I'm taking the magickal aspects of the full moon to heart today. It has been years, perhaps decades, since I celebrated the full moon. There was a time in my life when full moon rituals were a big deal to me, but that time fell to the wayside as my addictions took over more and more of the Real Me. In years following, I began to think of my old moon rituals as decidedly too "witchy", possibly flirting with bad mojo. As my addictions came to control my life, I turned my thoughts to more Christian beliefs to save me from my dark fate. I admit that I had an ever narrowing view of my Creator, as my addictions boxed me into smaller and smaller mental walls. My God became a punisher and a tyrrant, and I believed that only the Man on the Cross could save my ruined soul. I went so far as to stop burning incense and my precious stones were wrapped in a soft sock, then stuffed in the very bottom of a box of momentos.
My Creator met me right where I was at last. My sobriety did come to me in the form of Christian beliefs- namely, the Holy Rosary. I have never been, nor am I, Catholic. But one evening after a particularly evil, seven day binge of pills and alcohol, I caught Mother Angelca on EWTN reciting the Rosary with the Poor Clare nuns of Irondale, Alabama. I will never be able to fully describe what happened to me that day. I don't think it would do any justice to really try. Just suffice to know that my Creator reached right through and lifted me up from the pit that day. It was the beginning of putting down the bottle.
For many months afterwards, I learned to recite the Rosary in full and the lovely, powerful prayer offers me comfort even still. I didn't own a set of rosary beads so I made my own from wooden beads, tiger's eye & hematite chip beads, a Carnelian palm stone, and a cross. I still sleep with those beads every night. I also visit a prayer center that is predominantly Catholic. I have no problems with the Christian religion, and I will even attend church services when I feel prompted. All that said, a few months into my sobriety my mind began to once again open to holistic ideas and more earthy expression. I began to understand through my search for spiritual direction that it is only natural and beneficial for me to include my belief in elemental energies and more ancient practices for my own, individual healing and wholeness. My way may seem muddled, with my feet in a whole host of conflicting spiritual modalities, but I feel that my journey requires an open mind and experimentation in order for me to mature. When I say that I love God, that I have given my life and my recovery to God, my mind conjures a whole host of Divinities and ways to express that submission. I am the girl who says the Rosary with the aid of a handmade, stone laden set of beads. I am the girl that visits a Catholic prayer center and searches for my spiritual direction by sitting outside, surrounded by Nature. I am the girl watching Joyce Meyer on tv while creating new yoga flows in my journal. I call my small Buddha statue the "Great I Am", a reference to Jesus Christ. I am the girl attending an online conference this evening dedicated to the Hindu goddess Kali while lining up my schedule of Alcoholics Anonymous meetings for next week. And it all feels deeply as if I am doing exactly what I am supposed to be doing at this point in my life. What a wonderful, interesting, thought provoking life!
Tonight's delve into alternative spiritual modalities involves my crystals and the first full moon of 2016. Today I sat down and wrote out a long letter to my Creator, asking for my stones and crystals to be accepted and charged with healing and intuitive energy to benefit my life, my health, my home, and my family. I tied the rolled up letter with a strand of my hair, and I placed it in a clay bowl along with all of my stones and crystals. Then I placed the entire bowl, along with my raw onyx obelisk, outside to soak up the energies of the full moon and falling snow. I would have a difficult time describing how happy this simple makes me, or how "right" that it feels for me to do these things.
One of the most amazing benefits of sobriety is in the discovery of who I really Am inside, in my Soul, and bringing that real Me to the surface. The real Me inside has always gravitated toward these earthy and ancient rituals. As my mind begins to heal from decades of alcohol abuse, my real, intrinsic personality can come forth without worry of other's prejudices or preconceived notions about someone who would take their crystals out into the night for a full moon washing. As I become more secure in my own skin, I feel safe to explore what is right for me, for my life, my healing, my recovery, and my spirituality. And also to understand that everyone's journey is different and right for them.
I learned the love of rituals at a young age. Still, it is surprising to me that rituals have once again become the very foundation of my contented sobriety. At this point in my recovery rituals are the highlight of my day. They are the very thing that I look most forward and I am convinced that all of the various ritualistic behaviors of my past were practice leading up to their powerful, healing hold on me now.
Today is a perfect example of ritual taking me from a sketchy head space and into ease and comfort. The ground is covered with snow and ice with more snow and ice falling as I type. Inches upon inches of the white stuff are forcing the fact that I am going to be stuck in this small home for (possibly) days. I enjoy being here, however, I am sharing the tiny space with a twelve year old, a man, and two cats. It's -tight- and getting smaller by the hour.
Days of inclement weather used to signal one hell of an alcoholic binge. I'd stock up on liquor and cigarettes, and spend the remainder of the storm in a drunken, horrifying daze. The close quarters, coupled with my beloved family members getting more and more irate with my sloppy state, would have led to epic fights and morbid discontentment all around. Even the cats would have suffered under the heavy cloud of bad vibes and cigarette smoke.
Today I experienced none of that living death. I knew that at some point in the day my family would feel the touch of "cabin fever" and venture out in the white wonderland for some fun. I had spent the day cooking comfort food and watching movies but remained carefully aware of the coming time when I could have my own brand of fun. As I waited patiently for cues that my kid wanted to play in the snow, I went about gathering the items that I'd need for my own ritual-
I prepared a big thermos of iced water mixed with sliced fruit and I took my vitamins, then made sure that I had a 45 minute playlist prepared for my alone time. Following this, I picked out a sexy but comfy yoga outfit, folded the clothes, and placed them in my bathroom with a clean towel and favorite body lotion. I made sure that my small alter was set with my chosen crystals & stones, incense, and candles and that yoga props were within easy reach.
I didn't have to tell my family of my plans or rush them in any way. I knew that it was easy enough to patiently watch and wait. In hindsight, the whole preparation was also part of the entire ritual. I experienced an excited sense of anticipation, and I had a chance to set an intention for my yoga practice. I spent my time thinking "higher thoughts" as I went about my day.
Eventually, my kid began to beg her dad to go outside with her. I made a pot of coffee for energy as they began to bundle up in layers. By the time they headed out the door, I had drank my energizing coffee and had a smile on my face. I stood for a few minutes letting the quiet of the house settle around me before heading to the bathroom for a quick shower. Afterwards I turned off all unnatural light, opened the blinds, lit candles, fired up my playlist, and spent forty minutes on my mat in pure bliss. I didn't follow an online yoga class, preferring to let my body be my guide. I can't fully explain how intensely wonderful that it was to simply -Be-, simply following my own inner cues, as I stretched and performed a variety of asana. It became a beautiful, stress busting, flowing dance of acceptance and raw contentment as I practiced in front of the large windows, watching the snow and ice softly swirl. As my playlist drew to conclusion, I stretched out on my mat and thanked God during a much needed Shavasana.
By the time that my family came in smiling and shivering, I was a centered and loving soul without a care in the world. I knew that we had everything that we need to wait out this storm, and that we are safe and happy. The rest of the day fell in place smoothly. I don't feel trapped or anxious. I simply "Am" as the weather continues to rage outside. Now, I think chocolate chip cookies are next on the docket for this chilly, perfect evening.
It has been one of those weeks. My cold has progressed from aches, pains, and sneezes to full on zombie apocalypse. Ok, it isn't that bad... but what it is is boring, unproductive, listless, unmotivated, grouchy, and guilty. I haven't done many of the things this week that define my sobriety and define my new life- no meetings, my sponsor was also sick so no meeting with her, no yoga classes, no trips to the prayer center for spiritual direction, no good food choices, no trips to the gym. Just me and my couch, my tv, my internet, my books, and my cat. To be honest, the cat acts as if she isn't feeling all that great either.
My family seems to be immune to my noxious cloud of germs. They have breezed onward with their lives with little more than a pitying glance my way since Tuesday. Not that I blame them. Keeping distance from me right now is advisable; I'm toxic.
I think the reason that I am so out of sorts about this today is that I fully expected to be well. I said to myself on Tuesday "Ok, I'm getting sick. I'll take care of myself, hibernate a bit, and be back on my feet by Friday." I had it all planned out. Sure, I'd probably miss my weekly meetings but I had all weekend to go to great meetings. I could make up the missed time at the gym and also throw in at least two full yoga practices on my living room floor. Then I woke up this morning to a head full of mucous and the day greeted me with brrr worthy blasts of cold wind and rain.
Still, I did the shower and coffee thing before heading out to pay bills and get groceries. Next thing I knew I was grumbling aloud about stupid people's reckless driving in the rain, resentfully forking over the cash for my sky-high power bill, and sneezing all over the frozen foods aisle. I dropped the milk on the wet asphalt and I almost drove off without getting my gas at another store. I was out of it. I just wanted to get back home and onto my couch. After lugging the wet bags in the house, I felt like I wanted to cry. I tried to eat some of the expensive food (have you SEEN the price of beef lately?) to satiate my pity party but it tasted bland and like cardboard. Depressing.
Finally, I remembered my sponsor saying that "it's never too late to start the day over." This is something that she has said several times, but I had yet to employ that simple tool. I sat and thought about it. How do you start your day over anyway? Well, I decided to take it literally. I went back to bed for a few minutes and meditated, just softly trying to count my breaths (between coughing jags). I took a hot shower and dressed in my softest yoga clothes. I drank a hot cup of coffee and had a little chicken broth. Then I rolled out my mat and proceeded with fifteen minutes of fairly easy yoga stretches. As I lay on my mat afterwards in the resting/meditation/corpse pose called Shavasana, I spent a little time being grateful for what I have.
-I'm sick but I'm sober.
-I have a family who loves me and they are -not- sick.
-It was a pain getting out in the rain but I have a car, gas, money to get food, and pay bills.
-I didn't go to face to face meetings this week but I attended a couple of online ones.
-I didn't go to the yoga studio but I have at least attempted a practice every sick day.
-I have nice, comfortable, clean clothes.
-I have a comfortable home to rest in and get well.
-I have clean, hot water to bathe in to loosen my chest congestion.
-I didn't go to the prayer center but I did watch some great spiritual tv programs and read about various modalities of spirituality online & in books.
When I rolled up my mat, I was still sick. But I do have a much better attitude about the whole thing. It's true; it's all about perception and a big dash of gratitude. I'm okay and I'll just have to continue to take care of myself, maybe stay inside a little longer than I had planned. No big deal... and now I'm off of here to make a big mug of hot cocoa with extra marshmallows.
If I was asked to give just one piece of advice to someone who is struggling with cravings or non-clinical depression, I'd say "surround yourself with softness." I can think of nothing more comforting on crave days, bad days, or sick days than to completely immerse myself in super-soft blankets on the couch while wearing butter soft clothes and fuzzy socks, stroking a faux fur pillow, listening to some ethereal soundtrack, with gently closed eyes, easy breath counting, and then eating whipped to air chocolate pudding. It also helps me to read gentle, lyrical books, watch no-brainer movies, and play ASMR videos on YouTube, take short walks, step out into the sun for a few minutes, and nap. All of these things make me feel safe. For me, safety is what I have always lacked in my life. It seems that any time my safety was threatened, I turned to a drink or a drug, and I will readily admit that booze & drugs worked for a LONG TIME. It was only when the alcohol and drugs began to feel unsafe that even contemplated putting them down in favor of real safety.
Learning what is truly safe for me is an ongoing process. My mind and body have just begun to heal from the overload of poison that I ingested over my lifetime. It will take years for me to become healthy and sound. I try to keep that in mind as I go about my day to day life. I don't "assume" that naturally know the next right move or the correct answer. I'm still coming from a place of destruction into a place of healing, and from there a place of sound reasoning and relative health. What I do know for certain is that when I get overwhelmed- with cravings, depression, sickness, anger, panic, or overstimulation, it's best for me to take a time out as soon as possible and retreat for just a while into a place of softness and safety.
I have encountered a fair share of backlash from family and friends over the past seven months when they sense or see me retreat into my little world of softness. They sometimes don't understand why the once steely me would choose to back off and retreat to my cave at odd, unexpected times. I've come to realize that they don't have a regimen of self-care in their own lives. It only frustrates me further to try to explain myself. Only I can find out what safety means to me, and have the inner fortitude to search that out when needed. Early sobriety is a time of finding out what works for self. The immediate goal is to not drink or use... all other goals fall to the wayside if that immediate goal is not met. As long as I am sober than I don't have to be understood when I retreat into my soft cave. Most people will not understand at best, so trying to force that understanding is fruitless. I've found it much better to simply smile and say "I just need a timey." than to open myself to a host of loaded questions and opinions regarding my personal self-care rituals.
The immediate goal is always to not pick up the first drink; this must be accomplished by any means humanly possible. For me, one of those means is to swaddle all of my senses in softness. Of course, anything under the sun can be taken too far. I also refuse to allow myself to retreat indefinitely. There is a big, whopping, HUGE difference between a retreat and becoming a hermit, isolating against anything or anyone that throws me off center. My disease of alcoholism would LOVE to get me to a place of total isolation and begin its insidious work! That is just as dangerous as keeping myself in a state of overstimulation and stress. That said, like all things, balance is key. I am building a sobriety toolbox, not a sobriety prison. But for this day, this day fraught with a bad cold and achy body, a life of gentle softness is magick medicine to the weary soul.
As I sat before my computer planning a blog post, I sneezed for the (maybe) fifteenth time today. There are plain ole, dusty sneezes and then there are the sneezes that are loaded with warn of an impending cold. At some point in my day my sneezes changed from harmless to noxious. You know the kind with accompanying throat burning and that lovely flavor in back of the throat followed by a mad dash for Kleenex. Of course my mind has wandered toward a stiff tumbler of whiskey today. I don't necessarily freak out when I give passing thoughts to alcohol. I'm a freaking alcoholic! Just because I've stopped drinking doesn't mean that it never crosses my mind. Usually the thoughts are a sign that something is wrong. And, once again, the thoughts proved correct. I am catching/have caught a damn cold. Ugh...
In my former life I would've already -been- to the liquor store with the grand delusion of nipping this cold right in the bud. Three days later, in the throes of a full blown drunken binge, I would have starved that cold to the point of complete bodily destruction. Dehydrated, achy, and pathetic, I'dve then proclaimed the cold to be the "worst" ever and spent another seven days trying to get well enough to leave the house. This would have likely been followed by a trip to the doctor- antibiotics to clear up bronchitis from chain smoking cigarettes while sick and drunk. Ridiculous, right? I did just that every time that I had a cold or the flu for decades.
Now I am left in the wake of that lifestyle, my mind quite conditioned to searching out an alcoholic solution to common woes. Neuroscience suggests that our brains create shortcuts called neuropathways to the responses that we repeat until it is "natural" for us to respond in specific ways. We condition ourselves to respond and the brain remembers. In fact, the brain creates shortcuts to get on with our usual responses in a more quick and efficient manner. These pathways never go away. The good news is that those pathways (if we wish to change our behaviors) can get smaller when we create new pathways with new, improved patterns & responses. In order to create strong, new pathways to healthier responses, we have to keep grooving along. We have to continue to perform the better behavior until that pathway is as strong or stronger than the old pathway. Then the old pathway shrinks from lack of use, and the brain redirects its shortcut to the new, healthy behavior. It becomes simpler to do the right thing. Still, it takes a lot of work to change a behavior that has become second nature to us. The more difficult that it is to do something differently than we once did, the more strenuously the new pathway is formed. While all of this work to change our destructive behaviors is surely difficult, it is VERY therapeutic for me to know that every single time that I fight the urge to drink, and also change my behavioral response to that desire to drink, I'm creating strong, new pathways that will be second nature to me over time. *this is me smiling*
SO, yeah, I'm looking straight down the barrel of an impending cold. But now I can take care of myself with vitamin C, hot tea, cold meds, early to bed, and curbing the damn cigarettes instead of burning rubber to the nearest liquor store and destroying myself for the next week. I also learned something today. I learned that the combination of a few, seemingly harmless sneezes combined with a sudden desire to drink may just mean that I am catching a cold. I can react by starting self-care even faster.I'm learning that there is a huge difference between self-care and self medication.
I first heard the term "self-care" from my sponsor. She was to leave town on vacay and upon her return I would start my 4th step inventory. I was also hired to house sit for her and take care of her dogs. She suggested that I spend the time learning about how to pamper myself- read good books from her library, listen to cds, spend time preparing fun meals, lounge around, play with the animals, take walks, use her row machine, soak in the hot tub. I was blessed to spend a solid week in her gorgeous home set far back on a plot of land with chickens and roaming deer. It was during that week that I learned how truly delicious self-care can really be. It turned out to be one of the most amazing weeks of my life and I pray never to forget the simple, decadent lessons that I learned there. When I returned home, I was determined to bring with me some of the rituals that I had established during my fabulous house sitting experience.
First, I moved my furniture around for more open space. In a fit of inspiration, I tossed out everything that felt cluttered and not in line with the real "me". I pulled out my forgotten boxes of dream catchers, pottery bowls, coloring books, crystals, candles, and incense. I went out and bought the most comfy, baby soft throw blanket that I could find. I splurged on -good- coffee. I dug out my old collection of cds and rifled through them, keeping out the truly inspiring, soothing, honey smooth female artists that I had once loved (Stevie Nicks, Nora Jones, Natalie Merchant, Annie Lennox, etc). I consolidated a box of my favorite epic films. I dusted off my favorite books & shelved them for easy access.
All of these things I had once loved. Every single one of them had fallen to the wayside of my life as I spent my hours, days, months, weeks, years, -decades!- in a drunken, morbid, dank haze of alcohol and abject self pity. Now they were resurrected and infused with a new purpose. I adored it when I took the time to enjoy these repurposed things in my life.
I first read the term "extreme self-care" on a site called Hip Sobriety. From the time that it took my eyes to scan the words 'til the words registered in my mind, I had one of the most blinding "Aha" moments of my sober journey. I had used my self-care kit (burning candles, listening to Stevie, drinking the good coffee, journaling, coloring) only sporadically or when I felt like I had the time (aka rarely). Holly of Hip Sobriety suggested that I make a habit of using these things at the very times that I used to drink, weekends, or after work when I'd be most tempted to blow off steam with a bottle of booze. She suggested that it is during these times that I need extreme self-care. I realized that hell, I probably needed a little extreme self-care every day.
It freaking made sense to me. An alcoholic who has spent decades ruining her body and mind needs a regimen of extreme self-care, especially in early sobriety. I felt like I had been given permission to employ my wonderful care kit every day. Somehow Holly made it okay for me to enjoy that time daily as a necessary part of my sobriety. I didn't have to feel guilty. I was taking real steps to ensure my precious sobriety by incorporating me-time into every day.
I immediately carved out an hour or two in my day for extreme self-care. What had seemed like an impossible luxury became a workable necessity because I made it so. It has been life altering and (so far) does wonders to keep me calm, content, and sober. I look forward to the time in my day when my work is done but my family is still an hour or so away from being home. I have shuffled my schedule as needed to make it possible. I brew a single cup of good coffee, take my vitamins, put on some soothing music, and I curl up on the couch with a good book or take a hot bath. Afterwards (when the coffee kicks in) I roll out my mat, light some incense & candles, and treat my body & mind to yoga. If I have time, I journal or read something online about sobriety & recovery. I snack on yummy cheeses and gourmet crackers. It all sounds frivolous for sure but it fills that need... that hole that I used to drown with copious amounts of alcohol.
What a beautiful addition to my life. Words fail, truly. I can't help but entertain the bittersweet notion that a self-care regimen could have helped me years ago, before my addictions had me completely buried under. It matters little now, however. I am simply blessed to have finally learned that me-time makes life a little better for everyone.
I had read about yoga for years online. Yoga made sense to me as a beautiful way in which to exercise and relax. What turned me off about yoga was my perception that only tree hugging, skinny Minnie's that wanted to show off their toned asses in form fitting pants actually practiced yoga in America. I knew that there were more pure forms of yoga (and meditation) being practiced around the world, but those spiritual, "Ommm" types were even more foreign than the skinny Minnie's. Either way, it would not have served me well to attempt to practice yoga (or meditation) when I was drinking. I would have likely tapped into the "feel good" aspects of yoga, but surely would've pulled out my back or hip practicing under the influence. Yoga wasn't for me then even though I suspected it to be a good and healthy modality.
It wasn't until my fifth month of sobriety that I began to entertain the idea of yoga classes. I was hungry in spirit to try a host of different and varied approaches to obtaining a better life and also maintaining my sobriety. The Internet age is SO wonderful for those who wish to branch out and learn about new things! I was able, from the privacy of my living room, to read about what works for other people. I became very open to try whatever seemed to work to keep others sober, and perhaps just as importantly, what kept them happily on the path of recovery. Yoga and meditation popped up on the net again and again as a proven tool of recovery in the lives of all kinds of addicts. My research revealed a dozen times over that a yoga practice could increase my chances at remaining contentedly sober.
I had all the usual reservations: I was far too fat, I surely wasn't flexible, I was too old, I really didn't want to embarrass myself, I didn't have anyone to join with me, I'd hurt myself, I didn't have the proper Lulu lemon pants, I'd look like a whale in Lulu lemon pants, the class was too early in the morning, I didn't know what the hell I was doing, ad infinitum.
But it was meant to be. Within a week or so of having avoided the yoga thing altogether, a friend supplied me with the pants, my local YMCA started a yoga class, I found a yoga mat, and my mind kept returning to the idea. Finally, I got up one morning and just went. I perched in the very back of the class and muddled through. Yes, I was a hot mess! I was the biggest girl in class, my hair wouldn't stay in its bun, I couldn't do one-tenth of the asana (poses) but something sparked in me. The instructor said one thing that resonated with me all the way to my bones. "Your mat, your practice." I realized very quickly that I was in charge of what happened on my mat. I was only in competition with myself provided I kept my eyes on the instructor and my own mat. Also the word "practice" resonated with me suddenly. I could practice yoga and get better over time. I wasn't expected to master yoga, but I could practice it. I didn't understand a word of the foreign, ancient Sanskrit words spilling from the instructor's mouth (Savasana?! What the hell is an Adho Mukha Svanasana?!) but that added a touch of mystery and I knew I could learn the terms if I wanted. I left the class a hot mess but feeling great. I had mad energy for that whole day. I also woke up sore for three days.
I had overdone it, but I was also using muscles that hadn't gotten any real love in a decade or longer. My sporadic & short lived, three month long, intense love affairs with the elliptical machine, the treadmill, and weight machines hadn't prepared me in the least for yoga. And oddly, despite my sore limbs, I couldn't wait for the next class. It didn't take long before I began rolling out my mat at home and practicing the things I learned in class.
It has only been a short while but I can attest to yoga (and meditation) being a powerful tool in recovery from alcohol addiction for ME. I am more happy, more centered, more present and aware. I feel accomplished after practicing yoga, I feel truly empowered. I am getting into better shape. I know that after a good yoga session, I will feel more calm and relaxed but also energized with a true sense of well-being. Yeah! Just from practicing yoga.
There is also a real sense of "working things out" when I am on my mat. Pushing through the uncomfort of a particular asana (not pain, mind you...uncomfort) focuses my mind as surely as it focuses my body. I work out frustrations, release tensions, tackle problems, grit it out. There are also stretches and poses that are so physically pleasurable that I obtain a natural high. There isn't much left to keep me up at night if I work it out on my mat.
My sobriety toolbox contains more than just yoga. I still attend AA meetings (in person and online). I read recovery literature daily. I pray. I study addiction. I meditate. I stay in contact with other people in recovery. I write about my journey here on this blog. I am constantly trying to find new ways to enjoy recovery and being sober. That said, I can see yoga as a mainstay in my life. I have only tipped the iceberg of this yoga thing but it's an exciting addition to my life. I'm glad that I pushed past my preconceived notions about yoga culture in America, and just took that damn first class. My life is ever-better for it.
I try to give every yoga practice, every meditation, every prayer a clear intention. My intentions can be as broad as simply honoring God for being my creator to more specific purposes such as favor with a specific person so that I can land a particular job. I can't claim to know for sure whether yoga (with intention) is truly spiritual, but I do feel with my whole being that prayer and meditation are a tangible form of spirituality for me.
I pray often for discernment - the ability to understand or see clearly people, things, or situations.- One concept that I can never seem to discern well are the elusive signs or lessons from my Creative Force (aka God, Higher Power, the Lord, etc.). Here is a recurring example that I was faced with again today: One of the problems that I deal with daily in my own life is that I don't think well of humanity in general. Like most alcoholics, I have a "me vs them" mentality. "They" are bad people, "they" are ridiculous, "they" are the problem, things would be just fine but for "them". My perception of people as the enemy does nothing for my spirituality. Every great belief system in the world can agree that the most important keys to an enlightened existence is love, acceptance, and tolerance of our fellow man.
Because I have such a problem with my world view of people, I pray often for a softening of my heart toward people. Each time that I spend any significant amount of time studying or praying in this area, I encounter a stray animal. This never fails to be a heartbreaking experience for me. I worry for animals they way that most people worry for human children. I've always been this way. I have a way with animals. We seem to understand one another, and I usually become fast friends with the world's critters, especially domesticated strays. My heart just goes out to them in a way that I can't seem to muster toward people. I've often thought to myself (and aloud) that if I had one-tenth of the compassion for humans as I do all animals, I'd be the most loving person on earth.
Today, as I made my way toward the Prayer Center for my biweekly visit, I prayed that I would be shown some book or receive some great awakening in my spirit for loving people. I had plans to read about St. Francis, who was notorious in his love-walk with God and Man (and animals.) But as soon as I stepped out of my car at the prayer center, I was met by a female Pitt bull. I wasn't afraid in the slightest, and she turned out to be an affectionate and loving sort with no collar. An inquiry inside confirmed that she is a stray who has been hanging out at the center for a few, very cold days. The fathers at the center have been feeding her, but she is so friendly that she is trying to crawl into the cars with the guests of the prayer center. Hearing this broke my heart in two. Here was a loving animal who wants nothing more than a family to take her home.
I prayed for that dog during my prayer time in the chapel, and couldn't get her off of my mind in order to properly study St. Francis. Finally, I decided to go outside and walk with the stray. She followed me to Mary's Prayer Garden and I said yet another prayer for the stray there. When I left a couple of hours later, I was worn out from feeling sad for that dog. I sure do not understand why she was put in my path today. My Higher Power surely realizes that I couldn't take her home... I can barely feed the two stray cats that I already saved. I don't know anyone who could give her a home. The whole scenario did nothing to appease my desire to love people. If anything, I was even more disgusted with people because I know someone had dropped her off, abandoned her somewhere in the surrounding area. I certainly didn't feel better for this experience.
I went home and, after cleaning my house, rolled out my mat and dedicated my yoga practice to the strays of the world... maybe not just for the four legged ones this time. Truth is that I know an awful lot of human strays as well. And I know exactly how they feel because I've been one of them. Maybe if I cannot love all people right now, I can start with loving the strays, empathising, feeling and showing compassion for them as well as the four legged ones. It's a start...
As for the Pitt bull stray, she is still heavy on my mind this evening. My heart hurts for her. I still do not know what to do for her. I will continue to pray for her. I do think that she offered me a small slice of growth regarding my fellow man and for that I am grateful to her.
Dragons are 100 % real. I should know. I have been a dragon for most of my life. When I was a child, I was something of an introverted dragon. I was a forest dragon, preferring to spend my time in the deep woods. I loved to collect pennies, rocks, and books and bury them in the ground. I kept dozens of cedar boxes, locked with tiny locks and protected in gallon sized Ziploc bags, buried all over the woods in which I roamed and played. I would bury every book that I thought contained some kind of secret knowledge: the Holy Bible, Bram Stoker's Dracula, an old Farmers Almanac, Grimm's Fairy Tales, a dog eared copy of The Black Stallion... I also had rolls and rolls of pennies, pretty rocks, broken jewelry, tiny silver spoons, etc. I would keep maps of my buried treasure and often dig them up to enjoy my secret hoard alone in the deep woods.
As I became a teenager, I traded in my pennies and books for alcohol. Alcohol became my secret treasure, and I became a tricky dragon. Dragons, by their very nature, are clever and selfish creatures. They do not like to share and they will go to extreme measures to protect their treasure. I began drinking alcoholically at the age of fourteen. From the beginning of my alcoholism, I exhibited the more undesirable dragon traits. I could be a lot of fun and shiny to look at, but basically every move was designed and executed to increase my bounty of secret treasure. I was an adventurous dragon, and began to travel near and far in search of treasure. I took my dragon-self nationwide.
Somewhere along the line, I became a fully formed, bully dragon. If I did not get my way, I would spew fire and wreak havoc. I kept captives to fulfill my gluttonous needs. To stave my wrath, the meek villagers were forced to bring more and more treasure to my caves. As brave knights came forth to slay me, I left an army of charred bones in my wake. My mouth constantly billowed smoke, laced with tricky lies and riddles designed to confound and awe. I had a mighty wingspan and portrayed myself as fearless. The truth was that I had a weak spot that I protected fiercely and also my coveted treasure became lackluster and hollow. As I became buried in my treasure, I dug deeper into my cave and could no longer even see the light at the end of the tunnel. The villagers were left relatively to peace and I was all but forgotten. They would randomly send forth a fresh virgin sacrifice laden with treasure to appease the great, sleeping beast. Decades went on in this way.
I no longer thought of anything but burying beneath the treasure day and night, season to season, year to year. But somewhere deep inside I was STILL a dragon. Dragons tend to go out in a blaze of glory, not buried deep within a cave, chained forever to their treasure. And sometimes, just every once in a new century or so, a dragon with break free of the treasure and reenter the world. If the dragon has maintained its natural clever nature, it will realize that the world has much changed during the time of their imprisonment. Adjusting to change takes a certain desire to obtain fresh knowledge and a malleable spirit. It also requires a mind that holds on to and learns well from the lessons of yesteryear. It is about putting behind the billowing smoke and lava hatred in favor of becoming a wise and fearless, mythical and inspiring sentinel. A protector of ancient knowledge more so than a tyrannical overlord.
A very clever dragon will set out to reinvent itself and expand its horizons rather than continue to be crushed under the weight of a treasure that no longer serves its purpose. This kind of dragon will seek and find a new, more awakened treasure that satiates more than an earthly longing, but a treasure that transcends an old soul.
Dragons are 100% real. I should know. Because I'm going to be a dragon for the rest of my life.
Spent a couple of hours today practicing self-love in the form of yoga and meditation. My goal for the entire year (but starting with the next 40 days) (baby steps) is to incorporate 4 things into each day that promote good health & happiness. I can choose daily from a limitless number of activities, but I will strive for four separate blocks of activity that include: Health, Spirituality, Exercise, & Recovery. I will strive to do at least one thing in each category daily.
This isn't a completely new routine for me. Over the past year, I've kept a day planner and recorded some of these things, but I am approaching the process a bit differently for the new year. During my past seven months of sobriety (continuous sober date June 4, 2015), I've made a point to mark my day planner if I exercise or when I spend time in prayer. I usually jot a quick note if I eat well on a particular day, or make better choices, attended an AA meeting, etc. A quick look over my past year's day planner reveals that I've been off balance. I concentrate fully on exercise, then flit to a stint with church & religion. For a month I seem to attend AA meetings regularly and then I wane to focus on yoga & meditation. Basically I'm a sober butterfly tumbling from flower to flower for my next life-fix. I understand why and how I've gotten into a pattern of flitting from focus to focus. I am an alcoholic. The reason I became an alcoholic in the first place is that my mind was at unrest from a very early age. I taught myself to flit from interest to interest because I was generally uneasy in my own skin, easily bored, easily distracted. I wasn't prone to deep concentration or seeing things through from seed to fruition. I was always artsy and loved to read, I loved to climb trees and hang out for hours on end in the woods. I was a child of vivid imagination and pretend. I assume that this me was created as a safe haven from the alcoholic home in which I lived.
I learned early on that I couldn't depend on my parents to feed my mind. I no longer blame them for not being active, present parents. They, themselves, were too young and screwed up to do much concerning their positions within my development. Having been on the losing side of active addiction myself, I know now how difficult that it is to want to play ball or being a doting parent when caught in the trap of a me-me-me, addiction-consumed mindset. I can admit now that I know how my parents must have felt. The point being that as a child, I spent an extraordinary amount of time alone, creating my own worlds in which to develop, grow, observe the world, and become who I am. Unfortunately, who I am tends to constantly create plans and paths and modalities but then bounce off toward a new plan once things become routine or difficult. This keeps me out of balance even though I no longer drink.
The good news is that balance is now attainable -because- I don't drink. Sober, I can at least pursue sure footing. I just need to find gentle ways of guiding myself back onto the beam when I get distracted. Hence, a new day planner for a new year and clearly marked daily with the four categories of Health, Spirituality, Exercise, and Recovery.
Today's list looks like this:
Sat. Jan 2, 2016
Health~ drank iced water w/ fruit slices (4 cups), took vitamins
Spirituality~ meditation w/ John Serrie CD
Exercise~ 40 min yoga (Mala flow)
Recovery~ 24 Hrs a Day book, journaling, online AA meeting
The very reason that I am recording this blog is to note my progress by trying to balance these four things in my life. I have more than a sneaking suspicion that balancing those four things, and making sure that I keep them all as part of my daily practice, will result in a much more balanced, centered, self-assured, successful me. I think that the first year of sobriety sets the tone for the rest of my life. I'm faced daily with sober decisions- Will I remain sober, will I be sober with a productive life, will I just be "dry" of alcohol without any real life-progress? Will I incorporate real changes or temporary solutions?
I think it's up for grabs. The first seven months of sobriety were only about hanging on. After spending my entire adult life running into the arms of a bottle of alcohol, it takes a long time to break those chains that bind. On top of that, my mind was completely warped of any sense of reality and/or Truth. I've heard people claim that the best thing about new sobriety is finally "being in your right mind." I don't tend to subscribe to the theory that one's mind is out of its haze in new sobriety at all. The first year is such a time of intense self-preservation and just clinging to the raft that I believe it to be impossible to really be in a "right mindset." Base survival 24/7 is not the way that I believe I was meant to live. Surely, there is more...
I needed the past seven months of just hanging in there to see if I actually even -could- hang in there. I was very mistrustful of my own resolve to stop drinking. I was a binge drinker, not a daily drinker. I could put down the bottle for a week or two at a time and not miss it. I could just as easily start drinking on any given Tuesday and 'come to" on the following Monday. I seemed to hold faithful to very few set patterns. I simply drank when I drank. I didn't have to be pissed off or bored, or stressed, or on vacation to fall over into the ditch of drinking. I'd make up an excuse if I needed one to drink or I'd leave it alone for a while. On at least three separate occasions before last November, I had tried my hand at seriously putting down the alcohol. Each time, I joined AA and fumbled through for a few months without any idea how to work a program. The truth is that I didn't want to stop badly enough to really try to work a program of recovery. I wanted to quit for my daughter, I wanted to quit for my mom, I wanted to quit because it was killing me. Nowhere in there did I want to quit because I wanted a real life.
In November of 2015, I stopped drinking with a genuine pursuit toward God and church. I'd had it with trying the AA way. I just didn't "get" it- the meetings, the calling each other, the crappy coffee. Ugh. I'd leave each meeting with a desire to drink so badly that I could TASTE it. In November, I began to earnestly pray to God. I learned, and recited daily, the Holy Rosary (even though I am not Catholic). I still pepper my daily prayers with portions of the Rosary, though I no longer recite the whole thing once or twice a day. I spent the majority of my time watching religious programming on TV and I joined a very small church. I needed that. For me, I needed God completely to make it through those first, faltering months. My goal wasn't even to learn how to live; I just tried not to drink. The foundation of prayer that I forged during those months serve me well now. I am "in the habit". I feel as if God is on my side during this journey, and that I wouldn't make it through the day sober without constant leaning on my Creator. I don't have any qualms with this way of thinking. After all, I tried it my way and experienced epic failure. It wasn't a difficult stretch for me to reach out to my personal Higher Power for help and guidance. What I had failed to address within myself is that I had no idea how to live.
It's difficult for a woman who has moved to nine states, fourteen beach towns, with countless life experiences under her belt, a decent IQ, and decades of survival skill to come to the realization that she has NO real idea how to live a normal, productive life. Add in the facts that I have always had to be in some form of control over every situation, that I was conditioned to be continually argumentative, and I am naturally hot tempered, ... let's say that this past year was a confusing and trying time for me. On Mothers Day of 2015, I drank again. I spent seven days on a bender of whiskey, vodka, and pills. I was crushed that I had relapsed, no longer able to enjoy a relapse, and in a state of pure fear and loss. Unable to see myself becoming successfully sober and hating the dark funk in which I was consumed, I gave up food and praying and proceeded to drink myself to death. It didn't take long to decide that maybe I wanted to live... it took seven days. On the seventh morning, I had "drank myself sober." For those who don't drink, that doesn't mean that I was sober. It simply means that I couldn't get any higher, I couldn't exactly come down without waves of pain, and I had starved myself to the point of having to have food despite myself.
I had broken my mom's heart by going on that binge on Mother's Day. She had genuinely thought that I was on the path of sobriety. Mom, being the good and practicing Christian, believed with all of her soul that God could and would save me because I had surrendered my life to the Lord. Believe me, God did save me. Just because I had given up drinking and given my soul to God didn't mean that I was suddenly provided an instruction manual on Life. I've come to accept that that fall off the wagon was a necessary part of my journey. I was shown that I had to find a program of recovery. I wasn't meant to survive solely on the Word of God. God wanted me to grow, and change, and improve myself so that I could be of help to others and to leave this earth having fulfilled some purpose with my life.... whatever that purpose is. I am supposed to have a rich and fulfilling existence. I'm supposed to learn how to live and to find a new way.
I managed to eat on that seventh day (June 3, 2015) and to pour the rest of the liquor down the sink. I knew that I was going to try as many ways as I could find to begin to actually learn to live. First, I found myself a sponsor. She is a lady that I have known since my earlier attempts at Alcoholics Anonymous. An earthy, wise woman who knew about far more than the twelve steps of AA. She is an avid reader, constantly learning about something, enjoys & respects nature and animals, lives on a plot of land with chickens, dogs, and wild deer, and was willing to accept me into her life knowing how screwed up that I really am.
I began to attend AA meetings. It was difficult for me as I had forgotten entirely how to get along with people and value their opinions. But, for the first time, I was willing to work a program of recovery. With that willingness, I was able to better understand what having a program even meant. She patiently helped me to lay a foundation, modeled on the way that she, herself, had been taught and we continue to meet once a week and talk on the phone every couple of days as I work through the Twelve Steps of Alcoholics Anonymous.
A couple of months ago, I began to practice yoga. I had never tried a yoga class in my life. I had a ton of preconceived notions about yoga being for beautiful, thin, blond, new-agey women who socked hundreds of dollars into gym clothes, botox, and meatless diets in a vain attempt to stall the clock. That being said, I loved my first, wildly uncomfortable yoga class. It didn't really make sense that I would enjoy it. I am fifty pounds overweight, middle aged, and in poor health from years of abuse. But I loved it. It resonated with me. It made sense to me that learning to breathe deeply was healthy and beneficial. I could understand how series of stretches and poses (called Asana) could release tension and stagnant energies. Along with Asana, I became interested in meditation as a new way to pray. Since that first class, I got myself a mat and props, a few American Indian inspired drum and flute cds, and started my own practice at home. I also learn from a local yoga studio where I take a beginner's class once or twice per week. The results of picking up the yoga and meditation practice is astounding! I would not have believed how much better that I feel if it has not happened to me personally.
In just a matter of two months, I am noticeably calmer, I have a handle on alcohol cravings and urges, it helps me with coping skills, and keeps my head clearer so that I can pursue my 12 step work in AA. I am not as angry. I am not as hot tempered. Yoga and meditation have provided a way for me to enjoy my alone-time and stretched my spiritual boundaries.
I am also just beginning to feel my bodily "core". With so many layers of cushy fat laid over weakened muscles, and muscles that never fully healed from my botched c-section, it has been a long time since I felt my core insides. That is beginning to change as I use those strengthening muscles to perform the various poses and asana of yoga. I plan to add to this various aerobic and cardio exercises to take off some of this excess baggage. We have a whole year here to work on these things and also try a ton of new things.
Today afforded me a chance to work on my own yoga experience at home. I've created for myself a 40 minute long practice using the things that I learned online and in the yoga studio. I call this first yoga routine "Mala Flow". Now I am a little sore but relaxed as I begin my evening. Later, before bed, I'll meditate to a 20 minute relaxation demo from iAwake Technologies on SoundCloud. I'm proud to be starting the year off on a good note. Tomorrow morning at 8 am, I will be heading out of town for an AA meeting at The Barn. More on that later.
~Namaste
