Tag: Meditation

Comfortable in my skin.

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What a difference a week makes. The sun came out. Of course it’s cold AF outside, so I am still in the house and never leaving. My sadness is mostly gone. I think. For now. It will return. I’ll be surprised by it again. Like always. And I will be sure that it’s never going to pass. Because this is how I operate. But I will write about it and be reminded that I am not alone. Thank you all for that. I am sure we are all doing our absolute best these days. Some days my best is better than others. On Friday I stayed in bed and read for 5 hours. The book was excellent. Then I watched a 3 hour documentary on Netflix. I feel great about that. Yesterday was watering day for my plants. I fertilized too. With stinky ass fish fertilizer. I think they loved it. I know I did. I repotted a few plants too. Because you need to know that. These little babies bring me much joy.

I received a random message from a random woman this week. A FB friend that I don’t actually know. A sweet message that made my whole day. She said that I seemed like a woman who is comfortable in my skin and asked if I could write a step by step guide on how to do that. I feel like that whole process is right here, strewn throughout this blog. But also, I never really had a plan when I started blogging so my organization is super scattered and she would have to do a lot of reading to piece the process together. I guess we can call that my lack of organization. I never really have a plan when I do anything. I just decide I want to do something and I do it. The “how” comes later, usually while I am doing the thing.

I am not and will never be the best yoga teacher. But I am really good at teaching people how to be in their bodies. Because I am obsessed with it. Not that it’s always comfortable. Because it’s not. Learning to be in our bodies takes time. And effort. And a bit of a fuck it attitude. And by fuck it, I mean exactly that. All of that nonsense that lives in our heads that gets in our way. What will people think? Fuck it. What if I look stupid? Fuck it. What if it doesn’t work? Fuck it. If that word makes you uncomfortable, fuck it. (I hope you realize how hilarious I am.) I once had a therapist that liked to say “Oh well.” She would follow that with a big sigh. It works exactly the same way. You can try that on if it’s less offensive to you. But, I know my readers, and you should all be fine with fuck it. Except for you Nanny. I love you! That same therapist also said a lot of fuck its.

To get comfortable in my skin I had to first spend a LOT of years being very uncomfortable in it. I spent the first 36 years of my life escaping my body in the normal unhealthy ways. Alcohol, drugs and sex. Until those things almost killed me. None of that was comfortable either. I was just numb. Until it stopped working. Those things always stop working and we can either find another way, or let it kill us. I chose to find another way. And it was uncomfortable to say the least.

Learning to be comfortable in my body was a process that began on a meditation cushion. Sitting still. It was awful. The voices in my head and the feelings in my body were too much. For the first few months I could only sit for a few minutes at a time. I literally wanted to rip my skin off. I felt so raw. Every bit of the things I had been using to numb myself were gone and all at once I could feel ALL of it. All the things I had pushed away. It was all right there in my head, in my chest, in my belly, in my back, in my body. Yoga saved my life. Practicing on my mat was a way for me to release a lifetime of stored up energy. Emotions. Trauma. Every single thing that I had pushed down was alive and well, right there in my body. Not that I knew any of this at the time. My yoga mat was a place for me to cry, grieve and rage, and eventually calm myself. I hated it. I loved it. I threw myself hard into the physical practice learning how to do the “fun” things with my body like inversions and arm balances. The poses that look cool. Not because they looked cool, but because when I challenge my body in this way, there was/is no room for my mind to wander. There is no past and no future. When I am doing a physically challenging posture, I am completely in my body. Present. And it’s glorious, if only for a few breaths. Yoga taught me to love my body and eventually, myself.

It’s been a journey and the list of things that have helped me get here seems to be endless. Amazing therapists. Inner child work. Shamans. Energy Healers. Women’s Circles. Solitude. All weaving together at the exact right time. It’s all here on the blog. Somewhere. Writing. So much writing. And sharing. The sharing piece is an important part of my process. When people connect to my words and I know I am not the only one to ever feel this way, it’s powerful. And here’s the thing. I am NEVER the only one to experience whatever it is I am sharing about. We are all so much alike in so many ways. We are all so damn human. We all struggle. Some people just pretend they don’t. Some things I write just for me and some I share with the world. I have shared some of my hardest truths on this blog. Scary, yes, but oh so worth it. The “what will people think of me” question still pops up for me. But I share anyway. Because fuck it. Oh well and all of that. Which would be the perfect end to this blog, but I have to keep going because DANCING. Learning to be in my sober body through dance has been so very healing. It’s one of those things that I assumed was over because I am sober. So glad I was wrong about that. These days dancing is saving my life. When I am feeling overwhelmed by emotions, I go to the studio and blast the music that heals my soul. I move and process and cry and calm myself. Or, I just dance. Fully present in my body, with whatever I am feeling.

I no longer numb anything. Which is why I was hating on being sad last week. Nobody wants to be sad. My go to these days is to pick up my phone and look at all the plants on the internet. I mean ALL the plants. Which is a fine distraction for a bit, but I have learned that eventually, I am going to have to sit with whatever it is that I am avoiding. I am going to have to process it in some way. Some healthy way. Apparently, It takes a lot to be mentally and emotionally healthy. Also, if you need help with your plants, I am your girl. I have learned so much!

The truth is that I AM comfortable in my body today. Most days anyway. Because I love who I am today. I’m comfortable in my head and in my heart.. I have fought hard to be here. And more than that, I am comfortable with people being uncomfortable with me. That’s where the real freedom is.

Sadness is my least favorite emotion.

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Never did I ever for one minute think we would roll into a new year and everything would magically be better. In fact, I have been saying for months that I fully expected and was prepared for a “dark winter.” I just didn’t know exactly what that meant and I didn’t expect it to affect me. A couple of weeks ago it started to rain. I love a rainy day. I sat on my bed with all of my books, my journals and the Netflix remote. I was in heaven and I was sure that I would be the type of person who could live in bliss in Seattle. But, by day 3 of the rain, I was over it. And it hasn’t really stopped raining yet. Not for any length of time. I’m still over it, but it’s still raining. I’ve been feeling sad for a few weeks now. In waves. Not a steady sadness. I think it’s grief. My grief. Collective grief. Covid grief finally catching up to my. My super power is building community. Covid has made that very challenging for me. And I miss it. Circles. Group events. Bringing people together. On February 1st, my community lost one of our Goddesses. The thing to know about this is that when we sit in circle together, there is an immediate bond. There’s an intimacy that happens in Circle unlike any other I have experienced. Women grow close in these circles. When I first started leading circles, I noticed how this happened. How when the circles were over and I was cleaning up, all the women would gather in small groups exchanging contact information and making plans for later. It made me feel left out. Lonely. I felt a bit like an outsider. Because I wasn’t a part of this. But I also understood that I didn’t have to be a part of that. I understood that wasn’t my role. I was the space holder. I AM the space holder. I am a connector. I bring people together. Another gift. Every woman who sits in circle with me isn’t my best friend. But, every woman who sits in circle with me is special to me. There’s a love there that I haven’t found anywhere else. It’s the loving and supportive community that I always needed but didn’t exist in my world until I created it. And it is beautiful. When we lost our goddess, it hurt. Funerals in Covid Time are weird. Just like everything else in Covid Time. Her funeral was small. The Pastor had this big, booming presence and was FULL of love. I could feel it radiating from him. There was no way not to be at ease in his presence. Honestly, he felt like Santa Claus. He turned her funeral into a celebration. A joyful celebration of her life. All of her friends who were there were from circle. Every single one of them. It filled my heart to see how she had found her community among us. I sat and noticed the other women who were there. I noticed that all of these women had connected through yoga or circles. Such a beautiful thing to see on such a sad day.

My inner circle is small. I don’t think people realize that. Or maybe they do. I don’t know. I am guarded and private in a sneaky way. I am slow to trust and it’s hard for me to let people in. If you know me, you know. My heart broke a little last month when my favorite friend told me she was moving to California. She has been on the fence about this move for as long as I have known her. This is a good move for her. She’ll be near family. Her soul will be settled here. But it happened so fast. This woman is unstoppable and fierce and capable of anything. Including packing her entire house up, selling it and moving clear across the country in 6 weeks time. She is goals in so many ways. She’s always teaching me without even knowing it. She told me she was busy packing, but until I saw her house a week later, I wasn’t sure I believed it. She leaves in 9 . She’s a “safe space” for me. I don’t have to share her with everyone I know. She’s a friend and not a follower. She doesn’t do social media. She doesn’t care how cool I am on the internet. She knows ALL of my shit and loves me anyway. I am so comfortable being me with her. I will miss that. I will miss her being near.

Sadness is my least favorite emotion. I’m certain it’s the hardest one for everyone. When it hits, I tend to feel dread and think it’s going to be with me forever. But it isn’t. It passes. You might think I would have learned this by now, but when I am in it, I forget. Every single time. You may remember that I “broke up with my phone.” We didn’t actually break up at all. I need my phone in my life. I am working on using it in a mindful way. It’s a process. I have noticed that when I feel sad, which has been a lot these past few weeks, it’s the easiest thing in the world to pick my phone up and distract myself. I was actually fascinated to realize that I was doing this. And it makes me think that I have been doing this for a LONG time. So now I am just paying attention to the why when I pick up my phone. Sometimes I need a distraction. After eleven months of living in a pandemic, we ALL need a little distraction from time to time. I have been using an app called Moment. It keeps track of my screen time and it counts how many times I pick up my phone. My favorite feature is the “gentle reminder” it gives me when I have have had my phone in my hand for 15 minutes. It’s a good reminder for me that there are other ways I want to spend my time. Right now, I find the reminders helpful. I am back to basics. “Chop wood and carry water.” Do the things, feel the feelings and live life. I never forget to be grateful. I have more happy moments than sad moments. “Welcome and entertain them all.” But this rain can fuck right on off.

Within

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On January 1st of this year I sat on the beach for sunrise. I have done this every year since I got sober. It’s way more important to me to see the first light of the new year than it is to stay up until midnight. I’m sure there have been some years that I’ve done both. Not many. I like my sleep. This year it was raining when I woke up on New Year’s Day. Pouring actually. I’ve never meditated in the pouring down rain. There have been years where it was drizzling. Freezing. This year it was warm. My best meditation friend who has been there with me from day one had thrown out the idea earlier in the week that perhaps we needed a back up plan. But I am stubborn. And I only meditate on the beach on the first day of the new year. That and the fact that I had shared the info so far and wide on social media that I couldn’t undo it. And then, magically, as I was loading up my car to head to the beach, the rain stopped. I was joined by a handful of people and at 7 am we closed our eyes and began to meditate. It’s just a 20 minute meditation. That way anyone and everyone can join in without feeling overwhelmed. When the time was up, there was no magnificent sunrise. It was still very cloudy. Not that I was expecting a bright sunrise. I was just happy that for the most part, the rain stayed away. When I turned around there was a large group of people sitting with me. With WE. People came after we started and joined in. It was a beautiful crowd and it filled my heart to see so many people on such a questionable weather day. Normally on this day I would follow meditation with 108 Sun Salutations in the yoga studio. But this is no ordinary year. And 108 Sun Salutations is an intense practice that I wasn’t willing to do with a mask on. I suppose I could have practiced by myself, but I wasn’t feeling that. One of my friends asked me to plunge into the ocean with her and another friend after meditation. This seemed like a reasonable alternative to the 108. I told her I would only plunge with her if we could hold hands like lovers and run Baywatch style into the ocean. Her reply? Fine. But her reply sounded like a heavy sigh as she said FINE, so be sure your read it that way. I love my friends and their bad assery as well as their willingness to let my silliness shine. Five of us ended up plunging that morning. It was warm out and it wasn’t nearly as horrible as I had imagined it would be. I learned a thing or two that morning. Don’t wear fleece pants into the ocean. Fleece gets heavy when it’s wet and the pants won’t stay up. Maybe that’s it. Just one thing. I learned one thing from that. Next year I won’t wear fleece.

But here comes the part that I am really here to share with you.

After we dried off, I went to my car and cranked the heat. I was sitting there getting warm as people were coming off the beach and heading home. I rolled down my window to say “see you later” to a dear friend. She mentioned that she was heading home to have mimosas with our friend who was also leaving the beach. And this is what I heard. “We are ALL going to my house to have mimosas and it’s going to be the most fun day ever but you can’t come because you don’t drink.” It was such a weird reaction for me because this doesn’t happen to me anymore. Sure, when I was newly sober, I always felt like I was missing out. But today, it just isn’t that way. But on that morning, I drove home knowing everyone was having all the fun without me. Never mind that I had just done exactly what I wanted to do with so many cool people. Never mind that I just had this amazing spiritual experience. In that moment, I was driving home to be boring while everyone else drank mimosas. And I felt sorry for myself. I was sad. I spent the drive home playing through the actual facts. Everyone didn’t leave to go drink mimosas without me. Two people were drinking mimosas. I only ever drank mimosas as a segue into bloody mary’s which were just a segue into the vodka. Mimosas in the morning meant I would be hammered by noon. Worthless by dinnertime. And God knows where I’d be by 9 pm. Several of my recovery friends were meditating on the beach with me that morning. I know they weren’t going to have mimosas without me. By the time I pulled into my driveway, I was laughing at myself for the way my mind had spun that one comment into “everyone is doing this wonderful thing without me.” Fear of Missing Out. Where did that come from? My friends didn’t specifically plan to not invite me. And even if they did, so what? Mimosas aren’t part of my life and I honestly appreciate that everyone who cares about me knows and understands this. I hear people talk about drinking all the time and it hasn’t hit me like this one did in such a long time. It just took me by complete surprise. Which is why the AA literature calls alcoholism “cunning, baffling and powerful.” I think it’s as simple as that. This is NOT something that I battle daily. I wouldn’t have the strength for all of that. That’s not living. However, it is something that I think about daily. Recovery is such a part of me that it touches my life in some way every day. I love this.

Moving on.

I pick a mantra word at the start of every year. I usually write a blog specifically about this. I guess this year I am not. The word always chooses me. I never choose it. This year my word was a bit slow coming to me. Or, rather, I was a bit slow picking it up. Within. My word for 2021 is Within. As in “I have everything I need within.’ As in “The answers I seek are within.’ As in, “Listen to the still, small voice within.” I have kicked up my meditation practice and I started “The Listening Path” by Julia Cameron. I LOVE her so much. And I am listening. And this is what I’ve noticed. I am distracted. By my phone. Grrrrrrrrrr So now I am doing a 10 day Detox from my phone. Because I have noticed that I have the thing in my hand way too much. It distracts me and steals my precious time. I have known this for years. I have an app for every fucking thing. I even have an app to help me detox from my phone. Which seems counterintuitive, I know. I am on day three and to be honest, I think more than anything, it’s about me finally being ready. I use the excuse that “I have to be on social media for my business” which is somewhat true. But there are ways to effectively manage that time online. I fully expected to feel the Fear of Missing Out, but instead I am already noticing another thing that is completely different. Freedom. I’m not needed in the world of social media. I don’t have to react and respond to everything my friends do. I’m not missing out on the things that are actually important because the things that really matter come to me in a more personal way. With a phone call or a text. It’s not just about social media. But that’s the biggest piece for sure. I’m never leaving. Don’t let your mind go there. LOL Social media is a positive part of my life for the most part. There is a mindful approach to it that I haven’t been practicing. Moderation has never been my strong suit. I want to be able to leave my phone behind when I get up and walk into the next room. That’s where I am. It’s quiet simple. I no longer wish to be attached to my device. I don’t have to respond to every text and email immediately. That’s the beauty of technology. It will be there when I have time to respond. Don’t expect to never see me on social media, because that’s not me. I will never be one of “those people” who announces their departure. And I’ll probably never be one of “those people” who departs at all. Because social media is great when it’s used wisely. I just no longer wish to be attached to it or to my phone. It’s taken me years to get here. Years of knowing. And finally listening.

Smooth Sailing. Until it’s not.

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And then it happened!  I made a Covid 19 memory bigger than toilet paper!  And there was dancing!  And my heart was full!   Yesterday I hosted a social distanced parking lot dance party.  Most of you saw the pics on my FB page.  I am sure there are people who didn’t approve, and that’s ok.  I wasn’t looking for approval.  I was looking for connection.  Friday was a hard day.  Some days are.  I’ve had plenty of down days lately.  I know we all have. Friday was my worst.  I woke up that morning and went downstairs to my fortress of solitude.  I sat on my cushion to meditate, but instead I cried.   I cried a lot.  A thing to know about me is that I am not a crier.  But I couldn’t help it and I couldn’t stop it.  I’m sure it was necessary and I get that crying is good.  I love when my students cry in yoga, and I love when the women in my circles cry.  I’m just not the one to do it.    I was THIS close to jumping on the blog and writing through it, but that seemed like a stupid option.  So instead, I stayed stuck in it.  And I cried.  I haven’t cried like that since September 9th 2018.  I can’t remember why I cried, but I remember that it started at home and continued during the yoga class I went to that morning.  I was hosting a teacher from Florida in the studio and I was in her class, bawling my eyes out the entire time.  Pretty impressive that I have a timeline, right?

This is where I stop to tell on myself.   Because I live my life on social media and share so much from my heart, I was guessing there must be something posted that day to give me a clue as to what that was all about. I had to make the connection back to the date that teacher was here.  A quick search pointed out the date and down the rabbit hole of my activities log for September 2018 and BOOM.  Here it is.  Of course I was crying.  Also,  I was probably due for another good cry on Friday.  2018 was a LONG time ago.  I should cry more.  You know, if I was down to play that “should” game.  I did have a big crying episode on January 1st during sunrise meditation on the beach.  I bawled my eyes out and even pointed it out to my friend who also doesn’t cry.  I was proud of it and wanted to share it with her.  But, that was all gratitude and full heart stuff.  Quite different.  But sooooooo good.  For the record, I am down to cry gratitude tears any time.

The unhappy cry is the crying I have an aversion to.  Back to Friday where I cried for the first time in a L O N G time.  I think every emotion I have experienced over the past 6 weeks caught up to me.  It was a tough day.  After the tears came the anger.  I’m not exactly sure why I was angry, but I suspect it’s easier for me to be angry than it is for me to be sad or fearful or fully feel all the grief that we are collectively feeling.  And by I suspect, I mean that’s definitely it.  This afternoon I talked with a friend on the phone who spun her woo woo therapist magic on that situation.  She pointed out that my inner “kid” likes to get angry and rebel against…….well, she rebels against all kinds of things, but she definitely doesn’t like to cry.   So she gets angry. I knew that being angry around my family for no “real” reason wasn’t going to be helpful, so I stayed in my fortress of solitude.  My husband came down to check on me.  He NEVER comes into my fortress.  Ever.  He asked if I wanted to walk to the beach with him.  We live 15 streets away from the beach and while it’s totally doable, I didn’t want to do it.  I’m not much of a beach walker anyway.  I’m more of a sitter.  My husband isn’t a beach walker either nor is he the kind of guy that wants to walk 15 streets because it’s good for his health.  Bless him.  He wanted to fix me because all of my emotions made him uncomfortable.  He just wanted me to be ok. Because he loves me.   I eventually got past the anger and settled into a nice, comfortable funk.  I stayed there the rest of the day.  Ice cream and music in the bathtub that evening helped, but more than that, sleeping and waking up to a new day was the real trick.   Saturday was the first time I have seen real people outside of my home, not counting the grocery store, in six weeks.  I know I’m not alone in this and that we are ALL right there.  I know that for me and the women who either showed up to dance in their own (appropriately spaced out) circle, or just sit in their car and watch, it was so uplifting.  Dancing for me is ALL about connecting to that inner child.  That girl needed to let loose and have fun.  Saturday was the soulgasm I needed to carry me through another 14 day week. Who knew quarantine days were gonna be 48 hours long?  I’m really looking forward to the day that quarantine and Covid 19 doesn’t come up in my thoughts, in my blog and in every fucking conversation I have.  Today is not that day. Tomorrow is not going to be that day.  This is where we are.  Doing the best we can. Adapting and overcoming.   I had an amazing 10 am writing group Zoom meeting with fabulous women today.  I’m happy to be writing again. For now. Even if it’s just a bunch of rambling.  It feels good for me to connect in this way.  Last week quite a few new readers found my blog.   The toilet paper blog.  People who have never read my blog somehow stumbled onto that one.  I need you to read that again, slowly,  in my southern accent.  People who have never read my blog somehow stumbled onto that one.   What the hell?   I was almost embarrassed.  Almost, but not quite.  I was dealing with too many other emotions to be bothered with embarrassment.  This week is gonna be smooth sailing.  I can feel it.  Until it’s not.  LOL

Connected to Myself

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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.

We don’t have to like it.

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This morning the family and I sheltered in the bathroom in preparation for a possible tornado.  For 10 minutes.  THAT was the most exciting thing that’s happened here in 4 weeks.  And now it’s passed and we are fine.  Back to trying to figure out how to fill our time.  I miss teaching yoga.  Not enough to teach online, but I do miss my people.  I miss having purpose outside of this house.  I am over it, over it, over it.  But I’m doing it.  We all are.  I no longer feel like I “should be” doing anything other than living my life in any way that suits me.  I am a bit less scattered these days.  I have this cycle that I am incredibly aware of.  Every other day is a “good” day.  On a good day, I wake up and do all of the things that keep me connected, grounded and centered.  Meditation.  Writing.  Yoga.  Dance.  And then, the very next day I do none of the things that I know will make me feel better.  And I spend my day in my head and feeling like shit.  It’s almost as if the good days take all of my energy and I need a day to do nothing and recover. Then I wake up determined to not feel like shit and I do ALL the things that I know work for me.  I use my tools.   Every.  Other. Day. That’s my current cycle.   I am one of the most mentally and emotionally healthy people I know.  This still surprises me and probably always will, by the way, but it’s true.  And I wonder, if I feel like this, how is everyone else REALLY doing?  Because this shit is hard.  Social media keeps us connected, but I’m over it.  Zoom is great, and I could spend all of my time doing ALL of the Zoom things, but I don’t want to live there.  In a virtual world.  Sometimes I wonder if that’s going to be our new normal and if the world is going to pass me by because I won’t get on board.  Two or three online commitments is my limit per week.  If I go beyond that, it’s only because the “I should” has crept into my mind.  Which is weird, because we all know I’m way cooler on the internet. And the dreams…..nightmares really.  Something about this situation has triggered me into the days of my methamphetamine addiction.    I am having using dreams.  I haven’t used meth since I was 23 years old.    And chances are, if you are someone I love, you are there with me.  And it sucks.  My heart breaks every night in my sleep.  My guess is that the feelings and emotions this is bringing up is triggering a place in my body or mind that FEELS the same.  Feelings of being stuck.  That this will never end.  That there’s no way out.  When I am awake, my mind knows none of these things are true.  I am safe.  Not stuck.  This really will pass.  Right now, it’s just really intense and the dreams suck.   And the weather sucks and HERE I am being the exact negative Nelly that I bitch about.  Oh the irony.  There is nothing to take the edge off.  I don’t get to pop a pill, because I would pop 10.  I don’t get to have a drink because I wouldn’t stop.  No bong hits or whatever the weed smokers do these days.  And I don’t want to.  “Don’t get to” just means I choose not to.  I learned a long time ago that nobody can stop me.   I enjoy being fully present and alive.  It’s just hard sometimes. That’s why I take so many baths.  Baths are my go to for taking the edge off.  And naps.  I can usually sleep it off and what a blessing that is.  It’s my super power.   Yesterday was a good day, and if I get off my ass today really doesn’t have to suck.  But I probably won’t. I did that yesterday.  Today I get to wallow in my shit.   The cycle makes me laugh because I KNOW how to remedy it.  And really, maybe I am being a bit dramatic because even my bad days aren’t that bad.  Maybe that’s what my dreams are here to remind me.  My favorite quote ever is by Jon-Kabat Zinn.  It’s the quote that has carried me through so much darkness.  I share it constantly and today seems like a good time to share it again.  “As long as you are breathing, there is more right with you than wrong with you, no matter what is wrong.”  Today there is nothing “wrong.”  This is just life.  For all of us.  We don’t have to like it.  We just have to live it.

What an uncomfortable time to be alive.

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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.

Solitude Is My Friend

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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.

Freedom

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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.  

Reflecting

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I’m coming up on a sober anniversary next month. Anniversaries are always a weird and reflective time for “us sober people.” Last week I was all up in my journals from 2012.  I got sober in 2013.  2012 was a difficult year for me as well as those close to me.  It was 2012 when I landed in my “first” AA meeting.  I mean, technically I had been to meetings when I was 21, but those don’t count because I was obviously in the wrong place.  Right?  People accidentally end up in AA every day don’t they?  The morning of my first meeting I woke up hungover and still slightly drunk like every other day.  I got my children ready for school.  As I was preparing to drive them to the bus stop I couldn’t find my keys.  Then I noticed my bourbon was missing.  And my wallet.  I hadn’t been anywhere the prior evening.  These things weren’t missing.  They had been hidden from me by my husband the night before to be sure that I didn’t go anywhere.  And I was pissed.  I took his truck to the bus stop, put my children on the bus and came back to the house.  Since I couldn’t find my bourbon, the next logical step was to look for other alcohol in the house.  And I found it.  Mike’s Hard Lemonade.  Those were a thing in my life.  Technically, I drank Mike’s Harder Lemonade and because that still wasn’t hard enough, I added vodka to them.  On this morning I couldn’t find any vodka.  So I cracked open a Mike’s and called a friend.  It was 7:00 am.  I spent the next 10 minutes on the phone bitching to my friend about what a horrible man my husband was for hiding all of my things.  I hated him.  I hated him policing me and I hated him acting like he was my father.  I told him this regularly.  My friend interrupted my rant and asked why I was drinking at 7 in the morning.  I didn’t understand then that I had no coping skills and drinking AT the problem was my solution.  I was just drinking because I was pissed off.  My friend told me I needed to go to an AA meeting.  For some reason this excited me.  Probably because I was just drunk enough that this sounded fun. It was certainly something different to do with my day. She said she would come pick me up and drive me to the meeting.  She had already found one online and it started at 8 am.  Perfect timing.   I got off the phone and got ready for my new adventure.  Here comes the good part…….My friend called back and said her car wasn’t in her driveway.  She forgot that she had been drinking the night before and left her car parked elsewhere.  She couldn’t take me to the meeting.  At this point, I was ready and I was going to the meeting.  I called another friend who seemed to think it was  a great idea for me to go to an AA meeting.  She came over immediately.  I grabbed another Mike’s out of the fridge and jumped in her car.  She drove me to the church and pointed out the blue AA sign that was hanging in the window.  She was familiar with meetings and had been to many herself.  Court ordered, I’m sure.  I poured out what was left of my hard lemonade and walked inside.  This new adventure was neither fun nor exciting, I promise.  But, I am fairly certain I brought some excitement to the meeting.  It was so weird.  If you have never been drunk in an AA meeting at 8 am, you might not get it, but if you have, well, you know.  There are no words.  Keep in mind that I voluntarily showed up here.  Nobody made me go.  And it was in this moment that I chose to unleash every bit of anger I had inside of me. I was angry at my husband.  I was angry at my life.  I was angry that I was the one in the AA meeting when clearly, all of my friends should be there with me.  The room was full of “old men drinking coffee” and one woman who I now know was new to recovery.  She was probably terrified.  I was asked to introduce myself but refused to do it the way they had done it.  I would not call myself an alcoholic. I most likely told them “my name is Shannon and I am a mermaid.”  That was one of my favorite ways to introduce myself in meetings there for a while.   I let them know that the 12 steps were bullshit and they didn’t work.  Obviously they didn’t work since I had been to a few meetings when I was 21 and here I was, not sober.  I cussed and cried and called them names.  They came at me with smiles and pamphlets.  AA people are big on their pamphlets.  They told me to “keep coming back.”  They invited me to a speaker meeting that evening in the same church.  They told me there would be cake and promised me that it was a fun time.  Nothing about this sounded like fun to me anymore.  However, I agreed to come back and told them I would bring a “fucking casserole to their sober party.”  I still owe them a casserole.  I called a different, more reliable friend to come and pick me up when the meeting was over.  Now I was armed with pamphlets and a schedule of all the local meetings.  We drove to my friend’s house (the one who couldn’t find her car), to tell her I had made it to AA.  She was pleased until I snagged a beer out of her fridge.  That part just confused her. I  made a plan to hit the next meeting on the schedule.  At noon.  I am sure there were several beers in my life before I hit the noon meeting.  My friend (the reliable one) actually went to the meeting with me.  She was my designated driver for the day. Again, when the meeting started, I felt the need to unleash every bit of anger in my being.  The AA people directed their comments to my friend.  Probably because it was clear they were going to be lost on me.  My memory of this second meeting is a bit more fuzzy than the first.  Thanks alcohol.  I promise I was an asshole.  I like to think that was the last meeting I went to on that day, but I can’t be sure.  I do know that I went back the next day.  To a women’s meeting.  I hated it and I hated them.  I am sure I told them about it too.  The women weren’t nearly as kind to me when I cussed and cried as the old men had been.  I was not a fan of that meeting or those women and didn’t go back for a LONG time.  But I did keep going to meetings with coffee drinking old men.  Usually when I was drinking.  Sometimes I would wait until afterwards.  I went to meetings for a solid year without really trying to not drink.  I kept thinking that eventually I would want to be sober, and when I did, I would just stop drinking. I honestly thought it would be THAT simple. Unfortunately, the not drinking part was the hardest part of getting sober.  Who knew?  I’ll tell you who knew…….every freaking sober person in the world.  Every person who had been sharing at those meetings I had been going to.  We all know how this story ends.  I am sober today.  I am sober because I took that ALL IN thing I do and applied it to my recovery.  I went ALL IN with meetings sometimes going to two or three a day. I went ALL in with meditation, creating a local group to sit with and going to meditation retreats. I went ALL IN with yoga which is why I now own a yoga studio. These three things were the magic combination for me. It’s different for everyone but that magic combination is there for everyone. You just have to find what works for you. And now, here’s the kicker……the easiest part of being sober is the not drinking part.  Seriously.