Quote of the week.

"Chase after truth like hell and you'll free yourself, even though you never touch its coat-tails."
Clarence Darrow (1857 - 1938)

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.