Yesterday was a rough day, sifting through old memories, wondering what if my counselor would have told me my symptoms were borderline, not trying to sugarcoat it as PTSD? The PTSD never explained to me why I spiraled the way I do, why I sabotage anything good because deep down I feel I’m not worthy. If someone had come along when I was a child and helped me understand why I feel the way I do, it would have made everything so much easier.

Everything makes so much sense now…wanting a boyfriend as early as 1st grade, my love of books to escape. My mom told me she worried about me, because when my parents would fight, I didn’t seem to care. My brother would run and hide, but I was oblivious. I remember being 4 and sounding out the words of hardback book about a walrus, my dad proudly helping me. The words came easily and my love of books began. I had free access to whatever world I wanted to escape to, whenever I wanted. Everyone was proud of me for being smart, and that pushed me to try even harder. School became the one thing that came effortlessly.

After years of ear infections and surgeries, of going to Seattle Children’s Hospital multiple times. Once for mastoiditis, a severe ear infection in the mastoid bone, dangerously close to the brain. Ironically I remember this as one of my happier childhood memories, my parents driving me to Seattle, getting along. A Seattle Mariners game and a trip to the University of Washington campus, where I envisioned myself going one day, becoming an otolaryngologist or some type of doctor. I loved the human body and medicine, the idea of healing.

My parents proudly encouraged me, pushing me to strive to become better and better. In looking back I remember bringing home a report card of all A’s and one B+. My dad looked it over, and asked what happened in the class I got the B+? Now I know this was his way of trying to help me become even better, but at the time it was a crushing blow. To my 8 year old self, it felt as if nothing could ever be good enough, so why bother?

Enough ruminating…it is what it is, and I believe everything happens for a reason. Realizing I feel called to work with children facing the same, to help them realize they have the power to change their thoughts and reality, that they don’t have to internalize all this pain. If I would have known, maybe I wouldn’t have started drinking in middle school, given into the recklessness during my spirals, jumped from relationship to relationship, looking for an identity. Saved myself the heartache of two failed marriages and so many regrets. The idea of helping children, of sharing my story gives me hope and honestly is the one thing that keeps me from crumbling with regret. Everything happens for a reason…

As long as I’m writing, I’m okay. I am so thankful for all my journals…I honestly forget memories so easily. But in looking back I see patterns and realize where my mind (darn Rosie the Lizard) steered me wrong, and in so doing I can do things differently.

A call from my mom yesterday, asking how I was doing. I explained the writing, the journals. She reminded me to not get lost in the past. So I took this beautiful new dog Tyler got 2 nights ago for a walk. Lost in thoughts, I didn’t realize how beautiful the sky was until I snapped this picture. He’s lying beside me, happy now he’s finished the frozen bone.

Ty has been so patient with me these last 3 weeks. Life is so funny…I met him on Facebook last spring and we met and talked for hours. Come to find out he lives not even a mile down the road from the house Nate and I bought. I know I’ve been neglecting him, absorbed in myself. When he finished up with the cows for the day, I asked if I could take him to dinner. He happily accepted, making sure it was what I really wanted. We went to Montana Club…the first time I’ve been there without drinking wine. Instead I got a pomegranate lemonade, Club Shrimp and scallops. We laughed about the scallops…Hell’s Kitchen has been our show and I love Gordon Ramsey.

Knowing I’ve been slacking pulling my weight around the house, I cautiously asked him on the drive home if he wishes I were more domestic. Instead, his answer surprised me…he told me no, he’s happy to do it. But what he would really appreciate is a massage for his bad shoulder but knowing everything I was struggling with mentally, didn’t want to ask anything of me. The idea that he gives and gives and I take and take makes me break down in tears. Something as simple as a massage…he immediately thinks he’s overwhelmed me and I explain what I’m thinking—that I can’t help but feel shitty as a person for being so selfish. We talk some more about my frustrations at work—feeling like I’m pushing boulders uphill and not getting anything accomplished. He tells me I need to look for the small victories, stop being so hard on myself. I think this over and it resonates. I need to let go of trying to control, and just have pride in myself for doing the best I can.

I woke up this morning, wondering if I can really do this…go a day without self-medicating. Spend half an hour in bed, just thinking, trying to keep from feeling overwhelmed. Everyone keeps mentioning AA, and at first I balk. My experience is treatment is rehashing the same drunken stories, almost to the point of one upping each other to see who was the worst alcoholic. I enjoyed Al Anon, as painful as it was to hear family members tell their stories of how alcohol wreaked havoc on their lives and emotions, for simply loving someone with an addiction.

I looked up Al Anon, and then realized there’s a women’s only group that meets Mondays and Wednesdays at 5:30. This would work perfectly with my schedule. I reach out to a friend I met in treatment to ask if she would want to go with.

Realizing I found so much comfort in devotions, even though I don’t call myself Christian, I believe the underlying principles of any religion are the same, and if it resonates for me, it resonates for a purpose. If it doesn’t, it’s okay…it might resonate for someone else and give them hope and strength and that’s all that matters. Wishing I hadn’t given my copy of Oswald Chamber’s My Utmost for His Highest away, but until I buy a new one, I find Mark Nepo’s The Book of Awakening on my shelf. Not sure when I brought it to Tyler’s, but it’s there, so I open it to today and read…the message is exactly what I need to hear as I struggle with my career, feeling like I’m working a job that doesn’t give me as much satisfaction as I would like.

“Plans are useless, but planning is invaluable” -Winston Churchill
Churchill says we live like hungry fishermen: sewing and casting our nets, though we never really know what they will catch, never really know what will feed us until it is brought aboard. So, as Buddhists say, to be a good fisherman you must detach yourself from the dream of the fish. This makes whatever is caught or found a treasure.

Nepo goes on to encourage:

Center yourself and think of your current plans for happiness
As you breathe, lay your plans before your heart like sticks of kindling
Not knowing what fire they will light in you, enter your day looking for the spark

This resonates so deeply, realizing I need to stop future tripping, stop trying to control the future. Like my mom keeps telling me, just be in the present, be here now. Do everything with intention…so in anticipation of getting my sweet boys this afternoon, I’m going to get this wreck of a house in order, put on some Christian music that I’ve always loved, think of the warm water while washing the dishes and with the laundry, a chore I usually hate, give gratitude for these 3 people in my life I’m so blessed to love, and set intentions of love and protection with every fold. To look at putting clothes in the wash as washing away the germs, banishing any negative thoughts and emotions, and just be thankful I can trust that everything will work out in the end.

It always does…

New Beginnings