Liminal Space

As I write this, I am sitting in a living room in a small pool of light given off by the white clamp-lamp attached to the shelf just above my monitor. I love this dumb little lamp and had to rip open a garbage bag to get to it, where it was wrapped in a tangled set of sheets printed with bears and owls. I bought them- the sheets, not the lamp- maybe a year or two ago, when they were still something Camryn would have liked. A lot can change in a year or two, can’t it? More than I ever imagined, that’s for sure.

My keystrokes are echoing in the room of my new house- the place is a lot bigger than it looked in the pictures and videos I saw online- and it is still mostly empty, aside from the bags and boxes shoved up against the walls. Most of them have been rifled through at this point, so it looks like a band of drunk raccoons tried to pack for me. I have no furniture. When I moved to Maine I got rid of my couch, my bookshelves, even my TV stand. I even got rid of my large TV- gave it to the neighbor across the street, who was thrilled. That’s where my TV stand wound up, too. I really didn’t miss any of my stuff while I was gone, but right now I do sort of wish I had a couch. It’s weird in here with no place to sit.

I mean…it’s weird in general, though. I am, once again, in that strange liminal space between arriving somewhere and actually being there. I know that sounds odd, and it’s an odd feeling, but I’ll try to explain. There is an uncomfortable time that stretches out and feels endless when you move into a new place, and though you may be surrounded by your stuff (or not, as was the case for me in Maine), it does not feel like home. It happens when you move from one house to another in the same town, too, but not as intensely. When I moved to Maine, I didn’t expect it, so it walloped me pretty hard. This time, I know what this feeling is so it’s less unsettling, although no less uncomfortable. I keep feeling as if the presence of a couch would really help even though I know that is just my desire to fix it, to feel better, more than anything.

So, where did I end up? Well, in Chico, California, of all places. And no, in case you are wondering, I had never been here before in my life before deciding to move here. I was trying to be closer to my older daughter who lives near Redding, and so I sort of worked outward from there. As it turns out, Chico is about two hours away from her- seems like nothing when you are living over three thousand miles away, but in reality it’s a good drive. I know because I drove it on Saturday when I went and picked her up. Four hours round trip, two days after ending a nine day road trip. I could honestly leave my car parked at the curb for the next six months and be fine with it. Except…I’ll probably need it to go buy my future furniture.

As luck would have it, Chico is beautiful. Not, you know, Maine beautiful of course. Maine was peaceful, serene, quiet, full of wildlife and rugged beaches, stately, empty, summer homes lining the streets. Chico is…vibrant. If you aren’t familiar with California, Chico is way up North and home to a California University that is infamously party-centric. There is a flourishing downtown area with tons of restaurants and shops, ringed with wide, tree-lined streets and darling bungalow houses from the thirties and forties. I happen to be sitting in one of those houses right this very moment. It has wood floors and built in cabinets, a huge backyard and the coolest little thing in the front door that opens so you can look out to see who is knocking. Like a peep-hole but big, you know? With it’s own little ornate, iron screen. The neighborhood is incredibly picturesque and walkable this time of year, with hundreds of citrus trees and front yard gardens in full bloom, the trees a leafy green canopy overhead.

It is also…fricking loud. The street I landed on is BUSY, and traffic flies by, day and night. Two doors down from me, there seems to be a frat house of some sort. Yesterday, I kept hearing cars honking. When I finally left to go grab food, I saw that the kids down there had set up a card table with red solo cups and hung a sign that said “honk and we’ll drink”. By the time I went to bed last night, I was honestly concerned for their health. I wondered if I should walk over there with a jug of water and insist that they go lay down. I wondered if I should call their mothers…or offer to BE their mothers. I fell asleep realizing how old I have gotten, but not before turning up the TV so I could hear it over the traffic going by. I don’t understand why very young people prefer very loud cars.

So, I am here, but I have not found my rhythm yet. I know it will take as long as it takes- hell, I had just started to hit my stride in Maine before I left and it took months. I know there is nothing to do but wait it out. And more than that, even, I find myself in the strange position of being on the other side of a gigantic realized dream- for so long, all I wanted to do was move to the East Coast and I did it! Was it exactly like I wanted it to be? No, but when is anything ever exactly as we picture it? The point is, I did it, and now it is behind me and…I don’t know what my next dream is. I don’t know what to aim for. I suppose that will come to me soon enough, though.

For now…liminal space it is. Which is a space that cannot be filled with a couch and bookshelves. Although I still think it would help.

Wherever you go, there you are.

It is 5:30 in the morning, and pitch black outside. Giant gusts of wind roll in off the Atlantic, just across the street, and howl fitfully against the windows and walls of this hundred year old building, shaking the floors. Inside, with the heater blasting, my cat asleep in front of it, and my desk light casting a warm pool of light around the corner I’m tucked into, I must admit, I kind of like it.

All this weather, the drama of it all.

Last night as we drove the million miles to the store (It’s really about a ten minute drive, I just got spoiled at my last house) it started snowing. At first, it was just tiny, spotty things that melted as soon as they hit the ground. But by the time I pulled into the parking lot, they were massive, feathery flakes, falling in a flurry. I was so nervous about driving home in the snow that I rushed through my shopping like a woman possessed…only to find that the snow had completely disappeared, without a trace, by the time I left the store.

On the way home, I saw a fox trotting down the side of the wooded road that leads to my house.

Bit by bit, I am adjusting. There are things I like very much about it here, and things I miss about California, of course. There are things I love about this weird little place I am staying in, and things I am utterly frustrated by; But…I hardly ever feel as if I am supposed to be going back to my house in Seaside anymore. The terrible longing to go home is fading away. Thankfully.

Of course, I have my work, which is the biggest, best anchor of all- I think if I’d had to start all over in that regard, I’d really be in trouble. The familiarity of that has been a saving grace, for sure. And Cam is in school again, so…it’s like normal life has resumed, only thousands of miles away.

And that is kind of the crux of it, really…the part I didn’t allow myself to acknowledge, probably because I didn’t want to believe it- my life will be MY life no matter where I go. What is that stupid saying? Wherever you go, there you are? Well, isn’t that the truth. You see, the Courtney that visited here all those times before was vacation Courtney. But every day, average Courtney is the one living here, and they are two very different people. I would hate to think that I moved three thousand miles from home to get away from myself, only to find that I had the nerve to come with me. And yet…well, here I am.

All my shortcomings risen to the surface, emphasized marvelously by my disorientation. My anxiety, my low threshold for frustration, my disdain for change. My God, what was I thinking?! It’s been probably a decade since Border’s closed its doors forever and I’m still not even over that, for Pete’s sake! Why I ever thought I could just skip across the world and slide effortlessly into a totally different routine is beyond me. It really is.

Yet here I am. A month and a half in, and it’s finally sinking in that I’m here. I’m in Maine. I only have to use my GPS some of the time now- I’d say it’s about 80/20 these days. I can leave my house after dark and feel relatively confident that I won’t end up in a swamp or lost in New Hampshire when I only wanted to grab some milk. I even went to the dentist last week- I mean, I had no choice, my crown fell off, but still, I did it!

In reality, although the view has changed, my life itself hasn’t changed much at all. I don’t know how I feel about that. Again, I am still me, just somewhere new. And maybe I had hoped that I would be nicer or better or different, somehow. What I’ve learned there is that if you want to be different, you have to work on yourself, not your surroundings. And if I’d realized that was at the bottom of it all, perhaps I would have realized that, but I was keeping that secret from myself.

I still don’t know what I’m doing. How long I’ll be here or what happens next. I do know this, though- I’ve landed in a beautiful place. Sunrises and sunsets like no others I’ve ever seen. Howling storms and waves that wash right over the sea wall and onto the road. Streets lined with hundred year old mansions, decked out with Christmas lights as the snow gently falls. Little bridges everywhere over rivers that flow backwards when the tide rushes in. Every time I drive somewhere, I tell Camryn “This sure is a magical place!”, and she agrees that it is.

If I was going to follow myself anywhere, I’m glad that it was here. The rest…well, I’m working on it.

Leaving Here a Different Person

I moved into this house in February of 2015, at the end of a short but incredibly destructive relapse. I believe it lasted about four or five months, that last little run. It felt like a million years. I didn’t know it was the end, of course. How I was able to sweet talk my way into this place, I still don’t know- I had horrible credit and was in the midst of bankruptcy, strung out and about to be homeless. I pulled up in front of this place in my little beat up Santa Fe, and I knew this was the house I wanted. When the landlady was hesitant, I wrote her a letter assuring her that I would always make my rent my top priority, that I would take care of the place. Whatever I said worked, and though at the time I was just saying whatever I could to get my foot in the door, it turns out I kept my word.

In mid-March of that same year, I finally reached my breaking point. Of course, it was awful. I had a terrible screaming match with my sister and my daughter one night, followed by a sleepless night and then a breakdown at work…and that was it for me. That was all she wrote. March 16th, 2015 was my first day clean.

From that moment forward, I began to change in ways both visible and not. To be honest with you, I feel like I have almost nothing in common with the girl who walked through that front door for the first time almost six years ago. And yes, I was a 39 year old “woman”, but let me assure you, I was really just a girl. Lost and scared, angry and sick. I had really begun to lose all hope that I would ever, ever break free of my addiction.

And when I did, it was so…uneventful. I mean, after all that fighting and panic, the despair and the fear, it was just easy. That life had become so fucking exhausting, it was a relief to let it go.

Listen, I don’t want to constantly harp on that part of my life at all. As far as I’m concerned, it’s in the past and I’d like to leave it there. But there is no way to celebrate where I am now without mentioning where I was then. Five years and eight months ago, I was as far from okay as I could possibly be. Today…well, today things are light years away.

Tomorrow, I will walk out this front door for the very last time. My landlord is sad to see me go. My neighbors have stopped by to tell me they’ll miss me, that I’ve been a good neighbor. I was a good tenant, a good neighbor.

I’m going to tell you something about myself that I probably imply sometimes, but I don’t think I’ve ever really said it outright- I harbor a stubborn belief that I am actually a terrible person. That if people really knew me, the REAL me, they would be horrified. This is such a deeply rooted belief that it is hard for me to even accept evidence that proves otherwise. I’m sure there are many reasons why, but most of them are because I really did behave terribly for many, many years. I was mean, and loud, and I hurt a lot of people. I wasn’t a good friend, a good mother, or a good girlfriend. I certainly wasn’t a good neighbor or tenant.

But you know what? You know what never occurred to me until like a week ago and I am not even kidding? That person was not me. That person was a version of me with a chemically altered brain. Druggy me is NOT WHO I AM. Those behaviors I exhibited do not represent the person I have always been on a core level. Can you imagine that I never understood that until almost six years after getting clean? That I have still been walking around thinking I am just a giant piece of shit because of the life I lived in my addiction? I am far enough from it all now to feel…just so, so sad for that girl who existed in such misery for so long. I am far enough now to wish I could help her. Which, of course, I did. I saved her life, actually.

So, here’s the thing- I am going to leave this place a different person than I was when I left. When my landlord says I have been a good tenant, it’s not because I fooled her- it’s because I paid my rent on time and never gave her any trouble. When my neighbors say they’ll miss me, it’s not because I fooled them, it’s because they like me. When my friends come by to help me wash blinds and scrub walls, it’s not because they think I’m someone I’m not- most of them have known me for twenty or thirty years! They KNOW me. And they love me, even so.

I am moving all the way across the country, leaving behind a lot of things- my safe haven, my comfortable routine, friends that are family to me, the town where I grew up in more ways than one. But the best thing I am leaving behind is the idea that I am not a good person. I will never be perfect, but I am good. I am good enough. I am strong and smart and loving. I am driven and funny and unique. The good things that happen in my life are not a mistake, I am not pulling off some kind of cosmic, karmic heist. It’s all a result of my choices and effort and maybe a little luck. And I am pretty proud of myself today.

Anyway, I’m off on this adventure. I’ll catch up with you when I get where I’m going. Wish me luck!

Acceptance

So, I have been writing on this blog since 2012- that’s eight whole years. In that time, I have written close to 600 posts. That’s a lot! That’s so many posts that, even when I don’t write for a very long time, I get visitors to this site every single day. I don’t really pay attention to which posts they are viewing. About once a week, someone new will discover this place and go crazy, reading thirty or forty posts in a row. I like it when that happens, I’m not gonna lie. There’s some validating feelings that emerge when I see that go down.

But I have changed a lot in that time. So much, in fact, that sometimes I think about going back and getting rid of some of my older posts. Although I can’t recall everything I’ve written here, I know some of it would be embarrassing to me now. I know I have overshared and said things that no longer represent the woman I am today. But…you know, I’m not gonna do that. If you read through my posts from start to finish, I think…I hope, anyway, that you would see the slow evolution of a human being who is trying to find her way. I think you would see a lot of growth, even if it was painful and awkward sometimes. Even if there were lots of “one step forward, two steps back” situations. Slowly and steadily, I have progressed.

I believe, when I started all of this, that there was some part of my subconscious mind that thought I would eventually “arrive” at a place where I would be complete. I would know it when I got there, right? It would be a place where I was generally happy and joyful, my relationships would be easy and healthy, I would be mature and confident, and all of my laundry would be done. My mismatched sock basket would be empty, my bathroom counters would be wiped down at all times. I would know what we were having for dinner for the entire week ahead. Basically, I thought I would be perfect.

Not only was that vague idea incredibly far off the mark, but…it was harmful. Harmful because I didn’t realize I was reaching for perfection, a thing that doesn’t exist, and trying to get there was making me feel like a failure. I have been in so much pain because I couldn’t manifest perfection. I have resented my beautiful life because it didn’t match up to my idealistic daydream.

The chaos and tumult of the world since the beginning of this pandemic has thrown me headfirst into the chasm where my shadow dwells. Already halfway submerged when all of this started, I found myself very quickly sucked under. For a good while, I was afraid that I would drown. I didn’t know what that would look like, exactly, but I won’t pretend I wasn’t afraid. “I shouldn’t be feeling this way!” I kept telling myself, “Look how good I have it, I should be- (enter whatever shiny adjective caught my eye at the moment)” As my old sponsor would say, I was “shoulding all over myself”.

A few things transpired in the past few days that have opened my eyes. One was the word “acceptance” which kept popping into my head. I am not sure, but I’d be willing to guess, that I’ve written on this topic before. Smart as I am, it takes me a while to understand things, though. Sometimes I think I get it, and I will keep thinking that until I REALLY get it. Sometimes your understanding just deepens over time.

Here’s the thing- I’ve been wanting to do all this stuff! Move across the country, maybe for a year, maybe forever. Buy a house- maybe in Maine, but also maybe somewhere closer, for just a while, until I can work out how to get to Maine. But I also want to keep my job, and finish a book, and make money from that, while I work on my mental health, my spiritual life, getting my house together. I was flopping around like a fish on a line. Then the pandemic hit. All my tentative “plans” got blown away, who knows how far. No travel, no freedom, no reprieve, even, from my beloved daughter. Just her and I, this house and work, day in and day out, at this computer. My need to bolt became frantic, the shedding of tears became a daily event, and every single one of my worst qualities came raging to the forefront.

That’s when “acceptance” showed up. Not the act, the word, in my head, over and over, until I decided to examine it. Here is what I discovered: My desire to be different than I was, to have a life I couldn’t have right now, to be someone I am not, was the root of the problem. This is who I am. This is where I am. This is how it is. Be here, embody it, feel it, accept it.

Yesterday, Camryn and I walked the whole length of a long beach at low tide early in the morning. There was only us and a few surfers, a couple, and a dog or two running around. Camryn didn’t want to be there, but she had no choice. By the time we made it to the tide pools, she was the happiest she’d been in weeks. We saw starfish and countless sea anemones, pelicans, sandpipers and one very excited sparrow. Camryn, in that moment, was a perfect example of acceptance. She rode the figurative wave, and, after a moment of resistance, she stopped fighting what she couldn’t control, and guess what? She enjoyed the moment. So did I, a reminder that no one is forcing me to stay inside my house. There are still things I can do, places I can go to escape and to breathe. It’s not really my life that is giving me trouble, it’s my attitude about my life. It’s my fear and my grasping.

And finally, sometimes…there’s this weird thing that happens. Someone will ask a question and when you answer it, you realize it was an answer you’d been trying to come up with for yourself. A truth you didn’t know you knew. Someone asked why she used to be so happy in her twenties, but now, in her thirties, she just didn’t feel so joyful all the time. I explained to her that as you get older and wiser, you view life through different eyes. The rose colored glasses come off, and you see more truth and nuance, more depth. Fighting to return to a place in time that is gone, and a person who has evolved, is futile and painful. That’s what I told her. And then it hit me. That also applied to me! I can’t go back. I can’t jump ahead. All I can do is be here, where I am.

Acceptance does not mean I am giving up my dreams. It just means I can stop trying to force a change that isn’t ready to occur. I can relax and quit flopping around at the end of the line I am caught on, wearing myself out. I can stop pulling so hard at the hook in my cheek, stop making the pain so much worse. I can rest. I can gather my thoughts and my strength, so that when the time is right, I will be ready to set myself free. Today, right now, is not the time for me to move forward.

That is acceptance. That’s my take on it, anyway. This time around. Stay tuned, who knows what my take on it will be next time. Hahaha! Happy Sunday. Stay well.

1,825 Days

On this day, five years ago, I woke up and chose to stop putting drugs into my body. Sounds simple, doesn’t it? Well, it both is and isn’t a simple thing. You have to understand, and I know it’s hard if you haven’t lived it, but…when you are deep in the throes of addiction your brain tells you stories, and, because it’s your own brain talking to you in your own voice, and because you are very sick and things aren’t right inside of you, you no longer have the discretion to discern the truth from the lies. Your brain tells you that you can’t just stop on a dime- you have to plan ahead, you need to wait for the weekend, you just need to finish off the rest of the dope you have. You’ll have to call in sick, you need someone to help with the kids, tomorrow would be better, next month would be better. It’s going to be so hard. It’s going to feel so bad.

The truth is, you only need to be ready. Before you are ready, nothing will make it work. And nothing can force you to be ready until you arrive there on your own. That place looks different for everyone.

I want to share a part of my story that I’ve been reluctant to speak about for a couple of reasons; I am not in recovery, not in the traditional sense, anymore. One year ago in February, I made the decision to leave the 12 Step world and live life as a free agent. I was terrified, honestly. I had found myself thinking, for quite some time, that I wasn’t comfortable with defining myself by my addiction anymore. I was tired of rehashing the sordid details of my former life in order to identify with the newcomer. Healing from something while reliving it constantly began to feel counter-intuitive. I had done everything that was asked of me, all of it. Service work, step work, meeting attendance, and I felt I was at a crossroads- it was time for me to start sponsoring women or time to move on. I agonized over this decision. I worried that my brain was lying to me again, that I would leave and somehow, though it seemed impossible to me, wind up on drugs, right back where I’d started. But I knew that in order to sponsor women in their most vulnerable time, I had to be committed. I had to buy what I was selling 100%. Lives were at stake. And that made my choice pretty easy. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t tell someone there was only this one way to live for the rest of their lives because I no longer believed it was true. So, I left.

At first, it was really weird. But, once I found my footing, I realized this choice was the right one for me. I thought I was endangering myself by walking away, but what I did was…I set myself free, and gave myself permission to live my life the way I chose. I trusted myself to make good decisions. And it was the most loving thing I have ever done for me.

The reasons I have been hesitant to share this are not far-fetched at all. I would never, ever want to encourage another person to follow me out of recovery. Every one of us is different, and I think that, scared as I was of breaking from the norm, I knew in my heart that I was done with dope. I knew I wasn’t going back to that life. So, I don’t talk about it because I don’t want to give people the wrong idea, you know?

The second reason is…I don’t want to take away from the fact that I have accomplished something fucking marvelous. I know what my friends in recovery are going to think about this, because I thought the same exact way- pretty sure I even wrote a rude blog about it here somewhere: It only counts if you do it THIS WAY. Well, I’m sorry, but that just isn’t true for me. You know what is true? That my life is not ruled by substances of any kind anymore. That I don’t have to hide or lie or feel ashamed of myself because of the way I am living. That, in the past five years, I have made fundamental changes to my life that have allowed me to become the woman I had wanted so badly to become. The woman I was afraid I had lost all chance of ever being.

So no, I am not in recovery anymore. But that doesn’t change the fact that this morning, when I woke up and thought about what that number meant- One thousand eight hundred and twenty five days- I wasn’t overwhelmed with gratitude. I thanked God profusely and sobbed because my life is so incredibly beautiful. The freedom, the healing, the changes…they are so precious to me. The difference between who I am right now and who I was on this very day five years ago is profound.

When I shared that I didn’t go to meetings anymore with a friend of mine a while back, she said to me “Oh, so you’re cured?” in that “tone” one can get when they think they know something you don’t. Today, I would like to say this- I might not ever be cured completely, but I’m closer than I’ve ever been in my life. I’m free. I’m not afraid of myself anymore. I trust me. I’m so proud of myself. And nothing anyone else thinks about the way I move through life can change that.

So, happy anniversary to me.

Thanks-Giving

Hi, guys! I started to make this a post for my other blog, but quickly realized this one belongs here, where my story has played out over so many years. I have a different voice, and a different story, and a different history here, and this one should live here. So here goes:

I woke up this morning a little put out that I’d had time to clean the whole rest of my house, but no time to clean my own room- the one place that should be my sanctuary, right? I felt bad that I had put myself at the bottom of my own list. Dumb, but that’s just my brain, trying to find something to be unhappy about. I was feeling a little better about life once I sat down here, in my neat, clean living room, sipping a hot cup of coffee fresh from the sparkling clean coffee pot (I even remembered to run the coffee pot through the dishwasher! I’m so proud of myself!).

I hopped on Facebook to see what I’d missed since bedtime, and I happened upon a post from…the brother of a friend of a friend. We don’t know each other in real life, but we’ve been social media buddies for a number of years, and…over the past couple of years, I have witnessed a slow and steady decline. Posts that are cryptic, yet somehow also overly personal, alarming and worrisome, but no real information being given. About a week ago, he posted a video detailing his woes, and I wondered what was happening. Was it a mental health crisis?

Today, I saw his post and I understood. He wrote about his recent struggles with addiction. He has lost all hope. He feels helpless, lost, alone, worn out, confused about where to turn.

An hour after that post went up, he posted a check-in at a hospital. It didn’t say for what, but I hope that someone there can guide him towards help. Of course, once I knew what was going on, I could no longer just lurk around and keep quiet. I sent him a message, told him I knew exactly how he felt and what he was going through. I encouraged him to find an NA meeting and ask for help. I told him not to believe the things his brain was telling him, but to listen to his heart and soul, because they were crying out for help. And I told him “One year from this day, your life can be completely different. You can be whole and happy and surrounded by family again.” I told him to reach out to me and I would help if I could.

Boy, did that take me back. As much as I try to separate myself from that part of my life, as much as I long to leave the past behind me, it is part of me. My life, those years and years of addiction, were not just a small part of my story. That was who I WAS, that was my identity, for the bulk of my adult life. I was other things, too. But before anything else, I fed my addiction. Before my children, before my family, before my job, before my bills were paid, before I made any other decisions, I fed my addiction. I cannot tell you the number of holidays I missed completely or ruined by showing up. I cannot tell you the number of moments I lost or stole from others. I couldn’t guess.

I cannot tell you how grateful I am to be where I am now. Right here, in my fuzzy pajamas, on Thanksgiving morning, in my own, clean house. My mom sleeping in Camryn’s bed on clean sheets, Camryn sleeping in my bed. And me, clean. Not worrying about how much dope I have left or how I’ll get more or when I’ll be able to sneak off to use more. Not angry for no reason, not making everyone around me walk on eggshells to keep from setting me off. Not making everyone sick with worry, but afraid to say a word.

There are not words to describe to you how grateful I am to be whole and here. I have gotten far enough away from my old life to forget, sometimes, how big of a deal that is. I have wanted to get away from it. But at times like this, when I see that pain in someone else, when I remember precisely how that felt, I am glad to remember. It makes the things I was griping inwardly about seem very small and petty, and shifts my perspective to one of gratitude, intense gratitude, and joy.

It took me a long, long time to get here. I had to work very hard at it. I suffered so many set backs and failures along the way. But I never gave up. I kept trying, and it paid off. Perhaps I shouldn’t be so eager to close the door on the past. Perhaps it is important to remember who I was, so that I can appreciate fully who I am today. Today, at least, this seems to be true. I have never been more thankful to be me than I am right now.

Happy Thanksgiving.

If you are struggling with substance abuse or mental health problems today and need help, you can call 1-800-662-HELP (4357) for guidance.

There are also NA and AA meetings in almost every town in the world. You can google “NA world service” to bring up links to anyplace you might be, and you can find hotlines manned by members who can tell you where to catch a meeting today.

Don’t suffer a minute longer than you have to. Reach out. Someone has been where you are and understands. Trust me on that. You are not alone.

Something New

Every month, for the past…four years and five months, my landlord comes to pick up rent. And every month, for the past four years and five months, this causes me no end of stress. I don’t know why. Maybe because I have a built in guilty conscience from all the years when I really was up to no good? Maybe because, thanks to my high (and often unreasonable) expectations of myself, I am forever feeling like I could do better at just about everything? Maybe because I am a TERRIBLE housekeeper? Maybe it’s a combination of all of those things. Probably that.

Whatever. I’m not going to sit here and pick myself apart. I’ve done that enough for one lifetime. The fact of the matter is, I have some organizational issues that are shared by many, many people with ADHD, and as much as saying that feels like a total cop-out excuse…it really isn’t. I am successful in life despite this funny little brain difference of mine, but there are certain ways that it plagues me. Keeping house is one of them. Apparently, it always has been- if you don’t believe me, ask my mom, who is my complete and utter opposite in this way. She has spent months worth of time in despair over what a slob I am…and this was in childhood! I grew up in a house that was neat as a pin, welcoming and orderly. All except for my bedroom. My bedroom made my mother cry.

Anyway, there was some discussion yesterday, when my landlord came by, about raising my rent in January- which is more than fair, considering she never has raised it since I’ve been here- and then she mentioned doing an inspection of the house sometime soon, just to see what is what around here.

This is where I balked. Now, I realize this is not unreasonable. I know she is well within her rights to want to see the house she owns. But boy, does it make me uncomfortable. I already feel so judged all the time (99% of it is in my head, I know) that the idea of actually being…well, judged…makes me crazy.  And the funny little blind spot that keeps me from seeing my surroundings has this annoying habit of disappearing when I know that someone will be judging me, for real, on something.

So…suffice to say, I have some work to do around here. Oh, there is nothing too bad. I haven’t harmed the house in any major way. There are no holes in the walls or broken fixtures. The walls need to be wiped down, the bathroom fan needs to be cleaned. The wood floors…well, after four and a half years of us living here, they’ll probably need to be redone when I move out anyway, so I’m not terribly concerned about that. I’ll be wiping down baseboards and fixing little odds and ends, and in order to do all of that, I’ll need to clean and get rid of stuff. Which I need to do anyway, so that’s okay, too.

BUT: I don’t want to live this way. Not just in a borderline hoarding situation, which is also true- who would? What I mean is, I don’t want to live in someone else’s home anymore. I want to live in my own home. I want to buy a house.

I make really good money. I’ve been at my job for a long, long time now- over eleven years. My credit is decent. I know this is a hard area to buy in, but it is my home, and I think I should at least see what my options are. So that is what I am going to do!

I am going to take my current fear and use it as a tool to propel me into change. One of the first things that needs to change is my spending. I love, love, love to shop online. I love it way too much. So, for the next few months, I am going to stop buying and start paying, and get my credit cards paid off. And you know what? I’m excited to do it. None of them are out of control anyway, but I love a good challenge.

For the foreseeable future, if I want something, I am going to have to go to an actual store to buy it, and I am going to pay for it with cash. I bet that rule alone will chop my spending in half- because anyone who knows me, knows I HATE going to the store. Apart from that, I’m just gonna pay the hell out of my bills and watch my balances disappear. I’ve also considered switching to a cheaper phone service and slashing my cable channels. I don’t think I’m quite there yet, though.

There are two things I know about myself that give me an advantage in every situation: One is that I have never failed at anything that I have wanted badly enough. I have overcome obstacle after obstacle in my life, and I do not give up. Not ever. And two, I have the best luck of anyone I have ever met. I can find the silver lining in any situation (so far, anyway) and I know in my heart that everything will turn out the way it is supposed to…even if that doesn’t look the way I wanted it to. So, I guess it’s part good luck and part good attitude? Anyway, I am saying this now because it helps me feel less afraid. Change is hard for me, and things are about to get real different around here.

Wish me luck!

To Health!

Everyone wants to be healthy, right? I mean, isn’t that true? When we talk about any aspect of our lives that we want to change, what we are really saying is that we want to see that area in alignment, we want it to be balanced, we want it to be healthy. We want healthy finances, healthy relationships, a healthy mind, and most of all, healthy bodies.

But have you ever stopped to think about what that might really look like? In some areas, it might be more easily definable than in others. Healthy finances, for instance- depending on where you are in life, this could mean anything from being able to pay your rent and bills on time without having to ask your parents for help, to building savings, improving your credit score, and having enough to take a nice vacation once a year. Hell, for me in my early thirties, I just wanted to have enough money that searching the couch cushions for spare change wasn’t something I had to resort to on a regular basis. (For the record, this level has decidedly been reached for me. Thank God.)

Still…even with wishes that are more quantifiable, we often remain oddly vague about what it is we are really after. I know I do this, anyway. I’ve had the same job for eleven years now, and it wasn’t until about two or three years ago that I started to formulate an actual plan for my money. Before that, it was just a wish. I “wished” I wasn’t broke all the time, I “wished” things were less scary, less scarce, and less overwhelming. One day, I made a decision that I was fed up with my money problems, and I wasn’t going to live like that anymore, and TA-DA! That’s when my financial problems went away. I wasn’t making more money, I wasn’t working more. I just stopped wishing and started taking charge. The more involved and aware I became, the easier it was to deal with, and the better things got. It wasn’t the money that was the problem, it was my feelings about money…especially my fear of not having enough of it.

I think the same can be said for whatever area of our lives needs improvement. Wishing things were better is not very helpful. Figuring out what is out of place, and how to resolve it, is.

When I put it like that, it sounds super easy, doesn’t it? Well, let me be clear about that: IT IS NOT EASY. It’s not easy to face your issues, it’s not easy to own your shit, and it is not easy, or quick, changing. I have spent the past five years (Oh, I so wanted to use the word “tweaking” here, but quickly realized how bad that word choice would be in my case. LOL.) doing so many different things, trying so many paths, just so that I could feel comfortable in my life. The financial part was the least of it! My mental health, my spiritual health, my relationships, my body- everything needed an overhaul. There were days when I thought it was useless and I might as well give up. There were days when I felt so good that I thought I would never get off track again.

I was learning, through all of it, what “healthy” looked like to me. Along the way, I have been lucky to learn that my new idea of what healthy is for me was not at all the crazy, unattainable picture in my mind that I started out with. That’s the great thing about taking charge and leading your own journey- you get to reevaluate and adjust your goals as you grow and learn.

Today, my ideal healthy body doesn’t require a pair of size five jeans to fit perfectly, and it doesn’t require a flat tummy, or even a particular number on the scale. My ideal healthy body is…confident in clothes or out. Strong. Sturdy and capable. I know that last part sounds a lot like a help wanted ad for a farm hand in 1890, but it’s true! I just want to keep working on how my body feels, because when my body feels strong, I feel pretty good about it. I’ve been 120 pounds and felt terrible in my skin because I was so unhealthy. Today, I eat pretty good, I move a lot more, and I feel proud of the changes I’ve earned.

A healthy mind and spirit doesn’t require me to spend hours on self analysis or aura cleansing or prayer and meditation. I just need to keep an eye on the content of my thoughts, be gentle with myself and others, and keep doing the things that have eradicated my anxiety (miraculously!) for the past few months. Healthy relationships? Well, I’m still learning here, but…basically, what works best for me seems to be just not being a grouchy asshole. Be nice. People just want to be treated nicely. Oh, also- pick the right people! The wrong people will be much harder to be nice to.

I guess my point is, yes it’s been hard. And even though I’m still evolving, as I’m sure I always will be, in the big picture five years is not all that long. Also, most people don’t start from where I started- I was really, really behind and really, really messed up. So, it might be easier for someone else. I like where I am in life, and I like who I am for once- I like who I am a lot. I mean it. That wasn’t something I could have said even a year ago. I might have tried a lot of stuff that ultimately didn’t pan out, but it all led me here, so…it was worth it.

Today is a great day to examine the parts of your life you’ve been avoiding, stop wishing it was different, and start taking steps to make it better. I promise you, you won’t regret it.

 

Spiritual Meltdown

This is now my third attempt at this post, and if I make it through this one without spinning off into incomprehensibility, it will feel like a win. Here’s the deal- I am not well versed in the language of spiritual experiences. I can create a vulgarity-laced diatribe so naturally that it is impressive…I mean, almost poetic sometimes. I have made combinations of dirty words so offensive that even I have been shocked every now and again. I am literal, and matter-of-fact, and, though I love the idea of magical, mystical, whimsical things, I am practical enough to take things with a grain of salt.

Yet here I am, nine days since my regression, and I’m pretty sure I’m in the midst of a spiritual…I don’t know what to call it, honestly. At first it felt like a shift, then I thought maybe an awakening? But now I kind of want to call it a meltdown. I think I’m having a spiritual meltdown, you guys. Oh, and by the way, if you don’t know what in the world I am talking about when I mention my regression, you can read about it here and then the follow-up here.

My head is so crazy with thoughts that I can’t even keep up a little bit. I am no longer even trying to follow along anymore. It’s like ( and forgive me if I’ve already used this analogy previously, I can’t remember) a door was opened up and now all the contents behind that door are rushing out into my conscious mind, clamoring for attention. I feel like I should be carrying around a notebook so I can scribble down the bits and pieces, but I also feel like I would be writing all day long. That’s how nutty it is.

I think, once my head settles down, I might be able to sort through them a bit and make some posts about the important ones, but right now things are so fragmented and scattered that it’s just not possible. If I didn’t know better, I would think I was going crazy, to be honest. If this happened to me without context, I would be very worried. But I can see that my regression experience was some sort of catalyst, and now I am just at the start of something I haven’t dealt with before, so I’m not really afraid. I’m just…hopeful that things settle down soon. I can’t really make use of something that makes no sense.

I’m about 95% sure that I am rambling right now, and goddammit, I am trying hard not to. I am going to try to explain. I thought it would be cool to see a past life, to have that experience, and it WAS. It was so cool! Did I wonder if it was real? Yep, I sure did. I also thought I would do that thing, and then go on with life, no big deal. Instead, two days later, I started seeing parallels between my current life and the life I visited, and realized I needed to pay attention. On the tails of that, I was hit with the realization that my priorities (and those of the world in general) are wrong, my perception of myself was incorrect, and the way that I think is problematic. Simultaneously, I got that judgement (of myself and others- like, my number one favorite thing.) has got to stop, that forgiveness (of myself and others, which I SUCK at) is imperative, and that love is the most important thing, period. Which is great, love is GREAT, but I have these super massive walls in place because I’m terrified of vulnerability, and love and vulnerability are like BFF’s, you know.

So…I mean, WTF?! Not to mention the fact that I have cried, a LOT, every single day since then. I’m no robot, but I have gone years before without crying even once. It’s 6:28 in the morning, and I already ugly-sobbed once today! WHAT is HAPPENING to me? For once in my life, not only are the right words escaping me, but I do not know where to turn for guidance, because I don’t even know what this is. I’ve googled “Spiritual Awakening”, “Spiritual Shift”, “What happens after a past life regression”, you name it, I’ve googled it. There are certain things that fit, but lots that don’t. If you can think of anything, I am listening. Point me in a direction, I’ll do the work.

Oh, and I forgot to mention that work, which is a struggle for me even in “normal” times (whatever normal is in relation to me), has become barely tolerable in the midst of all this spiritual chaos. I have been a little nervous that I would just quit my job due to the pointlessness of it all, though rationally I do understand that having a home and being able to eat are rather important. It just seems so…stupid. Working while contemplating the eternal nature of our souls and our purpose here on earth. It certainly isn’t to memorize diagnosis codes or clear edits for patient billing. Blech.

This morning, when I prayed, I thanked God for this new perspective, but asked if he could kindly slow the whole thing down a little bit for me. Maybe show me one area to think about at a time, give me a place to start rather than a million little hints. What came up in meditation was self-forgiveness, which, as I mentioned above, is rather difficult for me. Forgiveness of all kinds. So, that is what I am going to be try to focus on over the next few days, and see if I can make some progress.

I’ll certainly be back soon. I have so much to say, and just hope I can find the words without sounding like I’ve gone off the deep end. I assure you, I have not. As a matter of fact, as strange as it all may seem, I can’t help but wonder if this is perhaps the most clear sighted I have ever been? I never, ever, not in a million trillion years, would have thought that one regression would shake me up in this way. I have no idea if this has ever happened to anyone else, because I can’t find any information on it. But I’m not sorry. I’m just surprised. I really hope some of this made sense to someone. If not, well…that’s okay, too. I needed to get it out.

Talk to you soon!

Two Days Later

It’s been two days since my regression, and…I thought it was all over with. Cool experience, some doubting that experience, gleaned some interesting insights, obviously cannot stop thinking about it.

But life goes on right? Went back to work yesterday, had the longest, most painfully awful day…I couldn’t tell you why it felt that way if I tried, but I felt that I was genuinely suffering. Forced myself to run some errands last night, battled with myself the whole way through. Made a nice dinner for Cam and I, stressing throughout the process. Sat down feeling resentful and unappreciated and…just mad. Woke up this morning, rushed through our routine feeling like a frazzled drill sergeant-‘why is she so slow?!’ ‘why does she pull this crap every day?’ ‘I’m so SICK of this shit!’- Basically my internal monologue. Pleasant, right?

I’m honestly in tears right now, writing this out. Because it hit me, like a two-ton weight just now, that I AM DOING IT AGAIN. Just like HER. Petulant, spoiled, determined to grouse and complain and never, ever feel like anything is good enough. I know how crazy this whole thing sounds- I mean, it has to, right? But it feels so, so important and real and obvious to me right now. The clarity with which I am suddenly seeing the parallels…well, I guess I couldn’t have possibly seen them prior to the regression, of course, but seeing it now…wow.

I know I struggle with gratitude. I connect with it at times, but other times- long, bleak stretches of time- I can’t get there. I have an incredible life. I’m not even going to go into all the ways that it is so good, because I don’t want to get bogged down in making a list that I’ve made a hundred times before. It doesn’t even matter. What matters is that I know it, and that I feel it, and that I realize what a goddamn miracle I am. I stacked the odds against myself right out of the gate- I did everything I could do to make my life hard, and I fought myself- not anyone else, ME- to get back on track again.

I have been on the receiving end of more chances, more forgiveness, more blessings and grace and luck than anyone will ever know. I don’t know why, I have no answer for that. But I know that it is true. So how in the HELL am I still sitting here, complaining? Feeling mad? Hating my job that has given me a life I could not have dreamed up because my mind wasn’t capable of thinking that abundantly. Stomping my way through Target on my strong, capable, healthy legs, mad that my beautiful, curious, funny child won’t stop bothering me. Upset because…because why? Just what is it that I want? What is it that is wrong?

I don’t know. I don’t know the answer to that. Probably because there isn’t one. There is not one good reason for me to be anything other than content. And right now I am feeling really ashamed of myself. Or maybe that’s not right, either. I think I just feel sad for myself. That I let myself wind up here. After seeing that other life…another blessed woman, another person who couldn’t be pleased. I know how that story ended. I don’t want this story to go that way.

My buddy Cinamon sent me a text last night, after reading my last post. She wanted to know if I thought my life would change now that I had seen what I’d seen. My immediate reaction was “NO.” I didn’t say that, but it’s what I thought. “I don’t need to change, I can’t change, why would I change?” were the defensive, knee-jerk reaction answers that bubbled up. But it isn’t true. I can change, and I HAVE to change, or my life will be sour and empty and sad. I am sure this sounds super melodramatic, but I promise you, it is the truth. You know me here, what I write, what I choose to share. Or even if we are friends in real life, there’s a good chance you have very little idea what my inner life is like. I have made a hobby of dissatisfaction, and I’m so…difficult. Even with myself. The closer you are to me, the more you know I speak the truth. And it’s such a waste of time. It’s so dumb.

I have no idea how to stop being this way. I am pretty sure it’s not just going to go away without a bit of a struggle. But I can’t unsee what my soul chose to show me, and I can’t un-know the truths that are being revealed. I asked for this, I prayed for it, even. It was given to me for a reason…so that maybe I could have a chance to do better this time around. I sure didn’t expect for all of this to come up, but here it is. I guess I have some work to do.

That regression opened up something that wants to stay open. It’s not scary or anything, but it’s pretty fucking real.  Thoughts are popping into my head that are not the kinds of things I normally think…it’s like, my voice, but instructions: “Just do everything with love. Whatever it is, do it with love.” That’s a pretty good one. There are others, but I’ll wait. This is already a lot. If you made it through all this, bless you. I have no idea what’s going to happen next, but I’ll definitely be sharing whatever it is.