
But it was obvious to me that I needed to stop drinking. Stop using any substances that helped my brain continue a connection of substance = relief.
And I wanted to learn as much as I could about alcoholism and substance abuse so that I could wield myself with knowledge - not only for myself but for my kids as well. Quickly leaving the tween stage, my soon-to-be teens needed me to be beefed up with any knowledge I could get my hands on about alcoholism. Make them aware of the dangers ahead for themselves if this were genetic in our family. Besides my grandfather, I was still not willing (and still hold out judgement) to label anyone else in the family- including myself - an alcoholic. But knowledge was power.
I'm willing. I will, I'd answered those expectant eyes.
What are you willing to do, Fleet asked.
Stop drinking for at least a period of three months. Attend 3 meetings a week, continue couple's counseling with you once a week, and individual therapy with Sherry.
Deal.
In for a penny, in for a pound. Here we go.
Friday, January 15, 2010
Substance Abuse
During that week of isolation, I was still seeing my therapist. He identified one concern: if Jim would ever agree to come to counseling, he couldn't continue to see me individually. Ethically, he couldn't focus on the union of the marriage, and still support me as an individual on the side. And if those couple's sessions were to increase my stress level, he was concerned even more about my drinking. He gave me the name of a drug/alcohol counselor and asked that I would at least have an evaluation done to make sure he'd covered all his bases. That I wasn't the ticking time bomb he suspected.
Just as when he'd suggested it the first time, I was more than willing to go. Let's get to the bottom of everything and move forward. In for a penny in for a pound.
I'm sure you've met a handful of people in your life that you know, within the second of meeting them, that there is a special connection between the two of you. They might not even have had to open their mouth, but perhaps it's their eye gaze or some chemical liason between the two of you, but you just know. There's something mysteriously....connected....between the two of you.
That's exactly the way I felt when I met my alcohol/drug counselor. Or maybe I was just so in tune with God's will, that I could feel that this was exactly where I needed to be. And I was directed to her, specifically, because God knew we'd connect on a spiritual, emotional level. My doc hadn't even known her very well when he'd sent me to her. They happened to be at the same meeting the week before and they'd networked together. She gave him her card, and it happened to be sitting on the top of his desk as we were talking about about a substance abuse evaluation.
I opened up easily, talking with her. Sharing my substance abuse history. Alcohol always in the home; my parents were the typical "cocktail drinkers" that was widely popular in the 50's. Our family was traditional and boring, though. No drunken stupors. No chaos. No abuse. I had a grandfather - my dad's dad- that was your stereotypical drunk. I didn't know him well; he died when I was young. From what I understand, however, he'd disappear often, couldn't hold a job, and was somewhat (verbally?) abusive. None of his kids showed any signs of alcoholism.
I started drinking in high school to be part of the crowd. There was often a party happening every weekend. Smoking cigarettes was a habit I'd also picked up during that time. I felt the drinking/smoking combo made me appear more "cool" - more one of the crowd. I'd also experimented with marijuana in my last few years of high school as well, but never enjoyed that feeling. I was always too mellow and hyper-self conscious. That was my type of personality anyway, I didn't need anything to magnify it.
In college, I was a "party-girl", starting the weekends on Thursdays. Loved the bars, dancing, and staying out late. I felt more comfortable with a drink and a smoke in my hand. Hangovers were common, black outs less so. I never missed work, however, and remained a good student. By my senior year, I'd discovered cocaine. Largely a weekend escapade, it made me feel like the life of the party. I was confident, beautiful and loving life. I think it's possible that could have gotten out of hand, but I was a student with little cash. An attractive young lady, I could also get it free a lot, but thankfully all of this happened at the end of my college years, just before I'd met my husband.
My husband and I shared a short drug/alcohol life. I was shocked the first time I'd seen him dip his head to snort coke with me - he looked like such a straight arrow kinda guy. We might have shared that experience 4-5 times. But we met literally the last two weeks before I left UK to do my social work internship before graduation. It was time to grow up and start acting like adults. By the time we were married, the "party life" was a thing of the past. He was an officer in the military and in residency; I had a 9 to 5 job. That party time became one more memory of just another college kid's carefree lifestyle before the responsibilities of adulthood took over.
She then issued the substance abuse questionaire. I was to answer the questions without regard to the substance. If it was a "yes" to one substance, then the answer to the question was a "yes" to all. It began to frustrate the heck out of me, because many of my questions that I responded "yes" were purely because of the meth, not alcohol.
Have you ever hidden your usage? - Alcohol, no. Meth, hell yes, it was illegal.
Have you felt that it takes you more to get a feeling of high. Alcohol, never enjoyed getting drunk, so it wasn't the goal when drinking. Meth, yes.
Do you ever feel you need it to get going in the morning. Alcohol, no. Meth, yes.
Do you feel guilty about your usage? Alcohol, no. Meth, yes.
I've often felt that I needed to cut back on my usage. Alcohol, no. Meth, yes.
Have you ever not followed through with what you were supposed to because of your usage? Alcohol, no. Meth, yes.
The conclusion? I had a moderate-severe level of alcoholism and immediate treatment was strongly recommended.
I was pissed.
Here I was, being open....honest, sharing my alcohol history and current use with her, and for that, for THAT, they were going to send me away, lock me up, and make me give up alcohol?! I was no more a drinker than the majority of the population. Happy hours. Can't wait for the weekend. Hearing about someone's bad day - the suggestion, "You need a drink!" Cheers, a celebration. Shoot....everyone drank! Me no more than any of them. Sheesh, it was the one *accepted* chemical in my life! My husband, my family of origin, my friends.....not one single one of them had ever suggested to me that my drinking was a problem. SURE, I'd used it to address pain, but who in this world had NOT? Why am *I* being singled out?!
I was pissed.
I had heard that it was a major concern to me because if it was true that chemical dependency was a progressive disease, which they'd said it was, holding onto any chemical allows the disease to progress.
But *any* addictive behavior was going to do that if I didn't address the issues that cause the behavior to be a problem. I mean, a person could be addicted to anything - the internet, food, sex, shopping - we wouldn't be asking those people to give up those behaviors completely. They'd have to learn how to control their addictive satisfaction by addressing the issues that caused them to abuse it.
But you don't need alcohol to live your life.
But substance was substance, right? Internet, food, sex, shopping. Any of those things would cause the disease to progress if you didn't address the problem, right?
Besides,I don't have a problem with alcohol! It's never been a problem in my life!
There was no way I was going to be stripped of everything, I said.
Yet, a growing concern was forming in the back of my mind. I didn't want to voice it because I didn't want anyone to think I was going to go along with this stupid idea.
If alcoholism is hereditary, then what if my kids had it? What if the doc was right and we were teaching them that alcohol, used for "medicinal purposes" was ok? They'd already been passed the depression gene, what if I'm also passing down the "substances can fix it" gene?
How much had alcohol affected our marital relationship that I hadn't looked at?
How much of my current memory loss, which was a growing concern, had to do with alcohol usage or the combination of meth/alcohol? Surely, I'd always been a forgetful person; adding age and multi-task parenting - forget it. But how much was because of chemical abuse? Was it repairable?
Yea....those were concerns, but damn it. I'm just not going to give up something that's not a problem - for me or anyone else is my life.
Just as when he'd suggested it the first time, I was more than willing to go. Let's get to the bottom of everything and move forward. In for a penny in for a pound.
I'm sure you've met a handful of people in your life that you know, within the second of meeting them, that there is a special connection between the two of you. They might not even have had to open their mouth, but perhaps it's their eye gaze or some chemical liason between the two of you, but you just know. There's something mysteriously....connected....between the two of you.
That's exactly the way I felt when I met my alcohol/drug counselor. Or maybe I was just so in tune with God's will, that I could feel that this was exactly where I needed to be. And I was directed to her, specifically, because God knew we'd connect on a spiritual, emotional level. My doc hadn't even known her very well when he'd sent me to her. They happened to be at the same meeting the week before and they'd networked together. She gave him her card, and it happened to be sitting on the top of his desk as we were talking about about a substance abuse evaluation.
I opened up easily, talking with her. Sharing my substance abuse history. Alcohol always in the home; my parents were the typical "cocktail drinkers" that was widely popular in the 50's. Our family was traditional and boring, though. No drunken stupors. No chaos. No abuse. I had a grandfather - my dad's dad- that was your stereotypical drunk. I didn't know him well; he died when I was young. From what I understand, however, he'd disappear often, couldn't hold a job, and was somewhat (verbally?) abusive. None of his kids showed any signs of alcoholism.
I started drinking in high school to be part of the crowd. There was often a party happening every weekend. Smoking cigarettes was a habit I'd also picked up during that time. I felt the drinking/smoking combo made me appear more "cool" - more one of the crowd. I'd also experimented with marijuana in my last few years of high school as well, but never enjoyed that feeling. I was always too mellow and hyper-self conscious. That was my type of personality anyway, I didn't need anything to magnify it.
In college, I was a "party-girl", starting the weekends on Thursdays. Loved the bars, dancing, and staying out late. I felt more comfortable with a drink and a smoke in my hand. Hangovers were common, black outs less so. I never missed work, however, and remained a good student. By my senior year, I'd discovered cocaine. Largely a weekend escapade, it made me feel like the life of the party. I was confident, beautiful and loving life. I think it's possible that could have gotten out of hand, but I was a student with little cash. An attractive young lady, I could also get it free a lot, but thankfully all of this happened at the end of my college years, just before I'd met my husband.
My husband and I shared a short drug/alcohol life. I was shocked the first time I'd seen him dip his head to snort coke with me - he looked like such a straight arrow kinda guy. We might have shared that experience 4-5 times. But we met literally the last two weeks before I left UK to do my social work internship before graduation. It was time to grow up and start acting like adults. By the time we were married, the "party life" was a thing of the past. He was an officer in the military and in residency; I had a 9 to 5 job. That party time became one more memory of just another college kid's carefree lifestyle before the responsibilities of adulthood took over.
She then issued the substance abuse questionaire. I was to answer the questions without regard to the substance. If it was a "yes" to one substance, then the answer to the question was a "yes" to all. It began to frustrate the heck out of me, because many of my questions that I responded "yes" were purely because of the meth, not alcohol.
Have you ever hidden your usage? - Alcohol, no. Meth, hell yes, it was illegal.
Have you felt that it takes you more to get a feeling of high. Alcohol, never enjoyed getting drunk, so it wasn't the goal when drinking. Meth, yes.
Do you ever feel you need it to get going in the morning. Alcohol, no. Meth, yes.
Do you feel guilty about your usage? Alcohol, no. Meth, yes.
I've often felt that I needed to cut back on my usage. Alcohol, no. Meth, yes.
Have you ever not followed through with what you were supposed to because of your usage? Alcohol, no. Meth, yes.
The conclusion? I had a moderate-severe level of alcoholism and immediate treatment was strongly recommended.
I was pissed.
Here I was, being open....honest, sharing my alcohol history and current use with her, and for that, for THAT, they were going to send me away, lock me up, and make me give up alcohol?! I was no more a drinker than the majority of the population. Happy hours. Can't wait for the weekend. Hearing about someone's bad day - the suggestion, "You need a drink!" Cheers, a celebration. Shoot....everyone drank! Me no more than any of them. Sheesh, it was the one *accepted* chemical in my life! My husband, my family of origin, my friends.....not one single one of them had ever suggested to me that my drinking was a problem. SURE, I'd used it to address pain, but who in this world had NOT? Why am *I* being singled out?!
I was pissed.
I had heard that it was a major concern to me because if it was true that chemical dependency was a progressive disease, which they'd said it was, holding onto any chemical allows the disease to progress.
But *any* addictive behavior was going to do that if I didn't address the issues that cause the behavior to be a problem. I mean, a person could be addicted to anything - the internet, food, sex, shopping - we wouldn't be asking those people to give up those behaviors completely. They'd have to learn how to control their addictive satisfaction by addressing the issues that caused them to abuse it.
But you don't need alcohol to live your life.
But substance was substance, right? Internet, food, sex, shopping. Any of those things would cause the disease to progress if you didn't address the problem, right?
Besides,I don't have a problem with alcohol! It's never been a problem in my life!
There was no way I was going to be stripped of everything, I said.
Yet, a growing concern was forming in the back of my mind. I didn't want to voice it because I didn't want anyone to think I was going to go along with this stupid idea.
If alcoholism is hereditary, then what if my kids had it? What if the doc was right and we were teaching them that alcohol, used for "medicinal purposes" was ok? They'd already been passed the depression gene, what if I'm also passing down the "substances can fix it" gene?
How much had alcohol affected our marital relationship that I hadn't looked at?
How much of my current memory loss, which was a growing concern, had to do with alcohol usage or the combination of meth/alcohol? Surely, I'd always been a forgetful person; adding age and multi-task parenting - forget it. But how much was because of chemical abuse? Was it repairable?
Yea....those were concerns, but damn it. I'm just not going to give up something that's not a problem - for me or anyone else is my life.
Thursday, January 14, 2010
Isolation
We separated after that - and having just written that, I'd meant to reiterate, that we both went our separate ways to grieve. However, I can see that we did, in actuality, separate for a good week. Have a literal "marital separation". We just continued to live in the same house together.
He kept wondering "How could I?", reinforcing that I needed major help. I'd been right in his anger about Mary - "No wonder you tried to get me to like her - she was your supplier! And you allowed me to help her out (monetarily)! He just "didn't get it", he's said. How would my dissatisfaction and anger lead to drugs?
I suggested again that we go together for therapy so that the doc could help him understand that connection and help him with these feelings of hurt and betrayal, he focused once again on my being the bad one. The person that needed help was me. And if I thought for one instant that after working 60 hours a week that he'd be coming home to do housework, I was sadly mistaken. Again, he reassured me that if it weren't for the kids, he wouldn't stick around.
I told him to go. Leave now. Go to the lake house. He wasn't leaving the kids, he said. (Not with a sicko.) I suggested I could leave. Stay somewhere else.
"I couldn't care less what you do."
For the following week, we lived together - but around each other. Not speaking. I'd come to bed and find the pillows stacked down the middle of the bed. No possible opportunity for skin contact during our sleeping hours. He'd talk to the kids while I stood next to them, doing his best to ignore me. I was really unsure where we were. Where this would go. How long we'd keep this charade up.
If like any other blowout - though of course, none nearly as serious as this one - it would go unresolved or undiscussed. It was typical for him to either do a complete 180 and say he was sorry, he was a "bad husband", buy me flowers OR we'd just never revisit the argument again. I wouldn't bring it up later because it was such a big deal for me to confront it in the first place; we'd just keep on keeping on.
In pure co-dependent style, if I wasn't complaining, our marriage was great. No arguments. Living life "in harmony". It was easiest not to confront any issues and just make myself happy in what ever way I could. Sidestep the roadblocks. And Jim, he never had many complaints. Either I was good at guessing his needs and melding to them or with the slightest hint of perceived criticism, I'd be on my feet to guess, assume, and do more. Maybe he was truly happy with me - with everything that I did. Understanding what I do now, though, I don't think that's rational. No one, even the best of couples or friends, lives in complete harmony with each other. We're two separate people with different backgrounds, philosophies in life, perceptions about the world around us - there's no way two people can be without conflict for 18 years. (the length of our marriage by that time) There's going to be conflict, differences of opinion, needs that go unmet, compromises that need to occur on both sides - what matters more is how you voice it and come to resolution. Voicing it, though, before it becomes some perceived catastrophe of misunderstood (non)communication.
I think part of the reason I kept my feelings/thoughts hidden was because I'd felt that his love/our marriage was very conditional. Though, now, I can see that I'd just replaced my mother and my fear of her displeasure with my husband. That substitution was simple; he, like my mom, holds himself and others to such high standards. When he's wronged, the majority of his immediate reaction is in response to the confirmation that people are bound to hurt or take advantage of him, wanting at first to retaliate. Then rid them from his life. On more occasions than not, he'd rather cut off the diseased part than fix the problem. There had been many references, especially the more successful he'd gotten, though admittedly said in jest, about alimony (he'd fight giving me half) or that he'd find a newer prettier model. I'd always treated them with humor, responding with a joke right back (that I'd have no difficulty finding the newer prettier stud myself). I truly believe however, that many threatening jokes have a subtle hint of honesty. There was no doubt in my mind that he could just sever the diseased limb, cauterize and move on. He'd hurt, certainly, but that would be the preferred solution.
Isolation.....it seems like a simple "punishment". Each of you merely stay clear of the other. How can a NON action be that painful, really? Worse in many ways than the opposite, though. There's no way to know where the other person stands. The fear and anxiety of the unknown was worse than hearing his anger. The ache was more than just emotional, it hurt deep within the smallest bone of my body. Looking at him, I know he felt the same way. For me, there was guilt for my silence that allowed our marriage to get this far down into the pit, an intense sadness for what we'd become, disappointment in myself and surely, him, for not being the compassionate, understanding, supportive husband I needed. Even anger, seeing his actions as immature in his inability to understand how my state of mind could lead to drugs, refusing to seek professional help to save our marriage. I was uneasy and anxious for what would happen, but surprised too that our marriage wouldn't be able to survive this. Maybe another form of denial, but I thought our marriage was stronger than that.
Underneath it all, if I allowed myself a moment's thought in health, I recognized a growing bud of hope. For me, at least. That no matter what, I was becoming stronger, every day a better version of myself the day before. That this awful thing that I'd done to myself and our family would be painful, yes - but no matter what happened, good or bad - it'd be the major turning point in my life. I was ready to dig in and learn - with him or without him. It would be a lesson of all lessons that gave me opportunity to open my eyes and grow. Like God's metaphorical sledge hammer to the head that I apparently needed to wake up out of my co-dependent slumber. I was 41. It was time.
He kept wondering "How could I?", reinforcing that I needed major help. I'd been right in his anger about Mary - "No wonder you tried to get me to like her - she was your supplier! And you allowed me to help her out (monetarily)! He just "didn't get it", he's said. How would my dissatisfaction and anger lead to drugs?
I suggested again that we go together for therapy so that the doc could help him understand that connection and help him with these feelings of hurt and betrayal, he focused once again on my being the bad one. The person that needed help was me. And if I thought for one instant that after working 60 hours a week that he'd be coming home to do housework, I was sadly mistaken. Again, he reassured me that if it weren't for the kids, he wouldn't stick around.
I told him to go. Leave now. Go to the lake house. He wasn't leaving the kids, he said. (Not with a sicko.) I suggested I could leave. Stay somewhere else.
"I couldn't care less what you do."
For the following week, we lived together - but around each other. Not speaking. I'd come to bed and find the pillows stacked down the middle of the bed. No possible opportunity for skin contact during our sleeping hours. He'd talk to the kids while I stood next to them, doing his best to ignore me. I was really unsure where we were. Where this would go. How long we'd keep this charade up.
If like any other blowout - though of course, none nearly as serious as this one - it would go unresolved or undiscussed. It was typical for him to either do a complete 180 and say he was sorry, he was a "bad husband", buy me flowers OR we'd just never revisit the argument again. I wouldn't bring it up later because it was such a big deal for me to confront it in the first place; we'd just keep on keeping on.
In pure co-dependent style, if I wasn't complaining, our marriage was great. No arguments. Living life "in harmony". It was easiest not to confront any issues and just make myself happy in what ever way I could. Sidestep the roadblocks. And Jim, he never had many complaints. Either I was good at guessing his needs and melding to them or with the slightest hint of perceived criticism, I'd be on my feet to guess, assume, and do more. Maybe he was truly happy with me - with everything that I did. Understanding what I do now, though, I don't think that's rational. No one, even the best of couples or friends, lives in complete harmony with each other. We're two separate people with different backgrounds, philosophies in life, perceptions about the world around us - there's no way two people can be without conflict for 18 years. (the length of our marriage by that time) There's going to be conflict, differences of opinion, needs that go unmet, compromises that need to occur on both sides - what matters more is how you voice it and come to resolution. Voicing it, though, before it becomes some perceived catastrophe of misunderstood (non)communication.
I think part of the reason I kept my feelings/thoughts hidden was because I'd felt that his love/our marriage was very conditional. Though, now, I can see that I'd just replaced my mother and my fear of her displeasure with my husband. That substitution was simple; he, like my mom, holds himself and others to such high standards. When he's wronged, the majority of his immediate reaction is in response to the confirmation that people are bound to hurt or take advantage of him, wanting at first to retaliate. Then rid them from his life. On more occasions than not, he'd rather cut off the diseased part than fix the problem. There had been many references, especially the more successful he'd gotten, though admittedly said in jest, about alimony (he'd fight giving me half) or that he'd find a newer prettier model. I'd always treated them with humor, responding with a joke right back (that I'd have no difficulty finding the newer prettier stud myself). I truly believe however, that many threatening jokes have a subtle hint of honesty. There was no doubt in my mind that he could just sever the diseased limb, cauterize and move on. He'd hurt, certainly, but that would be the preferred solution.
Isolation.....it seems like a simple "punishment". Each of you merely stay clear of the other. How can a NON action be that painful, really? Worse in many ways than the opposite, though. There's no way to know where the other person stands. The fear and anxiety of the unknown was worse than hearing his anger. The ache was more than just emotional, it hurt deep within the smallest bone of my body. Looking at him, I know he felt the same way. For me, there was guilt for my silence that allowed our marriage to get this far down into the pit, an intense sadness for what we'd become, disappointment in myself and surely, him, for not being the compassionate, understanding, supportive husband I needed. Even anger, seeing his actions as immature in his inability to understand how my state of mind could lead to drugs, refusing to seek professional help to save our marriage. I was uneasy and anxious for what would happen, but surprised too that our marriage wouldn't be able to survive this. Maybe another form of denial, but I thought our marriage was stronger than that.
Underneath it all, if I allowed myself a moment's thought in health, I recognized a growing bud of hope. For me, at least. That no matter what, I was becoming stronger, every day a better version of myself the day before. That this awful thing that I'd done to myself and our family would be painful, yes - but no matter what happened, good or bad - it'd be the major turning point in my life. I was ready to dig in and learn - with him or without him. It would be a lesson of all lessons that gave me opportunity to open my eyes and grow. Like God's metaphorical sledge hammer to the head that I apparently needed to wake up out of my co-dependent slumber. I was 41. It was time.
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
Disgusting and Naked
This is an ugly memory. Thankfully, we've moved far beyond it. But it's not for the timid.
I'd come from such a high that weekend with my church ladies. They'd pumped me up and helped me to face doing what was inevitable. The other biggest co-dependent relationship in my life was with my husband. I needed to come clean if I was ever to start anew. There was little we could do together if he wasn't aware of what we were dealing with. My doc suggested that we could tell him together - but I knew him. Knew he was an untrusting soul anyway. He'd feel ganged up on if I dragged him into a meeting without having a reason for being there in the first place. I knew he was a reactionary person - quick to react, sometimes scary in that reaction.....but that he'd always came around. Plus, he'd used cocaine in college too. We'd used together a few times. His older sisters were flower children of the 70's - drugs weren't taboo from his own history. Maybe it wouldn't be such a terrible thing to reveal.
I'd set out a goal to tell him that coming weekend. And it was strange how the day seemed to be opening itself up to give us the alone time to be able to share this deep, hidden secret. My kids, Ian and Mariah, were out with friends. I could see that there were going to be several hours ahead of us that we'd be alone.
My heart was slowing in trepidation...but I was ready. I knew what I needed to do. I could do this.
But of course, he had other plans on his mind. We were alone. For several hours.
We could have sex.
It'd been a long time.
(sigh)
What to do. We really hadn't had sex in a while. Maybe by making love, it'd put him in a better frame of mind to hear what I needed to tell him. Sex always had a way of making us feel intimate, close and loving for days afterward. Too, if I told him ahead of time, there's no way he'd ever get to wanting it later. Maybe it'd be best to satisfy that itch now.
So says the well-trained co-dependent that I was. Satisfy his needs first.
And so....there we were, satiated and spent. Holding each other, spooning. Full of satisfied togetherness.
My heart beating.
Do it.
Say it.
I need to tell you something.
What.
I've been a meth amphetamine addict
for
a year and a half.
Silence.
More silence.
WHAT?!
He sits up to look at me.
He has this pulsing vein between his eyebrows. This crevice between his eyes. This look about his face when he's angry with you that makes you feel like you're nothing. You're absolute scum.
I couldn't have been more naked.
More alone.
More ugly.
I gathered the large, king sized pillows to me, trying to cover my nakedness.
For a fleeting second, I thought, why in the hell did I ever think this would be a good idea? To tell him when I was at my most vulnerable? Most...visible. How could I ever believe that he'd take this even remotely....ok?
You're sick, he said.
I know. I'm getting help. I want us to go together.
Me? Me?! You're the sick one! I can't believe you!
Tears flowed down my face as I tried everything to make myself not feel so exposed, so naked. Gathering the bedsheets, the pillows.
You don't know. You don't know how ashamed I've felt......please......please don't....
I should think so! I hope so! What'd you expect me to think? What'd you expect?!
You disgust me. If I could leave, I would. If we didn't have kids, I'd be outta here. I could you know. I could take them and leave. You wouldn't be left with a penny. They don't look highly on drug addicts who are mothers.
You're sick.
So sick.
I'd forgotten how untrusting he was of others. That the one person he most trusted in his life, hiding this lie - any lie - would be a betrayal.....tenfold.
I gathered my clothes in the empty room he'd left and felt sure it was over.
I was a sick, ugly, horribly shameful person.....but there were no more secrets. It was out.
I'd come from such a high that weekend with my church ladies. They'd pumped me up and helped me to face doing what was inevitable. The other biggest co-dependent relationship in my life was with my husband. I needed to come clean if I was ever to start anew. There was little we could do together if he wasn't aware of what we were dealing with. My doc suggested that we could tell him together - but I knew him. Knew he was an untrusting soul anyway. He'd feel ganged up on if I dragged him into a meeting without having a reason for being there in the first place. I knew he was a reactionary person - quick to react, sometimes scary in that reaction.....but that he'd always came around. Plus, he'd used cocaine in college too. We'd used together a few times. His older sisters were flower children of the 70's - drugs weren't taboo from his own history. Maybe it wouldn't be such a terrible thing to reveal.
I'd set out a goal to tell him that coming weekend. And it was strange how the day seemed to be opening itself up to give us the alone time to be able to share this deep, hidden secret. My kids, Ian and Mariah, were out with friends. I could see that there were going to be several hours ahead of us that we'd be alone.
My heart was slowing in trepidation...but I was ready. I knew what I needed to do. I could do this.
But of course, he had other plans on his mind. We were alone. For several hours.
We could have sex.
It'd been a long time.
(sigh)
What to do. We really hadn't had sex in a while. Maybe by making love, it'd put him in a better frame of mind to hear what I needed to tell him. Sex always had a way of making us feel intimate, close and loving for days afterward. Too, if I told him ahead of time, there's no way he'd ever get to wanting it later. Maybe it'd be best to satisfy that itch now.
So says the well-trained co-dependent that I was. Satisfy his needs first.
And so....there we were, satiated and spent. Holding each other, spooning. Full of satisfied togetherness.
My heart beating.
Do it.
Say it.
I need to tell you something.
What.
I've been a meth amphetamine addict
for
a year and a half.
Silence.
More silence.
WHAT?!
He sits up to look at me.
He has this pulsing vein between his eyebrows. This crevice between his eyes. This look about his face when he's angry with you that makes you feel like you're nothing. You're absolute scum.
I couldn't have been more naked.
More alone.
More ugly.
I gathered the large, king sized pillows to me, trying to cover my nakedness.
For a fleeting second, I thought, why in the hell did I ever think this would be a good idea? To tell him when I was at my most vulnerable? Most...visible. How could I ever believe that he'd take this even remotely....ok?
You're sick, he said.
I know. I'm getting help. I want us to go together.
Me? Me?! You're the sick one! I can't believe you!
Tears flowed down my face as I tried everything to make myself not feel so exposed, so naked. Gathering the bedsheets, the pillows.
You don't know. You don't know how ashamed I've felt......please......please don't....
I should think so! I hope so! What'd you expect me to think? What'd you expect?!
You disgust me. If I could leave, I would. If we didn't have kids, I'd be outta here. I could you know. I could take them and leave. You wouldn't be left with a penny. They don't look highly on drug addicts who are mothers.
You're sick.
So sick.
I'd forgotten how untrusting he was of others. That the one person he most trusted in his life, hiding this lie - any lie - would be a betrayal.....tenfold.
I gathered my clothes in the empty room he'd left and felt sure it was over.
I was a sick, ugly, horribly shameful person.....but there were no more secrets. It was out.
Peeling the Onion
I realized how important it was to cut Mary from my life. How little she was motivated to quit. And despite how much I realized our friendship was completely wrong for me, how trapped I felt. It was a relief in thinking about letting go, but at the same time, I agonized over what it might do to her.
And realized that, damn it, the doc was probably right.
I'd been in therapy for probably about 4-6 weeks before I'd started becoming frustrated with him. I was understanding so much about myself, and yet he always just sat there like a bump on a log.
"Uh-huh." "Okay."
"I'm wondering why I'm not getting more affirmation from you, " I said at the end of one of our sessions.
"Just what exactly is it that you'd like me to affirm?" he said with his dead, flatline mouth.
How much I'm uncovering! My insight! My willingness to look within!
"I think you're incredibly in denial. I'd be more willing to affirm you if you got rid of Mary, stopped drinking, and told your husband."
.........
.........
.........
WHAT THE FUCK?! Look at all I'm doing! He felt to me like a disapproving parent. He said he was worried about me. A ticking time bomb. He thought it was dangerous that I was still drinking while going through such an emotional time in my life when I'd already told him that I'd used alcohol and drugs to escape pain in the past. He wanted me to see my brother and mom as alcoholics and how I was living the same patterns of behavior - not only damaging myself, but in turn, setting my children up to see the use of alcohol as an acceptable mode for comfort. And that Mary was keeping me within my co-dependent thinking, and waiting in the sidelines with the "comfort" supply. He wasn't a drug/alcohol counselor - he wanted me to visit one to figure out if I was in as much trouble as he thought I might be.
Okay. In for a penny, in for a pound. Let's go.
But first, Mary. I decided to write to her. I wanted her to be able to fall back on my written word after she got over hearing that I wasn't going to be there for her anymore. I knew she'd be shocked. Devastated. And I didn't want her to have to trust her memory about what I really said.
In part, I wrote, "As painful as I know this will be to hear, I need to make a complete break from you. I can't be your friend and I can't be your employer. After you receive this letter, I would appreciate it if you'd respect my wishes and not contact me or my family in the future. I've struggled wih our friendship since quitting, knowing how much I caretake of you/worry about you/want to help you, and realizing within my life that this is a harmful issue with me. It's been so hard for me to think about you not being a part of my life - not only because I *like* you - but because I've been so overly concerned about what my not being an emotional support might do to you in your life. I worry about how alone, how overwhelmed you feel. Even knowing or beginning to understand my own co-dependencies and how much it affected my relationship with you in trying to be there for you/shoulder your trials/pain, I kept on because I knew that you needed me. But when I realized that you don't have the strength or motivation right now to quit as I do, nor the motivation or concern for my own sobriety, I understood clearly that it was important to let you go....no matter the consequences to you. Even if I only kept you as an employee, your lifelong attachment to (your supplier - a family member) is a temptation I can't risk.
....if you care about me and my life at all, please think about me and respect my wishes by not contacting me. This has been a very painful decision - but one that was crucial for me in my recovery and health. I'd urge you to think about yours, and not push that boundary."
(Aside: an update on Mary - she did fairly well in respecting my boundaries. I've only heard from her a handful of times through text messages. She left town for awhile to live with her "previously" cocaine addicted brother in CA, leaving behind her two children and the puppy I helped her to buy with her parents. She's since returned, working a couple different jobs, but neither cleaning or painting. She swears she's always been clean. I've not talked with her or seen her in person since this letter.)
Thankfully, immediately following this, our small group had planned on going to our lake house for a "church lady retreat". A "CLR" as they've come to be known: we started taking them annually and for one night only, but now it's increased to bi-annually and two nights.
The church ladies. Tongue-in-cheek because we most certainly are NOT. Imagine to yourself the "church ladies" of old. The blue hairs of the church, standing behind the luncheon line, casserole bearing, Bible weilding, tongue wagging, shaking their fingers at all those sinners. Ready to save the world with their Bible in tow.
Maybe through Divine intervention, but it turned out that just three of us could go. Me, Dana, and my good friend, Louise. Dana already knew. And Louise and I- we'd been friends long before small group. We shared alto voices, a laugh during choir practices, and seemingly a love of the Lord, but as well, a reluctance to fully let go into a full Christian spirit.
My husband and I had been blessed to find and acquire this little slice of heaven. It was a 3 bedroom home on 5 acres. We refinished the basement, adding another guestroom and living area, and purchased another 10 acres of wooded and meadowed land for 4-wheeling, hiking, and (intended) paintball wars. My parents also left us with the canoe that I'd practically been born and raised in. Along with the skiboat and a couple waverunners, we also purchased a couple of kayaks. So...it's a resort just a short hour and a half away from home that allows both of us to get away from it all. Or share with friends.
I can remember the drive because I was scared shitless to tell Louise. She sat behind me, Dana sitting in the passenger seat as support. I was ashamed of myself because I'd been lying to her. I'd told her that I'd lost all my weight through The South Beach Diet. Sure, it'd started that way, but add meth to the DIEt plan and I'd stepped into an accelerated program to wipe away the pounds. I'd never really needed to lose that much - most people having more serious weight issues wouldn't have called me over-weight or even chubby. I'd just had that middle aged "puffiness".....and a lifelong inaccurate self image about my weight.
So, I can remember my spilling it all out in a bluster of words. Scared of her reaction. Glad I was sitting in front of her and was unable to see her reaction. I was fearful of her hurt that I'd told Dana and not her first. And moreso, that I was a liar AND street scum.
Her reaction? "I'm really glad it was that and not The South Beach Diet."
WHAT?! Are you kidding me?
"I'm so glad because I kept trying that diet and working out like mad, and I just couldn't dump the weight.....all the while you were shrinking before my eyes."
I was afraid of looking like a loser and she was glad she wasn't a failure.
And that was it. No judgement. We spent the weekend laughing at ourselves, riding the waverunners, and talking about addiction. How her mother had issues with alcohol. Her anger and how she'd have to deal with the repercussions of it. And how she was teaching her kids about it so they knew what a danger it was to them as well.
On many CLR's, it's been a tradition for us to write each one, sharing what their affect on us has been, what a blessing they have been in our lives. I share, in part, what these two angels wrote to me that weekend, because it was the culmination of what became a weekend filled with strength, encouraging me to move forward and do what I truly needed in order to become emotionally and spiritually whole.
First, tell my husband...then get into alcohol/drug rehab.
Their letters to me:
(from Louise)
"I don't make friends easily and I'm not good at keeping them. Not sure if part of it is the friends I made were not right for me...? Anyway, you are a big part of why I stayed in choir. When you joined, you were the epitomy of everything I wanted in my life. A wonderful caring friend, mother and wife. Your sense of humor has gotten me through many a rough night when I used choir as escape from the problems in my life. Your ability to find resolutions to problems and your strength of will power was all I inspired to have. You've been my role model, and that has not changed, nor will it ever no matter what happens in the future. When you asked me to join a small group, I was scared...... You've taught me that it's ok to question God's purpose, and helped me understand it's ok to have problems. I admire your strength and resolve to make your life in a way that is best for you and your family and God. Your friendship means more to me than you'll ever realize, and I hope you know I'm always here for you, I as I know you'll be there for me. I truly believe that God brought us together, first using our passion for music, then slowly inching us together by resolving problems. Putting us together in times of trouble to get to know each other and finally to be able to love and trust each other. Small group has come to mean so much more to me than just "Bible" study. You have such a strength in you that you haven't seen in yourself, and in the last few weeks I think you started seeing it yourself. Your ability to be a caring person is a wonderful trait, and something I know God has instilled in you as one of your missions in service. I think you've started realizing this based on Boards and committees you've jointed, writing and questioning the "Gospels" or "thinking" of Jesus' time is something we've done often in small group and I often wonder if writing isn't another passion given to you? Music is one of your best "God given" abilities and I know this is one ministry God has chosen for you. I wonder if Stephen Ministry or Youth Ministry is where God wants you. I think you could be one of God's chosen people to bring others to Christ, through your own experiences. I love you lots - your strength and kindness show in all you do!"
(from Dana)
I am so proud of you! You have come to a point at which your choice could have easily been to keep going a different direction. I can't imagine my life without you in it. I am so thankful that God helped to bring you back to us - those who love you so much. You have displayed faith and courage well beyond anything you give yourself credit for. Just keep looking. Put yourself and your needs FIRST - especially before others who don't love themselves enough to survive on their own and thrive on pulling you to their level. You are a wonderful mother, wife, friend and have so much to offer. Thank you for your friendship which I cherish and am so blessed to have. I love you - our souls are one.
And realized that, damn it, the doc was probably right.
I'd been in therapy for probably about 4-6 weeks before I'd started becoming frustrated with him. I was understanding so much about myself, and yet he always just sat there like a bump on a log.
"Uh-huh." "Okay."
"I'm wondering why I'm not getting more affirmation from you, " I said at the end of one of our sessions.
"Just what exactly is it that you'd like me to affirm?" he said with his dead, flatline mouth.
How much I'm uncovering! My insight! My willingness to look within!
"I think you're incredibly in denial. I'd be more willing to affirm you if you got rid of Mary, stopped drinking, and told your husband."
.........
.........
.........
WHAT THE FUCK?! Look at all I'm doing! He felt to me like a disapproving parent. He said he was worried about me. A ticking time bomb. He thought it was dangerous that I was still drinking while going through such an emotional time in my life when I'd already told him that I'd used alcohol and drugs to escape pain in the past. He wanted me to see my brother and mom as alcoholics and how I was living the same patterns of behavior - not only damaging myself, but in turn, setting my children up to see the use of alcohol as an acceptable mode for comfort. And that Mary was keeping me within my co-dependent thinking, and waiting in the sidelines with the "comfort" supply. He wasn't a drug/alcohol counselor - he wanted me to visit one to figure out if I was in as much trouble as he thought I might be.
Okay. In for a penny, in for a pound. Let's go.
But first, Mary. I decided to write to her. I wanted her to be able to fall back on my written word after she got over hearing that I wasn't going to be there for her anymore. I knew she'd be shocked. Devastated. And I didn't want her to have to trust her memory about what I really said.
In part, I wrote, "As painful as I know this will be to hear, I need to make a complete break from you. I can't be your friend and I can't be your employer. After you receive this letter, I would appreciate it if you'd respect my wishes and not contact me or my family in the future. I've struggled wih our friendship since quitting, knowing how much I caretake of you/worry about you/want to help you, and realizing within my life that this is a harmful issue with me. It's been so hard for me to think about you not being a part of my life - not only because I *like* you - but because I've been so overly concerned about what my not being an emotional support might do to you in your life. I worry about how alone, how overwhelmed you feel. Even knowing or beginning to understand my own co-dependencies and how much it affected my relationship with you in trying to be there for you/shoulder your trials/pain, I kept on because I knew that you needed me. But when I realized that you don't have the strength or motivation right now to quit as I do, nor the motivation or concern for my own sobriety, I understood clearly that it was important to let you go....no matter the consequences to you. Even if I only kept you as an employee, your lifelong attachment to (your supplier - a family member) is a temptation I can't risk.
....if you care about me and my life at all, please think about me and respect my wishes by not contacting me. This has been a very painful decision - but one that was crucial for me in my recovery and health. I'd urge you to think about yours, and not push that boundary."
(Aside: an update on Mary - she did fairly well in respecting my boundaries. I've only heard from her a handful of times through text messages. She left town for awhile to live with her "previously" cocaine addicted brother in CA, leaving behind her two children and the puppy I helped her to buy with her parents. She's since returned, working a couple different jobs, but neither cleaning or painting. She swears she's always been clean. I've not talked with her or seen her in person since this letter.)
Thankfully, immediately following this, our small group had planned on going to our lake house for a "church lady retreat". A "CLR" as they've come to be known: we started taking them annually and for one night only, but now it's increased to bi-annually and two nights.
The church ladies. Tongue-in-cheek because we most certainly are NOT. Imagine to yourself the "church ladies" of old. The blue hairs of the church, standing behind the luncheon line, casserole bearing, Bible weilding, tongue wagging, shaking their fingers at all those sinners. Ready to save the world with their Bible in tow.
What we were, however, was a small group of nine women that gathered together - some reluctantly at first, but dutifully - to study various religious group workbooks that are widely available now. What started off slowly in study became something more magical and unexplainable in our hearts. We found that we were able to question and ponder and doubt, but moreso, we had learned to trust each other enough to learn that we were all broken souls. That we could laugh, cry and lift each other up in His spirit. No judgement. But holding each other accountable, encouraging one another to live in His image. Simple....but indescribable in its power within all of our hearts.
Maybe through Divine intervention, but it turned out that just three of us could go. Me, Dana, and my good friend, Louise. Dana already knew. And Louise and I- we'd been friends long before small group. We shared alto voices, a laugh during choir practices, and seemingly a love of the Lord, but as well, a reluctance to fully let go into a full Christian spirit.
My husband and I had been blessed to find and acquire this little slice of heaven. It was a 3 bedroom home on 5 acres. We refinished the basement, adding another guestroom and living area, and purchased another 10 acres of wooded and meadowed land for 4-wheeling, hiking, and (intended) paintball wars. My parents also left us with the canoe that I'd practically been born and raised in. Along with the skiboat and a couple waverunners, we also purchased a couple of kayaks. So...it's a resort just a short hour and a half away from home that allows both of us to get away from it all. Or share with friends.
I can remember the drive because I was scared shitless to tell Louise. She sat behind me, Dana sitting in the passenger seat as support. I was ashamed of myself because I'd been lying to her. I'd told her that I'd lost all my weight through The South Beach Diet. Sure, it'd started that way, but add meth to the DIEt plan and I'd stepped into an accelerated program to wipe away the pounds. I'd never really needed to lose that much - most people having more serious weight issues wouldn't have called me over-weight or even chubby. I'd just had that middle aged "puffiness".....and a lifelong inaccurate self image about my weight.
So, I can remember my spilling it all out in a bluster of words. Scared of her reaction. Glad I was sitting in front of her and was unable to see her reaction. I was fearful of her hurt that I'd told Dana and not her first. And moreso, that I was a liar AND street scum.
Her reaction? "I'm really glad it was that and not The South Beach Diet."
WHAT?! Are you kidding me?
"I'm so glad because I kept trying that diet and working out like mad, and I just couldn't dump the weight.....all the while you were shrinking before my eyes."
I was afraid of looking like a loser and she was glad she wasn't a failure.
And that was it. No judgement. We spent the weekend laughing at ourselves, riding the waverunners, and talking about addiction. How her mother had issues with alcohol. Her anger and how she'd have to deal with the repercussions of it. And how she was teaching her kids about it so they knew what a danger it was to them as well.
On many CLR's, it's been a tradition for us to write each one, sharing what their affect on us has been, what a blessing they have been in our lives. I share, in part, what these two angels wrote to me that weekend, because it was the culmination of what became a weekend filled with strength, encouraging me to move forward and do what I truly needed in order to become emotionally and spiritually whole.
First, tell my husband...then get into alcohol/drug rehab.
Their letters to me:
(from Louise)
"I don't make friends easily and I'm not good at keeping them. Not sure if part of it is the friends I made were not right for me...? Anyway, you are a big part of why I stayed in choir. When you joined, you were the epitomy of everything I wanted in my life. A wonderful caring friend, mother and wife. Your sense of humor has gotten me through many a rough night when I used choir as escape from the problems in my life. Your ability to find resolutions to problems and your strength of will power was all I inspired to have. You've been my role model, and that has not changed, nor will it ever no matter what happens in the future. When you asked me to join a small group, I was scared...... You've taught me that it's ok to question God's purpose, and helped me understand it's ok to have problems. I admire your strength and resolve to make your life in a way that is best for you and your family and God. Your friendship means more to me than you'll ever realize, and I hope you know I'm always here for you, I as I know you'll be there for me. I truly believe that God brought us together, first using our passion for music, then slowly inching us together by resolving problems. Putting us together in times of trouble to get to know each other and finally to be able to love and trust each other. Small group has come to mean so much more to me than just "Bible" study. You have such a strength in you that you haven't seen in yourself, and in the last few weeks I think you started seeing it yourself. Your ability to be a caring person is a wonderful trait, and something I know God has instilled in you as one of your missions in service. I think you've started realizing this based on Boards and committees you've jointed, writing and questioning the "Gospels" or "thinking" of Jesus' time is something we've done often in small group and I often wonder if writing isn't another passion given to you? Music is one of your best "God given" abilities and I know this is one ministry God has chosen for you. I wonder if Stephen Ministry or Youth Ministry is where God wants you. I think you could be one of God's chosen people to bring others to Christ, through your own experiences. I love you lots - your strength and kindness show in all you do!"
(from Dana)
I am so proud of you! You have come to a point at which your choice could have easily been to keep going a different direction. I can't imagine my life without you in it. I am so thankful that God helped to bring you back to us - those who love you so much. You have displayed faith and courage well beyond anything you give yourself credit for. Just keep looking. Put yourself and your needs FIRST - especially before others who don't love themselves enough to survive on their own and thrive on pulling you to their level. You are a wonderful mother, wife, friend and have so much to offer. Thank you for your friendship which I cherish and am so blessed to have. I love you - our souls are one.
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