.
Showing posts with label recovery. Show all posts
Showing posts with label recovery. Show all posts
Apr 25, 2013
Mar 29, 2010
the cost
i suppose the time comes for everybody... and maybe numerous times throughout a person's life- the need to evaluate, re-evaluate, define, and re-define the mode and means of one's own life. to discern a path that is true and respectful of who they are.
all my life, i have tried to be the bright spot in the lives of others. the thing that produced laughter and acceptance. the thing that was never disappointing, never hard. the thing that never called for struggle or extra attention, that never got in the way, that never made another person feel bad about themself. the thing.
the thing.
but i don't want to be a 'thing'. i want to be a human. i don't want to feel ashamed of being human. 'things' are perfect. 'things' make no mistakes because they have no desires, no goals, no dreams of their own. they don't learn, they don't make plans, they don't love, they don't hate, they don't aspire to anything. there is nothing for a 'thing' to figure out. they don't need to navigate, they sit in one place. they perform functions that are pleasing to the one who owns them. they do not ever dissatisfy or question or assert a will.
i am talking about the role each person plays. i am talking about waking up one day and seeing yourself, even if just for a moment, as you really are- flaws and successes, traumas and resilience, fear and pride.
i am talking about how one fits in... or how one goes about fitting in... especially within one's own family. how the time comes to create adult relationships, to overcome childhood, and relieve yourself of the expectations that came along for the ride back then. the survival techniques children learn to use become destructive and self-sabotaging if allowed to be used in adulthood. and so... i'm thinking there comes a time when detachment becomes (sadly) necessary. i'm thinking there comes a time for flying solo and enduring the confusion, the hurt, the rumours, the disappointment, the accusations... in order to finally be accepted for who you really are, not who you're expected to be.
the old role is no longer useful. in fact, it is only damaging.
this is something most people go through as teenagers. for some reason i thought that once you got through those years, the need to assert yourself, to find the courage to be true to yourself, to stand on your values and not lift your foot, would be assuaged. why did i think that this declaration would only need to happen once? and i'm not talking about being pig-headed or arrogant, i'm talking about the steps one takes in order to finally be healthy.
i have a deep, bad problem of remaining silent. maybe that is what motivates my practice? to speak somehow. to drop the role of "secret keeper". to expose the fissure, the crack that runs right down the middle of me. to expose the fault-line, the damaged joint, the wound that goes on weeping and weeping... in silence, undercover, hidden, ashamed, humiliated. the trigger.
hiding the wound does not help it heal. it causes it to fester.
exposure... letting in the air... becomes a need.
i have been warned, over and over and over again, that when a person decides to remove themself from the chaos and work toward health, that there will be people who respond to this good act with malice and spite. they will attempt to sabotage your attempts toward health through manipulation and out-right blackmail, whether emotional or otherwise.
most people in my life are so wonderfully supportive of my work and desire to repair the effects of trauma that i am overwhelmed by such a huge sweep of gratitude, an endless appreciation for who they are, a massive swell of love and happiness and playfulness even... but there are a few who aren't. and that cuts deep. they see my repair as a punishment for them and they are not pleased.
i was talking to a close friend about their experiences in AA and what they learned about addiction and toxic relationships- that they must be cut off instantly, swiftly, completely (at least for a time) in order for you to focus on yourself, your life, and how to heal. that just as alcohol isn't going to run away from the alcoholic, the enabled won't run away from the enabler. just as a recovering alcoholic does not hang out in bars, the enabler does not hang out with the damaged people who play on their compassions. the role must be set down and walked away from. the hook must be pulled out and let go.
this is a horribly painful thing to do.
the hook is in deep.
there is an empty place now where the hook used to be.
it would feel better to stick the hook back in than be left with such a huge gaping emptiness.
but the answer is no.
the hook stays out. the foot stays down.
it is horribly painful to maintain such an action. horrible, horrible, horrible. and shame and guilt leak thickly from the wound where the hook was... like a phantom limb, an ache that will not leave, that won't be ignored, a call that gets louder and louder and louder. love twisted by such deep regret, such guilt... the bad lesson that love requires sacrifice of self. the bad lesson that to care about one's own life in 'selfish'. that "if you really loved me..."
i spent 2 years locked inside a major depression. i will not walk back in to that. relationships that require me to be someone i'm not, to do what i'm told without question, without thought as to my total right to be healthy and safe, that pray on my compassion, that force me in to a life of secrecy and shame and overwhelming expectations for perfection, will be let go of. i do not care what it costs me. the cost of not doing this is so much higher.
i am so grateful my mother sprang in to action when she did... the gentle word, the offering of non-judgemental truth brought the lie down and i had a hand, finally, to grab and pull myself up.
it was a choice between my life and my continued obedience to someone else that put me in that big bad depression in the first place... the crushing guilt that followed my decision to choose my own life. the price of being someone else's savior is too great. it is your own life. this is not an exaggeration and it is not dramatic. it is the cut and dried truth. anyone who's ever lived under the crushing weight of perfectionism and obedience knows exactly what i'm talking about: that you are living a lie. that, after a certain point, you are not just a victim anymore, you are an accomplice as well. in order to live, the lie must be brought down.
there are people that think i am cruel. they don't know what i know. and i can take half the responsibility for that because i'm so good at being quiet. i'm so good at being a 'thing'. i've been so concerned with not disappointing anyone, never letting on about what the stakes really are, that of course they don't understand. i have to trust that, in time, amends can be made, and mistakes can be forgiven.
i will trust that healthy relationships are possible and i will not abandon that hope. i won't.
that hook... i won't even look at it.
all my life, i have tried to be the bright spot in the lives of others. the thing that produced laughter and acceptance. the thing that was never disappointing, never hard. the thing that never called for struggle or extra attention, that never got in the way, that never made another person feel bad about themself. the thing.
the thing.
but i don't want to be a 'thing'. i want to be a human. i don't want to feel ashamed of being human. 'things' are perfect. 'things' make no mistakes because they have no desires, no goals, no dreams of their own. they don't learn, they don't make plans, they don't love, they don't hate, they don't aspire to anything. there is nothing for a 'thing' to figure out. they don't need to navigate, they sit in one place. they perform functions that are pleasing to the one who owns them. they do not ever dissatisfy or question or assert a will.
i am talking about the role each person plays. i am talking about waking up one day and seeing yourself, even if just for a moment, as you really are- flaws and successes, traumas and resilience, fear and pride.
i am talking about how one fits in... or how one goes about fitting in... especially within one's own family. how the time comes to create adult relationships, to overcome childhood, and relieve yourself of the expectations that came along for the ride back then. the survival techniques children learn to use become destructive and self-sabotaging if allowed to be used in adulthood. and so... i'm thinking there comes a time when detachment becomes (sadly) necessary. i'm thinking there comes a time for flying solo and enduring the confusion, the hurt, the rumours, the disappointment, the accusations... in order to finally be accepted for who you really are, not who you're expected to be.
the old role is no longer useful. in fact, it is only damaging.
this is something most people go through as teenagers. for some reason i thought that once you got through those years, the need to assert yourself, to find the courage to be true to yourself, to stand on your values and not lift your foot, would be assuaged. why did i think that this declaration would only need to happen once? and i'm not talking about being pig-headed or arrogant, i'm talking about the steps one takes in order to finally be healthy.
i have a deep, bad problem of remaining silent. maybe that is what motivates my practice? to speak somehow. to drop the role of "secret keeper". to expose the fissure, the crack that runs right down the middle of me. to expose the fault-line, the damaged joint, the wound that goes on weeping and weeping... in silence, undercover, hidden, ashamed, humiliated. the trigger.
hiding the wound does not help it heal. it causes it to fester.
exposure... letting in the air... becomes a need.
i have been warned, over and over and over again, that when a person decides to remove themself from the chaos and work toward health, that there will be people who respond to this good act with malice and spite. they will attempt to sabotage your attempts toward health through manipulation and out-right blackmail, whether emotional or otherwise.
most people in my life are so wonderfully supportive of my work and desire to repair the effects of trauma that i am overwhelmed by such a huge sweep of gratitude, an endless appreciation for who they are, a massive swell of love and happiness and playfulness even... but there are a few who aren't. and that cuts deep. they see my repair as a punishment for them and they are not pleased.
i was talking to a close friend about their experiences in AA and what they learned about addiction and toxic relationships- that they must be cut off instantly, swiftly, completely (at least for a time) in order for you to focus on yourself, your life, and how to heal. that just as alcohol isn't going to run away from the alcoholic, the enabled won't run away from the enabler. just as a recovering alcoholic does not hang out in bars, the enabler does not hang out with the damaged people who play on their compassions. the role must be set down and walked away from. the hook must be pulled out and let go.
this is a horribly painful thing to do.
the hook is in deep.
there is an empty place now where the hook used to be.
it would feel better to stick the hook back in than be left with such a huge gaping emptiness.
but the answer is no.
the hook stays out. the foot stays down.
it is horribly painful to maintain such an action. horrible, horrible, horrible. and shame and guilt leak thickly from the wound where the hook was... like a phantom limb, an ache that will not leave, that won't be ignored, a call that gets louder and louder and louder. love twisted by such deep regret, such guilt... the bad lesson that love requires sacrifice of self. the bad lesson that to care about one's own life in 'selfish'. that "if you really loved me..."
i spent 2 years locked inside a major depression. i will not walk back in to that. relationships that require me to be someone i'm not, to do what i'm told without question, without thought as to my total right to be healthy and safe, that pray on my compassion, that force me in to a life of secrecy and shame and overwhelming expectations for perfection, will be let go of. i do not care what it costs me. the cost of not doing this is so much higher.
i am so grateful my mother sprang in to action when she did... the gentle word, the offering of non-judgemental truth brought the lie down and i had a hand, finally, to grab and pull myself up.
it was a choice between my life and my continued obedience to someone else that put me in that big bad depression in the first place... the crushing guilt that followed my decision to choose my own life. the price of being someone else's savior is too great. it is your own life. this is not an exaggeration and it is not dramatic. it is the cut and dried truth. anyone who's ever lived under the crushing weight of perfectionism and obedience knows exactly what i'm talking about: that you are living a lie. that, after a certain point, you are not just a victim anymore, you are an accomplice as well. in order to live, the lie must be brought down.
there are people that think i am cruel. they don't know what i know. and i can take half the responsibility for that because i'm so good at being quiet. i'm so good at being a 'thing'. i've been so concerned with not disappointing anyone, never letting on about what the stakes really are, that of course they don't understand. i have to trust that, in time, amends can be made, and mistakes can be forgiven.
i will trust that healthy relationships are possible and i will not abandon that hope. i won't.
that hook... i won't even look at it.
Mar 5, 2010
something i read yesterday...
"...The description itself does not reproduce the object, it rather helps us to restage and restate the effort to remember what is lost. The description reminds us how loss acquires meaning and generates recovery- not only of and for the object, but for the one who remembers."
from Unmarked by Peggy Phalen, page 147
All these paintings and drawings are descriptions. And just as the above statement asserts, my "description" of, my portrait of Sylvia Likens will not bring her back.
But the act of drawing her, the act of describing her, even partially, is a way to help me remember her even though I didn't know her. It helps me remember what happened. This act of remembering, this seemingly simple act of drawing her likeness of a sheet of paper, is a gesture toward recovery... not only hers, but mine,
ours.
from Unmarked by Peggy Phalen, page 147
All these paintings and drawings are descriptions. And just as the above statement asserts, my "description" of, my portrait of Sylvia Likens will not bring her back.
But the act of drawing her, the act of describing her, even partially, is a way to help me remember her even though I didn't know her. It helps me remember what happened. This act of remembering, this seemingly simple act of drawing her likeness of a sheet of paper, is a gesture toward recovery... not only hers, but mine,
ours.
Nov 21, 2009
today...
we woke up far too early. didn't drink nearly enough coffee. went on another house hunt. found out the house we like is beetle infested and needs a new roof. that's a big fat NO. i wore my 'i love you but' banner all around, everywhere we went, and a few people commented they liked it. bounce in my step. and then also the realization that finding a home takes a lot of luck and just the right timing. we've resigned ourselves to the NO FUN fact that it will be awhile. and so i'll go ahead and get new curtains. we need them. our little warm threadbare abode.
and so i ordered a pizza and plan to make it an early night. i want to go back and write in my notebook, curl up, feel safe, be warm, be held. ink. black scratch scratch scratch. little heart-sick masochist. little dreamy-eyed woman. little little me, far out in the dark of our forest highway. far away from old dreams and old hurts. feeling safe again these days... and quiet. very quiet. and a big need to move slow for a little while longer.
and so i ordered a pizza and plan to make it an early night. i want to go back and write in my notebook, curl up, feel safe, be warm, be held. ink. black scratch scratch scratch. little heart-sick masochist. little dreamy-eyed woman. little little me, far out in the dark of our forest highway. far away from old dreams and old hurts. feeling safe again these days... and quiet. very quiet. and a big need to move slow for a little while longer.
May 19, 2009
"new" poem...
been in the birthing process for months with this one. i'm not sure if she's done. could be premature... still too early to tell. but putting these little babies out in to the world, for however scary it is, seems to do them - and me - a bit of good. i am still learning. i've got a long way to go. critique is always welcome. an afternoon of re-arranging is emminent.
renewing
she crouches at the reddening
hinge of mama's hope chest, shoving
out the unwanted: hated
sunday dresses.
disdain at the ruffle-
my other.
that girl.
that daughter. that
black.
she points and i reach.
skirts she'll not finger
silks she'll not admire-
i only ever wanted to be pleasing.
lace
ripped and reeling
i clean
down to the white
beyond bone and passed
the collected fat, i shove
myself
tight inside
the Goodwill bag.
she points and i pull
a new braid hiding
this girl.
this non-daughter.
and blackless.
possibly
bitch of no father.
-angela simione, 2009
renewing
she crouches at the reddening
hinge of mama's hope chest, shoving
out the unwanted: hated
sunday dresses.
disdain at the ruffle-
my other.
that girl.
that daughter. that
black.
she points and i reach.
skirts she'll not finger
silks she'll not admire-
i only ever wanted to be pleasing.
lace
ripped and reeling
i clean
down to the white
beyond bone and passed
the collected fat, i shove
myself
tight inside
the Goodwill bag.
she points and i pull
a new braid hiding
this girl.
this non-daughter.
and blackless.
possibly
bitch of no father.
-angela simione, 2009
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