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For a long time now, I've likened my own recovery to a journey. I still believe that it is a journey ... only not in the way one might think.

A journey metaphor implies a beginning, a middle and an end. It's a place of departure and a destination at which one arrives triumphant. But recovery, I'm discovering, is not like that. 

It's a journey all right. But it doesn't go in a straight line. And you NEVER arrive. NEVER. 

The journey I mean is not one toward a goal that can be measured, some sort of award you can place on your wall and point to and say, "There. I did that."  Rather, it's an excursion into the self, drilling and chipping past layer upon layer of sediment: hard-packed rock built up over years and years of pain, trying to find that elusive commodity that got buried all those years ago - the true self that dares not show itself lest it be trampled. Again. 

Photo "Whole And Halved Onion" courtesy of
bplanet at the site
www.freedigitalphotos.net

Sometimes, after getting through one layer and seeing some progress, the tendency is to think that I've arrived ... to want to share that knowledge with the rest of the world ... and all that succeeds in doing is that it alienates those who care about me. And it isolates me. 

Getting past those layers (which have to be handled one at a time) is like peeling an onion. Each layer involves ripping ... pain ... and tears. Lots of tears shed.

The missing ingredient to all this - is the other entity that tries to escape detection: the person I had to become very early in my life in order to survive, the person in me that I hate. That is the monster that disguises itself as the victim, the martyr, the watchdog, the warrior, and any number of other things that SEEM to be justified. It's there just beneath the surface, seething in anger, trembling in fear, waiting for an opportunity to rise up and take over my life and regain control over others. It's the old me, the one who wraps herself in graveclothes and then puts on a mantle of respectability. 

Until it's exposed. Until someone pins it down and calls it what it is. 

Someone I care about a lot, someone who was very hurt by that monster as recently as yesterday (and for many years prior), finally decided to stand up to it. And that person exposed it for what it was, in all of the stench of decomposition that clung to it. That old me didn't like being exposed. It fought. It lashed out. It squirmed. But the new me - the one who is just barely beginning to be made known - along with the help of this loved one, realized that this whole thing was another manifestation, another mask, for that monster. And that it was something that needed to be addressed ... and NOW.  

So I had to do a few things that were very uncomfortable. 

1. I had to admit that I was wrong, that the monster existed and had hurt my loved ones. 
2. I had to root out the source of the underlying attitudes that were wrong.
3. I had to reject those attitudes and agree not to adopt them anymore.
4. I had to admit them to myself, to God and to the person I had wronged, as well as to those who were witnesses to that behavior and who were affected by it.
5. I had to ask those people to keep me honest with myself.

Before I go any further, let me first say that it is totally impossible for me to do all of that on my own. I need to be empowered to do those things; I usually find such empowerment from my reliance on and relationship with God. 

I am grateful to that loved one for pushing past the fear and confronting the monster in me. At the time, it was (shall we say) NOT pleasant. AT ALL. But it needed to be confronted.

I'm not as cock-sure as I was before; my arrogance about "recovery" was pretty off-putting to a lot of people, I'm sure. I know that this angry, fearful Thing is likely to resurface in another area; that is the major take-away from this experience. There is always going to be more. More layers, more hiding, more excavation to do. It's very humbling ... and that's likely a good sign. 

And as I go through more layers - painful as that process is - there is one more side-effect. A positive one. I get closer and closer to the real me - that one who's trapped beneath the surface. At least now I can hear her voice ... even through the bedrock.

The Only You

We were at our weekly team-builder: a half-hour of social interaction over treats provided by one of the groups in our team, when I saw her standing nearby in a small group of about four people, chatting. Our eyes met - and I wandered over.

Actually I had wanted to chat with her for a couple of weeks, because I'd been thinking about her. She'd recently finished a degree program and obtained her Master's, a process I'm only beginning. As things got busier and busier outside of work, with my classes and my preparation, reading, projects, and the like, I found my thoughts wandering to how she must have felt during her program.

A few seconds into our conversation, she said, "If I had any advice to give you, it's this: don't forget to look after yourself. Sleep. Eat. Exercise." 

I grinned, and let her continue. "It's really easy to get so involved in your studies that you fall prey to the 'just one more page, just one more chapter' kind of thinking. Don't let it happen. Take a break, even if it's for ten minutes. Do something you want to do. Don't give in to the temptation to just grab something at the drive-through, eat healthy." 

I nodded. Her words made sense. 

They carried the message, even though she didn't actually say the words, "You are the only you that you have. Take care of you, because if you don't, you won't have anything left to give." 

A nice pot of soup - steaming away

Her words came back to me yesterday as I struggled with a difficult decision ... it doesn't matter what it was. Yet I found myself tempted to sacrifice my own future, my own sanity even, for the sake of something that - truth be told - was better left to work itself out. 

Yes. I had to let go. AGAIN. But it didn't make it easy. Not one bit. 

If I hadn't, I am sure that I would have bankrupted myself, or landed in a psychiatric ward somewhere because I was trying so very hard to be strong when that situation was not even my situation to control. 

Was it hard? OHHH yeah. 

Once I had finally made that decision and let go, the stress level went from 95% down to 30%. I felt the muscles in my neck and shoulders, which had been getting tighter and tighter over the last several days ... start to relax. My stomach started to un-knot and the nausea subsided. I could take a full breath again. And the only thing that had changed about the situation was my attitude toward it - and toward myself. The crux of the matter was - I was the only me I had. I still am. 

If that means that I have to set boundaries and stick to them - if that means I have to say no to a request, or sacrifice a B+ and settle for a B- to look after myself, then I need to do that. 

Thank you for reminding me of that, my friend.

Take it all down

Today has been a difficult day, and it's not over yet.

There's a relationship that's broken in my life. It's been broken for years and over time, it has gotten more and more broken.

I tried to fix it starting a few years ago. However, the dynamic of it was such that anything I tried to do, backfired.  The history - and there was a LOT of history - got in the way.

Now it seems broken beyond repair. Lines have been drawn in the sand. Boundaries set and breached, over and over and over. 

In desperation, looking for some sort of sign, a prayer on my lips and an aching in my heart, I turned on the TV and thought maybe I could just put my mind in neutral and quiet the revving motor, the chest pains, the loss of appetite, the anguish. 

What I saw was an episode of a well-known Canadian home renovation show. The host was examining a floor that had water leakage problems and nobody knew where the leak was coming from. After excluding the obvious suspects, he decided to rip up the floor.

It was a beautiful hardwood floor. Shiny, glorious. "Take it all down," he said. "We'll find out what's causing this problem." 

Out came the crowbars. Up came the wood - splintering in all directions as the workmen did their duty. It was ... obscene. All that beautiful wood. 

"Danger" courtesy of
Michelle Meiklejohn at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

But underneath ... underneath it, someone had put plastic between it and the concrete slab. The concrete was cold; the wood was warm. The plastic made a perfect place for moisture to condense and cause the problem. 

Just a piece of plastic. Put in the wrong place.  Dear God.  

That's when my sign came. 

Sometimes, to fix something that is very wrong, everything has to go. It all has to go out the door, and be done right  -  and the right way too  -  from scratch. 
 Time to make a clean break. Splinter even the good things so that they are unusable, clear it all out, lay a good groundwork and do it right this time.

In my relationship dilemma, I believe that means (although I am scared to death) making a clean break as well. The way things have been going is not good; it is time to put an end to it, to say goodbye, to remove the source of the situation and lay the proper foundation: one based on each individual taking responsibility for his or her actions. 

No more who did what to whom first. No more majoring on minors. No more trying to do the same thing, over and over again, expecting different results. 


No more enabling. No more wheedling. No more manipulation. No more intimidation. 

That's going to take some hard work. And the hardest of all will be when the relationship crowbar comes out. When we (with much fear and sadness) say goodbye to what was. 

Even if it hurts. And it WILL hurt.

A LOT.

Being Human

"It is what it is."

I've taken to saying that lately.  It covers a whole host of situations and it's my way to remind myself that there are some things that just are, and there's nothing I can do to change them, much as I might want to.  I usually say it about circumstances I can't change.  I'm getting better at accepting those things, thanks in part to that little saying.

But I'm starting to learn that it goes deeper than that. "It is what it is" also applies to character traits or behaviors in people that might be difficult to swallow.  And it also applies to feelings.  All feelings: mine, yours, theirs. "Good" and "bad" feelings.  (See my post, "Emotions. Are. Bad.") 

It's all part of being human.  I think that a large part of a dysfunctional lifestyle is living in denial of the fact that we are human: we have made mistakes, we are making mistakes, and we will continue to make mistakes. We need to give ourselves permission to be wrong, and not beat ourselves up for it.  Admit it, yes, honestly, ... but not continue to punish ourselves for messing up, and give ourselves the freedom to err.

I know I need to. 

Too long I have spent time wasted in sitting around "being right" when it would have been more appropriate to "be human" - even if it meant being wrong.  (Most often, it means exactly that!)  

I've often been heard to say that I prefer writing to talking because with writing, there's always the backspace key.  But that whole mentality (in my own psyche) comes from a fear of getting it wrong.  

So I didn't try.  I withdrew; that way I COULDN'T get it wrong.  Slowly, I'm learning to try.  Try, and IF there's an error, deal with that honestly and openly.  Try to do better.  But don't disengage from living life.  One thing about being human is that we can learn from mistakes.  We don't have to keep repeating the same error over and over again; we can rise above it if we are Honest, Open, and Willing (that's HOW to live) to keep trying.  Life is messy. To paraphrase one of my favorite novelists (James Herriot), life hands us unending opportunities every day to make chumps of ourselves.  

But it doesn't mean we stop trying.  We embrace our humanity when we go ahead and attempt to do good, even if we are scared, even if we get it wrong, even if we have tried before and failed.  Even if we have to let go of the way we've always done something. Or set some boundaries - for ourselves and/or others - which we've never set before.  Sometimes, by making mistakes and admitting them, we can give others the permission they need to try - even if THEY don't do whatever it is perfectly.  There is no telling how greatly the world could be impacted by someone - and we never know who it might be - risking making a mistake by taking that leap of faith into action.  

If we are honest, open, and willing, God will let us know (in no uncertain terms!) if we've erred.  But "He Himself knows our frame; He is mindful that we are but dust." (Psalm 103:14, NASB)

We trust God, and then we 'do the next right thing.'  It sounds so simple, but in practice it requires a great deal of effort, especially at first, because part of learning to be human (not superhuman, not divine, not perfect) is realizing how frequently we try to be those impossible things, and letting go of that obsession with being correct - in every action, every thought, every decision. 

That takes practice - and time.  In some cases, it takes a lifetime.  Certain things are easier than others.  But we celebrate the successes and we are grateful for those, while we continue to trust God and do the next right thing in all areas, even if we happen to do it the wrong way and have to learn from it.  It's all part of being human.  

It's who we are.

Owning up

I was talking to a dear friend this evening who, nearly six months ago, was badly hurt by someone he trusted lying to him, concealing the truth from him about something.  The person never apologized when it happened, and for the last five months has been justifying his behavior, saying he didn't do anything wrong.  

Suddenly, a few days ago, he decided to apologize.  But his apology was way more about explaining why he did what he did, than in taking any responsibility for hurting my friend.  He said, in essence, the same old thing: that he didn't feel like he'd done anything wrong - and he implied that my friend was too sensitive and over-reacting.  

That's not an apology.  That's just more of the same self-justification that has been going on for months.  

An apology goes like this:  "What I did hurt you.  I am sorry.  I was wrong."  

Period. 

Source of this photo

Whether the hurt was intentional or not is immaterial.  The phrase, "I didn't mean to hurt you" is the wrong thing to say when apologizing; it just is, no matter what a person is used to.  

Think of it this way - an example "off the top of my head."  Imagine (for the sake of the exercise) that I ask you to put your hand on a table, with your fingers spread.  You do so.  Then I start taking the butt end of a cutlery knife and hitting the table with it, aiming for the space between your fingers, first between the first and second, then the second and third, and so forth, and then back again. Faster and faster, back and forth.  In doing that, I miss and I hit the top of your finger with the heavy steel butt of the knife.  It hurts.  You draw your hand back and say ouch.  

Now - when I immediately say that I didn't mean to hurt you, does that make you feel better?

No.  You've still been hurt. And I'm the one who did it! Whether I meant to do it or not is not important. The fact that I did it IS.  The appropriate thing for me to say is "Oh - I'm terribly sorry! I shouldn't have even tried that!"  No justification, no excuse, no rationalization.  Just "I was wrong.  I'm sorry!" 

Now let's say I don't apologize and wait until two weeks later to do it, and then when I do, I tell you why I was doing such a dangerous stunt in the first place instead of just telling you that I'm sorry that I hurt you. Does that apology hold water? 

No way!!

Taking responsibility takes guts.  It really requires courage to own up and not try to protect ourselves when admitting that we wronged someone.  Justifying ourselves gives the message that the other person's pain doesn't matter, that we're more concerned about ourselves than we are about the other person. Besides, you can't do very much good if you're covering your butt all the time.  

Did my friend take the "apology" he received seriously?  
Of course not.  He's not stupid.

Someday I hope that this person "gets it" and is truly repentant for the hurt he caused - and that he owns up and says that he's sorry.  But by then, I just wonder if it might be too little, too late. 

Security Blanket

We look at children who need a "lovey" or a security blanket to get to sleep at night, and we think it's quaint and cute.  But the truth is, everyone needs a security blanket of some sort.  Because we all need security.

When I was a child, and even into my teens and twenties, I had horrible flash-back nightmares of traumatic childhood experiences, as well as dream-type nightmares based on my worst fears - phobias I had, and in some areas, still have. These left me feeling so exhausted that I would eventually "crash" and go into a dreamless sleep for a few nights running.  And then they'd start again. Every time.  I'd wake up in a panic, convinced that insects were crawling all over me and into my nostrils, suffocating me... or whatever other "powerlessness" dreams my subconscious (or my conscious memory) cooked up for me.

I was at a loss as to what to do.  Then someone - I think it was a Sunday School teacher - suggested to me to sleep with my Bible under my pillow when I happened to mention that I was having bad dreams.  I was brought up in a very superstitious household and community, so that tactic made sense to me at the time.  I started sleeping with my Bible under my pillow ... and amazingly, the nightmares didn't happen nearly as often.  

In hindsight, what I think really happened is that I was aware of that Bible under my pillow all night long, and was reminded as I slept that Somebody bigger than me, Someone much larger than even the thing or things I feared most, was with me and looking after me.  It was a very small, very unusual security blanket. And I SO needed security.  And it worked.  I'm a firm believer that God uses whatever means necessary to let us know that He is looking after us because He loves us.

And yeah, I need reminding.  

I eventually grew out of my need to sleep with a Bible under my pillow - that phase lasted about three or four years.  The thing I took from that time in my life was that God's love was something that I could count on whether I was aware of it or not.  

Yet ... I still need reminding. Often.

I found myself thinking about my youthful but rather bizarre security blanket lately, because of my recent struggles with feeling overwhelmed by stress in my life.  I guess that my emotional needs haven't really changed since I was that many years younger than I am now. I still need security, security that can't be provided by other people or a regular paycheck.  I've tried to find it in other things, usually compulsive habits that make me feel better temporarily, but nothing really works except being reminded - and God always finds a way to remind me - that He loves me ... no matter what.  

No matter what.  Now THAT's a security blanket.

How to raise a codependent child

Start with a child, any child will do, preferably your own but it doesn't have to be - it could be a grandchild, a nephew or niece, or even a kid from your scout group or Sunday school class.

Begin to finish his or her sentences for him - and interrupt him when he's trying to tell others something.

Insist on having your own way in the most minor of details, from what to eat for supper to how many popsicle sticks or toothpicks should be in his/her artwork.

Talk about him or her in the third person when he/she is right there.  Belittle or laugh at/ridicule him or her whenever possible.

Never mention his or her accomplishments to him/her, only to others - and in an embarrassing way in front of the child.  Example - Ah, little Jimmy is so great at playing the harmonica, you should hear him do the little teapot! Come on Jimmy, show everyone how you can do that. [ignore protests.]  No, right now.  I don't care if you're nervous, don't be a baby, just come over here and do it right NOW! (Notice how I combined this one with the previous two.  Mixing and matching is encouraged when growing a dysfunctional child.)

Make decisions for him/her that he/she could easily make.  Let your child know that you don't trust his/her judgment, that he/she is liable to mess things up if attempting something alone.  Then complain to him or her about how you never get any help.

Never praise or congratulate your child for a job well done.  Instead, compare his or her accomplishments with a super-achieving brother's, sister's, or cousin's.

Never thank your child for doing something without being asked.  Instead, criticize everything that's wrong with what he/she did.

If your child expresses an emotion - especially a "negative" one - tell him or her that it isn't right (or that it's sinful) and that the whole reason for the feeling is stupid.  Example :  "Well that's just ridiculous!  it was only a toy! she didn't mean to throw it across the room and break it! of COURSE you don't hate your sister! you LOVE your sister!  now come give your sweet sister a hug..."  

Sigh deeply in annoyance when your child asks you to do something for (or with) him/her.  Let your child know how much of a burden he/she is and how much you are putting yourself out to meet his/her needs.  

When you get angry, take it out on your child. Punish him or her harshly.  It will toughen him/her up and make resentment burn inside of him/her for years, maybe decades - the perfect breeding ground for codependence - and maybe even addiction.  

NEVER admit you are wrong to your child.  Always make him or her do the apologizing.

Most importantly, never tell your child that you love or are proud of him or her, even if you are - which is doubtful really, if you follow all the other guidelines above.  If he or she beats the odds and accomplishes something, and you must tell him or her, make sure that your words are meaningless by not backing them up with your actions, or by asking why that 97% wasn't a 100%.  Perfectionism and hypocrisy are two of the best tools for creating the kind of dysfunction in your children that will last for decades.

i-Life

Anyone who owns a MacIntosh computer - and a good percentage of those who don't - knows that Apple calls all of its products "i-Something."

There's iPod, iPhone, iPhoto, even iMovie.  In fact, the last two are part of a suite of programs called iLife.  And that kind of gets me to thinking.  

I wonder if very many people HAVE an i-Life.  I know lots of people, including me, who have a u-life.  (in other words, a "you-life") - where the focus is always and ever upon everybody else except ourselves.  We give and give and give to others, never anything but the dregs left for ourselves ... and then we wonder why we're so burnt out, stressed, and exhausted all the time.

Perhaps if each of us had a little more of an i-Life (that is, a me-life, a relationship with ourselves, also called self-care) then there would be more energy left over for the u-Life we all believe we should be leading.  Or perhaps that we were taught that we should be leading this u-Life, and if we weren't leading it to the exclusion of ourselves, then we were selfish, spoiled brats.  Hm. 

An i-Life can start in many ways.  

It can begin with taking some time to look after ourselves in a very minor way.  Like a habit which we know is good for us, but which we can never find time to do.  Or like taking 30 minutes as soon as we get home from work / school / wherever and listening to some uplifting music... whatever touches that aching part inside of us that needs affirmation.  

It doesn't have to be complicated - or expensive.  When my kids were elementary school-aged, we didn't have much money to go around.  So our "outing" was to go to the Humane Society shelter and visit the animals for an hour a week, sometimes even more often than that.  We love animals and we took great pleasure in brightening some of the kennel-bound animals' moments while they were awaiting adoption.  

Another thing we used to do in the summer was drive to a local city park which is by the harbor, park the car and watch the sailboats go by and the waves come into the shore.  We'd go for a walk in the park, stop by the playground, wade in the wading area - and once in a while we'd stop for ice cream...not every time, of course.  The whole trip might cost us about seven bucks max.  Yet we would return home energized.  

One of the first things I started doing when God brought me to my own personal "rock bottom" nearly 3 years ago, was to spend a little extra time in the day brushing my teeth.  It sounds odd, but that one five-minute habit gave me the message that I was worth spending time on... and I so needed that message. It was the beginning of my i-Life.

Am I touching anyone's i-Life today?

The Wreck - a parable

Georgette and Bob went for a ride in her car one evening.  Georgette was behind the wheel.  She didn't tell Bob that she had night blindness and that she shouldn't be driving; she just figured it would be fine.  

It had been raining so the streets were wet, but it had stopped raining.  However, in the dark, with slippery roads and the lights of an oncoming car in her eyes, and only Bob's "Look OUT!" to warn her, Georgette lost control of the car and it crashed into a barricade, flipping the car and landing it in the ditch.  Georgette was pinned behind the wheel and couldn't get out of the car.  Bob was thrown clear. Neither was wearing a seat belt.

Both miraculously survived.  

Source: via Google Images:
http://www.deathbycar.info/2010/03/crash-deaths-2009/

In the dark, as people stopped to render assistance, Georgette screamed in pain - her leg was broken and the bone was protruding a little from it. She yelled for Bob to come to her aid.  Bob was lying quietly on his side several feet away, breathing slowly in, out, in, out.  Nothing appeared to be broken.  But he didn't get up.  

As the crowd gathered, the cries from Georgette grew more and more angry.  Why wasn't Bob coming over? couldn't he see she was in pain? The cries took on a pleading tone; Georgette was screaming and sobbing. The people around the accident site all crouched beside her and tried to comfort her, since she was the one who was obviously the worse off.  Someone called 911 and everyone waited for the police and ambulance to come ... and the paramedics to tend to her.  

One or two people went to see Bob.  He didn't look to be hurt, and he wasn't saying anything at all, so they turned their attention to Georgette.  She was moaning in pain, writhing... and the sirens came within earshot.  Neither she nor anyone could figure out why Bob wasn't helping.  He just stayed where he was, with a bleeding lip, breathing in, out. In, out.  They figured he was just an ingrate, that he was lazy, that he was angry at her - several theories came to the fore - and finally the paramedics came to the scene with their emergency kits.

A couple of the paramedics went to Georgette to check her out as the other two went to attend to Bob.  They had only been with him for a few moments when they called to their companions and said, "Get a backboard.  This one goes first."

"What?!!" screamed Georgette.  I'm hurt here!  Don't you people know anything?" Several in the crowd agreed.

But the paramedics knew differently.  Those close enough to hear them working with Bob, heard them radio the hospital.  "From what we can tell, this man has at least four fractured ribs, at least one of which has punctured a lung.  There's internal bleeding, possibly a ruptured spleen - we suspect a compression fracture of the upper lumbar spine.  We've started an I.V. and are getting him on a backboard.  Get the O.R. ready and have a surgeon waiting."  

There was a garble of words at the other end.  "Oh, the other one?  She's pinned in the car screaming her head off.  Just a broken leg."  More garbled words.  "Okay, we'll give her a shot.  Send another ambulance for her with the jaws of life, we're taking this one in.  Right now.  ETA, fifteen."

Accepting What Is

Earlier today I found myself singing an old Irish tune I heard for the first time on Star Trek: the Next Generation.  Sometimes my insides will tell me what's going on in my subconscious, and this time was one of them.  The story line behind the singing of the song in the show was that there was a fellow who was convinced that the enemy was building a secret base - but there was no proof.  He became a renegade and started to attack the supply ships going to this area of space - the no-man's land so to speak - to single-handedly expose and destroy the covert operations of the enemy.  A former crew member was able to finally get to him to talk some sense into him and get him to turn himself in.  Here's the scene to which I am referring - it's about a minute and a half long.  

I've learned to listen to those signals from my subconscious mind . . . especially if they take the form of music, since music is important to me.  

The message I finally got from this scene (which for the last few days has been playing in my mind) is that I've been fighting a battle lately in my insides, a battle that comes from trying to hang onto things, habits, relationships, and attitudes that used to work for me but which no longer do, which tend to keep me bound, or hold me back in some way. Sometimes it's because I've held on to some attitude that is selfish, self-seeking, or otherwise controlling or care-taking (and not in a good way).  If that is the case, God usually shows me, and I have to acknowledge it and take steps to correct it.  

But in the vast majority of cases, it's because I've moved on - and it's time for me to let go.  Part of me, the part that remembers the good times and the times when this or that behavior, relationship, or belief worked for me, is saddened by its passing.  Yet in nearly all of those instances, I've grown in areas that make that thing or person no longer "fit" into who I'm becoming.  It doesn't mean there's anything wrong with whatever it is, or that it wasn't needed at the time.  It just means I'm no longer in that place.

It's allowed for me to grieve that loss.  My emotions are perfectly normal for someone who has lost something that has carried any importance.  Since feelings are intended to be transitory states, I know that it's okay to feel those feelings, to work through them and understand why they are there, and then let them go. This is healthy and right.  Letting go means that I accept what is.  I say goodbye inside.  And then I walk away.

And as hard as it is to let go, it would be harder still to hold on and try to resuscitate something that for me, no longer has any life in it. 

Sometimes I just have to sing the song of the weary soldier - and then say to the Spirit, "I'm not going to win this one, am I Chief?"  and accept what is .... and then give myself up.

Enough

How much is enough?

Good question.  I was chatting with someone in a store tonight and we were mentioning how it's really difficult to fit our petite frames when there's a belly involved.  We commiserated about that, and were quick to be grateful for certain lines of clothing that cater to our specific body type needs.  It made me think about wanting to lose weight - a topic that occasionally rears its ugly head.  

One of the first things a person learns when dieting living a new lifestyle is how much is enough.  So accustomed to ignoring the body's signals that it's full - the person keeps on eating and over-fills the stomach.  I can't count the number of times I've gone to bed in agony because I didn't know when to say when - and ended up overeating to the point of pain.  Then promising myself I'll never do it again.  But I do.  I forget the pain and focus on the short-term pleasure of making the other kind of hurting go away: the emotional kind.  It's true that people like me (there are so many of us out there!) really are "FEEDING their feelings."  This is to avoid FEELING them.  

People can be like that about anything.  Some are like that about housekeeping.  Others about fitness.  Still others about social activity - never able to get enough interaction. Some people can't seem to stop trying to rescue other people. I have to constantly guard against that one and if I can't with this or that individual, if I am constantly compelled to try to fix someone ... I need to walk away. 

People can be irresistibly drawn to shopping - to television - to sports - to motor vehicles of any description - to ... anything you can name.  These things provide an escape - a pleasurable escape - to the person that is trapped inside of them.  But even though they're pleasurable prisons, they are still prisons.  Any doubt about that ....?  just try to get out of one.  See how difficult it is.  

In relationship with God, escape from the endless trap of pleasurable diversions ... is possible.  With His help on a moment-by-moment basis, it is possible to get out of those prisons, those chains, those wrappings.  And the route isn't by attacking the wrappings - it's by tackling what's inside.  

Remember what I said about feeling our feelings instead of feeding them?  That's the ticket.  Emotional healing is the way to heal - focusing on relationships with God, the self, and THEN with others will allow all those other escape mechanisms to just drop off like unwanted baggage.  

And then someday, we'll be able to be in a situation and just know that this is "it" - that this is as far as we will go - and have the grace and courage to say, "ENOUGH!"

Real healing happens from the inside out.  If it doesn't, it will only be temporary.  And only God can heal the heart.

Thanks - for pivotal moments

Today my thoughts strayed to those moments in my life when something crucial changed because someone did or said something, or stuff just happened that seemed to be "co-incidences" (which is simply - according to Einstein - God's way of remaining anonymous.)  

I am grateful for those moments where things have changed in the direction of my life or of my thinking just by certain people being placed in my path or by certain events happening.  Here are some examples:  

Fifty cents:  When I was about 9 or 10, my mom kept house for various clients.  One of those people was a severe, wizened old crone who seemed to have had all the joy sucked out of her.  She owned the apartment building and had one tenant upstairs. When it became too much for me downstairs, I would mount the stairs to Amy's little apartment.  Amy, as sweet and soft-spoken as the other woman was sharp and curt - was timeless to me.  She was probably about 80 years old in reality.  She had never once cut her hair, and kept it in a bun on the back of her head, held up by decorative hair barrettes made of dyed porcupine quills, leather, and sticks of wood.  Watching her take down her hair and brush it was mesmerizing to me.  She was kind to me.  She would talk about my schooling, my friends, take an interest in me.  When she saw me fidgeting after about ten minutes of conversation, she would press two quarters into my hand - a fortune to me, especially from a person who wasn't a family member - and let me go into town to buy myself a treat.  Her kindness was a haven for me in what was often a world of people twice my height who seemed to be angry with me all the time.  Her belief in me helped me believe - if only just a little - in myself.  Thanks Amy!  

The road home: I was twelve, old enough to attend the youth class in Sunday School.  It was taught by a lady named Jean.  Jean had been a war bride from England - with a rich Yorkshire accent and a heart for young people.  To me she was old - but she was probably only about 60.  She valued my contribution to the class, and never ridiculed me once for asking or saying anything stupid. She never once yelled at me for anything. When I was about 13 and in the midst of my teenage rebellion, some correspondence course material started arriving for me in the mail, something called the "Road to Emmaeus".  I never really knew who sent it, but I'd be willing to bet it was her.  I did the lessons and sent them in to the company; they came back to me with check marks on them and someone wrote encouraging words in red pen: "Excellent!"  It gave me a spiritual anchor in what were those tumultuous teen years when everything was topsy-turvy.  

The reflection: It was grade 9.  I was at the zenith of my teen rebellion... even stole cigarettes from my dad's packets to smoke at school.  I had started smoking to get a bully off my back, one who got her face into mine and yelled - threatened - cajoled me into trying tobacco with the oh so persuasive peer-pressure argument, "How do you know you don't like it if you haven't tried it?" ( I hated it, by the way, my mouth tasted like an ash pile.  I was just doing it to get out of being bullied. )  I was hanging out with some pretty rough characters, had developed a reputation that took me years to live down afterward.  In the midst of that, my guidance counselor, Mr. Moleman, called me into his office.  Very quietly he mentioned he'd seen me around the schoolyard with some people, and had noticed that I had started smoking. If he had gotten angry with me or raised his voice with me, I would have dismissed him.  But he just locked his gaze into mine from about 10 feet away - and simply said, "I want you to do me a favour when you get home.  Go find a place at your house with a full-length mirror.  Take out a cigarette - don't light it - just hold it in your fingers.  Watch yourself put it into your mouth.  Then look at yourself and ask yourself - is this what I really want for myself?"  He ignored my quizzical / innocent look.  "Just do it, ... please."  That afternoon after school and before my parents got home, I went into their room where the only full-length mirror we had was placed.  I took out the cigarette, and did as Mr. Moleman asked.  What I saw, I didn't like.  That was when I decided to quit - and over the next three weeks, the desire to smoke left me as I stopped lighting up.  The bullies - for some strange reason - left me alone after that.  Who knew.  It was the beginning of a long road back from nowhere.  Thanks, Mr. Moleman.  

Source: (via Google Images):
http://connectionstogod.wordpress.com/2011/04/27/doors/

The lifeline:  I would be sixteen in three weeks. Someone had said some very harsh words to me.  I was smarting from them.  I was miserable, lonely, and totally unhappy.  Yet Someone waited for me behind that empty bedroom doorway.  I went into the room, closed the door behind me and sunk to my knees beside the bed.  Hot tears spilled over and soaked into the bed-spread as I sobbed my way back into His waiting arms.  There was no condemnation, there were no harsh words there.  Only forgiveness, only goodness, only grace.  In those moments, the course of my life changed permanently.  Had I continued with the road I was on, I would have ended up in a ditch somewhere, dead - or worse.  He rescued me with His love.  I will never forget.  Thank You Jesus.  I owe You my life.  

The schoolbus:  I was almost 18 and had been away from home for the first time in my life that was more than 2 weeks, at a Bible camp in the States.  I'd been corresponding with a friend all summer - and had just gotten a letter from him.  I went into an abandoned schoolbus behind the camp to read it by myself.  As I read, my friend revealed a secret to me which should have made me furious with him.  Yet all I could do was sit there and forgive him, want to talk to him and tell him everything was going to be fine.  Part of me was baffled by my reaction - and I asked myself why I would behave this way, why?  And then the answer came to me, as if that part of me was an entity outside myself.  "Because you're in love with him, ya dummy!"  That moment of realization turned everything around for me, put a lot of things into focus.  By the way, I ended up marrying the guy.  (grin).  

The interview:  I was looking for work - I'd have been around 22 - and had only been able to get summer jobs as a waitress here and there.  Finally I went in to talk to a counselor about this job I saw that I knew I could do.  Her first question to me was, "So what was your major in university?"  I was flabbergasted.  I'd never been to university.  You didn't need to be a college graduate to do those duties I had read on the job posting.  What was she talking about?  I told her I had not been to university and she said bluntly that I couldn't apply for the job, then.  I got angry.  "Well then, what would it take to say, have YOUR job?"  She told me it would take a Bachelor of Arts with a major in one of the social sciences, like Psychology or Sociology.  "Fine! I retorted.  "I'll see you in four years!" And I stormed out of her office.    Later, I mentioned that conversation to my hubby.  And he said, "Good!"  (Huh? I thought.)  "Why not?" he queried.  (What? me?  college?)  He urged, "You can do this, why not show her?"  And I found myself saying, "All right, I WILL!"  And that's when I applied to go to university.  Getting my degree opened a lot of doors for me in so many ways I can't begin to count - all because of one interview.

The employment counselor:  There was this guy who had been in a diving accident which left him a quadriplegic - he also happened to be an employment counselor and I found myself in his office quite frequently as I looked for work near the end of my university days.  He believed in me, went to bat for me, and encouraged me.  I will never forget Tony, nor will I ever stop being grateful to him for never giving up on me.  

The telephone voice: I was a brand new mother and trying to nurse my child.  I'd gotten all the wrong advice from well-meaning people in the hospital, people who had never nursed their children - one who had never even HAD a child.  When I got home from the hospital I was sore - things were burning and stinging all over the place.  Finally hubby said, "Wasn't there a booklet we got at prenatal class with the number for a support group somewhere?"  I dug out the booklet and called the number.  The voice at the other end was one of a kind and understanding woman.  She listened as I described my situation and then said one word which let me know she knew what I was going through:  "OUCH!"  In the next five minutes, she corrected the misinformation I had been given, gave me some positioning tips and within three days the pain was completely gone.  I started going to the support group and through this same woman, became the co-leader of the group.  For six years, I was able to help people just like she helped me - and that experience as leader has stood me in good stead in my career development - believe it or not! 

The crucible:  The children were young, and after a failed business we were in such deep, crushing debt that we couldn't see our way out of it.  The defining moment came for us as we sat across from a loans officer at a finance company to borrow money to pay for groceries that week... for the second time.  We knew we were in way over our heads. So after much soul-searching and weighing options, we finally sat across from a bankruptcy trustee and filed for personal bankruptcy.  We lost friends over it, we lost the support of people whose theology didn't include that sort of thing - and yet we saw so much good come out of it.  Most notable was that we learned to trust God for everything.  Every thing.  (I've spoken at length about this in previous posts, so I won't repeat myself here).  We also learned a lot about the nature of grace - and although I would rather crawl over ground glass than do it EVER again, I am so grateful we went through that experience.  We learned lessons we never would otherwise have learned.  And through it all we knew the provision of God, day to day.  

The policeman:  One incident which happened on March 24, 2009 is burned into my brain.  I called my husband when he didn't show up at the appointed time to go home with me from work.  I reached him only to find out he was at the hospital.  I rushed out there, and saw him in the "quiet room" which is where they put the drunks to dry out.  A policeman guarded the door.  He was a young man and had spent over two hours with this fellow twice his age who couldn't string two coherent sentences together.  I went up to him and without going into a lot of detail, there were grounds for pressing charges against him for public drunkenness. I was beside myself.  My hubby had been scheduled to go into the Rehabilitation program of the local addictions centre within a week. And now this. The officer looked at me - I must have appeared in some distress because he took pity on me.  He gave me a choice between letting the police have my husband to book him, or me taking him home in his present state and letting him sleep it off.  Justice - or mercy.  For me there was no question.  I chose mercy.  Because of that kind policeman's offer, my hubby was able to get the help he needed when he needed it most.  He has not had a drink since that day. God used that young man to help give my husband back to me.  
Thank God.  Thank you, Officer.

Purging

I like to watch the show "Hoarders." (A&E)  It makes me feel better about my own clutter... and folks, yes, I am a slob.  There, I have said it in a public forum.  Slobby and proud of it - well - sort of.  

Sometimes my place is even too much for me to take.  Usually it is too much for my hubby to take long before it gets on my radar, but odd times I get the purging bug and go on a rampage.  

Most times it's the prospect of someone coming to visit that does it for me.  So - I begin.  And seeing the difference that my efforts make really does something for me inside. Unfortunately it only occurs occasionally.  Like today - and I allowed myself this break to write about it.... ;)  

But be that as it may ... 

I was thinking (while cleaning - no, my hubby wasn't there to take a picture for posterity, although if he had been, he might have been tempted) about how the process of inner healing is a lot like purging clutter.  

First, there has to be the realization that there is a definite problem, and that it is too much for one person to handle. (I've tried handling my own personal life-experience purging and that just led to me sitting in front of the TV with a bag of chips in one hand and a tub of chip dip in the other.  And oh yes, the bag of chocolate bars on the end-table.)  So the first action step is to ask for help. The only one who could help me (believe me, I've spent my life asking others to fix me - they couldn't either!) was God.  So I asked Him, invited Him in to the mess.  

Then comes the actual process of purging.  Separating things out together - categorizing this and that, like piles of garbage to throw away, good things to put away, nice things I've outgrown to give away.   Being an emotional hoarder (that is, I hang onto past hurts much longer than is necessary to deal with the emotions and let them go) I had to go through every piece of inner garbage of course.  But that's part of the healing process.  And God is so patient.  He allowed me time to rest, to catch my breath - and gently reminded me to keep at it.  

It took a long time.  But eventually I started to see order emerge from the chaos that was my life.  (Gratitude? OH yeah!!)  Once the inner garbage was taken care of, and the good memories put away inside, and the nice things passed along, it was time to clear the path to my outside door (figuratively speaking) - some refer to this as sweeping my side of the street:  the wreckage I had left in my relationships because of my own stuff on the inside, things that spilled out onto others.  Those things I had to put right - and it took some time.  In some cases it's still ongoing.  

Only then, once my own spiritual house was clean and inviting, could I help someone else by sharing my experience.  I could not go to them and clean their house for them.  I just told people how awful my own was - and how I had come to the end of my rope and asked for help, then busied myself going through all that emotional clutter and getting it out, and sweeping my own relational sidewalk.  The process works: it's beautiful to experience and just as beautiful to witness.  I've seen it work in my life and I've been privileged to see it work in the lives of so many other people.

Now ... I know I left that mop and pail somewhere...

Command Central

A hundred and one different messages come barreling down on us from all kinds of sources.  Sometimes it is really hard to know what is right or how to behave.  Especially around other people.  Especially if our whole lives we have been taught that pleasing other people is somehow more important than being happy - or (worse yet) that it is the way to be happy.  

The messages can come with a whole pile of guilt.  A classic message I hear frequently, one that seems to be passed off as true and admirable - which is why it is so insidious - is the idea that the whole purpose of our lives is to serve.  

The moment I start suggesting that it isn't - I start getting backlash.  But I truly believe that the servant word mixed with the should word is and always shall be one thing and one thing only: religion.  People are religious about a lot of things. It's somehow comforting to folks to think that what they do has a bearing on how other people feel about them - including God.  

The problem with that kind of thinking is that it's backward.  The locus of control is wrong. It gets the focus off what's really important... what often gets overlooked.

The "give, give, give" and "do, do, do" mentality tells us what we SHOULD be doing, and relies a great deal on hammering on already over-developed feelings of inadequacy to 'guilt' us into doing things that we OUGHT to be doing for others - or for God.  It's everywhere.  We see pictures on TV of starving children in some 3rd world or war-torn nation, combined with a voice-over that says that we 'have so much and they so little' in a plea for money, sponsorship, whatever - can we not see that this is a classic guilt-trip?  

The message of "you're not doing enough" is perpetuated from the time we are very little and DO something to please a parent.  That's when the wires get crossed.  We DO some THING and we are told that we're good PEOPLE.  ("Good girl!"  "Atta boy!")  And the line between who we ARE and what we DO gets blurred.  We don't DO something that the parent thinks we "should" and it's, "Look.  Why can't you BE more like Johnny?" (emphasis mine) and we start to define who we ARE by what we DO.  

With some folks the line between being and doing gets downright obliterated.  The favorite saying becomes, "Faith without works is dead..." as folks attempt to justify this whole mentality and make it somehow spiritual.  All that does is provide a convenient cover for the "doing equals being" myth.  After a while, we become so used to living live by a set of rules and being commanded by Guilt (feeling bad for doing something wrong or for not doing enough right) and its cruel partner Shame (feeling bad for existing) that we forget that there is a difference between who we are and what we do - or that the difference is important.... and the seeds of burnout start to germinate. 

It's putting the cart before the horse.  It's insane!  We keep doing it - with the same results!

And it's also completely unnecessary!  Desperate for approval, praise, attention, applause - we keep trying to get the cart to go somewhere and we get further and further behind. 

And more and more frustrated.

I referred earlier to the locus of control being wrong.  The "do-do-do" mentality is an external locus of control.  The motivation comes from outside: comparing ourselves with other people, feelings of inadequacy, of not ever being able to do enough,  crushing guilt - from years upon years of the wrong kind of praise and/or criticism.  (Examples: "Good boy! what a great job!" or "You're such a screw-up! Can't you do anything right?" again equating what a person does with who he or she is...) It results in the belief that those of us who are "doing" enough (and how much is enough?) have the right - some even believe it's the responsibility - to confront others about their inappropriate or irresponsible behavior : in other words, to be another person's conscience, to play the role of God in his or her life.  We command and control what another person does.  Or we think that by following those self-imposed or culture-imposed rules, that we are living life right.

It backfires.  It backfires EVERY TIME.  It's the whole "push, push-back" syndrome.  Something in us rebels against being told what to do; we were created that way.  We were never intended to live our lives in fear of punishment (or of the withdrawal of approval / love / blessing). It breeds a growing resentment, well-camouflaged but still there, finding expression in locating others who aren't "doing" as much and unleashing anger and blame on those people rather than facing our own internal void.  This is living life from the outside in.  

How much more efficient and less frustrating to have an INTERNAL locus of control.  This is "command central."  God - through relationship with Him and/or through the conscience - becomes the source of identity.  The horse gets turned completely around.  

That relationship of love and acceptance becomes the locus of control, the life source.  It rejuvenates.  It restores.  It builds up.  The motivation for any action is gratitude for being loved, for being cherished.  It is not based on fear of punishment or on a wild grasping for approval.  The result is love.  Serenity.  Joy.  Peace.

There are no words

Sometimes, I'm at a loss for words.

At times it's because I'm so overwhelmed by emotion that the power of speech is short-circuited.  Those are the times of heights of joy or of grief, of wonder or of shock.  Words are impossible.

There are occasions when I disappear and am swallowed up in something far greater than I could ever dream of being or witnessing.  Words are superfluous.  In the face of the grandeur of creation, in the atmosphere of pure worship of the Creator - I've been known to be struck dumb.  No words could make it any better than what it already is.

And other times, it's like I've said all I can say to a person (either someone who is hurting or someone who's hurting me) and there's nothing more to say.  I know that there is probably something I SHOULD say but for the life of me I cannot think of a thing.

Sometimes I struggle with feelings of unearned guilt at being silent in that last situation.  It's not that I am uncomfortable with the absence of noise, it's just that I have a hard time not jumping in and either defending myself or trying to give advice.  Yet I know that people have the right to be who they are, to do what they choose to do, and to bear the consequences of their own decisions.  So the best choice for me is to stay silent.  There are no words that could make it better.  A hug, yes.  And in some cases, walking away is the best response.  But words?  sometimes they just get in the way.