Tag Archives: hopeful

Pen Anxiety

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GASP.
It’s gone.
My Jean Pierre Lepine fountain pen is gone.
The one I’ve written with for the last seven years.
Disappeared.
And I mean, just POOF!
Disappeared from the zipper pouch
where it was safely tucked with my journal.
I actually spent time looking for it…
in my meditation corner,
in my bed,
in my car…
Where is my pen?
Have I lost my mind?
I have loads of other pens,
I could’ve written plenty
by now,
but this pen.
This ONE pen is…
my pen.
My one pen that I’ve held
and moved and loved
for years.
How many miles of ink
did I write with this pen?
And now I need to let it go?
Deep breaths.
The one who thought the words
and the one who placed the tip to paper
to write them
is very much, thankfully, still here.
And there are many more pens out there…

In Phoenix

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phoenix condo window

Phoenix, I’m here!
For one week
I left the familiar
to go on retreat,
to have an adventure.
I miss my kids already,
yet I know that this is good
for all of us.
After the heartache and tumult
of this past summer,
I longed for a different perspective,
a different experience of myself,
to be someone other than
the depressed woman
whose husband wants a divorce.
To achieve this  different perspective,
to create a different perception of myself,
a radical shift was necessary,
and here I am…
Flying 2000 miles away feels
pretty radical.
Tomorrow I’ll go to the desert in Sedona
and I’ll pray.
I practice yoga and dance.
I’ll rest.
I’ll thank God I’m here,
over and over again.
The depressed woman
didn’t follow me here.
The adventurer has taken her place,
and I can’t wait
to meet her.

An Exploration of Relationship Dynamics (Can I get a witness?)

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After having yet another disagreement
about the time I spend alone in meditation,
alone writing, alone reading–
I can really get why many marriages fail.

It cuts to the heart of what is important for me,
and his disagreement is heartbreaking…
it feels like an attack.  It feels like he is being stubborn,
closeminded, childish.
And what words would he use to describe me now?
Probably selfish, ridiculous, out of touch.
if I weren’t committed to working this out,
a part of me would be content to say,
“Ahh, clearly I need to be married to a man who meditates.”
A part of me would be content to throw in the towel
and blame him for our problems.

Hogwash. Relationships don’t work that way.
I want to tend to mine with love and caring,
to develop loyalty and the strength
so that I may support him in his creative pursuits,
so that I may experience true companionship.

This all makes so much sense, yes,
but what about when marriage
becomes like war in the trenches?
When does my willingness to concede
become a sacrifice of ME, the self I like in me?

If one of you has a magic wand,
please rub it over our heads.
Maybe our eyes and hearts will open
just a little bit more
and we’ll enjoy the being in the other.

The Last Day of February

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The blossoming always comes at the perfect time.

Patience, and trust that the blossoming will occur in the perfect time, space and sequence.

I decided in January that I would be exploring the Twelve Steps in some form during the twelve months that I have committed to daily posts.  Today is the last day of February, the second month, so it only seems fitting that I wrap up with some work on the second step. I wrote a good bit of this post a week ago, but never got around to polishing it to my liking.  Hopefully today I can post writing that is enough in congruence with what I’m feeling that it rings with authenticity, if not for everyone else, then at least for myself.

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Step Two is the rallying point for all of us. Whether agnostic, atheist, or former believer, we can stand together on this Step. True humility and an open mind can lead us to faith, and every  meeting is an assurance that God will restore us to sanity if we rightly relate ourselves to Him.
-from http://www.aa.org

February 20, 2014

Nearing the end of February, and I find myself wanting to reflect more and more on the second step of the Twelve Steps. Tonight I spent some time researching Rageaholics Anonymous. I even found a phone meet-up and wondered if I would have the courage to join in on one of the conference calls.  There don’t seem to be any meetings in Baltimore; I would prefer to meet face to face with people, but I suppose a conference call is better than doing nothing at all.

My therapist suggested that I find an AA meeting in town.  Without too much effort I could present myself as an alcoholic, he suggested, and then I would gain admission to the group.  He cautioned me that if I tried to join saying that I’m actually a rageaholic but that I want to be part of a group, they  might not let me in.

Sure, I could present myself as an alcoholic.  I have turned to drink many times when I felt sad, or angry, or uptight.  I relied on drinking when I felt nervous in a social setting and wanted to “take the edge off.”  I have been so drunk that my body began to violently reject what I had poured into it, in an effort to save itself from being poisoned, evidence of its impulse to survive at all costs.  I have driven when I certainly shouldn’t have, and was lucky enough to not hurt anyone or myself.  I have allowed drinking to cloud my mind so that I wouldn’t experience true connection with my family or myself.  Sure, I could pass for an alcoholic.  Because I might actually be an alcoholic.  It doesn’t really matter that I haven’t had a drink since last August and that I haven’t missed it much at all.  The truth is, I have engaged in many addictive behaviors in my lifetime, the consequences of which I am not the least bit proud.  I want to explore these behaviors in the context of an established system that has proven results, if one is willing to do what needs to be done.  I think I am.

It would be nice to join a group.  I think in the end what I’m really looking for is connection, for support, a sense of being a part of something, being included.  Could I find this connection with myself, support myself, include myself?  I think I wouldn’t be asking these questions if I were already capable of such self-honoring.

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February 28, 2014

It’s the last day of February and I’m exhausted from four sleepless nights in a row.  The Wellbutrin is having its way with me. I’m not supposed to be looking for an improvement in my mood before two weeks have passed, and this is the minimum window of time in which one can expect for the drug to take effect.  And there is the painful irony:  I’m taking this medicine with hopes of someday feeling better, but while waiting for that to happen, I’m being deprived of rest, of respite from my neurotic mind. I feel myself slipping into a downward spiral of impatience, resentment, anxiety, overwhelm, loneliness, sheer exhaustion, and I’m just feeling a whole lot worse.  It isn’t supposed to be like this, is it?

And yet, I am a mother.  I must be there to take care of my kids, to provide for their needs.  I’m getting caught up in my thoughts, and my son or daughter is whimpering, calling out.  They’re getting fussy with one another.  My son resists having his diaper changed and gets poop all over his hands, his legs.  My daughter doesn’t go willingly to the bathroom on her own; she needs to be coaxed, offered incentives.  Making lunch seems like a huge, nearly insurmountable task, all I want to do is lie down, rest, and let someone else be the mother.

But I push through, and inside, I am screaming.  My son scampers out of the room and starts pulling things off of bookshelves, out of drawers.  He does this while I’m trying to help my daughter with a puzzle that is probably too complex for her.  I dash after the boy to clean up the messes he has made, to avoid the worsening of the messes–and my daughter cries out in frustration because she has reached an impasse and needs my help.  I am running back and forth, from room to room, the house is in disarray.  I want rest. Inside I am screaming.

It is 1:41pm, and the kids are in their rooms for nap time. I take a deep breath.  I’m looking forward to teaching restorative yoga tonight; it might be the only moment today in which I experience peace, centeredness, stillness.  I take another deep breath, peace is now. Only now.

The second step reads:

I came to believe that a power greater than myself could restore my life to sanity.

As I look back on what I’ve experienced the past two months, and as I look forward into the third month and the third step, I feel pretty complete in this moment, as far as my step work goes.  I don’t have a group or a sponsor, but I do believe that a power greater than myself can restore my life to sanity.  Maybe the higher power is God, maybe it’s Wellbutrin, who knows?  All that is really important here is my belief.

And I do believe.