Like a truck in the mud...

I'm stuck.

I'm in what my counselor calls my "identity mode".  Meaning my mind runs and runs and runs a narrative that is not healthy or real. Identity mode is real.  I can tell because of the body tension.  It makes me physically ache and physically ill.

There are ways to get out of it.
Bridging.
Mapping.
Meditation- recognizing the thoughts and letting them go.

This last week has been hard.  Yesterday was even harder.

I reached out yesterday.
I was vulnerable with a friend and exposed my raw heart to her.

It was such a relief to have another person I don't have to HIDE from.

And she shared a sacred place with me.  It was a great day.

But I'm sad about the state of my heart.  I want to be healed.  I want LIFE to stop throwing daggers.

So I'm stuck.

Running my internal tapes.
And I recognize that.

Which is important.
But hard to get out of.
Typing helps.  The clacking of the keys is soothing.
And my "Chakra Balancing Radio" station on Pandora helps.

How do those who don't believe in a higher power or God heal?

And now I'm stuck in his recovery.
Which I recognize is not for me.
BUT it does matter to me. And it DOES affect me.

Stitches

I received some "love mail" today. You see, my dear Mom sent me a package and I got it today.  In it was this book: STITCHES: A Handbook on Meaning, Hope and Repair by Anne Lamott.  (click the link-I don't know how to link the picture)

Oh. My. Heavens.

SUCH a WONDERFUL book. Seriously.  Buy it.  I read it with an orange colored pencil in hand and highlighted MANY wonderful passages and quotes.  It's 96 pages long and yes, I read it all in the 6 hours I've had it (which if you do the math is on the slow-ish side of reading, but I promise you I took time to feed my family dinner, left over sloppy joes, and bathe the smallest wee one and put him to bed, sent the other brothers with Daddy on a project, I also let my kids watch Netflix this afternoon.)

My all time favorite quote, it has a heart by it in my book, and perhaps fellow sewers will love this as much as I do;

Sewing is the finger and heart equivalent of putting one foot in front of the other.

So many other quotes I want to share but there's a reason this one stands out.  Remember my Correspondence Course in Self Care? (If not click the link) Those strips of fabric were meticulously crafted into the beginnings of my very own quilt top.  See?

This pattern starts with sewing the strips together at angles to create the LONGEST STRIP OF FABRIC KNOWN TO MAN.  Seriously.  Football field length.  Then you fold in half sewing that strip to itself lengthwise.  Which takes FOREVER.  

This is me hard at work. Just when you think you can't sew another stitch, that you MUST be close to the end you look down and see that you're not even halfway.  It's disheartening.  So fifteen minutes later (not kidding and this is after an hour of making the longest strip known to man) you might have that first strip done.  From there on out it's easy peasy.  The rows double in size each time so the length you have to sew is 1/2 as long.  (Doesn't make sense, I know- but it's not a tutorial on how but the lesson learned.) The agony of that first strip is real.  It is hard.  It is exhausting and butt numbing.  And yet you plod on.  With hope that it won't turn out an ugly mess.  And guess what?  You were right all along.  It's wonderful and far different than you had ever imagined.  

And isn't that our journey through life?  Our journey as WoPAs? Trying to figure out how to plod on with this forever long stitch?  Having to unpick and resew when the pattern gets skiwampus? 

This is a metaphor that I will cling to.  For I've always been a pretty fearless sewer.  And now I'll start applying that to the rest of my life.  

One foot in front of the other. 

One stitch and then another.  Some unpicking.  Some re-sewing.  And a beautiful unknown pattern will reveal itself.  

These things take time.

These things take time, and time....well....where do I buy some of that stuff?  Can't I outsource to India or something?

I feel like this week I pretty much don't get a lot of time to work on recovery.  I love listening to talks and videos about healing and recovery but I can't really do that.  I like to listen because I can do other things (like dishes or laundry) while I listen.  Mind guiding instead of hating the chore I'm working on.  But I can't do that with my sweet 4 year old following me around.  He listens.  He is perceptive.  And much of this is big grownup stuff that he shouldn't have to worry about.

I spent last weekend at The Togetherness Project and it was glorious.  I spent all of Saturday getting in time I needed to connect and gain some insight and validation.  I'll probably write a legit blog post about it later.  Because that's the problem.  Now I'm back to real life.  I have 3 boys, 2, 4 and 6 and they keep me busy (as total strangers like to point out). And my husband and I are in a radio play this week that takes pretty much all the time after dinner (and I have to find a sitter on TOP of all my regular chores and hope the house isn't TOO much of a mess for a sitter).  But I digress.  Slightly.  I want healing and recovery and hope and I want it SO BADLY.  Right now I also want a maid and NAP and a laundry fairy.  But mostly the nap. But not a "Dangit my kid is crying, I wonder if I could catch 5 more minutes.....CRASH! Guess not" kind of nap. One that is actually productive and where I wake up feeling truly rested and ready for my daily battles.

But for now- I'll "make it" through today and then tomorrow and the next day. No rest for the wicked they say.  Ha. Thanks anonymous "they".  I don't feel I did any wicked to deserve no rest but there ya go.

Hopefully I'll find some sanity in the days ahead.  If not, maybe a Dr. Pepper truck could kindly install a tap at the house.

Catch ya on the flipside.


Whenever that is.

Yard Waste

I hope you'll notice the precise cropping of the photo labeling the trashcan as BS.  I thought it fit. 

     We have a bush in front of our house that I'm not really a fan of.  I can't bring myself to tear it out until I find something I like better so for now it stays.  But I don't like it.  It gets very overgrown and Sideshow Bob looking.  (Forgive me, but that is truly what I think when I see it.) 

(Image courtesy of Wikipedia)

So today I was done. I was done putting up with the ugly.  I was done pretending I like it- or at the very least don't dislike it.  I got the gloves, the pruning shears and took to work.  It was some hard work.  Pokey parts.  Sneezing: that was unexpected.  Looks from people driving by wondering why on earth I'm hacking at that bush. Right now the bush looks uglier than before, but I know it'll grow back.  

That's what we're doing in our marriage right now.  Hacking at some of the ugly stuff so there's room for fresh greenery to grow.  And labeling it for what it is, namely B.S. It's pokey, and hurts.  Sometimes it makes me feel unexpected things.  People who don't know my feelings might wonder why I'm hacking at our marriage.  

So it has room to grow.  And because I'm tired of looking at it and pretending I like it like this.