What a difference a week makes. The dreams about using meth went away after I wrote about them. I love when that happens. They have been replaced with really weird dreams that probably should make me uncomfortable, but I can roll with most things. I won’t write about them here because you would probably judge me, but at least they are changing up the scenery a bit. And they give me something new to say “what the actual fuck” about. I’ll take anything new and exciting at this point. I hate to fill you in all things quarantine, but that’s the life we’re all living. I miss the beach. I miss seeing the sunrise. Technically the only thing stopping me from seeing the sunrise is my new tendency to sleep in. I should be really well rested when we get to the other side of this. I spent the entire winter hibernating. In my bed. In my bath. In my home. I worked, but I didn’t create new content, workshops or anything outside of my standard schedule. I felt good about it to. I said no to so many event invites. I rested and nourished my soul with zero guilt. Then one day, I was ready to reemerge into the world. I was ready to plan, create and live outside of my home. But the world said sit the fuck back down. And here we are. Sitting. I have a LOT of practice sitting. I have a lot of practice with being uncomfortable. I’m still not good at it, but I know how to do it. My heart goes out to those of you who don’t. But what a perfect time to learn. My week was much better because I felt useful. I found that “purpose” outside of my house and outside of myself that I was looking for. I created my first online writing course. It was so special to connect with a group in that way. To read their thoughts and feelings every day. To share tools that are so helpful to me. To see into their hearts and souls through their words. I see more of this in my future. Last night as I was lying in bed, the last thought (and maybe only thought) that went through my head was turning that embodied writing course into a real live studio class. The thought excited me. It’s been a minute since I have been really excited about anything other than eating. Yesterday, a question came up on social media that caught my attention. The question was “Did you pick one word to focus on this year and how do you feel about that word now?” My one word is expansion. It made me laugh. Then it made me think. It would certainly seem that this year has been the exact opposite of expansion. I’ve barely left my house. I haven’t expanded the studio to incorporate online classes. My circle has gotten even smaller as I have found that there are actually only a few people I wish to connect with regularly. But, here’s the beautiful thing. I have a real and true ‘knowing’ of who is important to me. I have a real and true ‘knowing’ of who I am important to. I actually feel closer to a few people in my life because of this distance. I suspect I am expanding in ways that I am not aware of yet, but will be so obvious to me by the end of the year. That’s an exciting thought. I feel closer to myself today. When I am in a funk, feeling depressed, feeling lonely, feeling all the unpleasant things, I am in need of connection. To myself. To my soul. To God, Spirit, Source, whatever you want to call it. I know this. I know this. I know this. And I always forget it. I got away from my meditation practice. I got away from my writing practice. Let me just throw it out there that I did not get away from my yoga practice, you know, in case my teacher reads this. Without taking time to be still every day, my soul doesn’t have an opportunity to tell me what it needs. Well, technically it does, but I can’t hear unless I am still. Everything is a practice right? I know you’ve heard me say that a bazillion times. “Discipline is the highest form of self love” runs through my mind a lot these days when I’m doing literally none of the practices that sustain me. But it’s not discipline is it? It’s devotion. Devotion to my higher self. Back to my cushion. Back to my journal. Back to nature. So simple. The funny part is that these are all things I taught in the writing course I created. I always teach the lessons I need. And then I’m surprised later when I realize that it was all about me. Every. Damn. Time. I’ll be eager to see which direction the roller coaster moves me this week. A nice, flat kiddie coaster would be cool, but I’ll roll with whatever comes. 
Tag: Life
What an uncomfortable time to be alive.
What an uncomfortable time to be alive. When I open social media, which is way too often these days, I see two types of people. The excessively grateful and the excessively pissy. The pissy ones are the ones arguing with everyone and posting nothing but doom and gloom. Arguing with everyone. I tend to fall on the excessively grateful side. Don’t get me wrong, I can be all kinds of pissy and I am at some point every day lately, I just don’t spread that out into the world. I keep it to myself, take it out on my yoga mat, put it in my journal and my husband gets more than his fair share of it. Sorry Leon. The world is stuck right now. What I see is that those of us who have a practice are getting through a little easier than those who don’t. When we actually practice. Which is proving to be a challenge for me. That’s why it’s called a practice, right? I’m completely off my schedule like the rest of the world I imagine. Staying up late and sleeping in. I miss my morning quiet time, before the world wakes up. Some days I set my alarm, but most days I don’t. Getting up early is one of those things I “should” be doing. My mind swims in the things I “should” be doing. I “should” be reading all those books on my shelf, and I am trying, but I’m just not into it. I have two books that I am currently working my way through, both by authors I know and love. And I hate both books. I’m sure it’s just me and the weird mood and lack of focus I’m experiencing. Maybe I just need some good fiction in my life. I “should” get my ass off social media because it’s a waste of time and since the studio is closed, I don’t have to promote my business. But, my friends live there and it keeps me connected. I unfollow and unfriend people constantly. The negative Nelly’s. Limiting screen time is on my list of things to do. It’s seriously right at the top of my intentions. I “should” be streaming online classes. I paid for a Zoom account and everything. But here’s the thing. I don’t want to. And I have some guilt about it. I feel bad about leaving my people high and dry, but the reality is that while yoga is absolutely essential, I am not. Anyone can lead people through an asana practice. Every teacher I know is streaming on Zoom. It might be the Rebel in me that is refusing, but my heart just isn’t in it. I could change my mind next week. Or even tomorrow. That’s what I’m noticing more than anything is the way my mind and emotions are all over the place. I know that’s not unique to me and we are all experiencing that. I’m just trying to be gentle with myself and the rest of you. All of this is showing me that I am judgmental AF. That’s my lesson this week, this month, this year and maybe this lifetime. I judge myself more than I am judging everyone else, but I catch myself doing that too and I have to stop and remind myself that we are all doing the best we can with what we have. I just wish some of y’all could do better…….lol. I “should” be writing. I “should” be doing my taxes, but now I have that extension, and if you know me, you know I’m not. I “should” be connecting to my community and leading everyone in group meditation because the world needs that right now. The list of things I should be doing goes on and on and here I am doing none of it. That’s where I am. Stuck. And I know it’s ok. I really do. I know I’m not alone in this. Every day is a new opportunity to practice. Practice moving forward through the stuck-ness. This feels a lot like early sobriety to me. The being unsure of what I’m supposed to be doing. The emotional rollercoaster. The uncertainty. The being uncomfortable. All of it. It’s not my favorite. But unlike early sobriety, I have the tools to navigate this. I can be uncomfortable. I can be uncertain. It’s about going back to basics. It’s about sitting with myself. Just sitting. Writing my way through it, which I will admit I haven’t done. I opened my journal yesterday and saw that I hadn’t written in it since March 10th. Which is craziness, but these are crazy times. And I wrote. No guilt over all the days that had gone by. I just poured my heart out onto the pages. Back to basics means that I might be taking two baths a day. Snuggling my boys. Netflix. I don’t even watch TV, but here I am on the Tiger King train(wreck). I even busted out the adult coloring book today. That took me way back. I’m getting by the best I can. I believe we all are. Whatever that looks like for each of us. I’m letting go of “should” and doing what works. Giving myself permission to just be. My heart hurts for the world. Some moments it overwhelms me. I am one of those excessively grateful people. I have to be. Gratitude carries me through. I can be mad, sad and all the things in between, as long as I bring it back to gratitude for all the things that are right in the world. Gratitude is my anchor. I see beauty on the other side of this. I’ll keep looking for the beauty in every day. I have everything I need plus all the extras for my comfort. I have my family and community for support and love and I have all the free time I could ever ask for. When I feel overwhelmed, I bring it back to this. Again and again.
Too Much, Not Enough & Shame
I started a 7 week “Embodied Writing” course on Monday called Too Much, Not Enough & Shame. What I mean by “started Monday,” is that on Monday I received my first email with my instructions, looked at it, and then didn’t do any of the exercises. Yesterday, the second email came with new directives. I have yet to open it. This is who I am as a person. When I lead writing workshops, there are always people who don’t do their assignments. It’s never my favorite, but I understand it. Resistance. In the circles I lead, a common theme for us is “letting go.” Over and over we let go of that which no longer serves our highest good. Outdated beliefs we hold about ourselves. Shame, being “not enough” and being “too much” are always right at the top. Not just for me. For ALL of the women. It’s a common theme. Doubt is another biggie, but isn’t that just us telling ourselves that we aren’t enough? Or too much? I was having lunch with a friend a few weeks ago, and we were discussing this very thing. Later that day, I opened Instagram and saw a post advertising the course. We all know social media spies on us, but in all fairness, this was a page that I actually follow. And this course was everything she and I had just discussed. Obviously, it’s not just prevalent in my circle. This is a real thing. I emailed her the info and before I had a chance to sign up, she texted me to say she was in. Signed up, and paid for IN. I followed her lead. This week, I have been the girl who signed up for, paid for and was excited for a new journey only to avoid the shit out of it when it was time to actually do the work. I think this will sound familiar to some of the women who are in the writing group I am currently leading. I see you. I feel you. I am you. Resistance to doing the work. Because it’s not fun unpacking these narratives that we have been telling ourselves for so long. This morning I finally did the first exercise. We were asked to spend time with our hands holding our heads…..embodiment. Followed by connecting to our breath. I typically like to come out of my head for these practices, but this asked me to do the opposite. We were to make two columns on a page (or 7 pages if you’re me) and list the times we felt we were too much or not enough in one column and in where we heard that story or whose voice is telling it in the second column. I get the method to her madness head holding embodiment practice now. This is what I discovered. I carried a sexual abuse secret with me as a very young child. I went to Kindergarten knowing I was broken and different than the other children. I didn’t need any other voices telling me I was not enough, or too much, because my own little voice was powerful enough. Of course, there was plenty more on that list. That was just the first thing that I wrote down. My first memory of feeling broken. My list was long and full of stories and voices other than my own, but really, my own voice is the loudest. And as I grew, the secrets and the shame grew. That “not enough” story got louder. In the rooms of recovery the phrase “we are only as sick as our secrets” gets thrown around a lot. And it’s true. I don’t hold onto secrets anymore. I have a full conceptual understanding that for me, secrets are incredibly harmful. I have a team of support people in my life that I am comfortable sharing with. Women who won’t judge me and will hold my secrets. Women who will love me unconditionally. That is exactly the thing I aspire to give back in the circles I facilitate. The first exercise of this course has cracked me open and brought up a ton of shit that I have already worked through. And it’s brought up things I haven’t thought about in years, or rather, conveniently misplaced in my brain. Because that’s what our brains do. Rearrange things to help us survive. But I am no longer about that surviving life. I am all about thriving in life. And I absolutely AM enough. I know this in my soul…..my mind questions it occasionally, but my soul knows that’s bullshit. That leads to how knowing I AM enough can feel a lot like being “too much.” Whew. How’s that for some serious bullshit stories I tell myself? Embracing ALL the parts of me and sharing with the world can feel like I am being too much. Too silly, too smart, too spiritual, too sexual, too loud, too public, too much. I’m gonna do it anyway, because that’s who I am. Unpacking the story of too much is going to be interesting. But I’ll be right here. Embracing ALL of my too muchness and showing it to the world.
Solitude Is My Friend
This weekend I escaped. All alone. To a cabin in the woods. I’ve been looking forward to this weekend for quite a while. My sweet husband booked the cabin for me as a Christmas gift. My intention was to come here and spend the weekend writing. Which I have done, along with reading, hiking, napping and all the other beautiful and quiet things. But let me back it up just a bit. I arrived on Thursday and pulled right up to my cabin. I walked up to the door and used the code I had been given to open it. It wouldn’t open. So I tried again. And again. No luck. I called the cabin rental office and they informed me that my cabin wouldn’t open because that wasn’t the cabin I had reserved. I was sure they were wrong. I had specifically told my husband that THIS was the cabin he needed to book. Surely he didn’t do it wrong. They directed me down the gravel road to another cabin that they said was mine. I used my code and it unlocked immediately. This was NOT my cabin. This cabin didn’t have an upstairs loft area. This cabin was one big room and a bathroom. This cabin meant that I would be sleeping between the front door and the back door with no walls in between. There would be nowhere to hide should a murderer bust in during the night. I was prepared to be able to hide upstairs in the other cabin. I called the man at the cabin rental office again. He said he was sorry, but, this cabin was the one that had been booked. I told him I wanted to switch my reservation because I wanted to be in that other cabin. Again he apologized and told me it was already booked. I wanted to cry. This was not what I had seen in my mind’s eye and I couldn’t get past it. I was pissed and in that moment, all of the things I practice went away. I had a mini meltdown on the phone with the man. I was already scared to be here by myself. In the woods. Now I was surely going to die here when someone busted through the front door that I would be sleeping near. The man got an ear full of my F bombs. Not that there is anything wrong with the F word. We all know it’s my favorite. But these were angry F bombs. Not my norm. I didn’t want to call my husband immediately, because I knew I was too upset and I would blame him for messing up the reservation. I also knew he was taking a nap. That worked out well for him. I looked around the tiny cabin as I was attempting to calm down and the first thing that popped into my head was that the only thing to do in this tiny place is to get fucked up. Seriously. That’s the thought that went through my head because I didn’t get the cabin I wanted. My next thought was “Holy Shit, what is wrong with you?” Followed by “Maybe I need an AA meeting.” Followed immediately by “Hell no. You are here for solitude, the last thing you need is to be around a bunch of AA people.” I think a lot of thoughts, all the time. Which is why I write and why I meditate. I texted a friend who is also in recovery and while I never mentioned having that thought, I did tell her about the “horrible” experience I was having. Her response helped me reframe my thinking. The cabin is far from horrible. It’s cozy. It’s actually perfect and after I made myself dinner in the full kitchen, I settled right in. I came back to gratitude and realized that I was being a spoiled baby. Which I can be. I read all evening and went to bed. I didn’t get murdered. Yesterday I decided I needed to get outside in the fresh air. There are tons of great trails here. I drove two miles down a gravel road and arrived at the trail I intended to hike. When I got there, there were three men in the parking lot. I sat in in my car trying to decide if I wanted to go in or not. I put my hiking boots on, and watched as these three put all of their gear on. They had everything. It looked like they weren’t coming out for a few days. I didn’t feel good about going in alone behind them. As I was leaving, I noticed they all had Eagle Scout stickers on their car. They were probably exactly the kind of people you want on a trail with you. But, I was over it. I found another trail nearby, but on the side of the road leading to the trail head were tons of Busch Light cans and boxes. All I could picture were drunk men in the woods, waiting to rape and kill me. Or kill and then rape me. Basically, the woods was full of drunk men waiting to attack me. I knew it. I passed on the trail. I tried one more time. And I hit it. No beer cans. No people. Perfect. I went into the woods a little ways, but I was still scared to go too far by myself. The trail was marked well and I mostly felt safe. I got the fresh air I wanted and went back to the cabin. I thought of a million things I could do with my time, but I made myself do the thing I came here to do. I started writing. I wrote and wrote and wrote until 1 am. This morning, I made coffee, got right back in the bed with my laptop and wrote some more. I wrote a solid chapter in what will one day be a book. It might not be the book I have in my head, but it’s definitely a chapter. But not a first chapter. A middle chapter. Which is odd, because that’s not how I had it pictured in my head, but then again, this weekend hasn’t been what I pictured. But it’s been perfect. There was a thunderstorm last night. It poured rain, the cabin shook and the power went off. And, I didn’t flip the fuck out. The battery was charged on my laptop and I kept on writing until the power came back on. And I thought, “Look at me. I am such a bad ass. I’m not even freaking out.” LOL I told you I think a lot of thoughts. I went back into the woods today. Back to the trail that proved to be a winner for me yesterday. This time there was a truck parked at the trail head. I could see a woman’s jacket inside and that was somehow comforting to me. I went further down the trail today. If I had a week here, I might make the entire loop around. Not unlike exposure therapy. I noticed one can on the side of the trail today. It was an unfamiliar can. Blake’s Hard Cider. Mango Habanero. 6 1/2% alcohol. It said El Chavo on the side. Google tells me this is the name of a sitcom. Or a wrestler. For whatever reason, I felt better about this empty can than a can of Busch. Obviously, the person should have carried out their trash, but they probably weren’t drunk and waiting to attack me. Emphasis on probably. As much as I love solitude, I don’t think hiking alone far from home is for me. I wanted it to be, and maybe it will be someday, but I’m not there yet. But the back porch here is lovely and I am right in the woods. Tomorrow I will rejoin the people in the world, but solitude is my friend and I am going to find ways to incorporate more of it into my life.
Addicted
What were you doing on New Year’s Eve in 1999? And what were you listening to? A friend just posted those questions on FB yesterday. I haven’t thought about that year for a LONG time, and yet, I immediately knew exactly where I was, what I was doing, who was with me and what I was listening to. On December 31st 1999, I was living at my parent’s house. I was in my bedroom, with a man who loved me, detoxing from methamphetamine for the hundredth time. The man loved me. I didn’t know how to love anyone. And if it wasn’t the hundredth time I detoxed, it sure felt that way. The what was I listening to part especially hurt, because the ONLY thing I was listening to were the voices in my own head. I should have been partying and living it up. I was 22 years old and I wanted to die. I hated my life and the people in it. I lived in a dark and depressing world. My “friends” and I were manufacturing methamphetamine. Dirty. That’s what my world was. A sick cycle of misery. Wait for the sun to come up, (because there was no sleeping), go see people I hated, do things I didn’t want to do, wait for drugs and eventually get high. After that, the next few days and nights would be spent being paranoid and hiding from the cops that I was sure were looking for me. Until the meth ran out. When I was ready to crash, I would roll up at my parent’s house and sleep for days at a time. I was always sure I was going to die when the crash came. I didn’t care. I wanted death to come. It would have been nice if that New Year’s Eve had been the last time I had to detox, but it wasn’t. I lived that way for another 6 months before I finally made it into the treatment center that saved my life. “Another 6 months” may not seem long, but meth years are like dog years. When I arrived there I probably weighed 90 pounds and I was the poster child for the “faces of meth.” Ever seen those adds? That was me. I lived that way from the time I was 20 until I was 23. It is truly a miracle that I didn’t die. And it’s an even bigger miracle that I was able to get off meth. I know people that I used with who are still hanging in there, struggling to stop. Many have died, and lots of them have gone to prison. Some don’t even struggle anymore. They just accept that as their way of life. There was a solid year before I got clean where I had accepted being a meth addict as my fate. I didn’t try to hide it. When you just accept that and live that, nothing good can follow. I am forever grateful that enough people loved me to not let that be my life. Believe me, I was quite unlovable. And, because everything comes back to Facebook, another thing got my attention last week. “On this day” FB memories from December 23rd 2011 reminded me that I was right up in my worst days of alcohol addiction. I was making horrible choices and breaking the hearts of everyone who loved me. It was at this time that I accepted the fact that I was an alcoholic. The reason this memory really jumped out at me is because of the date. December 2011. My sobriety date is November 13, 2013. I lived in Hell for two more years. And I took my family with me. Seeing those memories was like getting punched in the gut. I deleted a few, but I kept a few as well. Just enough to serve as a reminder. Not that I could possibly forget. Shit. I still remember that New Year’s Eve in in 1999. Addicted life is hard. I have a friend who is super struggling right now. I love this girl all the world full. She’s been reaching out from time to time for quite a while now. But she’s never actually ready. I like to throw the “want me to come over right now?!” on her when she texts me asking for help. I know it’s a little much, but I am always hopeful that it will be the time. Timing is everything. And…..when you’re really serious, right now is the perfect time. I feel like she’s getting closer. Stringing together more days of not drinking. She’s aware that it isn’t serving her. It doesn’t add any value to her life and it causes problems. Yesterday she texted me and said she needed things to do with her time. I suggested we go to the beach together. Right now! And she said yes. She said yes to my pushy ass “right now.” We sat on the beach and we talked and it was lovely to connect with her. I don’t see her much these days because of life things mostly, but also because I don’t live in the world where people party and get hammered anymore. She kind of fell away when I got sober. It’s ok. I don’t judge it, because it was part of my path. Until it wasn’t. I know how hard it is to be young and thinking about a life without alcohol. It’s scary. Talking with her took me back. Getting sober is hard AF. Staying sober is easy. Maybe she’ll figure out how to manage her drinking. I couldn’t. I tried. Maybe she’ll get sober and have an amazing ass life. That’s my wish for her. I spent so much of my life struggling with addiction in one form or another. It’s misery. Today, all I feel is freedom. And joy. I wish that for my friend. However she finds it. I wish that for everyone. I’m sure I’m still “addicted” to things today. It’s the way I’m wired. That “all in” thing I do. Today I choose things that are good for me.
Expansion
Two weeks ago, I was sitting on the couch, making winter playlists for my classes and I heard myself say to my husband that winter is my favorite time of year. For real. It rolled right out of my mouth. That was immediately followed by, “except being cold, because I hate that.” So, I’m not exactly sure why I decided winter is my favorite. I think it’s just the practice of mindfulness in full effect and the fact that winter is almost here so I might as well embrace it. And I have. I made winter playlists. Obviously. I bought new boots. I planned a bomb ass Solstice Celebration. I put my spring/summer clothes away. That one was new. Never have I ever done that before and for some reason, it made me feel incredibly accomplished. Christmas isn’t stressing me out AT ALL. I just feel ready for all that winter brings. I am ready to slow way down. I am ready to spend time hibernating. I am ready for all the rituals involved in the upcoming weeks. I am ready to spend time with my soul. Every year I pick one word as my “mantra” word for the year. My one word for 2019 is Allow. To be in the space of allowing doesn’t come naturally to me, so this was a bit out of my comfort zone. I wrote about that last year. It’s here if you want to check it out. I just read it myself and it did a world of good for me. I never go back and read my own blogs. I should probably spend some time doing that this winter. Looking back, I think I got exactly what I expected from living in the space of allowing. Which is great, because some years the word I pick shows up in unexpected ways that make me say “What the actual fuck?” I have learned to be specific with intentions so the Universe and I are on the same page. In my year of allowing, I let go of trying to force things that I thought were for me. I had two big projects on my agenda this year, planned, promoted and floating around in the world. And guess what? Those things weren’t for me. They never came to fruition. And I know the WHY in that. Those two things were never an absolute YES from me. I went along with them and felt good about them, but they were never things that made my soul scream. And the lessons in that were HUGE. It was totally ok to put myself out there and try something that didn’t work out. Also, I fully understand now that if it isn’t a HELL YES in my soul, it’s a NO from the Universe. I need soulgasms. Cool. Thanks Universe. To be in the space of allowing meant that I just did my thing. I allowed the path to open up in front of me and kept stepping forward. The path led me out of therapy because I’m finished healing. Haha. I kid. But, I have the tools to handle myself, my emotions, and whatever pops up in my life. The path led me to The Hanuman Ashtanga Yoga Shala in the spring. If you follow me on social media, then you KNOW I started practicing Ashtanga Yoga this year. There’s a whole little story of how that happened somewhere on the blog, but I’ll save you and just let you know that I was divinely guided. Prior to stepping into the shala, I had zero experience with the practice of Ashtanga. I knew enough to know it was physically challenging and like all things that are good for me, it wasn’t for me. Until it was. When the messengers showed up, I paid attention. I allowed myself to try it out. It has been my biggest blessing in 2019. I love the practice. Most days. My teacher is amazing. The shala students are all wonderful. I have learned so much about myself practicing in the shala. I learned that I am stronger than I think I am. I learned that I can keep going when I am sure I am going to die. I learned that the pure joy that comes after the not dying is indescribable. I learned about trust in the shala. Trust is still a hard one for me. My teacher is compassionate and kind and I trust him to keep me safe. And he does. I allow him to help me when I need it, which is every time I practice. See? There’s that allowing again. I went back and forth with Allow last year, because it seemed a bit “weak” to me, but ultimately, Allowing is all about strength. Allowing is about having a strong faith that what is for me, is going to find me. I don’t have to chase it. What’s for me will always be for me. Allowing is being ok when things don’t work out. The strength is in pushing past the fears and trying. Allowing is living my life, writing my blogs, teaching my classes, all of it, whatever it is, when a new friend shows up on the path and says “I want you to write your book. I’m a literary editor. You just write and I will turn what you have into a book. No pressure.” And, because I have learned so much about trust this year, I just roll with it and assume she knows what she’s doing. Feels a lot like allowing to me. And it seems like the next logical step for me. I’ve always known it was in there. I’ve talked about it. Now I get to be about it. My word for 2020 is Expansion. I won’t be getting the tattoo. I know some of you were going to ask. I am about to grow on every level. Sounds scary as shit. I am ready to do my thing and be open to how that plays out. I have no real expectations, as the Universe prefers to surprise me anyway. I am just going to write. And write. And write some more. In The Artist’s Way, Julia Cameron says “The first rule of magic is self containment. You must hold your intentions within yourself, stoking it with power. Only then will you be able to manifest what you desire.” I know what she means by that is to not tell people who will doubt you and make you second guess yourself. I circled that line in the book and wrote NO beside it because I am fortunate enough to live in a world where people believe in me. I live in a world where I can blast my intentions and people show up to help me make them reality. I created that world. So beautiful. So grateful. I really understood how much people believe in me that time I Facebook shared a photoshopped image of myself doing a handstand on an iceberg in Alaska. In all fairness, it looked pretty real if you didn’t stare and I had been in Alaska. The comments blew me away. My initial thought was that these people are dumb asses for thinking I actually got onto that iceberg. My next thought was WOW. People believe in me and think I can do anything! How fucking awesome is that?! It’s powerful people. I have always had people who believed in me, even when I didn’t believe in myself. That is a true blessing and honestly, it’s the only reason I’m still alive. Seriously. Thank you for believing in me friends. Expansion feels good for 2020.
Belonging to Myself
Last week I celebrated 6 years sober. I considered updating my birthday on FB to my sobriety date so people would post happy birthday on my wall, but that seemed like an asshole move……so I didn’t. Also, I didn’t think of it in time. When I say I “celebrated” 6 years of sobriety, what I really mean is that I had a beautiful sober day just like any other. There was no big party. I posted a sober selfie on social media. I went to an 8 am AA meeting. I don’t even remember what I did after that. It was a non event. I hope I took a nap. I know I went to the middle school that afternoon to pick up my youngest son and then we went to the high school to take pictures of the band for my oldest son. THAT was the celebration. Spending time with my children. And loving every minute. 6 years ago I might have been able to do those things, but it would have been an awful experience. I would have been worried that I smelled like alcohol. It would have been an event to “get through” so I could get back home and have a drink. And I would be ashamed of these things. That’s how life was 6 years ago. And it sucked. But I’m not here to dredge all of that up today. Sober life is way more pleasant. All of my sober years seem to have a theme. You can read a little recap of those themes/years here if you’re feeling it. When I think back on my last year (year 5) to try to come up with a “theme” it could easily be the year of the bathtub altars. I did a lot of that this year. But it’s got to be deeper than that, right? Year 5 was the year of community. I’ve known for a while that building community is one of my super powers. Which is interesting, because I spent a lifetime feeling apart from. Like I didn’t quite belong anywhere, even though on the surface I could fit in anywhere. Now I see how this “weakness” is my strength. It’s fueled my desire to build a strong community where I feel loved and supported. That community has expanded in such a way that I can see it impacting others. I see others finding the same love and support that I was seeking. I see meaningful relationships being made. I see connection. And it’s beautiful. We all want to be seen. We all want to feel like someone gets us. I spent a lifetime trying to fit in to places I didn’t belong. I was missing the piece where I had to learn how to truly belong to myself first. It’s ironic that I started using drugs and drinking to fit in and be a part of all those years ago. To belong. Only through the process of stripping that all away and peeling those layers to find me, could I truly find a place where I belong. I belong to myself. I put so much of me out there for the world to see. This is my process. It’s not for everyone, but it definitely is for me. It empowers me to show my real self to the world. All of it. Not just the pretty parts. This is how I belong to myself. It’s letting go of what other’s will think. Because it doesn’t matter. By belonging to myself, I am owning my power. By belonging to myself, I am living confidently (most of the time) in the skin I am in. Without numbing out to make myself more comfortable. Without dumbing down to make others more comfortable. By belonging to myself I naturally attract others who are walking that same path. Those who aren’t automatically fall away. “To thine own self be true.” Back in my early sobriety I used the term #teamshannon a lot. #teamshannon referred to my family and the 5 friends I had. The team has grown exponentially in 6 years. It has grown because it’s no longer all about me. I have learned how to hold space for others to be seen and heard. I have created a space that allows others to shine. I have created a space that allows others to find their way home to themselves. A community where we all belong. And what an amazing community it is! ♥️
Freedom
It recently occurred to me that I am the face of recovery for a lot of people. I get a lot of messages and emails from people who want to know about treatment options, meetings, therapy and so on. I respond to every one of them. A few weeks ago a friend asked me to connect with someone who is struggling with alcoholism. She specifically wanted this woman to read my blog. She could have sent it directly to her, but I think she thought it would mean more if I connected with her myself. So I did. I emailed her and slipped my blog into the email as a way of introducing myself. She responded and opened right up to me about her own struggle with alcohol. I had lunch with her this week. That’s a thing I do. If a person is struggling and I can be of service in my own small way, I am all about it. But, let me throw it out there that plenty of people reach out to me who have no desire to help themselves. I am learning the difference and learning how to have boundaries around that. Everything is a process, right? Not that I haven’t been that person in the contemplation stage of recovery, where I knew it was a thing I needed, but wasn’t ready to commit to it. I get it, but I don’t have time for it. On Friday I met this woman for lunch. I was sure it would be a bit awkward, but it wasn’t awkward at all. She told me she had read my blog and she asked me if I was afraid someone would find it on the internet and read it. WOW. That kind of blew my mind and gave me a full understanding of where she is in her journey. Hiding. I told her I hope lots of people find it and read it and connect with it. I told her I share so other people won’t feel so alone in their own struggle. I assured her that everyone has their own shit. Not everyone struggles with addictions, but everyone has their own shit that they are dealing with every day. Some people just hide it better than others. My heart hurt for this woman as I watched her hold back tears several times throughout the hour we spent together. She used the word ‘Shame” and it took me right back to early recovery. Shame is what kept me stuck for a long time. I could feel her loneliness. I could feel her grief. I could feel her unworthiness. All of these were so familiar to me. I wanted so bad to give her the freedom I have. The joy I have. The self love and self worth I have. But I couldn’t. I could just hold the space for her. I could listen to her. I could tell her all the things I needed to hear when I was where she is. I could answer her questions. I talked to her about treatment centers and outpatient facilities. I talked to her about meetings. I talked to her about meditation. I talked to her about finding things to bring joy into her life. I talked to her about the power of community. And over and over I just kept reminding her that she is worth these things. I tried to make sure that she really understood that. In addiction, those feelings of unworthiness are deadly. I know because I’ve been there. Fortunately, I had children that needed me to live. That made it possible for me to keep going before I understood that I was worthy all on my own. Figuring that out took work. That’s not something I can give to someone. I can give someone my time and attention. I can give my heart. I can tell them over and over that they are worthy with every positive affirmation in my being, but ultimately, they have to find it within themselves. And oh how I hope this woman finds it. I hope she finds her light and her strength. I hope she finds community to connect with so she can understand that she is not alone in this world. I hope she comes out of hiding and steps into a big world that is ready to help walk her through her process. When she expressed her concern about people finding my blog and reading it, I explained to her that for me, putting it all out there has been incredibly healing. No hiding. The years I spent hiding were the loneliest years of my life. Allowing myself to be seen in this world exactly as I am, not perfect, sometimes messy, awkward, insecure, and whatever else shows up on any given day has given me freedom. That freedom is there for everyone. It’s just a matter of stepping out of hiding and showing up in the world. However that looks.
Self Discipline is the Highest Form of Self Love
Last night I shared a quote in moon circle that I am completely in love with. “Discipline is the highest form of self love.” I shared it because there was a woman in the circle who needed to hear it. There were probably others who needed to hear it as well. I need to be reminded of it constantly. Someone recently commented on one of my FB posts that I am so disciplined. And I loved that she saw me that way. It’s more true than not. I am all about self love. I am all about naps, and eating to nourish my body, writing in journals and big fat bubble baths. With snacks. Self love can look like that. Self love can also look very different. I once had a therapist tell me I had to learn to love myself enough to tell myself no. I have no doubt that I was filling her ears with all sorts of nonsense that was going on in my personal life. I got away with ridiculous things because nobody ever told me no. Nobody ever told me I couldn’t/shouldn’t do a thing that was obviously harmful. In fact, I talked most people into doing those things with me. I had some pretty unhealthy habits going on at the time. Loving myself enough to tell myself no wasn’t one of them. This was just one of many things she told me that I paid no attention to. Because it was all bullshit. I really could not fathom living a different way. Until I did. I stopped drinking before I wanted to. It was a have to. Looking back, I realize that giving up alcohol was a radical act of self love even though it felt like the exact opposite. Self love is also saying yes to the things that are good for us. I had to say yes to AA because that’s where I was going to meet sober people. Sober people didn’t exist in my world. I had to go to the weird meetings with “those people.” I wasn’t like those people. I was different. Special. That therapist assured me that I was not special. Just like that. “You’re not special.” Asshole. I was pretty sure she was wrong about that one. I was pretty sure she was wrong about most things. But, here’s the truth. I’m not special. None of us are. And we all are. We are all humans doing the best we can with what we have to work with. Back then, I didn’t have a lot to work with. But I have had some amazing teachers on this path and I am a completely different person than I was 6 years ago. Because I pay attention. This morning I sat down to write about Discipline, but I hadn’t yet been on my mat and I just couldn’t bring myself to write about something I wasn’t practicing. So I got up, went down on the dock and practiced yoga. Because I love myself enough to do the things I know are good for me. I love myself enough to pursue the things that are going to lead to my ultimate happiness even when they aren’t necessarily the things I feel like doing. My alarm is set for 4:30 am. On weekdays, I wake my children around 5 am. This gives me 30 minutes to myself. I use this time to meditate and write. My preference would be to drink coffee and scroll on my phone. I’m not perfect and sometimes that is exactly how I spend my quiet time. That is NOT what nourishes my soul. I don’t wake up at 4:30 excited to write and sit in silence, but I do it because I know it keeps me sane. It keeps me connected. I’m not telling you to wake up at 4:30 am. In fact, every evening before I fall asleep my mind begins to tell me all of the reasons I can’t wake up in the morning and do what I want/need to do. If I listened to this voice, I would never practice in the shala because Wilmington is too far to drive. I would never get on my mediation cushion because I have chores to do. I would never sit down to write because someone, somewhere, needs me to do something for them. There are always reasons that I shouldn’t wake up early for my morning practices. They are all very believable reasons. The little voice in my head throws them all at me when I set my alarm and get in bed. That’s my self sabotage voice. This voice will have me wasting my time, sitting on my ass, drinking coffee and scrolling on my phone. Really. That voice will have me wasting entire days if I let it. I don’t have that kind of time because there are so many things I want to do. Don’t get me wrong, I really do need days that are quiet and restful. Recovery time after big “extrovert events.” I need solitude. We all know I need my naps. But, I also need to do the things I know are good for me. Especially when I don’t want to. I only dread these things until I get started. And then……then comes the sense of accomplishment. The good feelings. The joy. I have been practicing this lifestyle for quite a while now, and I know the practices that keep me centered. I am not a runner, but I am willing to bet that runners don’t jump out of bed eager to go running every day. I also imagine the people who hit the gym every day don’t always feel like it. Artists probably don’t want to create every day. I could go on and on, but you get it. Everything we do is a practice and being disciplined is no different. Discipline is loving ourselves enough to say no to the things that aren’t good for us and loving ourselves enough to say yes to the things that are. It’s dropping the distractions to focus on what truly needs our attention. It’s picking up our tools when we are having a shitty day and using them when we want to wallow in misery. It’s keeping the promises we make to ourselves. Discipline really is the highest form of self love.
Keep Showing Up
I am currently in a hotel in Knoxville with my 10 year old. He and I are traveling to Kentucky to see my parents. I thought he would chill and I would write. I was wrong. He hasn’t chilled yet. Hotels are way too exciting for children. Even a Hampton Inn in Knoxville, TN. Jackson is spinning circles in the chair and asking me thousands of questions. His most recent question was “are you mad at me?” I told him “Of course I’m not mad at you” and I asked why he thought that. His reply was that I seem annoyed. I had to remind him that it’s after 9 o’clock and Mommy hates everyone after 8:30. He knows this. And then, because I am a good human, I assured him I am not annoyed with him and I love him all the world full. I’m just a bit tired and grumpy. It’s been sweet traveling with Jackson. He mostly watches videos with his headphones on. But, we also got some good one on one talk time in. Jackson was in 5th grade this past year. His last year in elementary school. In 5th grade the children participate in the DARE program. He learned all about addiction/drugs/alcohol/peer pressure and such. He knows I don’t drink but he’s never asked why. Until today. My older two children know the story. They lived the story. They remember the story. Jackson was a little guy. I asked him if he remembered when I was sick and he came to see me in that hospital where he got to play foosball. He does remember. He told me he remembers coming to see me a few times in the hospital. The hospital was a treatment center, and it seems he remembers a bit more of my stay than I realized. Once that topic came up he asked what that was all about. He wanted to know why I was in that hospital. I have had ALL the conversations about these things with his brother and sister, but Jackson, being the baby, and not really remembering that life, well, it just hasn’t come up. Until today. He could care less whether I drink or not. When I explained to him that alcohol makes me sick, he compared it to an allergy to red dye number 40, or yellow dye 5. He’s not really wrong. Other than the fact that as well as making me sick, alcohol makes me crazy and depressed. I guess he’s never cared or even considered why I go to “those meetings.” Which cracks me up because I have always said it’s Jackson’s world and the rest of us are lucky to be living in it. It’s just something I do that he’s never questioned. We talked about those meetings and he decided I go for no reason and I don’t even need to go because obviously I am cured. Then he threw in the word hippie and eluded to the fact that AA is for hippies. I love this child. AA in my community certainly isn’t full of hippies. Or, maybe they were at one time, but they grew out of it. Jackson is a joyful child. A young 10 year old. He’s been able to stay little a bit longer than his siblings did. Innocent. He has no idea that I rolled straight out of jail and went to his kindergarten orientation with him 5 years ago. Never have I ever felt more shame or guilt than I did that day. I had gotten a DUI the day before and had to sit in jail for 24 hours. Actually, my husband had the option to bail me out, but chose not to. He was over it and he knew if I was in jail for the night, I was safe for the night. I got sober three months later. I remember going to his class and talking to his teacher about my sobriety. I wanted her to know why I had been absent for the past few months. I wanted her to know how much I appreciated all the love and support she gave Jackson and how grateful I was for her. When I explained to her that I had been struggling with addiction and had been away in a treatment center she looked at me like I had two heads. I was sure I couldn’t have been the first person she had ever met with a drug/alcohol problem. She assured me I was the first. I was mortified and I wanted to die. But I didn’t. I stood there. I was getting sober. I was being honest. I was standing in my truth. Uncomfortable and awkward, but I stood there. For whatever reason, I felt like she needed to know. I felt like that was a conversation I needed to have with her. It was the first time I had announced with any seriousness that I was getting sober. For the first time ever, I was able to hold my head high in that school. Simply because I was sober. I didn’t feel judged by her. It was just very matter of fact, “I have never met an addict or alcoholic before.” I think I expected her to share her own personal story of the people in her life who are either addicted or in recovery. Maybe I expected a bit of praise for my hard work. Not that I deserved an award for doing what I needed to do, because I certainly did not. That experience was a big moment for me in early recovery. Being honest about who I am is OK. Being open and honest made it easier for me to be a good mother. I no longer felt like I had to pretend to be perfect, because now it was known that I wasn’t. But I was there. I was trying. Not being perfect meant I could be me. Being an alcoholic mother is hard. I had a lot of shame about the way I drank. I had always felt less than when I was with the other Moms at school because it seemed like they had it all together. They all seemed so perfect. Then there was me. Just hoping they didn’t smell alcohol on me. That was a special kind of Hell. (There are many kinds) Now, after being sober for 5 years and spending time with emotionally healthy people, I understand that nobody has their shit together. At least not all the time. We all do the best we can and everyone has their own problems to deal with. In whatever form that comes in. As long as we keep showing up, we are winning at life, even when it doesn’t feel like it. Today I am showing up for my children by being a living example of what recovery looks like. They have seen addiction. It’s not the life I had planned for us, but we made it and became so much stronger and closer through the process. My children know that they can talk to me about the difficult things. They know they don’t have to be perfect, because this life is messy and chaotic and beautiful. We just have to keep showing up.
Sober Yogi 