Ok, Fiiine, I’m stressed

I don’t know why I dislike using the word stressed so much. I don’t even think it’s in my immediate self-descriptive vocabulary. If someone suggests that something is stressful or that I might be stressed, I get defensive or dismissive. “No,” I might say in a jovial patronizing way, “It must be something else.”

Here’s what Siri had to say on it.

I think maybe I think it’s too broad or too general. I am an action oriented person. I am a “next right thing (NRT)” person. Stress seems sweeping and broad. Sure anyone could be “stressed” about almost anything, but what is the very next issue? What is the next thing that can be done?

As I sit here in the new year with the court order continuing it’s step-up plan, I’ll have Isabella today after school until tomorrow before school. I sit here with an ice pack on my torso to ease the burning of the shingles, still unable to wear a bra which makes leaving the house very uncomfortable for me. I’m on day 15 with the shingles. Work has been affected. I haven’t been able to do much around the house and I am not sleeping well. There are definitely some things going on, but am I stressed?

If I use the current literature that I am studying, which is the new Brené Brown book, Altas of the Heart, Brené describes being stressed as “being in the weeds” as a server at a restaurant. If you are “in the weeds,” your coworkers jump to help you catch up. If you are “blown,” they send you out back for a smoke. Blown stands for overwhelmed, in Brené’s example. It’s listed under the heading “The Places we go when things are uncertain or too much,” and it’s the first section of the book.

I could concede to saying “I am in the weeds” but not “blown.”

Also listed in this section are overwhelm, anxiety, worry, avoidance, excitement, dread, fear, and vulnerability. Not a small lineup to define or identify in one’s self.

Exploring more, I was on medication for depression for about five years before I discovered that anxiety was playing a role in the depression. There are no quick fixes here, people.

I’m not much of a worrier, again I am action oriented. What can I do in this very moment? If the answer is nothing, I tend to not worry. I suppose there are moments when there is subtle worry that evades my prying brain. I pray those are moments of meditation and behind the scenes problem solving; ideas that seem to come from thin air.

Avoidance is the root of my addiction so I keep that in check pretty well. The ultimate avoidance is drinking, so smaller versions of that are carefully considered. That being said, I can zone out on some Netflix, I consume too much food and sugar, I vape, and kill me before taking my coffee.

I run on healthy excitement. I only dread big things. Things that are way out of my control. And even then, I do my part and show up. Court. I dreaded court, yet, I had done everything in my power and I had to let the rest to god. Winning that case has brought on a whole new handful of stressors, so there.

Fear is an interesting one. I have some pretty basic human fears that I’m sure are shared by most of humanity. Perhaps another day, another blog.

And vulnerability. I find myself being vulnerable all the time. It’s very beneficial. If part of this writing is processing, then, at this very moment, what I realize as I write is that maybe stress sneaks it’s way in and steals some vulnerability. When I stop sharing or share less with my person, when I am dealing with just a little bit too much on my own and not reaching out.

Still just your average alcoholic

I scared myself just a little bit today. I have had shingles for two weeks now. The full gambit. It started the day before Christmas with a pain in my back that I brushed off as sitting around too much.

A couple days later there came the small rash on my rib cage. By the time I went to the doctor, I had a rash from my mid-torso all the way around to my spine.

It progressed to blisters and then scabs. I have been working from home for two weeks. Thank god for working from home because it is painful to wear a bra.

Oh yeah, look at those bad boys. 12/28/2022

All that has been well and good though. I kept loose fitting clothes on, worked from home, took care of myself. Fine. But then this second phase kicked in. The rash is still there and it hurts. Then there is this other layer of internal pain that has been the really hard part. I’m told it is a virus that runs along a nerve in the body. I’m not much of a googler for illnesses so I don’t know the ins and outs. This second week of both internal and external pain has been hard.

Here comes the scare: I thought to myself today, just for a moment, it would be nice to not be feeling any of this pain for a while. Pain pills, that I think the doctor had mentioned when I was there, popped into my head followed ever so quickly and ever so briefly with booze.

The thought was gone as soon as it came. I am an alcoholic in long term recovery. It’s going to happen. The question is what do I do with it? Well, here you are reading. I process it. I don’t deny that it happened. And I celebrate that it was just a wimpy little measly thought that led to absolutely nothing.

I am not sleeping well. I have been in pain for a full week. There is an external burn and an internal stingy crampy shivery mess. It blows. I am worried about missing some work and there is a new schedule with Bella in 2023 and I’d deflated and I’m tired.

But guess what? I’m fucking sober. And I’m gonna stay that way. Now were is my cat and my robe?

The new routine is read and then write

I have just finished Brené Brown’s new book Atlas of the Heart. In it, she states that most people are familiar with three emotions: happy, sad, mad. Oof.

After defining the deficiency in language and successfully hooking this reader, she goes on to describe 87 emotions and experiences. Eighty-seven! Even after reading the book, I went back to the table of contents to count them. Brené puts them into categories of “Places we go when…” Perhaps that is why they didn’t seem so daunting.

I am fascinated by the research method she uses. She is a quantitative researcher using grounded theory. She writes on where the research takes her, not on a theory she comes up with and sets out to prove. I love that she defines this for the reader because once the theory comes from the research, then and only then does she go out and to find other research that supports her data. Her books are loaded with other research and studies. A hilarious side effect is that the results of her research often frustrate her as a measuring stick Texan. Not to mention she is 20 years deep into her work, no end in sight. Another finding leads to another question and the work continues.

I find this work so necessary in the present moment. When it comes to emotions, the language of, emotional well-being, mental health, and meaningful connection, we, as a society, are infants.

In my own life experience, the stories go back to the dust bowl and WWII. My grandmother was born in 1929. Think about how much has changed in her lifetime. My parents are boomers born in 1948 and the result of the WWII generation. I was born in 1979 and computers became an accessible thing in my lifetime. Trying to explaining half of this to my kid, born in 2015 is near impossible.

Our rate of change is alarming. Mental health is still a relatively new concept. Disconnection in the digital age is also very new. It’s changing us in ways that have no precedent. If we don’t evolve, we won’t evolve. That sounds kind of dangerous to me. So 87 emotions and experiences? Okay, I’m in.

Here is the list. Good luck.

If you made it this far and are fascinated instead of frustrated, welcome. You are in good company.

My word for 2023: Discipline

I suppose the self is implied, but when I searched for a an inspirational picture of discipline, self discipline was far more represented.

My word for 2022 was consistency. I believe I honored that word and my intentions in 2022. I am in my longest bout of sobriety at 955 days or about two and a half years. I consistently show up to one of the best jobs I have ever had. I consistently adhere to my daily routine of prayer and meditation in the morning, and going to bed by 9ish. I attend therapy. I keep a strict schedule with my medications. I stay connected to myself and others. The nature of addiction is bio-psycho-social-spiritual and all things must be consistently addressed to remain healthy.

It thrills me to no end to be content with where I am on a particular matter and still want to improve or grow. I am thrilled with my life and still, I want to grow.

You are witnessing an aspect of the new word if you are reading this. I suppose it’s been a few months back that I changed my morning routine. I was reading multiple inspirational and spiritual daily readers, and then journaling on my thoughts. I have most recently and consistently done this for about three years, but it has been a practice for about 12 years. However, it wasn’t inspiring me like it used to. So instead of dropping the routine all together, I altered it. I started reading books, so far non-fiction. I missed the journaling aspect and so, here we are.

Blogging is different than journalling for me because I journal for myself whereas I blog to be read. I feel as though I am writing to someone versus writing to myself or my higher power. It is a different form of writing and brings me a different kind of joy.

I digress. Discipline. I am content with where I am in my life AND I can do better. I’m the one who benefits. What is holding me back from putting the bowl in the dishwasher or emptying the dishwasher of clean dishes before the dirty ones fill the sink? What is stopping me from using the rowing machine that has sat in the living room since we moved into this house? What keeps me from mowing the lawn just long enough that it is more difficult to mow now that it’s taller? Why do I hop in my car when I could ride my bike to work?

There are two catalysts for this word: One is my health and weight, the other is my education. Everything is fine just the way it is. I have never had a higher quality of life. Never. I am so grateful. I am content. The question is where can I go from here?

The answer is anywhere I damn well please.

Rest in Peace, Dear One

One of my most dear friends died Christmas morning. She spent Christmas Eve Day with all three of her children and 2 of her grand-babies. Her eldest announced a pending birth of the next grand-baby and I’m told she was overjoyed. Her children found her the next morning in her bed.

She was one of the most kind, loving, caring people I have ever known. She was great at caring for others and I was no exception. Belinda was one of the first people that reached out to me at the very beginning of my recovery. I didn’t know it then, but I was at the end of my first marriage. I went to medical detox and was to come home to an empty apartment, my significant at the time leaving me while I was in detox.

In order to avoid coming home to an empty disheveled apartment, Belinda invited me to stay at her home. Prior to going to detox, I hadn’t eaten in a month. I ate what they served (to the best of my recollection) and was now on my own to make food decisions. I remember choosing iceberg lettuce and strawberries.

I was devastated to be losing my first wife and sober 7 days. It’s a dark place to be. Belinda’s idea was to take my mind off of things, even for a short while. She put in a DVD of Jeff Dunham, the ventriloquist comic. I sat on the floor of her home eating a plain head of lettuce, and strawberries dipped in sugar. And we laughed. She didn’t try to fix anything or make me feel better. We just laughed. This was in 2009 and we have been friends ever since.

Belinda was one of those friends that became close and never let that closeness fade. She was so warm and quiet and calm. I moved from Wichita that same year, but we never lost the closeness, no matter how long it had been since we last spoke. When anything important happened in her life, she would call, as would I.

I was called for the announcement of her wedding, pending births of grand-babies, and almost anything her children were doing. When one of her children came to look at the campus at KU, we spent a lovely day on the hill.

Most recently, on August 11th, 2021, Belinda’s wife Gloria died. Belinda was devastated. I went and spent several days with her helping with Celebration of Life arrangements. Since our very first experience together, when I stayed in her home, she has been so comforting to me. I always wanted to extend that same gift to her.

This time the call came from one of her children, Becca. My phone rang Christmas morning and I knew something was wrong. I cannot imagine what her children are going through. I am grateful that her love lives on in them. I never once questioned her love for me. May I give that same love to her grieving children. They have been part of the joy of knowing the most fabulous Belinda Boston.

The dedication of her children shown here at Gloria’s service.

My Dearest Belinda, I know, even in death, that you are concerned about the pain your children are currently in. Believe me when I tell you that the comfort you brought others continues. They will be okay. Rest in Peace, dear one. I pray you are enjoying your release from earthly limitations. I pray your soul has found Gloria’s and any others you had lost in life. Thank you for your friendship and love. I am a better human because of you. Love, Holly

Who’s idea was this?! Letting children ride bikes?!

I was flat out not prepared for letting my tiny precious breakable wobbly adventurous daredevil human to ride a bike. It was all fun and games when we were on our little side street weaving cones and brushing up on skills. But then she wants to ride to her friend’s house along the speedway of 15th Street.

I mean just look at her. She is clearly in peril. She is unskilled and unprepared. Let’s run to the store and get elbow pads, knee pads, shoulder pads, a rib cage protector, maybe just an entire suit of armor. Why are humans not coated in some sort of protective shell anyway, like beetles or turtles?

Despite my current exploration into naming emotions, the only one I can think of to describe riding behind her on the sidewalk of a busy street is fear. No, terror. Physical discomfort. She’s too far in front of me. She’s going to slip on the wet leaves and veer right into traffic. She will probably ride right off the curb and into the drainage ditch. And why is that drainage spout so big anyway? A small human could fall in! I should call the city. Oh my god, she just raced across that intersection without even looking! Easy on the downhill! Stay in control! Brake! Watch out for those sugar maple droppings! Wet leaves! And oh my god, why is everyone driving so fast! Slow down! This is all just a death trap! Abort! Abort!

Not prepared. But we all survived the ride. Four times, in fact. The final time we headed home as she rode down the rollercoaster sized hill to our turn, she let out a massive WHOHOOOOO, her hair and helmet wings flapping in the wind. Then almost fell into the drainage ditch turning onto our street.

Obviously I must hide or sell the bike before she visits again but it was fun while it lasted. Two wheels is far to dangerous for mothers of breakable children. I think we will keep both feet on the ground inside the fenced in back yard from now on. But I should probably still order the suit of armor.

Intentions, manifestations, and more

We spent a lovely day yesterday thinking about the year to come. I am a brand new part time parent with a 7 year old. I was in school when she was born. I was her full time caregiver only away from her when I was in class.

“Good morning, are we supposed to throw our food?”
“Nooooo.”
“No. Hmmmmm.”
“Hmm.”

Nevertheless, it was Bella and me. Then addiction and destruction happened. I did not see her from February 2018 until early 2020. Just over two years, if I recall correctly without looking at notes. Since early 2020, I have been working for more time and rights. I took her other parent to court and have been awarded joint legal custody with parenting time every other weekend. When I decided to have a child, this was never the manifestation in my head, to see and be with my child every other weekend. Alas, here we are.

We make the most of the weekends. This weekend has been my third or fourth full weekend and we are finding our footings. She has her own room which we started decorating together. She is settling in and getting comfortable, as am I and my fiancée.

With as much as we know about parenting and humanity in general, I often wonder how I am screwing my kid up in this very moment. Every parent does the best they can, and yet every adult struggles with something from their childhood. I wonder how I am scarring her. It’s not a self defeating wonder. It’s a curious wonder. I also wonder how I might be providing something/anything she may not be getting at her other home.

We had an amazing NYE: there was food, dancing, singing, fellowship, contentment. We ended the night (very late for this routine based mommie) by releasing a lantern with words like family, love, peace, joy etc, into the night air and watching it till it disappeared into the night sky. This is the very first 3 day weekend that I have her, so we also had a full day New Years Day and still time today! We spent time yesterday being together with food, writing intentions for the year, manifesting growth, connection, creativity. We drew pictures and words onto paper and then burned everything to symbolize letting it go.

I don’t know why I didn’t put parenting on my paper because there is a monumental intention that I need to mediate and write on and then let go. I never planned to be a part time parent. I have no idea what it looks like. What do I focus on? What do I adhere to? What do I let go of? What is important and what is not?

I am not completely without tools. I do have a mother and a lovely family from which I came. I know that my kiddo will be loved. She will know she is loved more than anything. No matter what. Without cause or circumstance. I love you. No matter what.

And I will be there. No matter where there is: so far it has been horse shows and soccer games. The rest is relaxed free time to be herself, play with the dog, have time and space to herself, and go do all the fun things that our beloved town has to offer. We are just getting started in that arena.

It’s been a thrill thus far, this part time parenting. And only about 1.5 million doubts. I guess I’ll keep suiting up and showing up so I can show her how it’s done.

January One, Twenty Twenty-Three

Happy NewYear, you filthy animals!

Where do I restart? How do I jump in? Who is this for? I guess in the end, when I decided to start writing again, it brought me joy. So there you go. It’s for me. But I like it when others read and engage. Truthfully, I wanna be like Brené Brown. I want everyone to read what I write. Eh, she has like 20 years experience and several degrees. I have yet to finish my bachelors. Don’t think that is a self put down. I’ll finish it. It’s only a matter of time. Funny thing is I am quite content with where and I am AND thrilled as to where anything might go.

I have been thinking about starting to write again since I changed my morning routine. I used to do daily spiritual readers and then physically journal about my thoughts with pencil and paper. This can lead to some amazing discoveries about yourself, the way you interact with yourself and others, how you are navigating life, with what attitude, and perpetuate spiritual growth. I should say I only speak for myself, and that is what it has done for me. After about three and a half to four full years of doing this (two and a half of those years continuously sober), it started to feel a little unfulfilling. I also went through a mental health dip that included discouragement in my work and a general irritation about any tiny little thing at home. That is so not me. I am generally thrilled with literally almost anything. I can sit down at any given moment and toss out a gratitude list that would go on for pages. That made this dip troubling.

So I changed things up. I started reading new things in the morning and not journalling. Again, think Brené Brown because she is my current obsession. I have blown through 3-4 books and I sit in the quiet for 2-3 hours in the morning reading. This is new and different. I am taking in new information to reignite the continuous spiritual growth. This is an essential part of my current existence as an addict/alcoholic in long term recovery. Continuous spiritual growth.

What was working stopped working, maybe stalled is a better description, so I changed it up and relit my desire for more.

Conversations with Bella

I had a zoom call with Isabella yesterday. It was the first time I had spoken to her in two years. She was hesitant at first sitting cross-legged on the couch staring at her screen with a shy smile. It was beautiful. She was beautiful. We started the conversation with a little bit of technical issues with sound and so just sitting there staring at each other, both of us smiling. Her hair was in braids and she was reserved.

She called me mommie about 45 minutes into the call. I nudged Angie, who was sitting next to me. “She called me mommie.” Angie was like, “I heard.” All quick and quiet as to not miss a beat with Bells.

We sat and spoke for a while before gymnastics came up and all of a sudden her device was on the floor and she was showing us splits, handstands, headstands, wall stands, and cartwheels. With, “What else do you think I can do?” She stood on her right leg for over 30 seconds with us counting aloud. Only about 15 seconds on the left.

There were math tables recited and words spelled. She can spell her name forward and backwards and is resourceful. She is very well spoken. She has great diction and enunciation.

My favorite part of the conversation occurred when I asked her what she wanted for her upcoming birthday. She replied, a book. She said she liked reading and that she wanted a Pete the Cat book for her birthday. It was a really proud mom moment. I cannot wait to sit and read with her again.

By the end of the conversation we both had our hair down to compare lengths. Hers was a dark pink and purple color. It was so cute! I have been growing my hair out since she was born almost 6 years ago. My hair is not the type to keep growing and growing so it has kind of stalled. Hers has not. It’s very long, and from what I could see on the screen, more than half way down her back. And it was purple! Like a really nice purple with pink highlights. It was really well done. I’m happy for her. She’s quite fond of pink and purple, but when I asked her favorite color, she replied, “Red, and blue. And purple and silver and gold. And some other colors.” Angie replied that she too had trouble picking just one color.

“Grateful” doesn’t do justice. Maybe “grace.” Nevertheless, I am very happy. I didn’t miss everything. Not yet anyway. Let this be a start. Let me be grateful. Let me remember.

Your Hands Will Shake

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