Missed Steps

I’ve heard some people who move from creeping straight to walking have to go back and learn to crawl sometimes, an essential step missed and needed. Maybe that’s what’s going on with me. Not the crawling – I did that part of it. But…

Okay. I set out to tell you, and I will. Mother used to claim I always wanted a fire truck instead of a doll. I don’t think that’s the entire truth. I expect the fire truck was a passing fancy. But the disgust with dolls? Yep. That one lasted for decades. When necessary to mess with dolls, I designed and made clothes for them. Or, in collaboration with my sister and the next-door-neighbors’ granddaughter/babysittee when necessary for dolls to be involved, I played the hunter/gatherer role while they nested in a world of my imagination’s creation. I never liked dolls.

Until…

Last Saturday I heard a speaker who told of reestablishing contact with her innocent childself by loving on a stuffed toy until she felt, rubbing his paw, as though her foot were being caressed. Yeah. Sure. Maybe for someone else…

That night, as the Big Book says, "suddenly the thought crossed my mind." I knew there were stuffed animals in the storage bedroom, wasn’t willing to venture in there. But wasn’t there something among my travel souvenirs? That’s how Bobbye came to bed with me. Before my critics chime in, I know he’s not a bobby but a beefeater. And I know how to spell the London cop bobby. Bobbye, though, is my spelling of a childhood name Mother called me at times – maybe the same times she called me the little boy among her flock of girls.

I missed some steps. And I’m catching up on them. And Bobbye and I can grieve together over water that passed under the bridge decades ago.

The Great Elixir

Doctor Bob spoke of his childhood home, a small town where liquor was obtained if the State liquor agent was convinced a person really needed it. Otherwise, the person left with "none of what I later came to believe was the great panacea for all human ills." ("Doctor Bob's Nightmare," Alcoholics Anonymous, page 171 4th Edition)

• Panacea. A solution for all difficulties or diseases.
• Elixir. A magical or medicinal potion.

That's what food was for me. I was told a long time ago I was passive-aggressive: "being, marked by, or displaying behavior characterized by the expression of negative feelings, resentment, and aggression in an unassertive passive way (as through procrastination and stubbornness)." Yes. I knew that. I accepted criticism and sarcasm I didn't deserve. Then I "showed him" by doing what he wanted poorly or not the way I was directed to do. I "showed her" by being sloppy, not playing by the rules just exactly, aggravating without outright disobedience. I agreed to do something then put it on my desk, to be done next time I got desperate and cleaned the desk.

I knew I was passive-agressive. But I didn't realize the big way I did it: by stuffing the feelings back inside with food. I had a habit of leaving the house, normally mad or at least discomforted, and it became habit for the car to join at least one drive-through-window queue at a donut shop. When the house was quiet and nobody was around to bother me, I expressed my wistfulness in the kitchen, concocting whatever didn't emanate smells that might tip off sleeping witnesses. I guess I should have put it all together when my mother would comment she could always tell when things were going badly because my weight went up. Yep. It did.

Comfort food. That's redundant, isn't it? Isn't all food comfort food? I thought so. Certainly I had favorites, but just stuffing my mouth worked, whether it was something I wanted to eat or not.

Comfort doesn't come from food. I have finally learned that. A friend said recently she'd been praying that the food before her be enough, but a better prayer had been suggested. "God, let this food be my nutrition and You be my comfort."

Finally. The Great Elixir.

Self, Humility, Service, Exposure

I can't even figure out who to label this one. I had been looking at rankings in Amazon because of a post on Facebook. And I found in looking at the ranking on the Kindle version of my Slender Steps to Sanity a shocker. I have no clue how many pieces of writing there are in the Kindle category/sub/sub/sub category

• Kindle ebooks
• Advice & How-to
• Health, Mind & Body
• Recovery
• Twelve-Step Programs

but Slender Steps ranks 47th of those. On books, not just Kindle books, it's 179th. Among OA books, it's 24th. Part of me wants to feel pride, part of me wants to hide from that kind of acceptance, part of me is grateful for the opportunity to offer service in this way, and part of me feels absolutely naked.

If I concentrate on that, I will be disabled, blocked, unable to write. I cannot do that. I have a gift and need to continue to offer it to God. I didn't write Slender Steps. I sat there and watched as my fingers typed it. Then I read it and was amazed at what had come out.

I wish I hadn't looked. Like what I weigh, where my book ranks is none of my business. I need to do the next right thing. And that is to write, to move forward in my own recovery so that what I do write may be of some benefit to those I pass it on to. I have substantial fear about this. It's time to ask that God relieve me of my fear and show me what he would have me be. Amen.

Salvation

Jesus loves me,

this I know

for the Bible

tells me so.

Forty years ago, when I was trained as a Christian educator, the professor said this was a poor song to use with children because there's not a specific place in the Bible where the inquisitive child can be shown, "It says so here." Maybe that's so. Probably not.

I had an anguished email this morning from a friend who said, "I was holding onto the belief that I could be saved and God was going to save me." She said she prayed day and night for a week. My Dear, God has saved you, is saving you, will save you, holds you always in his loving hand.

There's a story about a Sunday school teacher who spoke with the mother of an animated child. The mother said, "If he's a problem, just spank the child next to him. He's a very sensitive child." Duh! Well, NO! When I was the Director of Christian Education in a church, I was close to a small group of children, working with them making puppets. One was just such an animated child, and I was about to lose all the teachers in the class - 5th grade, I think. I went in and taught for about a month. He knew I loved him. He was a very intelligent child, and we talked about the problem. He quit being such a pain, even after I left the teacher's chair. Love is the answer.

And God knows the answer, made the answer, is the answer. We are all God's children. The email "that I could be saved and God was going to save me" -- you're trying too hard, My Dear. Relax in the loving hand of God and KNOW he loves you, know you are his precious child. God doesn't punish the "bad" and save the "good." God LOVES us. And some of us, in our anguish and self-recrimination, find that being in the presence of such love is hell. God's love is. God is love.

We "Came to believe that a Power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity." (Step 2.) He was always there. We have to come to him, to come to believe in God, in Love, in Acceptance. God is not a punishing god, a vengeful malevolent being. God is LOVE.

Rigorous Honesty

I'm being nudged toward "honesty" today. For Today tells me "Truth is always the same; honesty changes with my awareness." I picked up Julia Cameron's The Right To Write which I've been reading a paragraph to a page at a time for a heck of a long time in "the reading room." Today she was telling me to do an exercise, sitting down and responding to such open sentences as, "If I weren't to afraid, I'd..." and "What I'd really like to say is..." (those aren't quotes - don't have that book with me.)

I went by a vendor this morning to pick up something they'd prepared for me. It's the first time we'd talked since I retired, and we talked about that - and I found it "necessary" to stick in an unnecessary and unnice comment gratuitously. It was honest. It wasn't pertinent or needed. I got to the office and have all kinds of things I can do and my gut wants to hide, to waste time. Instead, I'm tackling the tasks at hand. Two of the items on my app telling me not to procrastinate today are "Write about recovery" and "Blog on OAStepper" and I'll check both those off with this. And hopefully in the process I'll also discover why I don't want to do the iProcrastinate program, I just want to delete the "i."

"If I let myself admit it, I..." have some resentments and fears raised yesterday. Neither is big. Both are fearsome because they challenge a comfort level for me. The result of the changes is a result I want. Part of me wants the changes. Part of me wants to hide. I will move forward with the positive part, and turn the rest over to God since it has nothing to do with today and that's all I need to concern myself with. That comes across as BS writing which Julia wouldn't appreciate after the chapter I read. But it's honest inside, and it is revealing, and it's freeing so I can move forward with exciting things waiting for me to do today. Tomorrow's not my issue. Good day!

Soliloquy

I should let you know this was written at the suggestion of another, specifically on the subject of fears, sadness and loving myself. While it is very true, reflecting my own feelings, they are not specifically current feelings, so those of you who know me, don't worry about me, okay? I'm FINE. I'm thriving.

Soliloquy

Hello, mirrored face.
Can’t find a smile?
I’ll not ask for one. I accept you.
You don’t have to pretend,
don’t have to chant your childhood mantra,
“I’m fine. Just fine.”
You don’t believe it
and honesty opens doors.
If you and I can’t be honest,
who can be? Can people really
tell the truth? The whole truth?
Nothing but the truth?
Say what you mean.
Mean what you say.
Don’t say it mean.
Cute. But doable?

Hello, mirrored face,
furrowed brow. Your fears show.
Who can be afraid of tomorrow,
of years to come when today looms,
ominous, daunting,
a virtual dare.
Fears circumscribe the day,
the people, the faces
waiting for you to shine
or fall on your face.

Hello, mirrored face,
sad eyes echoing years of trying,
years of doing, decades of striving
to please, of looking up begging
like a dog beneath the table,
delighted with a tidbit – gristle's fine,
just see me, toss a crumb of kindness.
Just know I shine more often than
I fall on my face.

Hello, mirrored face.
You know, you have a sweet face —
what did that ticket seller in the bus station
tell the young you all those years ago?
Why not remember the exact words —
with so few kind words to follow?
Oh, for goodness sake.
You know that’s not true. They were there
in spades, but they sloughed off —
you only grasped the bad, the negative,
the put-downs.
That’s subject to edits, you know.
You can hear the praise, let it seep in,
accept it, feel worthy of it. You are,
you know. Worthy. You are.

Hello, mirrored face.
Let’s expect to tick through the tasks
of the day, one by one, amazing others —
you’re used to that. But this time, what about
amazing me? And you. This time let’s know
it’s done well.
Did you know people love you?
How about that package yesterday?
You don’t even remember him, but ten years later,
he knew you, sent you his treasures.
How’s that for affirmation?
Let’s set aside the sadness. You can’t be loved
by someone who can’t love.
You can’t please someone
who can’t be pleased.
You can be loved by the vast majority
of folks you meet, lives you touch.
You’re loved. Heck, even I love you
through my fears, my sadness, my doubts.

My Rights to Rights

Eleanor Roosevelt said, "Do what you feel in your heart to be right – for you’ll be criticized anyway."

Ralph Waldo Emerson said, "Whatever you do, you need courage. Whatever course you decide upon, there is always someone to tell you that you are wrong. There are always difficulties arising that tempt you to believe your critics are right. To map out a course of action and follow it to an end requires some of the same courage that a soldier needs. Peace has its victories, but it takes brave men and women to win them."

The weather tonight is expected to be terrible -- rain, then sleet, then snow, then gales. The temperature outside right now is 52F. The temperature inside is colder than frigid. I'd rather not be in the house tomorrow, snowed in. I'd rather not be ignored, belittled, disdained. I did it knowingly. I claimed my rights. At least part of them. One part. And I want to make up for it. WHY? I claimed MY rights.

I read a funny story the other day. An elderly couple died, early in the 20th century, apparently leaving no heirs. A lawyer built a house and claimed ownership by possession. A woman found the heirs and bought the property. He wanted to buy the rights she'd gotten, and she wouldn't sell. He wanted to remove the house he'd built there, and she claimed the improvements went with the real estate. He sued her then said in court she had stolen the house. She said she wasn't as good a thief as he: he'd stolen a whole ranch. They were both fined $25 for contempt of court (in the 1920's when that was real money) but she won the suit.

What does that have to do with what I'm feeling tonight? The woman in the story did the right thing. She stood up for her rights. Evidently she even told the truth about the lawyer, and paid a hefty price for her honesty - in an inappropriate place. I stood up for my rights, legally, morally, fairly. The fact I'd let them go for years with only intermittent protest doesn't make them not my rights.

This is a recovery blog, and what I'm saying doesn't sound very recovered, does it? What does recovery say about it?

Recovery says we stop thinking about people being of different levels of worth, on different tiers of worthiness. It means not thinking we're better than others, but it's also not thinking we're less than others. That's where recovery comes in. It really is mine. I don't have to play the doormat. I don't have to allow him to run rampant over my feelings and my comfort. I have a right to self-respect. And that right is lots harder to claim, for me, than the right to the few feet of real estate I claimed. I would be criticized anyway, of that I'm quite certain. So I need to do what is right, what I'd advise someone else was their right in the situation. And as Emerson said, I must have courage, for I'll be told I'm wrong whether I'm right or wrong, whether I exercise my rights or relinquish them to a bully. Peace does have its victories - but capitulation is not peace. I have a right to be right. I have a right to claim my rights. And I don't have to yield to the fear raised by claiming them.