You're Uninvited!

So, I think I finally had a breakthrough this week in my recovery. My husband and I celebrated our anniversary last week, and so we recruited our mothers to watch the children so that we might have some "adult time." We spent a good portion of that time just talking and listening to each other.

One of the things I find is bothering me with the recovery work is that I spend so much time thinking lately, that I don't spend enough time doing. As I've shared in my check in's, fantasy seems to be occupying a major chunk of the old gray matter as of late. It's a giant nuisance because it immobilizes me. It's not anything that motivates change. It just sits, rotting, in the stinking cesspool of my cranium.

I confessed this to my husband while we were away. I told him my thoughts are controlling me and have jammed the circuitry in my head. It's like any time I even try to think of something useful, this daydream floats in and starts wheeling and dealing with the pleasure centers of my brain.

What is going on??? It's like I'm addicted, and I guess I am. I think I'm finally figuring out that I'm not just a coaddict, I'm also an addict. Whether it's food, fantasy, or whatever, I'm using this stuff to escape from my pain. And none of it is helping me! I'm wasting a life I could be living, instead of thinking about living it! Oh, God, I hate this! Help me, please!

People tell me to read the Bible when I feel crazy like this. I do...and it becomes addictive. I will sit for hours reading and reading and searching.

Today I am thankful that I am self aware regarding this issue. It needs to be served an eviction notice. I am definitely not living in the present while all of these thoughts circle around my mind, like buzzards waiting for me to succumb to this disease.

On a different, bizzare note from the depths of my psyche, I am sufficiently freaked out by something that happened this week. In addition to giving us money, my mother bought me a negligee for our anniversary. And not just a tasteful nightgown. I am talking about a black, sheer, breast enhancing, extremely short, piece of polyester! What the...?!? This is really bothering me!
Just a few touchpoints that might be triggering me: 1. Does she think that she knows my husband's sexual preferences in eveningwear so well that she felt inspired to buy this for him? 2. Is this a way to get into my husband's head while we are making love ("Wow, gotta remember to thank D----'s mom for this Frederick's of Hollywood bedroom adventure!") 3. How would she even guess that I would wear lingeree? I don't talk to her about sex, ever!!! Like, never-ever!!!

Freud would have a field day with this! Somebody f---ing help me! I'm totally crazy!!!





"Can you help me I'm bent I'm so scared that I'll never Get put back together"

Amazing Grace

As mentioned in my check-ins, I'm reading an awesome book by Philip Yancey called, "What's so Amazing About Grace?" This information is coming at a very serendipitous time, as I'm doing Steps Five and Six, and I firmly believe it's grace that's getting me through.


I never really understood "grace" until I started this book. Merriam-Webster defines grace as "unmerited divine assistance given humans for their regeneration or sanctification ." I guess.

"Unmerited," certainly. Often, the word "unmerited" is reserved for my day to day debacles, as I vehemently complain when someone has eaten the last slice of bread, or used the last square of Charmin. The "I don't deserve this" outcry rarely emerges when blessings appear in my life, though.

"Divine," again, definitely. Who else but God to give such a reckless, unabashed gift of love?


"Assistance." Mmmm...assistance? If my tire blows out on the freeway, I call roadside "assistance." When I'm waiting on hold for what seems like the best years of my life, I'm told that an operator will be picking up soon, happy to "assist" me. When my child's school is putting on a magic show, there is always a lovely "assistant" playing second fiddle to Marco the Magnificent. Assistance might be an understatement, depending on the need of the individual. In *my* case, assistance is a gross misrepresentation of what has been granted me. Maybe aid, benevolence, or charity might be more fitting, but there are truly no words for the magnitude of the concept.


"Given humans." Given, meaning, it's free folks! Note to self: definition did not say, "given humans in exchange for participation in and dependent upon attendance at Sunday Mass, a 10% tithing, volunteering to assist in the CCD program and any and all potluck suppers, and any other fair exchange of services, as determined by the gift giver. D-...remember...free! God's gift to you!


"For their regeneration." Okay, if I am interpreting this correctly, "for" is not meant to mean "in exchange for." Rather, I believe "for" to mean "to be used for." So, to be used for the process of regeneration, or becoming of a new creation in Christ. Maybe it means grace is given to help us become someone new in Christ. Anyone?


"And sanctification." Easton's 1897 Bible Dictionary says sanctification is "the work of the Holy Spirit bringing the whole nature more and more under the influences of the new gracious principles implanted in the soul in regeneration. In other words, sanctification is the carrying on to perfection the work begun in regeneration, and it extends to the whole man." So it seems that grace is also given that we feel encouraged and moved to avoid sin? Yes?

The problem I see with understanding grace, is that I believe one must experience it in order to "know" it. The definition in and of itself is not "wrong." In my opinion, it seems just a little sterile when trying to explain this level of intimacy.

I think "grace" is one of those words, like love. It is difficult to put onto paper all of the feelings associated with the enormity of such a concept.

Relying on Merriam-Webster again, love is defined as "strong affection for another arising out of kinship or personal ties." Although true, it feels incomplete. It's incomprehensible to me that what my family and I have been feeling for the past twenty years is reduced to "strong affection." If that were the case, I could have settled on adopting a cat, nevermind choosing to remain in an addictive relationship despite odds that were stacked against recovery. And even at that, I, dare I say, love my cat! Would I die for my cat? No (sorry Boots!). Would I take the hit for any one of my family members? Without even thinking about it! Strong affection? That feels a little watered down.

Back to grace. I think the process of grace begins when we abandon our self righteousness and work through His love, not for it. If we reverse the process and try to earn it, then it is no longer grace. It becomes about who we are, and not about who God is.

Truly, grace is amazing...

Eph.2:8-10: "For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith; and this not from yourselves - it is the gift of God - Not by works, so that no one can boast. For we are God's workmanship, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do."

Three Weeks Goes By Fast!

Wow! I've been really busy doing book work. Haven't been posting here too much.



Hey, can I just say something really amazing that keeps happening to me? It seems lately, when I have a question in mind, the answer will pop up in strange places.



Today, the answer came on an email list that I belong to. I was curious how people remain detached from issues surrounding their children when they are healing from codependency. I was going to post to the list, when I read down all the way to the bottom, and this one member had sort of like a tagline that she put at the bottom of her email. It has to be new, because I have never seen it before. It said, "~Don't see your child as a blank slate awaiting your pen, but as a written book awaiting your study.~Max Lucado." Whoa!



Although that did help with some of the question, the meat of the question still remains...where do my rights end and my children's rights begin? Do I have the right to confiscate an MP3 player with music that is complete and total trash?



My son downloaded more music than he will ever live to listen to onto his iPod. Much of it was stuff he never even listens to. I was sitting at the computer the other day and his "side" was loaded. The screen contained his music list. Some of the titles were really out there. I asked him to come downstairs so we could discuss what I was seeing. One of the songs was by The Dead Kennedys. I don't even want to say what the title was, it was so offensive. When I played the song for him, he was shocked that this band would play such a song. He actually had a visceral reaction to it and almost threw up.

Let me just say, I have worked a lot on this with Kim, releasing my expectations of how my children "should" act, look, and behave. I have such a hard time with releasing these things and letting the kids be themselves.

My middle child, the same one as above, has a giant rebellious streak. He grows his hair long (and sometimes wears it in liberty spikes), dresses in lots of black clothes, and listens to strange music. It's hard for others to know who he is, because he shows this tough guy image, but he's a really nice kid. He tells me it's a "test" to see who his friends are.

I know I shouldn't worry. He's very well liked by classmates and many teachers. And his friends are really good kids. I guess I just feel the judgement of the other parents when they see him. Thank God his two best friend's parents know me. The one friend is the son of the neighborhood pediatrician, the other is the son of the pastor of a church. And these are the things I am working at letting go of...appearances.

But what of the iPod? The stuff that is directly affecting their hearts. I can deal with the superficial nonsense of the hair and the clothes, but what about what they see and watch every day? Our kids are exposed to so much today, and so fast, it's really alarming. It seems I can't even protect them from this stuff, it comes at us so fast. The two younger boys (15 and 13) have both already seen 'R' rated movies with their friends at sleepovers and parties.

So, back to the Lucado quote. I guess I'm fumbling with not trying to rewrite the characters, while trying to ensure that the book has a happy ending. Any feedback would be greatly appreciated. Thanks guys!

Happy New Year!

Hey Anyone who is reading this!


Happy New Year, Merry Christmas, and all of the other good stuff I could wish you! I just figured I'd catch up on the past couple of weeks since I last posted.


My middle son is recovering very nicely after his back surgery, thanks for all of the prayers and well-wishes. He's my hero...he's been through so much this year, yet still maintains a positive outlook. What a kid!

Christmas Eve was spent with my parents at their Christmas Eve party. I don't understand why my mother hosts these things when all they do is stress her out. I've gotta tell you, her parties, from start to finish, usually are an enormous trigger for bringing up issues from my past. They always involve the cousin who sexually abused me, and they always involve drinking.

This year's party wasn't too much different, except I felt myself handling things better than I would have last year. I felt it begin the moment I received her invitation. She always sends it in her Christmas card to us. Here we go on the pity pot...why do I always get the crappy cards that she gets free from the Veteran's Association that look like they are about thirty years old? Other relatives speak of her beautiful Christmas Cards, but she saves the nasty ones for me. For years I thought she was just being thrifty and sent out the freebie cards to everyone. It even made me sad, thinking maybe she couldn't afford the nice cards. But visits with other relatives opened my eyes to what is going on. She is buying the nice cards for them and sending me the free ones that don't look so great. I tried not to let it bother me, but my self worth seems to be wrapped up in material things sometimes. Shouldn't it be enough, after all, that she remembered to send me one?

Anyway, the party went well. She argued about how much food was going to be wasted if people didn't eat. She was right...about fifteen pounds of cookies got chucked because there were too many. About three quarters of the way through the party, she had an allergic reaction to either the feta cheese or the balsamic vinaigrette on the pear salad. She refused to go to the emergency room, refused Benadryl, so I refused to pay any attention to the goings on. I figured if she fell to the ground, I'd call 911, but I wasn't going to stand there and watch her be a martyr and then insult the medical profession (yet again) that was trying to help her. And you know what? She didn't die, she was fine. Complained how my father did nothing to help her though.

Christmas afternoon, we went to my in-laws to visit, and that was good. My only trigger over there had to do with another childhood issue. My MIL bought my daughter used sheets at the thrift store where she works for her birthday, which was also this month. I can deal with used stuff, just not for birthdays or holidays.

It was triggering me because I never got new clothes when I was young. Everything was a hand me down. Thank God my very generous neighbor had taste that was in line with mine. My mom always shopped at the Nearly New store for me, but not for my sister. My sister refused to wear anything that wasn't new. Once, a girl at school said that I looked like I crawled out of the Salvation Army bin. I was mortified. I hated everything my mother brought home from that store after that. I remember the first Christmas I actually got a shirt that I had asked for. I was in eighth grade. It was a shiny white material and had a skinny light blue tie (it was the eighties, people). I wore that shirt at least twice a week until it didn't fit me anymore. Not only because I loved the shirt, but because I was taking it as a confirmation that I was loved by my mother. That she listened to me, and wanted me to be happy. And I wore it to reflect back the love that I was feeling, thanking her for finally proving how much she loved me. I think I'll always remember that shirt, if I live to be 100 years old.

So, this brings me to a question...how do you maintain a relationship with a parent that wants to have a relationship with you, but also wants to emotionally beat the crap out of you? I try to let this stuff go, because of times in my life like when she bought me the shirt, or the Barbie Perfume Maker, or the birthday card with the bubble bath inside for my sixth or seventh birthday (again with the material goods). There seems to be such an extreme in my thought pattern...she bought me a real birthday card...she loves me! She bought me a shirt in a size 22W...she loves me not! Does anyone else have this going on in their lives? The instability of not knowing whether you are truly loved? I had this a lot with my husband too before recovery. He didn't look at that supermodel...he loves me! He looked at porn while I was at work...he loves me not! This way of thinking used to define my relationship with God as well.

For now, I guess I have to treat it like I do with my husband, with boundaries and consequences. I just wish it didn't hurt so much.

On a very *light* note, I met our dear friend Lillian and her husband! What a great time my husband and I had. I must say, I had a strong suspicion it was her when I first saw her because she looked like I had envisioned, except curlier hair. There is a woman who works in our town that sounds a lot like Lillian, and every time I hear this woman speak, I think of Lil. The conversation was easy, the mood was light, the dessert was high in calories...it was awesome! And the company was fantastic!!! The time really flew by, though. Hope we can do it again very soon. And I hope they had a safe trip back to the Island and then back to Michigan.

So, for now, I want to leave you with a video that I love, by a band that I also love...peace and joy to all of us in 2008...

Update on My Son

I just figured I'd post a quick update on my son's post surgical status. Since it's been almost a month already, and I haven't been making my phone calls regularly, I just wanted to answer your emails regarding his recovery.


We brought him home on Saturday night 11/24/07. He spiked another temp while he was in the hospital, but we took him home anyway. During this time he's been on a LOT of pain medicine. He is taking Percocet, Ultram, and Skelaxin. Keep in mind, he weighs 112 pounds soaking wet with all of his clothes on. He's tall and thin, like my husband. I figured he'd just sleep in some kind of hibernative state for a few weeks with all of that stuff going through him. Wrong!

Amazing, the metabolism of a teenager. What is also amazing is the amount of pain back surgery entails. I can only imagine what Pam is going through right now. If you are reading, Pam, my heart and prayers go out to you. Monday, 12/17 was his first day without pain meds. He's started with his tutor two hours a day and seems to be on the mend.

Update: 2/4/08 - He's back in school, limited gym. Doing great! Thanks for keeping us in your prayers the past few months.

A Human Being, Or a Human Doing? Or Both?

This is going to be a strange post. Sometimes I think all of them are. I don't even know if anyone can relate to anything I write.



A couple of weeks ago, I happened upon a very good quote from some recovery material. It said to "be a human being rather than a human doing." I liked it. It was catchy and very easy for my simple mind to remember. So I began the process of thinking about this and trying to live this new found wisdom.



Unfortunately, it took me down a lazy river named "sloth." It wasn't the quote itself, but rather my interpretation of it. I guess I extended the metaphor a little too far and took it to mean "a human breathing," and decided to do just that, merely exist. As a result, nothing got done that week. Now I am also guilty of being a "human doing" when things get me upset, but that is another post entirely.



After several days of this slacking, I became very irritable. Things weren't magically getting cleaned or paid the way I expected they would if I just existed, and stopped all that "doing" nonsense. I found myself secretly thanking God for things like paper plates when saying Grace.



This wasn't working for me at all. I couldn't even remember if my daughter had gone potty that morning, but all sorts of crazy clutter from my past was right there in the front of my mind. Like that song, "Up, Up With People," from something like 1976. Every word, too, not just one verse. And how I got in trouble in third grade for the escape of the class gerbils, even though David R left the lid off of the cage. I was in this trance from my past. Not a good place for me, even though the song was okay, and brought up good memories of class snack and those half pint chocolate milks that cost only two cents.



Fast forward to my hair appointment (which lasted four hours). I started and finished Dr. Weiss' book, Get A Grip. I'm happy to say I have. I don't know what I was thinking, but reading the book snapped me out of it. I know you are all wondering what the heck my hair looked like for someone to fuss with it for four hours. Trust me when I say, it was worth every minute.



I have to remember to balance what I want to do, and what I need to do. This is definitely a place where I struggle. It goes like this...I do things all week long for the family, friends, etc., forget all about the self care, get resentful, go on strike and do nothing, throw a pity party and overindulge in food.

I think it all started with my son's recovery from surgery (no blame, just info). Although it has been a busy time, I haven't made much time to do anything to take care of myself. It's been pretty much all about him for the past three weeks, understandably so. But I made no moves to ask for help from family members that could have easily given me an hour or two. Ah, foolish pride!



I finally think I get it!!! The self care is so important!!! Repeat after me...I will not forget my self care. I will not forget my self care. I will not forget my self care....

Caution: Watch Where You Step

Oooohhhh...I am putting it all together in my mind right now and I have no idea where the recovery stuff I learned is in all of this nonsense. Where did it go? Which exercise was it again? I do not remember. Where to begin?

I'll start somewhere in between and let you try to sort it out. If you don't understand, don't worry, neither do I. I'm just a ranting and raving fool at the moment.

As some of you may know, my husband has been actively seeking different employment, partly because he detests his boss, partly because he feels that his workplace is full of bad choices he made, not the least of which was another woman he had an inappropriate relationship with. He has worked there for sixteen years, but I am in full support of him finding something else. I really just want him to be happy.

Today, he got a very good offer from a much smaller company that is just starting to expand and needs a few more people to pick up some of the increased volume. It sounds amazing and he has done nothing but *gush* about it since he interviewed there. It is really wonderful news!

On the way home, he was talking to me from his cell phone and I mentioned that I was getting a little nervous because they will probably be giving him a going away luncheon that she will more than likely be attending. So the conversation went...and went...and we began talking about the annual office Christmas party. And somehow the subject came up about a gift that she had given him one Christmas. This was not a gift that was a part of the office's Secret Santa exchange. It was from her to him. It was just some picture frame.

The fireworks began when he told me that the gift was not a joint gift, which he originally said it was, from her and another member of her department for working on some project for their department, but a Christmas gift from her alone. Which started my Dr. Jeckyll and Mrs. Hyde routine going. I asked him if he remembered telling me that this was a joint gift from her and a coworker as a token of appreciation for working on some extended project. He didn't remember. So I started wondering why she would buy him a gift, considering she wasn't even involved in the Secret Santa, but I guess I already knew the answer to that one. So I moved on to the next logical question, but the one that was going to hurt me most, "What did *you* buy *her*?" Of course, there were more exclamation points and question marks in there, but I'm trying to be nice here. And all the while, I'm imagining all of the personal gifts he could have given her, the lingerie, the jewelry, the perfume. The answer to the $20,000 question..."I don't remember."

Following about fifteen minutes of interrogation that would make Olivia Benson and Elliot Staebler proud, I finally gave up. Believe it or not, that was pretty tame compared to how I used to be. Nine months ago, it would have lasted until the wee hours of the morning when he would have confessed to the Manson killings if I would just let him go to sleep. Progress??? No.

I am so confused as to *why* I am jumping back into the pit. I was completely unsatisfied with the "I don't know" answer. I wanted the details, I wanted to be hurt, I felt the old adrenaline rush coming over me again. I don't know why I would choose to cloud such a great moment in our lives with this same tired crap. And that's what it is, just a big fat steaming pile of crap. And right now that is what I feel like too.

I wish I could wrap this one up with a big shiny ribbon, but I'm afraid it requires yesterday's newspaper or a roll of paper towels. Sorry.