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.

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.