Female praying mantids sometimes eat their mates, starting by beheading them before they copulate... It apparently makes the males better lovers when their heads are disconnected from their bodies.... I'll leave the second part of that little factoid there, though it is "food" for thought.
Why do I bring that up? There is a connection there to what I am trying to write tonight. I am a girl, which makes me very different from a boy. A simple statement to be sure, and one that no one will argue. Besides the basic structure of my body I am different because of my hormones.
I am guessing that many of the women who read this (and some of the men, though I don't think many would be wise to point it out) will be able to relate to the fact that every month when I get my period, it is like the first time... I start to get zits and I am shocked. I feel bloated and I am shocked. I am hungry, angry and tired and I am shocked. I cry for less than the little reason that I usually need to cry and I am shocked. Frank begins to accuse me of being a praying mantis and eating his head and this enrages me further and I am shocked. I come to the same conclusion every month... It must be Legionnaire's Disease.
Seriously though, I am not very good at listening to my body. I never liked to sit with myself for very long and be mindful of the things going on with me. It was uncomfortable and scary to be alone with myself because in sitting still I would invariably be confronted with traumatic memories.
So I moved forward, firmly placing the past in the past not realizing that by ignoring it, I only made it stronger. I am actually rather good at disconnecting. I will forget facts, figures, book plots and experiences that I have had of things that have occurred, and this happens often. Frank will remember far more of the moments that make me uncomfortable than I do. It is actually quite frightening. I don't think I am crazy, and I know I am an intelligent person, I think I learned early in life to disassociate as it was a coping mechanism. I have to unlearn the habit.
This sort of numbing I think extended to a lot of things including my physicality. I also hate to exercise, or at least I did. Still have a hard time with eating well, have a lot to learn there. I have Frank to thank for setting the bar on exercise and involving the kids as he has... His physical transformation is inspirational on its own, but the kids' excitement about exercise is more impressive still. That is what is making exercise fun for me now, that and supportive friends who accompany me. And now that I am getting better at sitting with myself and not wanting to scream, these other things are starting to fall into place slowly.
Both men and women can be addicts, clearly. Something like 40 percent of reported alcoholics are women. As it has been found in most of the areas of medicine, men and women often have different treatment needs and hormones play a large part in those needs. Women absorb alcohol differently than men and tend to get drunker faster and in an obvious correlation, they become addicted much faster than men. They also tend to relapse when they have PMS... Guess what? That's when my relapses occurred...
Pile on top of all of the above that I had gastric bypass surgery in 2010, a traumatic childhood and a history of alcoholism in the family; well it's kind of a "duh" moment isn't it?
There are new and alarming statistics coming out connecting alcoholism as an after effect of gastric bypass surgery, especially in women. The surgery further changes the way we metabolize alcohol and we get drunker faster. Now they warned me that it was a risk going in and I thought I could handle it, but then I really wanted it all to work out so it was easy to convince myself it would be ok. The weight started coming off and then I started feeling better about myself and more confident. We moved to Annapolis which is a lovely town but is the booziest place I have ever lived and we had a lot of fun at first. Before I knew it was a problem, it was a problem. I thought for a while that my sweats and weight gain were because of peri-menopause. By the time I realized it was my drinking, I was beyond the point of no return in any decent fashion and my addiction had taken over my mind and sound reason.
I am not blaming my addiction on the surgery, but I do think it hastened my decent into the void. Now when I speak at rehabs I mention the surgery and several heads among the women listening snap to attention, because they are in the same boat.
So what do I do now... I can't reverse the surgery, I can't relive my childhood, I can't remove all the pain I have caused, I can't go back to "normal" drinking. I have to grow up and start truly listening to my body. I have to recognize that what works for the men I know in recovery may not work for me. I need to chart my cycle, recognize the signs before they become a problem. I started seeing a psychiatrist who treats women with addiction and she has made a huge difference. She has me tracking my cycle (imagine that) and interestingly she has me munching on Tums with calcium halfway through my cycle because calcium helps reduce the symptoms of PMS.
I guess I am just trying to impart of bit of what I have learned the hard way. Exercise makes me feel better so I must keep it up. Eating better makes me feel better so I must keep it up. Sitting with my emotions and not always "reacting" makes life easier for all involved. Learning what hormonal shifts can do to my mood will save me putting myself in danger of relapse. These are all things the women reading this can use to their benefit I hope... The men too.. though best you not try and point out the obvious to the women in your life or you may be headless before you know it. In the meantime I am buying stock in Tums with Calcium.
Tuesday, October 28, 2014
Friday, October 17, 2014
Throwing Away The Gameboard
Throwing Away the Gameboard
Frank and I started going to marriage counseling in 2012. It was a suggestion given us from my first rehab (sleep away camp as my brother-in-law calls it). It was dreadful. Frank was so angry and I was so beaten down by my own shame and guilt that I don't think I could look people in the eye at that point in my life.
Our marriage counselor works with addicts and alcoholics and has done for years so he has been a huge resource. He is able to point out where we are going astray and does so without judgement. I utterly respect his opinion and so does Frank. He is professional and caring but takes no prisoners. He listened to our sick dynamic for a few months and then challenged me to stop acting like I was less than if I wanted not to be treated in that fashion. He challenged Frank to get over his anger because coming to therapy and railing at me was not getting us anywhere.
Slowly things got a bit better between us and we embarked on a tentative peace. But it rutted. It stalled. It started to backslide. We hadn't really changed anything other than that I wasn't drinking anymore. Yes, we had moved and yes I was not working, but nothing else had changed. I still acted less than; Frank still responded to this by trying to fix me. It was very much a parent-child dynamic and that really isn't much of a marriage.
Then I relapsed for a variety of reasons, not the least of which was that I had not changed, I just wasn't drinking. I had given up my coping mechanism and to be sure there were moments of serenity and sanity, but when I started to get uncomfortable for any number of reasons, I was miserable. I had no other way out of my discomfort, or so I thought, so I picked up a drink and then another and then another and back to sleep away camp I went.
I already mentioned that this time I was much more humbled, much less arrogant and much more open-minded. I had attained the gift of desperation. When the counselors suggested meditation, I tried it. When my sponsor suggested praying I tried it. Anything that was suggested I gave a fair shake. Except when Frank suggested that he wasn't ready for me to come home.
When he said that in marriage counseling I thought my heart was going to beat outside my chest. I wanted to break a chair, a door, a window. I wanted to rage in a fashion I have only once before desired. I pictured myself scratching his face with my fingernails. I was a barely contained banshee. I did not handle it well. I did not make it look pretty by any means.
I am not an angry person. I have had moments for sure, but I am afraid of my anger. I have been for a long time. I have always recoiled from its brilliance, as though allowing it out is like trying to stare at the sun. I do this because during a particularly torturous phase of my childhood I contemplated murder. I wanted to stop my brother and wanted to end my pain. I actually stood over his bed while he slept holding a kitchen knife in my hand. I was twelve. Every cell in my body pulsed with the idea of being free from my nightmare. Adrenaline careened through my veins and my hands shook as I held the knife aloft. I stood there for minutes that felt like hours until I turned and walked back to the kitchen, returning the knife to its slit in the block. It is an indescribable moment when you come to the realization that you are utterly capable of killing. I shudder now to think how close I came to bringing that fantasy to fruition. Since that night I have swallowed anger, burying it with little pieces of my soul each time. I am working on having healthy anger now.
So to say that I felt rage when Frank asked me not to come home illustrates how strong my feelings were. He didn't really handle it all that well himself. We neither of us was at our best at that time. We kept going to marriage counseling every week and some days it felt like we were clawing at open wounds that were still seeping from the last session. But we didn't give up. We kept going back. I began to change and Frank began to change. And slowly we were able to start seeing things more clearly and we started to get along and then we started to tentatively enjoy each other. Now I am not trying to say that we are there yet, but I will say that we are in a good place and several months ago I would have said that was impossible.
I fully believe that the reason we have gotten to this place is because everything changed. I did not come home. I got an apartment and a job instead. I started taking care of myself and doing the work of recovery which includes, for me, paying bills and fixing things and being responsible, all things that had been Frank's role. Frank shoulders the job of a single parent at the moment and does the things he hasn't had to in years because they were my role. He does laundry and cooks, makes lunches and organizes play dates. He does all the other things as well and he has had to because I have been away.
What at first unleashed my anger, turned out to be such a gift. I have had the luxury of the time to self-reflect and Frank has not. It is a most cherished present and I don't think he even realizes that he has given it. People don't normally do these things. They don't normally take these kinds of drastic steps. Our marriage counselor said the other week that he was amazed we we were where we are. He told us that months ago he thought we were doomed and and that he wasn't relishing that he had a front row seat to our destruction. He says we didn't just move the players around on the game board, we threw it away and are creating a whole new game. I like that; refurbished players, new rules, new game, new prize at the end.
Honestly I am amazed at what I see when I put aside my pre-conceived notions and my sad desire to protect my self concepts. Frank might just be a better stay-at-home parent than me. Of course he doesn't have the luxury at the moment, but given the chance... He is particular about laundry now, cooks much healthier meals than me and teaches the kids to be self-sufficient when I simply did things for them all the time. He teaches them to fish as it were which is a far more valuable lesson than seeing Mommy follow behind them and pick up after them so our house looked picture perfect. Me? I quite enjoy being the parent they crawl all over and want to play with when I walk in the door. That was always his role because I was always with them and barking instructions in their general direction.
And so I have hope today. We have made it through the death of a child. We have made it through Frank's cancer diagnosis. The odds of us surviving as a couple after being wrenched apart by addiction are not good, but the statistics haven't taken into account that we are playing a new game now.
Frank and I started going to marriage counseling in 2012. It was a suggestion given us from my first rehab (sleep away camp as my brother-in-law calls it). It was dreadful. Frank was so angry and I was so beaten down by my own shame and guilt that I don't think I could look people in the eye at that point in my life.
Our marriage counselor works with addicts and alcoholics and has done for years so he has been a huge resource. He is able to point out where we are going astray and does so without judgement. I utterly respect his opinion and so does Frank. He is professional and caring but takes no prisoners. He listened to our sick dynamic for a few months and then challenged me to stop acting like I was less than if I wanted not to be treated in that fashion. He challenged Frank to get over his anger because coming to therapy and railing at me was not getting us anywhere.
Slowly things got a bit better between us and we embarked on a tentative peace. But it rutted. It stalled. It started to backslide. We hadn't really changed anything other than that I wasn't drinking anymore. Yes, we had moved and yes I was not working, but nothing else had changed. I still acted less than; Frank still responded to this by trying to fix me. It was very much a parent-child dynamic and that really isn't much of a marriage.
Then I relapsed for a variety of reasons, not the least of which was that I had not changed, I just wasn't drinking. I had given up my coping mechanism and to be sure there were moments of serenity and sanity, but when I started to get uncomfortable for any number of reasons, I was miserable. I had no other way out of my discomfort, or so I thought, so I picked up a drink and then another and then another and back to sleep away camp I went.
I already mentioned that this time I was much more humbled, much less arrogant and much more open-minded. I had attained the gift of desperation. When the counselors suggested meditation, I tried it. When my sponsor suggested praying I tried it. Anything that was suggested I gave a fair shake. Except when Frank suggested that he wasn't ready for me to come home.
When he said that in marriage counseling I thought my heart was going to beat outside my chest. I wanted to break a chair, a door, a window. I wanted to rage in a fashion I have only once before desired. I pictured myself scratching his face with my fingernails. I was a barely contained banshee. I did not handle it well. I did not make it look pretty by any means.
I am not an angry person. I have had moments for sure, but I am afraid of my anger. I have been for a long time. I have always recoiled from its brilliance, as though allowing it out is like trying to stare at the sun. I do this because during a particularly torturous phase of my childhood I contemplated murder. I wanted to stop my brother and wanted to end my pain. I actually stood over his bed while he slept holding a kitchen knife in my hand. I was twelve. Every cell in my body pulsed with the idea of being free from my nightmare. Adrenaline careened through my veins and my hands shook as I held the knife aloft. I stood there for minutes that felt like hours until I turned and walked back to the kitchen, returning the knife to its slit in the block. It is an indescribable moment when you come to the realization that you are utterly capable of killing. I shudder now to think how close I came to bringing that fantasy to fruition. Since that night I have swallowed anger, burying it with little pieces of my soul each time. I am working on having healthy anger now.
So to say that I felt rage when Frank asked me not to come home illustrates how strong my feelings were. He didn't really handle it all that well himself. We neither of us was at our best at that time. We kept going to marriage counseling every week and some days it felt like we were clawing at open wounds that were still seeping from the last session. But we didn't give up. We kept going back. I began to change and Frank began to change. And slowly we were able to start seeing things more clearly and we started to get along and then we started to tentatively enjoy each other. Now I am not trying to say that we are there yet, but I will say that we are in a good place and several months ago I would have said that was impossible.
I fully believe that the reason we have gotten to this place is because everything changed. I did not come home. I got an apartment and a job instead. I started taking care of myself and doing the work of recovery which includes, for me, paying bills and fixing things and being responsible, all things that had been Frank's role. Frank shoulders the job of a single parent at the moment and does the things he hasn't had to in years because they were my role. He does laundry and cooks, makes lunches and organizes play dates. He does all the other things as well and he has had to because I have been away.
What at first unleashed my anger, turned out to be such a gift. I have had the luxury of the time to self-reflect and Frank has not. It is a most cherished present and I don't think he even realizes that he has given it. People don't normally do these things. They don't normally take these kinds of drastic steps. Our marriage counselor said the other week that he was amazed we we were where we are. He told us that months ago he thought we were doomed and and that he wasn't relishing that he had a front row seat to our destruction. He says we didn't just move the players around on the game board, we threw it away and are creating a whole new game. I like that; refurbished players, new rules, new game, new prize at the end.
Honestly I am amazed at what I see when I put aside my pre-conceived notions and my sad desire to protect my self concepts. Frank might just be a better stay-at-home parent than me. Of course he doesn't have the luxury at the moment, but given the chance... He is particular about laundry now, cooks much healthier meals than me and teaches the kids to be self-sufficient when I simply did things for them all the time. He teaches them to fish as it were which is a far more valuable lesson than seeing Mommy follow behind them and pick up after them so our house looked picture perfect. Me? I quite enjoy being the parent they crawl all over and want to play with when I walk in the door. That was always his role because I was always with them and barking instructions in their general direction.
And so I have hope today. We have made it through the death of a child. We have made it through Frank's cancer diagnosis. The odds of us surviving as a couple after being wrenched apart by addiction are not good, but the statistics haven't taken into account that we are playing a new game now.
Monday, October 6, 2014
To Infinity And Beyond
To Infinity and Beyond
Let's talk about fear for a moment. I don't mean fear of heights or spiders or enclosed spaces. I'm talking about fundamental fears. Fear of abandonment, rejection, loss, success, failure, judgment, betrayal... The list goes on.
I picture, have begun to believe, that we all have souls. We are born naked in the eyes of the universe. We have no preconceived notions, no set programming on how to react to anything but primal needs. If you have ever really watched a child grow and I mean really watched them, then you will likely have been amazed at the wonder they express at the most basic of things. They are intrinsically innocent and beautifully vulnerable. We were all like that once.
Then as we age and have experiences, our souls begin to don small pieces of armor to protect us against the wrongs done to us and those we have done to others. We begin to listen to the words people have said about us and the words we say about ourselves. Our fears protect us. It makes sense that we would arm ourselves, it is a tactical move of defense, a closing of the ranks to protect our flanks.
The problem with that strategy is that, often, we close ourselves off from listening to the music of the world around us. There is a magic in the air we cannot see, hear or feel through the grills of a knight's helmet. We can't move freely in stiff suits of armor.
As adults we are in a unique position of having the wisdom that comes with experience. But so often our armor rusts at the joints and we are paralyzed in place by fear. If we are truly brave, we will lay down our arms, face our fears and return to the vulnerability of our core self. It is not as difficult as we have lead ourselves to believe. I read a German proverb the other day that spoke to me. "Fear makes the wolf bigger than he is." It could not be more true.
When I sit down to make an amends for example, I am afraid. I inwardly shake as I tell someone what I have done, acknowledge their pain and accept my part in it. I look this person in the eyes and a piece of my armor falls to the ground and I move more freely. I am afraid of success. I am afraid that if I do well, I will be given more responsibly than I can handle and I will inevitably fail but now I am learning to take my successes as they come and not ground them before they can fly.
I manage to face these kinds of fears today because I have stopped listening to that part of my mind that catalogs the hurts that I have endured. I have stopped listening to the voices of those whose off-hand comments throughout the years told me I was less-than. I have started to put down the self-truths I have held onto like shields.
A friend of mine in college took me with her on one of her trips home. I spent a good deal of time with her family. I remember cooking in the kitchen with her and her dad and I vividly remember us having a conversation about our futures. Her father commented to us a both when we broached the subject of what my friend's future held, what she thought she might like to be... He said in such a heartfelt way, "I am confident that you will be fine at what ever you chose to do. You are unlimited." Think about that for a moment. How powerful a statement is that for a parent to make to a child? What if we were able to tell ourselves that very same thing? "I am unlimited."
Recovery to me is like climbing a mountain without a rope. The bottom of the mountain is the debris and chaos of addiction. Getting sober, simply stopping drinking and going no further in allowing my soul to thrive, is like being on a ledge of fear half way up the mountain. And the apex, the summit is spiritual freedom and redemption of epic proportions. I chose not to be stuck on the ledge anymore, so I am reaching up to find handholds along the way. Down is destruction, up is salvation but nesting on the ledge of stagnant fear is no way to live.
Let's talk about fear for a moment. I don't mean fear of heights or spiders or enclosed spaces. I'm talking about fundamental fears. Fear of abandonment, rejection, loss, success, failure, judgment, betrayal... The list goes on.
I picture, have begun to believe, that we all have souls. We are born naked in the eyes of the universe. We have no preconceived notions, no set programming on how to react to anything but primal needs. If you have ever really watched a child grow and I mean really watched them, then you will likely have been amazed at the wonder they express at the most basic of things. They are intrinsically innocent and beautifully vulnerable. We were all like that once.
Then as we age and have experiences, our souls begin to don small pieces of armor to protect us against the wrongs done to us and those we have done to others. We begin to listen to the words people have said about us and the words we say about ourselves. Our fears protect us. It makes sense that we would arm ourselves, it is a tactical move of defense, a closing of the ranks to protect our flanks.
The problem with that strategy is that, often, we close ourselves off from listening to the music of the world around us. There is a magic in the air we cannot see, hear or feel through the grills of a knight's helmet. We can't move freely in stiff suits of armor.
As adults we are in a unique position of having the wisdom that comes with experience. But so often our armor rusts at the joints and we are paralyzed in place by fear. If we are truly brave, we will lay down our arms, face our fears and return to the vulnerability of our core self. It is not as difficult as we have lead ourselves to believe. I read a German proverb the other day that spoke to me. "Fear makes the wolf bigger than he is." It could not be more true.
When I sit down to make an amends for example, I am afraid. I inwardly shake as I tell someone what I have done, acknowledge their pain and accept my part in it. I look this person in the eyes and a piece of my armor falls to the ground and I move more freely. I am afraid of success. I am afraid that if I do well, I will be given more responsibly than I can handle and I will inevitably fail but now I am learning to take my successes as they come and not ground them before they can fly.
I manage to face these kinds of fears today because I have stopped listening to that part of my mind that catalogs the hurts that I have endured. I have stopped listening to the voices of those whose off-hand comments throughout the years told me I was less-than. I have started to put down the self-truths I have held onto like shields.
A friend of mine in college took me with her on one of her trips home. I spent a good deal of time with her family. I remember cooking in the kitchen with her and her dad and I vividly remember us having a conversation about our futures. Her father commented to us a both when we broached the subject of what my friend's future held, what she thought she might like to be... He said in such a heartfelt way, "I am confident that you will be fine at what ever you chose to do. You are unlimited." Think about that for a moment. How powerful a statement is that for a parent to make to a child? What if we were able to tell ourselves that very same thing? "I am unlimited."
Recovery to me is like climbing a mountain without a rope. The bottom of the mountain is the debris and chaos of addiction. Getting sober, simply stopping drinking and going no further in allowing my soul to thrive, is like being on a ledge of fear half way up the mountain. And the apex, the summit is spiritual freedom and redemption of epic proportions. I chose not to be stuck on the ledge anymore, so I am reaching up to find handholds along the way. Down is destruction, up is salvation but nesting on the ledge of stagnant fear is no way to live.
Friday, October 3, 2014
Joe's Minions
Joe's Minions
There are so many things I see in better focus these days. My mind is no longer fogged by substance, no longer blocked by ego, no longer closed to the miracles of life all around me. This marathon is far from over and far from easy, but now that I am looking straight ahead and not at the ground, my head held higher... I am able to appreciate the beauty of the route.
For a long time in my life I have had issues with abandonment. It stems from childhood I know, and it is time to put that fear down and walk on. It is my single biggest fear outside the loss of another child. When I am down, I feel so alone, so isolated, so disconnected from humanity. Gone is the history of support I have received from friends and family, the proof that I count and the basic truth of my link in the great human chain of love. I don't know why it happens, but it happens less and less as I examine everything more closely now and allow the "sunshine of the spirit" to warm my upturned face.
As my spirituality grows and my faith in the paradoxical ethereal concreteness of "Joe" cements in my mind, I not only enjoy the beauty of the route I am on, I notice the sidelines are manned with cheerleading minions. I have scores of minions, who knew? Once I allowed myself to be vulnerable, they poured out of the woodwork and started passing me water bottles at rest stops along the way. They started passing me towels to mop up the sweat and cheering loudly as I struggle up the hills.
You can criticize Facebook all you like, but I think it is a miracle. It has allowed me to connect with people I would likely never have seen or heard from again. Growing up overseas and moving back to the states I would have lost touch with so many people, but social media allows me to have a relationship with so many.
I get reminders that I count every day. I have recently been gifted a Bible from my sponsor and her husband after musing that I have never read it and wonder where all my contempt for it came from given I know next to nothing about it. I received a devotional from another friend who thinks I have a message to share and wanted to offer me words she has found so fundamental to her. I have gotten messages from friends letting me know that I have affected them in a positive way, that my writing hits home to them or to someone they know. Strangers who read "Rising From The Ashes" let me know I am helping... This blows my mind.
I got a message the other day from a guy I haven't spoken to since I was in tenth grade. He is a rough-around-the-edges guys guy who messaged me in the middle of the day about a week ago. He wrote to tell me it was a beautiful day outside and that he hoped I got a chance to go out and enjoy the sunshine... He had no idea how much that meant to me. I think about it and smile frequently. To have someone so far in my past whose connection to me I had assumed was so tenuous and small, reach out and let me know I was being thought of, was huge.
There are so many other people who have helped me, those who donated to my M.A.D.D. page among them. I mention this not as a plug, but as a message of gratitude. These are people, again that I haven't spoken to in over twenty years.
So many people care, so many people let me know that I count. So many people to thank and be grateful for. I cherish each and everyone of you. Imagine how much a difference we could all make in other people's lives if we just reach out and tap them gently on the shoulder and remind them that they matter. Thank you for being "Joe's minions. Now let's go forth and multiply.
There are so many things I see in better focus these days. My mind is no longer fogged by substance, no longer blocked by ego, no longer closed to the miracles of life all around me. This marathon is far from over and far from easy, but now that I am looking straight ahead and not at the ground, my head held higher... I am able to appreciate the beauty of the route.
For a long time in my life I have had issues with abandonment. It stems from childhood I know, and it is time to put that fear down and walk on. It is my single biggest fear outside the loss of another child. When I am down, I feel so alone, so isolated, so disconnected from humanity. Gone is the history of support I have received from friends and family, the proof that I count and the basic truth of my link in the great human chain of love. I don't know why it happens, but it happens less and less as I examine everything more closely now and allow the "sunshine of the spirit" to warm my upturned face.
As my spirituality grows and my faith in the paradoxical ethereal concreteness of "Joe" cements in my mind, I not only enjoy the beauty of the route I am on, I notice the sidelines are manned with cheerleading minions. I have scores of minions, who knew? Once I allowed myself to be vulnerable, they poured out of the woodwork and started passing me water bottles at rest stops along the way. They started passing me towels to mop up the sweat and cheering loudly as I struggle up the hills.
You can criticize Facebook all you like, but I think it is a miracle. It has allowed me to connect with people I would likely never have seen or heard from again. Growing up overseas and moving back to the states I would have lost touch with so many people, but social media allows me to have a relationship with so many.
I get reminders that I count every day. I have recently been gifted a Bible from my sponsor and her husband after musing that I have never read it and wonder where all my contempt for it came from given I know next to nothing about it. I received a devotional from another friend who thinks I have a message to share and wanted to offer me words she has found so fundamental to her. I have gotten messages from friends letting me know that I have affected them in a positive way, that my writing hits home to them or to someone they know. Strangers who read "Rising From The Ashes" let me know I am helping... This blows my mind.
I got a message the other day from a guy I haven't spoken to since I was in tenth grade. He is a rough-around-the-edges guys guy who messaged me in the middle of the day about a week ago. He wrote to tell me it was a beautiful day outside and that he hoped I got a chance to go out and enjoy the sunshine... He had no idea how much that meant to me. I think about it and smile frequently. To have someone so far in my past whose connection to me I had assumed was so tenuous and small, reach out and let me know I was being thought of, was huge.
There are so many other people who have helped me, those who donated to my M.A.D.D. page among them. I mention this not as a plug, but as a message of gratitude. These are people, again that I haven't spoken to in over twenty years.
So many people care, so many people let me know that I count. So many people to thank and be grateful for. I cherish each and everyone of you. Imagine how much a difference we could all make in other people's lives if we just reach out and tap them gently on the shoulder and remind them that they matter. Thank you for being "Joe's minions. Now let's go forth and multiply.
Wednesday, October 1, 2014
Walk Like M.A.D.D. - fundraiser
What am I doing? I am an alcoholic in recovery striving to make amends for my past actions in many arenas. I struggle with how to make amends to my family and friends for many of the things I have done in my addiction. I struggle with how to make a amends to my children for driving them while drunk, to my husband for putting our kids at risk in this way. I struggle to find a way to make it right with the babysitter I also drove drunk and to her parents for putting her at risk. I struggle frankly in finding a way to make amends to the public at large for this reckless disregard for human life.
I decided this was one way I could start that amends process. I have signed up for Philadelphia's "Walk Like M.A.D.D." and will be walking in honor of Frank, Dermot and Wren Purcell and a few others whom I will not name but they know who they are. I have a goal to raise $500.00 and this is my page. If you are thus inclined, please help me support this important cause.
http://support.madd.org/goto/RisingFromTheAshes
I decided this was one way I could start that amends process. I have signed up for Philadelphia's "Walk Like M.A.D.D." and will be walking in honor of Frank, Dermot and Wren Purcell and a few others whom I will not name but they know who they are. I have a goal to raise $500.00 and this is my page. If you are thus inclined, please help me support this important cause.
http://support.madd.org/goto/RisingFromTheAshes
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