First you slip, then you fall. But sometimes, love and family catch you before you do either.
February 7, 2010
Here it is Sunday night and all I can think is “Oh, please, do not let this weekend end! I am not ready for Monday!“ I had a great weekend with my family and got a much needed mental break. Last week was hellacious. Horrible. One of the worst I have had in years. I do not want to get into details because suffice it to say that 1) I do not want to relive it and 2) I really don’t want to relive it.
Wednesday was just bad. For reasons I cannot get into (I am just not comfortable sharing since things here have been used against me in my real life), I was thrown into a really bad place. What amazed me was that a very dear friend of mine hundreds of miles away could tell- with only a few words- how bad off I was. In fact, she talked to me until I was doing better. She sent me phone numbers I needed and links to make sure I had some local backup. After seeing that I was doing better but needed to talk to someone in recovery, she reminded me of a mutual friend of ours that would be there for me in a heartbeat if I called him. I sent out an SOS message to him and we were almost immediately on the phone. The timing was not good and I knew he had things to do but he stayed on the phone with me for over an hour just getting me back on track and reminding me of who I am, where I’ve been and how hard I’ve worked. Together they helped get me out of my own head and back to a peaceful place. Two friends in two different states who care enough to come to the aid of a friend.
I have to state the obvious here but I really, really do hate addiction. Here I am with almost 10 years of hard work and recovery and yet there are times when I am just as vulnerable- sometimes I think even more vulnerable- than I was just 10 months or even 1o days clean.
I woke up feeling better and happier on Thursday. I had a good day despite a very difficult morning of struggles and that afternoon was so grateful that Gabby and I were able to spend a couple of hours catching up with good friends. That night it was all throw to hell and everything came tumbling down on my head.
I lost it in a way I have not lost it in years. It was the first time in many, many years that a situation came along that filled me with such despair, pain and desperation that I feared for myself. In my head at that time, I no longer cared about anything but not hurting. I didn’t care about the 10 years of hard work. I didn’t care about anything I have accomplished in the past decade. I didn’t care what it would do to me, my kids or anyone else around me. All I wanted was to not hurt like I was hurting. I wanted to drown myself in the momentary release that being high gave me. All I wanted was to escape. To get away from the life of hell that was baring down on me and about to swallow me whole.
Escape.
Escape.
For the love of all things peaceful, I had to get away from the pain!
I had to let someone know I was going to slip fall hard.
But I didn’t want to say it because right then, right there, I wanted to fall. I wanted to give in. Ten years of saying no when I hurt. Ten years of “talking through it” and “finding alternatives” when I felt horrible. Ten years of staying strong when I really did not want to be. None of that mattered. I was willing to throw it and myself back to hell.
A friend of mine who knew only a third of my story and half of the pain I was in came over and wanted to make sure I cleared out any medications or alcohol in my house. If she knew only half and knew to just come over and get things out of my house, can you imagine how bad I actually was?
Again, there were phone calls- this time it was Do Not Pass Go, Do Not Collect $200, Go Directly to AA.
I talked to people in recovery who got me back on track. I talked to people who really knew me and spilled it out. I talked to friends late into the night. I cuddled up with my kids who saw me almost lose it for the first time ever in their lifetime and let them know I was okay. Cuddled the fear out of them.
I snuggled up with my husband and told him everything. I felt him tense. I knew a part of him wanted to bite his tongue and resist the urge to give me advice. He just listened as I worked through it. I know how hard it is on him when I hurt and feel so hopeless. I know it breaks a part of him every time I feel broken. I know it makes him feel helpless when I let life beat me down and head into a tailspin. But he always stands by me and loves me. He listened. He let me pour it all out. He didn’t judge (me) and didn’t blame (me) but listened, loved and waited for me to work through it knowing he was standing there as my safety net.
Friday, I woke up feeling like I had gone 10 rounds with a heavy weight fighter. I guess in a way I did. I fought my demon.
And I won.
It took a while on Friday to work through things but again, it took talking on the phone with people who really do know me and being with people this weekend who really do accept me for who I am that made me realize that things have to change. For me. For my family. For my sanity and sobriety. Things have to change. And I have hard work ahead of me but I am not alone. I just know things have to change.
In a huge way.
And I have started to take steps to go back to being me and not anyone else’s version of me.
“Always do what you are afraid to do.” Ralph Waldo Emerson
There was a time in my life when I was fearless. I felt almost invincible. I never feared new situations, new people and loved new experiences. The only fear I would readily admit to was my fear of heights. But for the most part, I lived life to the fullest. Fearlessly.
I used to say I don’t know when I became afraid of life but the truth is I can look back and see when it happened. April 6, 1992. I was living my fairytale life. I was young, healthy, married to my best friend and pregnant with our first child. With a picture perfect pregnancy, we eagerly awaited the new addition to our family. On that day we went to what was to be a typical OB check-up. But it became anything but typical. On that day we found out our little boy had died in utero. My idyllic life shattered. I was not invincible. Death could take me by the heart and slam me to the ground. After giving birth to my son, nothing inside me ever felt the same. Life scared me. I knew that everything could change in a heartbeat- or lack of one.
I had changed. My outlook had changed. I was afraid. Not in ways you could always see but in ways that pulled me deeper inside myself. Years later after delivering two very healthy babies, I was living life more fully but never to the fullest.
Maybe that inner fear is one of the reasons I fell so deeply into my addiction. I was a broken, fearful, unhappy woman. The drugs were just an attempt to mask it all. Then somewhere deep inside myself I found the courage to admit I needed help. With a lot of hard work and a lot of help from amazing people who were also beating their addictions, I began to live life more fearlessly. In fact, for a few months, I was fearless again.
I had looked death in the face and kicked it to the curb. With my new found friends, I was living life. I was riding on the back of my friends’ Harleys. I was going to Karoake with them. I was meeting people I would never have met otherwise and seeing a side of life I would never have known. And I embraced it.
A few months into my recovery I became pregnant with my daughter. There was nothing about that pregnancy that was not filled with fear. It went as far as being told that she, too, would probably die before birth.
Enter fear.
My daughter was born perfectly healthy. I searched again for the fearlessness. I began to find it again. I tried to find it in big ways. (I should have been looking for it in small ways.)
When my Mom became so sick and I sat by her side watching her die, Fear took over again. It completely grabbed me by the throat and choked out whatever fearlessness I thought I had found. This time, Fear stayed around much longer. The very core of my being was shaken, tossed around and thrown to the ground.
This year I decided to do something about it. A project- if you will- began to take root in my mind.
The Project
I decided the only way to conquer living fearfully was to do something about it and begin my path to living fearlessly again. One step at a time. One day at a time. I wanted to see if I could do it for at least a month before I openly blogged about it.
One year. A new challenge every day. Nothing huge or outrageous. Just simple acts that help me move forward in an attempt to challenge myself away from the big and little things that can cause me to withdraw or let fear win. This is not an experiment in trying to find perfect happiness in a year. It is just my way of taking small steps, small challenges towards living fearlessly.
Some things will be bigger than others. Some will be as easy as simple acts of kindness. Acts that I would normally think about doing but never actually put into action. I may find inspiration from books, blogs, friends, suggestions, movies, self-help books etc. But every day I will do something to force me outside of my comfort zone a bit. And I know there will be many times I will need to explain why a certain act is stepping outside of my personal comfort zone.
I have been successfully doing this for one month. I have kept a personally diary that I will copy over to the blog as soon as I can so you can follow along. Nothing huge yet.
Here are some examples:
I reached out to a friend from my past where our friendship ended badly and we talked things over. It felt good to let that go.
I went to lunch alone without any props (you know: books, phones for texting etc) and just enjoyed being alone and enjoying myself.
I called a tech service rep just to tell him how much I know his job must be thankless but how much I appreciate that he is on the other end of the phone when things go haywire. (I didn’t even have a tech problem.)
Those of you who know me know I am terrified of mascots in full uniform. At a recent hockey game when the mascot jumped RIGHT IN MY FACE, I did not scream, run or cry. I actually reached out and touched him. (I missed the photo op but do have witnesses.)
See? Simply things. Small steps. Hopefully big results when all is said and done. It may seem crazy but if you know me, that is nothing new.
Learning to find the courage to live fearlessly!
I am open to your challenges. Bring ‘em on. Now, nothing that is illegal or involves nudity. No ONE wants that. What do you suggest? Challenge me. One thing a day- some big, some small and some just random acts of kindness that we all think about doing but rarely follow through with. They can even be daily steps towards a bigger goal. (Jogging? Queries? World Domination? Kicking out Leno and bringing back Conan? You get the idea.)
You see, what I hope to find at the end of 2010 as I ring in 2011 is a Jennifer who lives life fearlessly.
Are you with me on this journey? Do you want to join me on this project as I take a jump off the high dive one day at a time? I’m climbing the ladder and am ready to jump!
—
(I will add the link the the daily challenges as soon as I get them all written up from my journal to my computer. BUT, I will keep you updated here until then. Just so you can help hold me accountable. Are you in?)
Right before school started in August, my daughter’s best friend moved away. She only moved 3 hours away, but it certainly wasn’t local anymore. I’ve watched how this has changed Gabriella. It is in subtle ways that unless you know her, you may not see it.
She seems a little lost, I hear close friends of ours say.
She and her best friend met the first day of kindergarten and formed a bond immediately. It’s not like they were joined at the hip 24/7, but they did a lot of things together. When they were apart they still knew someone always had their back. They knew that in any new situation or circle of friends, there was always someone they could count on and lean on or just simply have the comfort of knowing they would be there.
Where is my safety net to catch me when I fall or my tether to keep me grounded? I see her wonder.
I have talked to her about it a few times. She usually just shrugs and moves on, unable to find the words to express what she feels or misses or is searching for.
I get it! I tell her
You see, Gabriella’s best friend’s mom was one of my best friends. She was my safety net. My tether to keep me grounded. The one I knew always had my back. The friend where I could always and would always be myself.
She seems a little lost. They say about me.
I do for myself what I try to convince Gabriella to do: Branch out. Let yourself be open to new friends. Accept invitations to be with new people. Let your guard down a little bit. Okay, let your guard down a lot.
But where is my safety net to catch me when I fall or my tether to keep me grounded? I don’t know anymore!
One thing she has learned even though she is only in third grade is people form their “tribe” early. Most of the girls in her class have been going to the same school for 4 years now. They have their best friends and their tribes. It isn’t written but it is there. She’s made new friends. She’s joined new groups. Yet, she still searches for her tribe. She searches for where she belongs somewhat afraid to let her guard down without knowing someone has her back. I see her searching and wish I could just plunk her down in a group and let her feel “established” there. But, I can’t do that. She has to find her place and her tribe on her own. And it hurts to watch.
It is no different with me. Try as I might, I cannot fit into the tribe that I am around the most either. I try to accept invitations (when offered), I try to join in on the laughter (when it isn’t an inside joke) and I try to open myself up and not keep them at arms length.
Apparently, I am not very good at it. At not keeping people at arms length. No matter how hard I try. I can’t help but wonder if maybe jumping in the way I did was the wrong thing to do.
Maybe I am just a loner and just really put that vibe out there.
Maybe I am incapable of social interaction that lasts longer than a lunch.
Maybe it is the addict in me that doesn’t know how to just let go and get involved.
Or maybe I just really don’t fit in.
I don’t know.
What I do know is that I would give anything for my daughter to be happy and for me to figure out the secret to leaving loneliness behind and embracing new friendships. For now, I will do what I always do…the only thing I know to do: Smile and laugh and never let ‘em know it hurts. (Well, that and start looking at places for a fresh start.)
I was touched by the outpouring of love I received when I mentioned it was the anniversary of the day my Mom died. People both close to me and casual acquaintances left me words of encouragement through emails, Facebook or phone calls. I, of course, chose to hibernate the day away. I did not want to pretend to be happy or act as if nothing was wrong. It is just easier to do that when you only have your dog and your son at home with you. One doesn’t ask questions and the other already knows the reason for sudden tears.
More than one person asked me to share a favorite memory of Mom to help me think of the good times and make me smile. I love that idea. But to choose one favorite memory would be impossible. I suppose I would have to chose one thing I am most thankful for when it comes to something Mom ensured that my brother, my sister and I all had the ability to do without effort or falseness: The ability to laugh no matter what is going on around us.
You want the humor? We can bring the humor. Sometimes it happens to be at inappropriate times, inappropriate places or under inappropriate circumstances, though. Mom used to call those the “church giggles.”
Here is your lesson in “church giggles.”
Something strikes you as amusing (real or just a passing thought) at a time when you should not be laughing and the next thing you know, you start to giggle. The more you try to stop, the harder it is and the more you’re giggling. Before you know it tears are streaming down your face as your shoulders are shaking and people around you are wondering if you have lost your mind or are having some sort of fit. The “church giggles” can strike at any time in any places. Just know that it will be a time or place when laughter is usually not “the thing to do” at that time. Funerals are a classic place to get the “church giggles.” Or? When someone is giving a speech (not a funny one either) and you begin to feel the need to giggle and cannot stop it, you should brace yourself for the full on giggles. Don’t bother to apologize while in this state. That only makes the laughter worse and harder to stop.
It has happened to me at, yes, funerals as well as PTA meetings, meetings with school administrators, speeches (both by strangers and friends alike), as well as just every day, average situations that do not call for laughter.
The best example of the “church giggles” was during Mary Tyler Moore on the Episode “Chuckles Bites the Dust.” Here is a part of the show. The giggles start around the 3 minute mark. The clip is long but the roller coaster emotions sure do fit me to a tee on this day. That whole show with its inappropriate jokes and laughter mirror my life. Well, except knowing anyone who was “shelled by an elephant” thing.
But it isn’t just laughing at inappropriate times. It is laughing at whatever life throws at you. I have laughed sitting beside more hospital beds than I can count. I can find humor in the situation. I have laughed when it seems as if there is nothing funny. Trust me, something is funny and can be found. You need someone to help you find the funny, come sit by me. We’ll laugh.
Never was it more evident than when my brother, my sister and I were all together in December. We laughed at everything. We laughed at each other. We laughed at ourselves. We laughed at our family. We laughed at strangers. We probably even laughed at you! The point is this. Mom gave each one of us something special that is unique to each of us but she gave all of us something that we can share with each other and with those around us: The ability to laugh in life’s face. And, oh boy, do we laugh!
That’s what I remember (and carry with me) most when it comes to Mom.
