7 (or so) things I will only cautiously write about

I’ve been wanting to climb up into my writing perch for such a long time, but there don’t seem to be many things that I can write about, just now, or that I’m sure HOW to address here. 

I’m not feeling certain about describing my work situation, save to say that I am eager to arrive and not in a hurry to leave. It feels like I’m supposed to be there. I get to work alongside of some genuine individuals who feel the same about their jobs as I do mine. 

My boys are each developing into their own characters. I’m too far from one to have any real contribution, and the other…he just turned 17, and is having more than the usual struggles of that age. 

My cats seem to be developing a resistance to the flea stuff I put on their necks. The most disturbing thing about that is that I’m itching all over but can’t see any reason for it. Thinking about putting a couple of the tubes of medicine on the back of my neck. 

My extended family(s) (including non-blood relatives) have issues coming and going: various ailments and conditions, both mental and physical. Mostly age-related, but some not. As with my older son, I’m too far away from the other relations to be in a position to be of any assistance. 
When we first moved to the Eastern side of the country, I had thought that finding a job wouldn’t be too hard. Yet, here I am, just over 2 whole years later, and just 90 days into this position. And I really REALLY like my job. It’s more than a job: it’s really who I am. 

Thank God my husband’s job is pretty good, and he’s remarkably skilled at what he does. I’m proud of his willingness to do what he must, to care for us. 

God has been patient as ever with me. I told someone earlier tonight that it seems like I’ve been in the LONGEST transitional period ever. As the wise man said “His grace is enough for me.”

Actually, the only occasionally irritating part of my life (phantom-flea bites not included) at the moment has to be some of the ways the Stigma rears it’s ugly head among some of my co-workers. That’s it! I can’t think of when I was so content – like 85%, I’d say- with my day-to-day. 

In the morning I’m gonna go check out a church down the road. Word has it that the preacher is an ex-alkie. I like the sounds of that.

Thank you for coming by. I hope to have something more to say soon, but no promises. 

Gentle readers, you’re the sh*t. ๐Ÿ˜Š

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ย “Surrender” to Win

 I was contacted a while back, and asked to view a short (14:04 minutes) film and consider sharing it with my readers. I watched it at the time and I knew it would be very helpful to many of my Tribe, and probably eye-opening to many others. 

I just watched it again, and added it to my “watch later” list on YouTube. It’s that kind of piece, in my opinion.

I don’t believe in coincidences, and I’m not organized enough to have had this pre-planned; so, on this, the last weekend of 2016, I offer you this short film. Please, tell me what you think of it, and share it on any social media you use. 

Next, a Q & A with Mark & Chris, the Executive Producer and Director of this award-winning video. 

What do you think? Is it true to your experience? Do you relate to the feelings portrayed? 

Written in my apartment above the Tea Room. 

Who am I, really?

I’ve been wrestling with this question- well, not really wrestling, more like thumb-wrestling-for a while, now. And I will likely be thinking about it for some time in the future. 

OK. Who am I?

Obviously, I’m a person in long-term recovery. That’s been pretty well established. I’ve been a Mom (for a while), a student, a Recovery Coach, a Direct Support Provider, and countless other nouns. But, my question remains the same: who am I? 

Do you know me?
I am a middle-aged Caucasian woman, a brunette, and not as tall as I once was. But that’s just the things you can see. 

I’ve been married, divorced, homeless, thought I was a tree for a moment, a miserable young adult, and a frightened child through it all.

I am an advocate for those who have no voice, and for those who do but are afraid to speak. I am a Believer in Christ, although I don’t represent Him as well as I could, which is why I’m reluctant to mention it. I know people (myself included) have often judged the Lord by how His chosen behave. I hope no one looks at me as anything but an example of His grace and mercy. For real. Even on my best days, there’s nothing good in me, save the Spirit of God.

Where do I fit?

I’ve been considering my place in the world, basically, since I was abruptly released from a certain position…one that had me smiling every single day. One where I KNEW I was right where I was supposed to be.

The situation (the termination, frankly) had me convinced that it would be far too risky to ever get a job again that meant THAT MUCH to me. The devastation and loss I felt were palpable, and lasted for weeks.

Life goes on…

I am a writer, a joke-cracker, and a Wounded Healer. A deep feeler if not so much a deep thinker. 

I believe that there are still people that I will be allowed to help, that want to learn how to live clean and sober. That’s really all I want to do, but it’s gonna have to be God’s time. 

Practicing the principles in all my affairs.

For now, what I absolutely must be is willing, honest and open-minded. I am grateful for the things God has given me, and equally grateful for things He’s taken away. 
Honestly.

Who am I? I’m a person. A weary traveller. In long-term Recovery. Former alkie/druggie, current mental health consumer. Trying to figure things out. In some ways, I am you. ๐Ÿ™‚ 

Tell me, who are you, today?

FTW

First. Thought. Wrong.

Within the first 6 months of my sobriety, I had a crash course in powerlessness, and all I could do was give it to God. At that time, my relationship with Him was, well, dubious. I began, then, to understand that I had better keep my heart linked to Him in the calm(er) times, because when “life showed up” I would need to have a straight path to His throne.

No self-pity for me, thanks

When I told people about my baby’s medical condition, some of them would get a pitying (my perception) look on their face. I can appreciate that, now. I mean, what are ypu supposed to say/do in that situation?
At that time, however, I had learned to compartmentalize my feelings about it. I don’t know how much I ever stopped doing that, even after living with the situation for this long.

It’s not about me

My mindset, during that awkward moment when the person was feeling sorry for me (again, my perception, at the time) was matter-of-fact: My baby is fragile, and my existence at this time is entirely about caring for him. I didn’t have time for my feelings in the matter. I also didn’t have the energy for dealing with my feelings. They were irrelevant. It was Not. About. Me.

Not feeling can’t be a fulltime thing

That’s not to say that I never let the feelings out. I cried a lot at the Children’s hospital. And I cried and cussed at meetings. A lot. Because it was safe, there, to feel.

I had someone ask me “Don’t you ever wonder ‘Why me’?” And that is a thing that I’ve wrestled with, for sure. The answer I found, for me, is “Why not me?”
At the women’s treatment facility where I lived when I had B, there were a LOT of babies. Perfect and beautiful. My baby was beautiful, to be sure…but why did we get dealt the sh*tty hand?

Roll them dice

I have concluded that terrible things just ARE. I’m certainly no better or worse than the women who were blessed with healthy babies. Sure, some things are the natural consequences of poor choices. And other things are just a roll of the dice.

but God

But I haven’t gone through a minute of it alone. I’ve run back into His waiting arms. And I continue to do so. It’s all I can do.

Posted from my hut in the forest.

(Podcasts are my new addiction) “I Really Want To Do This”

This may just be my new woman crush, just cos she’s got the guts to make a podcast, write a book, and, you know, make it all look easy!

Listen to Ep 01 | I Really Want To Do This by High Wire Girl Pod #np on #SoundCloud

Posted from my cabin in the mountains.