She let go.

"She let go. Without a thought or a word, she let go.

She let go of the fear. She let go of the judgments. She let go of the confluence of opinions swarming around her head. She let go of the committee of indecision within her. She let go of all the 'right' reasons. Wholly and completely, without hesitation or worry, she just let go.
She didn't ask anyone for advice. She didn't read a book on how to let go... She didn't search the scriptures. She just let go. She let go of all of the memories that held her back. She let go of all of the anxiety that kept her from moving forward. She let go of the planning and all of the calculations about how to do it just right.

She didn't promise to let go. She didn't journal about it. She didn't write the projected date in her Day-Timer. She made no public announcement and put no ad in the paper. She didn't check the weather report or read her daily horoscope. She just let go.

She didn't analyze whether she should let go. She didn't call her friends to discuss the matter. She didn't do a five-step Spiritual Mind Treatment. She didn't call the prayer line. She didn't utter one word. She just let go.

No one was around when it happened. There was no applause or congratulations. No one thanked her or praised her. No one noticed a thing. Like a leaf falling from a tree, she just let go.
There was no effort. There was no struggle. It wasn't good and it wasn't bad. It was what it was, and it is just that.

In the space of letting go, she let it all be. A small smile came over her face. A light breeze blew through her. And the sun and the moon shone forevermore."
- Ernest Holmes

Quote of the week.

"He who cannot forgive breaks the bridge over which he himself must pass."
-George Herbert

Four Years.

Here I am, sitting in my office and suddenly it hit me. I mean, HIT ME. Today is my fourth year of being sober.

I frantically begin to try and recall all the moments I have had in the last years milestones; Year One, I threw myself a party. The second, I got the tattoo I had always wanted. The third, I spent mourning my former not so sober life. And in the blink of an eye, I am at year four.

At this milestone in my sobriety, I feel a great amount of appreciation for where I am. My past has become just that, my past. Life these days seem to be moments in which I am learning to appreciate the present in great stride.

I made a decision four years ago and every single day, I find myself reinforcing this decision in varying degrees:

I recall one moment this summer where I was ready to cash in all my sober chips for a reprieve from the emotion that sometimes overwhelm me.

Another moment this year, I sat on the porch of the house I shared with my former husband and cried for the time I had spent in such turmoil. And I mourned the loss of love gone bad.

One day, I cheerfully proclaimed that being sober was the best thing in life only to counter this proclamation a few hours later with a tirade about how horrible it is not to be able to drink.

A few weeks ago, I wept with joy because I had actually stuck to such a profound decision with tenacity. Something I would never had dreamed of years ago.

And that leads me to my four year milestone. The party was had, the token tattoo, the grief. Today, I will let this milestone pass without the hoopla (save for this post). It's another day in my life, one that I am grateful for and one that I am reminded of where I am in my life today.

Sobriety weaves in and out of the emotional fabric that makes up everyday life. Some days, I find snags. Other days, I find patterns I didn't know existed. It's all a mesh of moments, both good and bad, that I find keep my sobriety from become tattered. I appreciate the intricacies and continue to mend those holes that still exist.

So, today, I thank myself for every one of those moments in the past year that bring me to another milestone. I thank all the people I love, I've lost, I've forgiven. For all the moments this year, I am appreciative.

Grow Up.

I have this security blanket.

Not some figurative pyschobabble.
Not some beaming aura over my head.
Not some philosphical translsation.

I own a shredded, thirty one year old blanket that embodies Ragedy Ann and Andy patterns long since past its prime. I mean, I hate the thing. I despise it. It's tattered and torn and sits in my closet with pieces of string barely holding it together. There are times I pull it out to wonder why the hell I keep it. I mean, what am I doing with this thing? There is little, if any, resemblance to the gift someone had once given me as a newborn (I can only imagine, anyway).

Fluffy, newly cleaned smell that makes your heart jump as you bury your head in sumptuos pile?

I don't think so.

The batting-so-old-it-hurts-your-cheeck cloth that I secretly attach to myself in the midst of personal drama? UGH. The thing bothers the piss out of me.

And here I am, a thirty-one year old woman living with the past stuffed in my closet. Pathetic.

The blanket is sitting on the top shelf in the form of a 3x3 representation of my past. A memento from a man I barely remember. A piece of fabric that continues to haunt me and my need to keep it close. I keep it tucked away save the most secret moments that I hold on to a tiny shred of past life.

At some point, life has to go on. The blanket has come to represent what I cannot remember. Feelings, emotions, pieces of life that were woven in the material. Times where the blanket may have been wrapped tightly around me by others. No faces. No memories. Just the vaguest recollection of another era.

And now there is a sense of forboding I feel just looking at it. It stares me down every morning as if to say, "Grow up and get on with your life". This piece of innocent tailorship is the epitome of my baggage in the most domestic form: My inability to come to terms with the loss of my father. My penchant for emotional toil and needless suffering. My constant state of recovery from just about everything addictive, drama included.

Tattered lives. Ragged edges. Softness shredded by such self propeled emotional wear and tear. It makes me angry. I loathe the sight of it. It's the bad relationship I have been looking to end. Over. Kaputz. Ciao. This part of my life that I have been SO ready to let go.

And the time has come to let go of keeping the skeletons warm. Life goes on. When we gain our own integrity, the security comes from life now, not some tattered shred of the past.

Grow-up time. Let go time. Burn Baby Burn time. Screw airing, the time has come to throw out the dirty laundry.

Happy Holidays.

Emotional Responsibility.

Responsibility seems to be the buzzword in life lately. Yes, being responsible entails going to work, taking care of ourselves, paying bills on time, making sure the dog is fed.

I find that making sure that the bills are paid is getting easier. Feeding the dog is necessary. Getting up and going to work is a given (though I am still always prone to think about picking up the phone when it's a beautiful day out and calling in sick, something that I don't even do anymore). But, when it comes to emotional responsibility, that requires more attention.

Emotional responsibility is one of those gray areas. We are accountable for our actions. We are responsible to ourselves and in turn, we are able to give ourselves more freely to others. When we are wrong, we should admit it, without excuses or blame. Many times we take responsibility for other people's actions so that we do not have to focus on our own. I know that I have taken on many circumstances in my life that did not belong to me. I did not have the ability to create necessary healthy boundaries to enable relationships to grow. I simply took on someone else or someone's issues and made them my own. This, along with undue stress, caused me to expend far too much energy in places I had no business.

Two days ago I realized that I am becoming more emotionally responsible each day. I let go of anger and rationalize. I think more before I react. I try to speak from reason and not from the seat of my pants. And in turn, I feel as if I have taken small steps forward in my own process. I own up to my emotions and try to be completely honest. Something that was always inconsistent.

It's a difficult process, however. Personally speaking, I had spent years shunning responsibility on a whole for the easy road. I skated through life blaming and speaking about change without ever really changing. I stopped drinking, yes, but the issues and emotions that came with that eventually overwhelmed me to the point of several confrontations and conflicts within myself.

I have accepted the fact that I may be emotionally challenged at times, but I am far from irresponsible. I understand what I am able to control what I am solely responsible for. And, I make mistakes. I falter occasionally. We all do.

I look at my emotional life in terms of a bank account these days (and why wouldn't I? I didn't have a bank account for almost four years because of my prior actions and now I have those silly checks with cartoons again). I have gotten out of emotional debt and am now working on replenishing my "savings" account. While I still worry about bouncing "emotional" checks, I've allowed myself some overdraft protection. I save, I spend, but I keep it as balanced as possible.

Last night, my love gave me one of the best unsolicited comments of our relationship yet. He said, "You are doing really well. Doing instead of talking". He also reminded me that it's okay that it's not perfect. That I am allowed to ask for help when balancing my emotional checkbook.

And to me, that again solidifies my need to be honest with myself. It's easier than blame. It allows me to contain my own life and do what's best for me, and in turn, continue to do what's best for those I love.

A long time coming....

It's hard to believe that in two months, I have put aside my sobriety for what I considered to be "life". I spent time finding a new job, spending time with my dog and saying that "tomorrow I would blog".

Tomorrow turned into days and weeks and suddenly, months. I started to lose sight of my sobriety. Though I haven't touched alcohol in almost four years, I lapsed into laziness. My focus was blurred by my need to what many people deem normal.

Normal doesn't cut it for someone in recovery. We battle self esteem issues. We strive to please everyone but ourselves at times. There's insecurity, issues trusting ourselves and the fundamental need to uncover the truth that lies within us.

And on top of that, I believe that we are challenged to be brutally honest with ourselves. And that honesty, I have found in the last two months, is sometimes painful and difficult to comprehend.

Those are the standard issues. There is also that perpetual monkey on our backs trying to coax one back into a life of irresponsiblity. And why not? It's easy. We can avoid the truth and skate through life. We can hurt those we love, leave them and never take responsiblity for it. Life as an active alcoholic allows us the freedom to lie and deceive those in our lives. It forces us to focus on everything but ourselves, the one element that needs the most attention.

This battle between life as it was and life as it is has really struck me in the last few months, as situations have forced me to put life into perspective. My reserves that I once drew upon were no longer sufficent. My morality, my character and my integrity almost became compromised at the hand of another's insecurity. I allowed myself to believe that maybe sobriety wasn't the way to go. That simply not drinking would suffice. And in the midst of this, I was trying to start a new job, new relationship and another chapter of my life.

And as I stared at a bottle of gin not too long ago, I knew that I had to begin the process of replenishing my emotional strength. I knew that if I continued to demoralize myself, to hurt myself by not living as fully as I am capable, that I would be back to a time four years prior. My drinking dreams weaved in and out of my nights. I cried for loss. I woke up panic striken that I would pick up a drink again to numb the pain I felt. I lashed out at the one man who took the time to understand me. All for the romantic notion that I could one day drink again.

So, in some ways, I feel like I am back on my path with baby steps this time. Perhaps not so much gusto, but goals and aspirations that befit my needs. That everything is not within my control and there will always be people who do not believe in change. There will also be a time where I may not be comfortable with the decision that I have made, but nonetheless, I have made a solid committment to myself and to those who continue to show love and support.

And I renew that committment to myself and my sobriety. The truth that lies within me has been in the works for many years. The road that I have put myself on remains rocky but passable.

And I have the honesty and strength that I thought to be nonexistent.

So, sobriety continues. Life continues. There are no straight answers, but many questions that will have to be put to rest for the time being. And I walk on, leaving the insecurity and negativity behind.

Quote of the Week.

"When you love someone all your saved-up wishes start coming out."
-Elizabeth Bowen

To My Old Friend.

With your grandeur, you see me

Flaxen hair flowing in the wind
Glaring eyes fixated on the world
Once nimble body riddled with the weight of the world

With your tenacity, you challenge me

Biting daggers that sink into supple skin
Flailing thoughts that overshadow reason
Once brilliant mind erroneously rotted

With your boisterous voice, you call me

Shrill notes that burn off the tongue
Gauging words that pierce the unconscious
Once copious soliloquies lay unspoken

With your unyielding stride, you chase me

Oppressive feet that command attention
Twisting steps that wring my very core
Once light as a breeze now still

With your impetuous soul, you leave me

Billowed body sailing through the trees
Floating, floating, floating
Omnipotence traversing above me

With my renewed strength, you left me

Journeying into the unknown
Leaving the shell behind
To repose my own natural instincts

Watching you become smaller
Watching you become less present

I wave goodbye, my friend
I wave goodbye, myself

Crossroads.

Many times in life, many times in sobriety we hit crossroads in our lives. How do we define them within our own lives? How do we decide which way to go?

I pose these questions because I have hit a major crossroad in my life. Which way I am going. Is this the right path? Will the path I chose be in my best interest as a sober woman?

Right before my sobriety, I left a fairly lucrative job. I left my macrocosm and began to weave myself tightly into a secure web. I surrounded myself with support. I left friends, lovers, and acquaintances behind. I brought my life down to a manageable scale. This enabled me to live well. To live sober. I became a large fish in a small pond. I took turns in my life I had no idea existed. I painted. I wrote. I lived through my sobriety with commanding grace and awareness. Yet, through this growth, I suddenly realized that I missed the largeness in my life. I decided I wanted to become a big fish in a big pond. And succeed where I had succeeded before. This time, sober.

And now, here I stand. At a professional and personal crossroad. My life is full. My sobriety has become part of my skin, my beauty in life. Yet, I feel as if my big world is enticing me to return.. Take bigger risks. Go back into a profession I deeply loved. Return to a world I only knew when drinking. And return sober.

Am I strong enough to return back to the pace I kept, the largeness I once embraced while drinking with now sober arms? Can I maintain the integrity and passion I feel for sobriety? Can I walk down this path with new steps?

How do we as sober women deal with the crossroads in our lives? The major decisions that help define our everyday lives? How do we successfully pick the right path without jeopardizing the time we’ve spent securing the road we are on?

Quote of the week.

Listen to the silence in between the sounds. And you will greatly improve your understanding of all that you hear.

Experience the stillness in between your thoughts. And your thoughts will have greater power, greater meaning, greater purpose.

Give just as much care and attention to the relaxation between the efforts as you do to the actual efforts. And those efforts will become immensely more effective.

When life gets too far out of balance, it cannot continue on that same path for very long. When the noise, the frenzy and the striving seem overwhelming, direct your focus to the silence, the stillness, the time for relaxation.

Give your awareness not only to the things that demand it. Give your awareness also to the quiet, peaceful stillness from which those things arise.

In between the sounds, in between the thoughts, in between the efforts, the sights, the complexities and the activities, there is much treasure to be found. In between the demands of the outer world, is the inner substance to keep you going.

-- Ralph Marston (www.dailymotivator.com)

The Game.

Unable to decide between what is right

And what is wrong

Without parameters

Without definition

I ask for help.

I ask for directions as to how to play this horrible game

That I did not ask to play

Quickly, I am chastised.

Confronted and ready.

For questioning the unwritten rules.

And I falter emotionally.

I am confused.

I am concerned.

I hold fast to this newfound honesty.

I will remain faithful to those I love.

And my love for them is deep.

But, I wonder,

Does this game ever end?

Quote of the week.

"The real questions are the ones that obtrude upon your consciousness whether you like it or not, the ones that make your mind start vibrating like a jackhammer, the ones that you "come to terms with" only to discover that they are still there. The real questions refuse to be placated. They barge into your life at the times when it seems most important for them to stay away. They are the questions asked most frequently and answered most inadequately, the ones that reveal their true natures slowly, reluctantly, most often against your will."
-Ingrid Bengis

A moment that changed my tears.

Yesterday, I drove home crying.
I was sad.
I was distraught about life.

Yesterday, the phone kept ringing.
My mother, my friend.
Chattering, chattering, chattering.
While I was consumed with my life.

Yesterday, I sat with a friend.
I was venting.
I was hurting.
I talked his ear off.

Yesterday, the phone rang again.
It was my friend’s mother.
His father had shot himself.

Silence.

One single moment.

Yesterday, I realized,
My worries were no longer significant.
My tears fell quickly for someone else.

Yesterday, he would change.
His father’s life,
Was more significant than the problems
I thought were important.

Yesterday, I sat in silence
As my friend left for his impending doom.

Yesterday, I cried for someone other than myself.
For the first time in five years, I looked to the sky,
And prayed for life.

A Letter.

Dear Life,

I am writing to apologize for neglecting you for the last few years. I am sorry that I have sat on the sideline and watched you go by as I sit in my own frenzy of overcommitment, emotional upheaval and dramatic intervals. So many times, I've missed you. So many times, I've wondered what it would be like to know you again. But, I've had my reasons to keep my distance. I had to go inside of myself and find out why I was put here to begin with.

In the last three years, I've needed the break. Being alone, being a spectator instead of a mad participant has given me the appreciation I once lacked. I now know how important you are to me.

You are the one relationship I cannot ignore. You are the one relationship that I must strive to have consistently in my everyday routine. And you are the one thing I can count on everyday.

So, I am ready to return to the land of the living. I am ready to participate with an open mind and an open heart.

I hope you are ready to jump back in and let me show you who I've become and how much I've changed. I do love you with such passion and zeal, that I couldn't be me without you.

Love,

Kim

Quote of the week.

"Unless you have integrity, being honest means nothing."

In one fleeting moment...

I grew a set of balls.
I decided to grab strength and fly solo.
I let go.
I became THAT woman.

and now...

I am ready.

Quote of the week.

"The weak can never forgive. Forgiveness is the attribute of the strong."
-Mahatma Gandhi

Walking in Sober Shoes.

When I first came into recovery in 2002, I manifested my addiction for alcohol into an addiction for buying shoes. For months in my early sobriety, I would scour the Internet for shoes. Used shoes. New Shoes. Ferragamo. Prada. Keds. Gucci. Anything. I quickly filled my closet with over fifty pairs.

And now, over three years later, I face the arduous task of throwing out my obsession from the beginning days of trying to walk in a different life. Most, if not all, of the shoes sit collecting dust in the bottom of my closet. A box sits outside waiting to go to the nearest Thrift Store for some other person's obsession. And the pure silliness of it makes me ponder why I was buying so frivolously

I think back to those early days. The times where I was trying so damn hard to do anything besides drink. Maybe it was an indication that I was trying to embark on a new path in life. Perhaps it was a hope that I was normal. That buying shoes would somehow ease the rough road I was faced with.

Today, I laugh at my insane shopping spree. To see a collection of my early days of sobriety makes me appreciate where I am today. These days, the only shoes I look to fill are sober shoes.

My sober shoes aren’t too hard to fill. I walk miles and miles through my life as a sober woman. I tread lightly on those paths that are painful and walk slowly through the magnificent times in my life. My steps are steadier than they were three years ago but every once in a while, I trip a bit on my journey. But, my sober shoes fit me to a tee. They are more comfortable than any other pair I have owned. They are slightly worn but sturdy. And I am able to travel well in my sober life.

And it represents how we do walk in this journey. That my shoes may be different than yours, but we all continue on this recovery path. It's a walk that I am grateful to be doing everyday of my life. Each day are new steps. Each mile is a battle won.

So, I no longer need the ridiculous culmination of my early recovery. I'm over it. Shoes are shoes and my dog eats most of them anyway. So, if anyone is looking for gently used size 9US Jimmy Choos, let me know, they are still in the box. I have my own pair that have grown into the perfect fit.

The Four Agreements.

I had to add this to the blogroll. I read this book about three years ago and still use these agreements today:

From the Four Agreements-
Everything we do is based on agreements we have made. In these agreements we tell
ourselves who we are, what everyone else is, how to act, what is possible, and
what is impossible. What we have agreed to believe creates what we experience.

When these agreements come from fear, blocks and obstacles develop keeping us from realizing our greatest potential.

Based on ancient Toltec wisdom , the Four Agreements offer a powerful code of
conduct that can rapidly transform our lives and our work into a new experience of effectiveness, balance and self supporting behavior.

BE IMPECCABLE WITH YOUR WORD
Speak with integrity. Say only what you mean. Avoid using the word to speak against yourself or to gossip about others. Use the power of your word in the direction of truth and love.

DON'T TAKE ANYTHING PERSONALLY
Nothing others do is because of you. What others say and do is a projection of their own reality, their own dream. When you are immune to the opinions and actions of others, you won't be the victim of needless suffering.

DON'T MAKE ASSUMPTIONS
Find the courage to ask questions and to express what you really want.
Communicate with others as clearly as you can to avoid misunderstandings, sadness, and dram With just this one agreement, you can completely transform your life.

ALWAYS DO YOUR BEST
Your best is going to change from moment to moment; it will be different when you are healthy as opposed to sick. Under any circumstance, simply do your best, and you will avoid self-judgement, self-abuse, and regret.

The Four Agreements Site

henry bean. 

Love.

"To fall in love is easy, even to remain in it is not difficult; our human loneliness is cause enough. But it is a hard quest worth making to find a comrade through whose steady presence one becomes steadily the person one desires to be."
-Anna Louise Strong

Today, I realize that I appreciate the love that I have in my life. Whether it be distant love, love that surrounds me or love that has evolved into other forms. It's all love. And for that, I am grateful. And even in the face of adversity, love helps me to get through life. And in the wake of happiness, I live.

Letting Go.

"She let go. Without a thought or a word, she let go.

She let go of the fear. She let go of the judgments. She let go of the confluence of opinions swarming around her head. She let go of the committee of indecision within her. She let go of all the 'right' reasons. Wholly and completely, without hesitation or worry, she just let go.

She didn't ask anyone for advice. She didn't read a book on how to let go... She didn't search the scriptures. She just let go. She let go of all of the memories that held her back. She let go of all of the anxiety that kept her from moving forward. She let go of the planning and all of the calculations about how to do it just right.

She didn't promise to let go. She didn't journal about it. She didn't write the projected date in her Day-Timer. She made no public announcement and put no ad in the paper. She didn't check the weather report or read her daily horoscope. She just let go.

She didn't analyze whether she should let go. She didn't call her friends to discuss the matter. She didn't do a five-step Spiritual Mind Treatment. She didn't call the prayer line. She didn't utter one word. She just let go.

No one was around when it happened. There was no applause or congratulations. No one thanked her or praised her. No one noticed a thing. Like a leaf falling from a tree, she just let go.

There was no effort. There was no struggle. It wasn't good and it wasn't bad. It was what it was, and it is just that.

In the space of letting go, she let it all be. A small smile came over her face. A light breeze blew through her. And the sun and the moon shone forevermore."

- Ernest Holmes

Prince Charming or someone like that.

“The greatest happiness of life is the conviction that we are loved - loved for ourselves, or rather, loved in spite of ourselves”.
-Victor Hugo

I find myself in one of the most precarious positions in my relationship life thus far. For the first time, I am suddenly realizing that what I am getting from my relationship simply isn’t enough anymore.

How can that be? I should be happy that I have someone in my life. I should be elated that I have put closure to a long time love that I had grieved for the last three years. But, I think about the parameters of my current relationship and it just leaves me feeling empty. And it drives me nuts.

I sit here and psychoanalyze myself until I am blue in the face. Yes, I lost my father when I was young, so am I searching for him again? Do I have enough self worth to walk away from someone that cannot give me what I need? Am I too demanding to want respect and consistency in my life?

Ugh, the questions that go with responsible relationship analysis.

And what is it that we want in relationships. Acceptance for faults? Unconditional love? Someone to share our lives with?

Of course.

But, to put it simply, I want to be loved as much as I love. It’s been so long, I sometimes forget what it’s like to just relax and not do cartwheels in front of my significant other. I am trying to get him to love me with no avail because I am petrified of my other options. Perhaps it’s not him, but me who is afraid to commit to intimacy. And I know that something is probably not right between us, but I insist on finding out what exactly it is instead of letting go.

And why is that? What inside of my heart and mind that makes it so difficult to be with someone else? Why am I so scared of myself?

So, tonight, I am going to do my best to enjoy the company I keep. I will try and keep cartwheels to a bare minimum and enjoy what we do have. Either that or publish a WANTED poster for Prince Charming.

Boundaries.

A friend of mine has a great website on boundaries that I revisit often in life. Setting boundaries simply allows a person to let go of what they cannot control and become more aware of what is within us, both good and bad.

After three years of being public with my recovery on-line and in the world (see Glamour, December 2004), it still surprises me that when I visit the statistics on my website and blogs, I realize there are certain people who visit everyday (especially the AOL ones that are visiting several times a day). Every week, there are more and more people who look on my sites for information. And sometimes, it's scary. It makes me rethink my position on being so public with my recovery. And then, I reread my own personal goals and boundaries that I have set for myself and I know that I speak from my heart. And sharing and writing is something that is very honest to me. We can only do what we know and hope that we learn more everyday in life. And we learn from other people. We learn from mistakes. We learn from crossing boundaries and creating them. We learn from being the person we were meant to be and knowing that this may not sit well with everyone, there are so many people who benefit from sharing in life.

And with that, we are able to let go of fear and keep writing and writing and writing.

Quote of the week.

Sticks and stones are hard on bones
Aimed with angry art,
Words can sting like anything
But silence breaks the heart.
~Suzanne Nichols

Anger

There are times in my life when I feel such anger that it comes up through my body and sits, ready to be fired out of my mouth. It causes me such distress that I sometimes shutter.

And I feel alone.

And I feel taken advantage of.

And hurt.

And pissed off.

And it is a complete feeling of awareness that something needs to change. Do I change my life completely? What do I need to change to make myself less angry and resentful? What EXACTLY is making me feel these emotions? And how do I continue to be positively constructive when I feel beat down by negativity?

Closure.

How much easier would life be if we could close one door and open another? If there were magic keys that could lock up the past or ones to open the future. Ha, life is never that simple.

For the first time in my life, I am suddenly beginning to feel a sense of closure. It started with an e-mail and eventually transpired into a life event that made closing the door a bit easier. It was a validation from my past. I was acknowledged. I had been loved. And that's all I needed to hear. And now, I stand in front of my past with its heavy door inching towards total closure.

Today, I feel at peace with decisions I have made, mistakes and imperfections that I have learned to live with. I know my limitations, but I also realize the capacity I have to begin again.

So, I have decided to open another door that's been closed for the last three years. Though I had been knocking and knocking with no avail. Things are changing.
I know the reasons why I am here. I know the reasons that I have for trying love once again. I deserve it. Love lives within my heart. And I now have the keys in my hand. And a lifetime of love ahead.

You Get Exactly What You Settle For.

Life lives up to your expectations. No more, but often less.

If you expect -- and settle for -- nothing less than a fabulous life that fulfills all your dreams, that's what you'll find a way to have.

But if you ever settle for anything less -- and why you settle doesn't matter -- less is all you get. If your life is unfulfilling and unhappy, or even if it's just okay, or not quite "there", it's only because you allow it to be that way.

It's such a simple concept -- never settle for less than you really want. But you were taught that "you can't have everything you want." "Sometimes you just have to settle for second place." Or
worse: "You don't deserve it."

Well, guess what -- you do deserve it! but you can only claim it when you refuse to settle for anything else.

What have you settled for that is less than you truly desire? And how does that feel? Can you live with that? Do you WANT to live with that? Have you ever refused to settle for less and received EXACTLY what you did want?

You can have that every time, simply by refusing to settle for anything less.


--Excerpted from
Lee Watters
Life Mentor and Author, "3 Days To A Life That Works: How To Reset Your Defaults For Happiness And Success"

The truth.

The truth is...........

That my sobriety is my only consistent source of strength.
I am waiting for someone.
I am scared of the future.
I am scared of the present.
Everything in the world is going for me.
I have difficulty finding peace within myself.

I will....

Remind myself that sobriety is my rock.
Stop looking out the window for the one I love to return.
Look forward to the future.
Love the present.
Continue striving to be the best woman I can be.
Find peace within my heart.

Life: The Five Year Plan.

Last night the man in my life asked where I see myself in five years. Five years? Ouch.

Five years from now, I can hope to be many things. I can hope to be sober, successful and true to my beliefs. I can aspire to be more comfortable in my own skin. I can dream about working portionately less and playing considerably more. I can hope and aspire to a time five years from now, but will it matter when it's today that really counts?

Where will I be? Who will I be? The more important question is that wherever I am, at that point in my life, will I be living to my fullest capacity? Am I bringing the most to my life today, tomorrow AND five years from now?

So, I sat down and thought about a five year plan. I wrote feverishly this morning....goal setting, planning, categorizing my life on one 5x7 piece of journal paper. I wrote down all the scenarios I could see myself in...and all the ones I could not. I made a list of the people I wanted in my life and the people to take off the Christmas list. I thought about money I may make and the money I may spend on various personal amenitites. I may be with my man. I may not. The possibilities seem endless to me at this point, where once they were limited.

And then it hit me. I can plan to my heart's content but life is unpredictable. Perhaps I will finally teach in Ghana. Perhaps I will be strong and woman enough to get all the things that I want on my list. Perhaps I will not even live to see five years from now....Perhaps is not a word I find favorably in my personal dicitionary. To me, "perhaps" is an excuse. "I will" becomes my mantra.

In five years, I will be flying out of the holding pattern I sometimes find myself in. In five years, I will continue the plan that includes living in the present. In five years, I will still not be able to take back the past and predict the future.

So, five years from now, I may be living in a different place or I may have different people in my life, but I will still be the woman I am today.....perhaps with some more gray hair, but very much of the same determination and will to live life.

Stuck in a chess game.

Every so often, I get stuck in one single moment and finding my way is difficult.

Today, life is like a chess game. Black and white squares make up the patterns of emotion. At times, I feel like the King (or Queen to be correct). Invincible. Strong. The last one standing. Other times, I feel like I am the pawn waiting to be overtaken. Jumping through hoops. Waiting for my fate. In one moment, I am reality checked.

And I sit and wonder if there is in fact, some kind of resolution. Do I continue to pursue those aspects in my life that are, in fact, not moving in the direction I want? Do I continue to play the game or do I simply concede and walk away?

A tough decision considering that life's clock is ticking all the while. Every move I ponder leads to another move. Every decision affects the one thereafter. And time is of the essence. Life is not standing still while I decide. Life is moving while I am sitting playing the game.

So, I am tempted to get up and throw the game. Throw my own curve into the mix and simply just walk away instead of agonizing over the next move.

And perhaps, I will walk by and find another game. And I will play by my own rules.....

Quote of the week.

"...and you realize in the midst of your failure,
you were slowly building the life that you wanted anyway."

-Alice Sebold, "The Lovely Bones"

How to be imperfect.

I always thought that perfect was tres desirable. That candles and four star dinners were par for the course. Music, lighting, ambience, all of it for a night of being with friends. I find that I need to package my life. I look for the ideal and strive to make it even more desirable. Noone comes into my life without a theme night or a reason that I could have easily conjured from a hallmark card. And don't even get me started on Hallmark cards.

I have almost been to the point of perfection obsession. I pour over cookbooks. I place magazines strategically in the living room. Wine Spectator? Come on, I am a recovering alcoholic with the latest issue prominently displayed in my library. I spray annoying room spray that secretly drives me crazy. I have Girls Night In with all the trimmings. If I actually used tupperware, I am sure I would host the party myself. Martha Stewart? Rachel Ray? Nothing on me. I can command a perfect evening even when I am about ready to fall over with exhaustion. I rarely even stop to taste what I am cooking. Rarely do I engage in conversation with my guests. Rather, I try to make everyone as comfortable and happy as possible, even if it means sacrificing my own need. I have actually become despondent instead of throwing in my own two cents at a debating dinner party. And if you knew me, I have a voice that could debate for hours.

And for what reason? What is it that makes me go to great lengths of perfection? With some thought and self-psychoanalysis, I find I am looking for some reassurance that I am "normal". I am afraid of what is inside me. Will people accept me if I am not the perfect host? The perfect girlfriend? The perfect woman with an imperfect past? I am unsure of myself as a sober woman. I am hiding among the issues of Vogue, a diary of all of my shortcomings. I count them daily and then quickly proceed to disguise them with fondue. Or room spray. Or a matching set of dishes straight out of Pottery Barn. I can conjure up all the reasons that I am not perfect and squash them with a good house cleaning and serious redecoration. I am learning the ins and outs of my life. The ins and outs of my personality. Limitations. Boundaries. Qualities that make me fabulous. Qualities that make me human. Things that I need to improve and things I do not. And in the process, I am trying to learn that I will be accepted by some and rejected by others.

Would anyone still love me if they knew that I have smelly feet? Or that I can't stand to shower with my expensive soap that comes neatly packaged in a bottle? That I cry at the drop of a hat or I listen to the sappy music? That I seldom do my dishes and I eat in bed with numerous books at my side? Would I still be viewed as a woman with passion and creativity coming out of my ears? Would I spend the rest of my life alone if anyone knew that I sometimes skip running and watch infomercials on TV for hours on end?

Fast foward to epiphany #1241. Last night, I fell asleep on the couch with my man beside me. I didn't wake up when he went to bed. I couldn't move a muscle. I wouldn't be able to scratch his back and make sure he was sleeping soundly. I stayed there, unconscious, happy, fed and full from a long and wonderful day. It didn't matter that we'd had a spat that day. We had already made up. Sleeping on the couch didn't signify anything other than a moment when I decided I was just too damn tired to move. No issues. No alterior motives. It just simply was what it was.

And I woke up this morning, and he was still there...undeniable grateful, I am sure, that he had the bed to himself, but there nonetheless. In my moment of self induced imperfection, he stayed. He didn't leave. He didn't decide that I was strange or weird because I had curled up with the blanket instead of him.

So, this morning, I left a house full of dishes. Those are for him to do. I didn't have time to make coffee or Eggs Benedict. My curly hair, being naturally imperfect, was askew. My shirt,a stain on it that I may not have hidden so well with the trenchcoat. I kissed him goodbye, grabbed some easter chocolate and headed out the door at 7am. All in all, I have simply decided that perfection is not my forte. I am far from it. But learning who I am, imperfections and all, is the package deal I may have been looking for all along.

I wish Sober was another word: A Rant.

There are many times in the last three years that I find myself trying to define the word sober. Sober. Sobriety. Not drinking. Recovery. Change in life.

The dictionary defines sober:

* Habitually abstemious in the use of alcoholic liquors or drugs; temperate.
* Not intoxicated or affected by the use of drugs.
* Plain or subdued: sober attire.
* Devoid of frivolity, excess, exaggeration, or speculative imagination; straightforward: gave a sober assessment of the situation.
* Marked by seriousness, gravity, or solemnity of conduct or character. See Synonyms at serious.
* Marked by circumspection and self-restraint.

Self restraint? Devoid of excess or speculative imagination? The question arises in my own head....have I become boring and morose in my sober life? Have I become plagued with seriousness because I have chosen this path?

In the last three years, I have also found myself having to defend and define my sober life. "Why don't you drink?" "What happened to make you stop?" "Are you WEIRD?" "YOU DON'T GO OUT?" "Have you no fun in your life?"

Well, I think to myself tirelessly, life is just different.

What happened to make me cease drinking habitually for the majority of my young adult life? Well, I guess things were just not working the way I wanted. Nothing significant happened, per se. Yes, I hit bottom, but not in any spectacular fashion. I just got sober. I simply took out an element of my life that caused me pain. And now, I find that people have a difficult time grasping the concept.

And when did I become so concerned about what people think? Years ago, I could get drunk, stand on a bar and proclaim my love for Jimmy Buffett in song without skipping a beat. I could fall down the stairs at a restaurant and simply smile and say, "oopsie". But, we live in a world surrounded by alcoholic intentions. It's part of our society and part of the way we chose to socialize. Not a day goes by that does not include a reference to alcohol. And I accept that with the grace of a woman who has made a choice. But, damn it, it's still frustrating as hell.

I actually watch people watch me at parties. I see them double glancing at my martini glass making sure that there is nothing stronger than Diet Coke in my glass. And these people never knew me BEFORE! If they had, the would know that I rarely drank martinis. I play the part with little fanfare. I participate in the charade of the drinking world with my own sober theatrics. And when I arrive home to my bed, I collapse with the exhaustive sigh of someone in recovery. I have worked to make everyone feel comfortable for the choices I have made...and for a moment, I wish I could replace the word sober with some amazing adjective that would wipe away the stigma of my decisions. The stigma of all my past mistakes. . And yes, I wish I could replace sober with just about any other word in the English language.

And in all of these quandries, I sometimes find myself questioning my motives. Why am I really doing this? Meeting people that I never knew existed. Constantly searching for my own soapbox to stand on. My purpose. My MO. When before I was simply a woman with a drinking problem. I did not publicize my life on such a vehement scale. I was never a hippie, cause- related type of woman. I drank. I got drunk. I caused some drama and then went home to pass out.

Now, things are different. I have made a choice that has changed my life. I will not change the fact that I am sober, so sober it is.

So, I have taken the liberty in redefining the word sober in my own glorified dicitonary.

sober (adj.): respect for one's own self. Self assured, self-aware and unconcerned with those people who just don't get the reasons for this journey.

And for those of you who drink, life on the other side is not bleak and weary. Blisters do not appear when in the presence of someone sober.

Buzzword: Focus

I thought when I became sober over three years ago that I was a focused woman. I focused so hard on getting sober. I focused on my recovery. And somehow, with all my focusing, I lost sight of all the other aspects of my life.

Now my new mantra is focusing on the moment. When I am at the corporate job, I focus on work. When I am ripping up carpet at home, I am focused on home improvement. It becomes a matter of staying in the moment and realizing what's important and necessary to each aspect of life.

So, instead of driving while thinking of all the things that are going wrong in the world, my bills, my love life, the fact that the floors are STILL not done in my house, my childhood, my future and what I may have for lunch ALL before I turn out of the driveway, I have decided to focus simply on the road ahead.

It makes life a bit simpler.

Early Days of Sobriety

In the earliest days of my sobriety, life was black and white. When I did not drink, I was happy. Pounds of emotional weight came off my shoulders. Everything was evident, in clear view of my happiness. I knew that not drinking, that being sober, was the door I had opened.

I had yet, early on, to look down the hallway of my life. I was so focused on closing the door on my drinking life that I never realized that other doors existed. I look back and see my reflection from my first anniversary of being sober. I was just so happy to be a sober woman. That was my identity. When I did not drink, I was happy.

Other doors stood waiting to be opened. Others were waiting to be closed. No longer was I able to see things from a distance, I was now forced to walk inside. I suddenly needed to examine the voids and discrepancies that made up all the years before my sobriety. I had to learn to appreciate where I had been. Who made up this sober woman? I had to let go of everything I knew and plunge into all that is unknown. I had to learn about the woman beneath the skin. What inspired me? What hurt? Who was I?

And this scared me. I panicked quite frequently. I had angst over my decisions, my thoughts, and my emotion. Things were no longer complacent in the simplicity of black and white. The gray was beginning to reveal itself in my life and I was trying to learn not to slam the door upon its entrance. I was learning my own boundaries. Adding more and more shades of gray to my own emotional palette. Every choice and decision I made was purely based on the sense that I was trying to make of life. My life then. My life now. Lives that I could no longer separate. So many times, it was a screaming match between my old and new life. My heart, the mediator.

For a time, I wandered aimlessly down the hallway, missing the doors in front of me. The unsettling feeling of choosing between my old and new life came and went. Comfort in sobriety could ground me for brief moments in time. And many of the keys to my doors seemed to lie in the very essence of the choice I made some time ago.

Here I am, suddenly, my second year. I won the battle of becoming sober. Yet now, I relinquish the battle between black and white. I have neither won nor lost. I have simply taken a step back and choose to fight for the beliefs I have in my heart. I have chosen to let the battle go on without my heart on the front line. I've let go of the need for answers to every question within my soul. Some of the doors in my life will continue to remain closed. New ones will open. But, what has become the most important lesson is that I hold the key. Every door I choose is because my heart feels it is right. Every door I leave shut is my heart letting go. My heart, my sobriety is the key. And I carry it with me down the hallway of life

Greetings From the Bottom

My entire life has been a cycle of wanting to live with vengeance and needing to numb the constant pain I feel. Pain that I found unbearable. Numbing entailed irresponsibility. Denial. Aloofness. Any way to keep myself from feeling fledging terror and anger has been my modus operandi. The hurt. The pain. All these things exist in depression. So, I began the arduous task of researching the label for this pain I have been feeling since I can remember:

Adversity, anguish, calamity, cross, crux, difficulty, disease, disorder, distress, grief, hardship, illness, infirmity, misery, misfortune, ordeal, pain, plague, plight, scourge, sickness, sorrow, suffering, torment, trial, tribulation, trouble, woe

It’s astounding that all of the aforementioned synonyms can be applied to an emotional process. Some of you think of it as drama. I think of it as my daily existence. I cannot distinguish between what is truly detrimental and what simply exists as life. I cannot express my anger and rage towards the people who cause it. Instead, I have turned inward. What you see when you are hurt is what I see each hour of my day. The sense of impending doom hinders my ability to live in a moment. I retreat. I create fantasies to ease my sense of reality.

And in doing this, my life illustratively becomes vast acreage. A pliable bit of earth in which I call home. I live on my expansive piece of proverbial property and see the many holes I have dug over the last thirty years. The holes I bury my emotions. The holes I bury the hatred and anger that I am afraid to set free. The hole I must dig to feel protected from my own enraging heart.

The holes in which I dig aren’t unique. They are the same holes you may dig when you feel panic. Or grief. In your world, these are small concaves. The difference is that I live in these holes. I rarely find myself on the outside looking in. Instead, I am constantly on the inside looking out. Watching lives being led with true zeal for happiness. While I sit underneath life, enveloped in angst.

Three weeks ago I dug one of my holes so deep, I thought I might not make it out intact. I was in such conflicting darkness that my eyes could barely distinguish any light. When I dove in, I forgot to bring my tools. My flashlight. My shovel. I simply dug and dug with raw, aching fingers. And this is where I remained. Time passed so slowly, I was unable to calculate just how long I had been underground. Nothing sustained like the darkness I felt. I withdrew from reality and sat in a quiet numbness that only one suffering this affliction can feel. I mourned. I grieved. I panicked. Yet these feelings seemed to pass in front of me in those shadows. I was unable to feel anything but my own self-pity. My emotions so raw that I worried that I may bleed to death. I was a product of my own rigorous self-deprecation. Constantly berating myself for feeling so deeply.

My hand reached out. My raw, tormented fingers barely reached out of the hole. I found a sliver of light that was able to help me regain some awareness. Suddenly the darkness became scarier than the life that was waiting for me. I reached and reached. I was waiting for someone to grab my hand. And, someone did. He inadvertently put his hand out and I grabbed it. I used it to hoist me from deep within the confines of my misery. A tiny move upward saved me from burying myself completely. I was given the opportunity to start the climb back up from the bottom.

And this climb entails a considerable amount of recognition. Recognizing that this darkness is a disease within itself. That the feelings I possess are not simply figments of my overactive imagination. They are real and validated. What you feel is different than those feelings I have. I walk along life scared. Scared to feel. Scared to be hurt and rejected. I tread heavily on my property, searching the parameters for a way out. A path. An exit. You may or nay not live near me. You may have holes, but they are not similar to the deep depressions in life.

So, I say: Greetings from the bottom. Where I have begun to unearth those emotions that have been buried so long. I am no longer digging downward. I have begun the laborious task of filling in the holes that are no longer part of my present. I move dirt to make way for acknowledgement. I find that I am throwing seeds over to begin the new growth. I am extending my hand to those who will take it. I am the caretaker of my property.

copyright, 2005

Journeys

Over two and a half years ago, I started my journey into a new life.

The beginning was the easiest leg of my journey. Results were tangible. Everyday I didn't drink, I was one step ahead of my life for the previous fifteen years. I went through physical changes; losing weight, my body detoxing, and patterns in my sleep changed significantly. The first few months I was able to see that my choice was a good one. Not drinking was the ONLY road I traveled on at that point.

After a few months, drinking was no longer the focus of my journey. The reality of my journey began to set in. I started walking through the weeds and bumbles of my life. I felt uprooted. Pieces of my past sprouted up along the way. I had to hack at them with all my strength to continue walking down the path I wanted to create. I was learning how to be sober.

Being sober entails a bit more than not drinking. It means changing all things that are comfortable. It means leaving people who are harmful. Leaving old behaviours for new ones. Being sober means that you have left one life and began a new one. And at times, this decision that I had made weighed heavily on my heart. Did I really want this life? Did I really want the stigma I thought was attached to being sober? I wrestled with my decisions every day of my life. Every step I made in one direction meant I was leaving a familiar place.

And the grieving began. I mourned the loss of my old life. I was waving goodbye to all those esoteric things that I had known for so long. Visions of my life before flooded my dreams. I was anxious. Guilty. Angry. But I muddled through this tulmultous part of the journey. I missed my old self. Missed the drama and dysfunction that I had deeply rooted myself in. But, somehow, I just kept moving forward until my pathway was free of past weeds. Suddenly, after a long period of mourning, I was walking with a lighter step.

After my first year, I started the next leg of my journey. Sobriety was easier. Not drinking was no longer an issue. Finding out who I was became the task. In doing this, I have walked down several paths. I have tested some directions that were unsucessful. I used my art to help my find out what needed working on. I wrote and wrote until I was blue in the face. I read every book I could get my hands on. I diligently went to therapy. I asked questions. I was introspective. I looked for my spirituality. I posted. I chatted. All these things to find out who that person I had hidden away really was.

And for some reason, I hit a major roadblock. No longer was sobriety the focus on my life. I was just Kim. And that scared me so much, I almost faltered. I thought about sabatoging the work that I had done so I wouldn't find out who I was. I was petrified to peel the layers of my life. I had dreams that I was drinking again. I had thoughts of drinking all day and night. Anything, ANYTHING to keep myself from really knowing who I was. I did not believe I deserved the life I was living. It was a very painful leg of my journey. But, in the end, some strength inside of me took over. I never stepped off the path. I kept going in spite of the immense fear I felt.

And that brings me to now. Today, it's a slightly different story. I am on the journey to discover myself in the most pure and real form. I look forward to who I am and where I am meant to be. I live life with so much passion, I am exhausted at the end of the day. I kiss my nieces and nephews. I smile at the Gas Station guy. I no longer feel the need to escape myself and the choices I have made. Every choice I make is grounded in my new life. Believe me, I struggle still. But, it's such a real struggle that it feels so good when it's resolved with a clear mind and spirit. I am on the path to reformulating those things that are most important to me. I am walking towards the life I want. And my sneakers bear the brand of sobriety.

So, my journey may or may not be like yours. You maybe on Day one or Day one thousand. Everyday, it's a new path. New steps. And it's amazing to be able to say that we are able to see the changes and growth. We are fully aware, at every stage of this journey.

The Last Glass.

I started with twenty-four. Twenty-four Waterford wine glasses. It was weeks before my wedding to the man I so arduously loved. Some were gifts from my family. Many were gifts from our friends. The blue boxes with white ribbon poured in like the wine collection I so astutely built. I took each one out of the box, unwrapping their delicate tissue. The chardonnay glasses with their spindled stems- as if ready to be caressed by the sophisticated hand. Waiting for the candlelight to pour through, reflecting romantic evenings. The cabernet glasses with their wide mouths waiting for a supple reward. I could tilt the glass back to meet the succulence in my lips. Finally, my most cherished eight..the Bordeaux glasses. They were the generals in my army. The glasses were heavier in weight yet far more elegant than the rest. I sat waiting for the right vintage to begin my revolution.

I whimpered when I broke the first six. Three months after my nuptials to the man I thought I loved. The expensive vintage collection began to dwindle. In its place came the bottles that I found at a local winery. Not a bottle from Georges Duboeuf, but some fine wine. A large soiree, friends mingling around the fire. Forbidden fruit poured endlessly by the gracious host, who was subsequently in the Garden of Eden herself. Words began to unfold and emotions began to erupt. First went the chardonnays. Thrown with such vigilance. Aimed right at my beloveds head. There went two hundred dollars towards the refrigerator door. Tearfully, I swept up the shards of glass. But, alas there were eighteen more. I still had the reds. In my battle, I had lost a troupe but still had soldiers.

I cried when I broke the next four. In the early light of spring, I reached for a glass. My coordination stifled by my constant imbibing. I poured a bottle of inexpensive cabernet into my tall glass. I no longer took trips to the winery anymore. I had been there far too often; my face was beginning to be recognized by the patrons. I searched for replacements and conjured up my imaginary wineries in Southern France. I could pretend. I could pretend that my wine rack was not empty. I could pretend that I was not alone. I was drinking away the grief that his silence caused. The grace of the Waterford could not still my shaking hands. I dropped them. Four of my best friends dropped in one evening. With such ferocity, I tried to save them. I had my own personal drunken funeral for my glasses. Tossed into the trash compactor.

I sobbed when he took the next eight. Fall had come. He left with the decanter. The wonderful Waterford decanter. With it etchings so meticulously set in the glass. He lovingly wrapped up the reds and left me with six. He continued the romance, the love affair with elegance and sonnets. Only, my glasses were now empty on the shelf. No life seeped into them. No reflection from candles would burn again. Dust began to choke my thirst. And the flames had been extinguished. Candlelight would no longer pour through the same glass. The wine bottles taken to a new place. To begin a new life. Without me.

I panicked when I broke the next five. One more left. I no longer looked at the glasses with a fervent eye. I used them for anything that could numb the pain. Vineyards had stopped producing the fruit of my garden. In its place found the weeds of alcohols existence. I could only bring myself to lift the glass if it contained venom. I had begun to despise the glasses for the life that used to be contained in them. Glamour had ceased to exist. The clanging of glasses was not in toast but in concerted effort to forget celebration. If the glass was not full, I panicked. Pouring into the loneliest, endless black hole. But not even the last of the glasses could sustain the ache. I threw them in angst. Threw them into the floor as if I could demolish my past. As if I could break this state of destruction. Angry rants begot sophisticated conversation. The stems became daggers into my own heart. One final glass remained.

I rejoiced when the last one broke. It stood on the shelf. An icon to my former life. I worshipped the last glass as if it was on a pedestal. Like a far removed screen star. I looked lovingly at the shining reflection every evening. Yet, I hadnt touched it in months. Hadnt caressed its sleek, smooth body. A friend from my old life came. She let it go. It slipped out of her hand. I watched it. I saw its demise. Falling, falling, it shattered into tiny pieces. The stem no longer recognizable. The body marred. Suddenly in one moment, the pieces were gone in the trash. I had scraped them up and thrown them into the past. I looked up. My heart lifted. The war was over. The Waterford was gone. The whites, the reds gone from my life. The wine defeated. Swept up into a pile and discarded into the past. I smiled.

My glass was empty. My life was full.