Tag Archives: Recovery

Sometimes Prayers

Standard

In my search to find a home
for myself and my children
I reached out about a rental property
and found out that someone has already applied…
My first reaction was a jolt of anxiety,
and then a selfish hope that they would be denied…
but then I remembered that we live in
a universe of inifinite possibility
and I affirmed that either this or something better
would be available for me and the kids
in divine right timing.
When you reach desperation point
sometimes prayers
are all you have.

I Got A Haircut!

Standard

I was married to a hairdresser,
and in June 2017
he told me he would no longer cut my hair.
(Or sleep in the same bed.
Or share our life, our finances, our time.)
I’ve been sleeping alone since then,
and have fought mightily
to stay committed to this plane of existence,
and I have progressed by leaps and bounds
since June 2017, when I was
a messy slobbering puddle on the floor
grieving my life before it was blown apart.
As time passed
I discovered that I enjoyed sleeping alone,
and I felt more committed to
staying on this plane of existence,
but I still hadn’t gotten my hair cut.
I had built up the importance
of finding a new hairdresser
to the point of feeling anxious
and overwhelmed at the prospect of choosing.
So I didn’t choose.
I did nothing.
My dear friend gifted me with a hair cut last July
when I visited her in Colorado,
and I was oh so grateful to be neatened up a bit…
but I still hadn’t found
someone else to cut my hair in this town where I live,
until today.
Today I picked up the phone,
dialed the salon nearest my house,
booked the next available appointment,
found my way into a chair just an hour later.
I got a haircut!
I got a haircut!
I got a haircut!
And I am free at last.

I Wish Mine Could Be

Standard

Terror.
Agony.
Uncertainty.
Future is up in the air.
What will I do?
Where will I go?
Where will I live?
So easy to go back to victimhood,
and blame the one
who made these children with me.
Recovering from the lies and deceit,
the abandonment, betrayal and loss,
some days it’s enough
just to get out of bed
and take care of the kids.
And now I need to take care of myself,
provide for myself,
fill up the massive hole in my chest
that he left when he threw me away…
And it has been two years.
Healing isn’t linear…
it takes many twists and turns,
and there are many in-between moments
of not knowing what action to take.
Healing isn’t linear…
I just wish mine could be.

I Was Free

Standard

And suddenly,
it was gone.
The need to be right.
The need to be sad.
The need to be angry.
All of it, suddenly, gone.
And what remained?
Space.
Space for this moment,
to welcome all the things
I’ve been telling myself
I really want.
I breathed,
and in came the joy.
I breathed,
and in came the power.
I breathed deeper,
and touched into the love
that was already there.
And I was free.
I was free.
I was free.

Promise You’ll Love Me

Standard

Who do I have to be for you
so that you’ll stop blaming me
and criticizing me for everything
that you perceive is wrong with this picture?
How do I have to act?
What do I have to say?
How do you need me to dress?
To speak?
To write?
What, precisely, do I need to prove?
What task must I perform?
How much money do I need to make?
What do I do too much?
What do I do too little?
How should I style my hair?
Should I wear make-up?
What should I eat?
How much should I weigh?
How many friends should I have?
How often should I contact them?
What kind of car should I drive?
Where should I live?
How should I spend my time?
When should I rest?
When should I work?
Can you give me a list?
Will you promise me
that if can get it right—
you’ll love me?

Regardless of What I’m Doing

Standard

A deep and pervading sense of futility,
like things will always be this way,
like I will always feel this way.
Darkness closing in,
suffocating in my loneliness,
counting the minutes
until I can be useful again
in the two roles I currently have:
mother and yoga teacher.
I can see why,
with these painful feelings,
some people become workaholics.
And, I want to get to the place
where I can celebrate the fact of being,
regardless of what I’m doing
and for whom I’m doing it.

Another Poem (Gratitude)

Standard

Before he dropped the bomb
I had a regular, consistent gratitude practce.
I recorded five things every night
for which I was grateful.
I had been doing this for years,
faithfully,
and had already filled multiple books
with my nightly gratitudes.
After he dropped the bomb,
I expanded my practice.
When my mind was telling me my life was over
and that I’d never be happy again,
I recorded twenty things every night
for which I was grateful.
I began to count the smallest things
as important…
the way the sun rose,
the way my child’s voice sounds,
the taste of soup,
the temperature of the wind.
I realized that those “little” things
are enormous in their beauty
and their presence.
I realized I could be more grateful.
I started to realize that happiness
is a choice I make every day.
I’m into my healing process.
I can thank him for dropping the bomb
and blowing my old life to bits
so that I could create a new life.
I’m still working on forgiveness,
but that is another poem.