And forgive, and forgive again, and then live on a higher plane without their permission and without apology because your life might just depend on it.
I recently mowed part of my yard. I mean part, like just part of the front. I did what I could do and then I rolled the mower to the back. It was long before I started and unfinished when I was done for the day. I got to thinking how my father would be less than thrilled about the current state of my yard if he were to drive by. This led directly to a sincere desire that maybe a boomer would drive by and scoff, just like my father might. And by the time I was done taking pictures, I was hoping that this would cause discomfort to any drive by boomer.
Where had all that come from? Well, I am still harboring some anger about my last visit to my father’s hometown in which he asked me why I was wearing a pride shirt in Ellsworth, KS. God for fucking bid. AND, I recently came through what was the closest I have come to a drink in about three years. How do these connect? Give me an hour on the phone with my most beloved, who is away for a week, and I will verbally process the shit out of these things.
It’s shame, folks. Shame is the connector. Projected shame. Perceived shame. And best of all, shame resilience.
My beloved Angela is out of town on the second of two trips in as many months. Last Saturday, I came as close as I have come since getting sober this last and final time, to drinking. I still struggle with depression and anxiety. After a few days on the other side of this incident, I discovered that I had made a window for myself to drink. At the time, it felt like I barely made it through this incident. But, again, a few days on the other side, I see that I did, or my higher power did exactly what needed to be done to get through it.
In order to set myself up to drink, I canceled plans. I thought it was because I just wanted to be in my space and relax in a nice cool dark room. Watch my TV. Sit in my chair. When I realized I was doing this, I did not reschedule the plans I had canceled. What I did do was tell someone that I felt like drinking. When I was unsatisfied with how I felt after I did that, I told someone else. And then I told someone else. I texted several women from my support system. I kept talking. I declined several invitations that felt like too much commitment, but I kept talking. I made it home safe to a booze free home and I stayed put. At the time, I was a little down on myself for not doing more. Not going to dinner. Not letting someone come over and sit with me. But now that I look back on it, it was the perfect middle. I didn’t drink. And I didn’t make myself more uncomfortable by doing something I really didn’t want to do.
It turns out that getting just a little down on myself can be a new theme that runs through my life. There is no room for shame. Fuck shame right in it’s ear. Celebrate everything. Talk about everything. Connect the BS that happened with my father over the 4th of July to this incident and things can creep in. Once they creep in, I am susceptible to lying and hiding. Shame cannot survive in the light.
The Isms of the Ic 