Solstice Thoughts

I have always dreamed of writing one of those beautiful Holiday letters. You know, the ones that tell all of the marvelous things that have happened throughout the year? Well, this is the year. The problem is, if I went into detail about all of the events in our lives, you would probably run screaming for the medicine cabinet for either a nausea remedy or something to combat depression.

So, rather than go into all of the details of our barn burning down, our daughters tragic automobile accident, month in the hospital, the ensuing thousands of miles driven to doctors appointments, the tragic loss of a friend’s son in Afghanistan, the death of two other dear friends to cancer, etc, etc, etc., I will tell you what I have learned in the past year.

I have learned that possessions are the least important things in my life. Losing everything in my barn was an inconvenience, not a tragedy. I have learned that insurance companies are not our friends, they are not on our side no matter how much you pay them.

I have learned that your life can change in a second. One minute you can be watering your flower beds, and the next minute racing to the scene of an accident. All of your plans can go right out the window, sidelined by the needs of someone else. I have learned that the love of friends and family can sustain you through the darkest moments. I have learned that having someone provide a home cooked meal for you means more than anything, and that a friend coming over and cleaning your bathroom can lift your spirits like nothing else can. I have learned on a whole new level that I am not in control of much of anything in my life. I have learned once again that love is not a feeling, it is an action, it’s what you do when things are really, really hard.

I have learned gratitude for the simplest joys in my life. I have learned to embrace the struggles of my own and those that I love. I have learned that loss is a tool for growth. Through our grieving we discover who we really are, what we are truly made of.

The Winter Solstice is a time for embracing the dark and rejoicing in a return to the light. In celebration of the cycles we all endure, I cherish the dark and frightening lessons which lead me to a more enlightened understanding of myself and my place in the world.

Solstice Thoughts

Love

Much has been written over the eons about love. Mostly romantic love with all of its ecstasy, pitfalls and drama. There is the love we feel for our children, our animals, our new car. People are liable to say that they "love" a new t.v. show or celebrity. So, really, what is love? It's easy to say that you love someone. It's pretty easy to feel love for someone. The really difficult task is in truly loving them. Love is not a noun, it is a verb, an action. Without the action, all the pretty words mean nothing. When your three month old baby is crying incessantly at 3:00 in the morning, do you get out of bed for the umpteenth time and try to soothe them because you feel this great love for them, or because you just want them to shut up so you can get back to sleep? Love is the thing you do when you do not feel loving, when a person is the hardest to love, how do you act toward them?

Family

My family is very close, loving and full of co-dependent and/or addicted folks. The majority of us are smart, smart-assed, funny, creative and extremely interesting. I love them all fiercely and sometimes they drive me crazy. I recently heard a sermon regarding the souls that we have chosen to spend our lives with, and the lessons we learn from each other, and how we are mirrors for one another. I have to ask myself, "Am I learning from these people, or am I fighting against the tide of my spiritual journey?"

I have heard it said "there is the family you want, the family you got, and the family you choose". I guess that many of us have this fantasy family where everyone acts like Ward, June, Wally and the Beav. I don't really know anyone who has a family like that, but surely they must exist somewhere. Or were they the product of some 1960ish t.v. writers longing for a family where dad and mom did not get all liquored up and make a scene in the front yard on Friday night? Have we all been duped into believing that families can be like the Anderson's on Father Knows Best, or The Brady Bunch, or The Waltons? I loved the Waltons so much that I actually named some of my children after the characters on the show. I wanted us to be like the Waltons, but I think we more resemble the Simpsons on a good day.

I don't know if I could really describe the family I want, it is such an elusive ever changing thing, but I can tell you about the family I've got. My parents loved me, but were often consumed with their own issues and were not always available to me in the ways that I wish they could have been. My brother and I fought like wild savages when we were young, and he died before we could really be grown ups together. I was blessed with many grandparents who spent time with me and gave me a sense of security, although their marriages were not an example of blissful cohabitation. My aunt and uncles have shown me strength and humility and courage in the face of their many challenges. I married a man who gave me four wonderful children, but we eventually went our separate ways due to irreconcilable differences. Those children have been the source of my greatest joy, my deepest pain and my most valuable lessons. My current husband is my best friend, my anchor in a sometimes crazy world, and he cannot seem to put my power tools back where they belong. I have stepsons and daughters in law who I love and admire, and grandsons who are the light of my life. I have the dearest friends who have helped me to grow into a better person, and loved me when I could not love myself. And you know what? In the end, this is the family I choose.

Honesty

Addiction breeds dysfunction breeds dishonesty breeds unhealthy relationships. It goes on and on. The question of the year for me is "where will it end?" I have spent most of my life living in dishonesty, mostly about my motives and about who I really am. This is not usually intentional dishonesty, mind you. My inability to recognize the truth goes so deep that I am very easily able to believe that I am living a forthright life when in fact I am full of shit.
True honesty requires more of us than merely telling the truth. If we are to live an honest life, we must continually look for the motives that drive us to behave in ways that do not express our true selves. This is not an easy task. The pressures of our families and our culture can lead us to think and act in ways that express the expectations placed upon us, rather than letting our true selves shine through. I am striving to live an authentic life, one which feels right to me on a cellular and spiritual level. The quality of my relationships is directly affected by my ability to interact honestly with others. I do not mean the kind of brutal honesty that can be hurtful, but a frank expression of myself. If I am to reach the end of my life and feel that I had an existence that was meaningful, it is imperative that I continue to search for the truth, my truth. Not your truth or their truth, but my truth. But will I know if it is the truth, or more bullshit?

Grief

Grieving is a long process. In our culture, where you get three days off work if your Grandmother dies, we seem to think that you can make a tidy package of grief and be done with it in a few weeks or months. The reality is that grieving can go on for a lifetime. My brother died thirty two years ago, and last year on his birthday I cried all day. When I see other people with their siblings, I feel the loss all over, in deeper ways than I did in the beginning. Grieving my childhood has been a process filled with potholes and dark hallways. I want to take the little girl who was left to fend for herself all morning in her highchair and hold her in my arms until she feels safe. Most of the time I do not dwell on the realities of my childhood, but once in a while something happens to cause those feelings of fear, loneliness, and unworthiness to rise to the surface. Then I find myself drowning in grief. Recent events have weakened my normal resilience and left me vulnerable to these issues. I am looking at this as a gift. I do not learn anything when things are good. I am normally strong and positive. I need to be knocked down hard before I become open to the lessons I need to continue to grow. When I am hurting, I am learning. We are three people: the person we think we are, the person other people think we are, and the person we really are. My goal in recovery is to find the person I really am. In the process of learning who I am, I have to grieve the losses that have helped to shape me. I don't like it, but as my friend Eva used to say, "Nobody said you had to like it".

Childhood

Growing up with parents who were emotionally unavailable due to separation, drinking, depression, whatever, taught me that I was not important enough to warrant their attention. If only I was a better little girl, a better student, a better sister, maybe I would be worthy. Alas, nothing I did made an impression until as a teenager I began to act out in ways that they deemed inappropriate. A little sex at an early age sure can get a parents attention. And how about skipping school and a few illegal drugs? Boy, that will get a rise out of them!
I came away from my childhood with an unconscious knowledge that I had to act in ways that were a little left of the acceptable norm to be noticed. I am not sure to this day if my radical tendencies are a true part of my inborn nature, or a tragic attempt to be noticed. My search for serenity and recovery requires me to get to the root of my motives. A wise woman told me recently that it is possible to hide a bad motive under a good one.

Barn

My barn really did burn down. That's it in the picture. I called the fire department, then pulled out my camera. You don't ever want to miss a good scrap booking opportunity. It was a freezing cold night and my husband turned on a heat lamp for the chickens. In a matter of minutes the 80 year old building was engulfed in flames. Amazingly, one of the hens survived, huddling outside in the snow. I suspect she was guilty of homicide, maybe using her little beak to chew through the wire holding the lamp up, fleeing the scene of the crime and leaving her flock mates to roast in the inferno. We sent her to live with my sister-in-law's flock, where she met her demise at the hands and teeth of a raccoon a few months later. What goes around comes around...

Detachment

Detaching from an alcoholic/addict spouse is not easy. First of all, you are legally bound together. If there are children, the complications multiply tenfold. In my previous marriage, my fantasies of detachment usually went something like this: I said "til death do us part", so someone has to die, and it's not going to be me. The logical conclusion to this was murder. Thankfully, I never followed this line of reasoning to it's disastrous conclusion. I used to fantasize about the many ways he might die. A fiery automobile crash on a dark night. A short but painful illness. You get the picture. This was not very smart on my part since he had no life insurance and I would have been left with four children and no visible means of earning a living. I was complaining about him at an Al-Anon meeting early in my recovery. I said "he doesn't eat right, he drinks and smokes too much, how long can he possibly live?" A wise woman said "A long fucking time." Obviously I needed more meetings. When finally pushed to my limits, divorce was the only course of action that I was willing to take. I detached, but not with love. I detached with resentment, anger and malice.

Detaching from friends has been less problematic. I can listen to their trials and tribulations without feeling like I have to solve anything. I am able to offer support and loving suggestions, and not take it personally if they continue to make the same mistakes over and over again. If I do want to separate from a friend due to irreconcilable differences, I just don't answer the phone or return calls. Eventually the offending party stops calling and I am able to avoid confronting the issue head on. My alternate method of detaching from a friend or acquaintance is to emotionally distance myself. I have perfected several ways of accomplishing this. I don't really listen when they talk to me, don't make much eye contact, forget birthdays, make excuses about why I can't spend time with them, and more. Indifference seems to be the operative word in these situations.

The real paradox for me is this: The more I love someone, the less able I am to "detach with love". I love my children more than life itself. They are the most amazing people. Smart, funny, interesting. I want so badly for everything to be good and healthy and joyous for them. When they struggle with serious life issues, i.e. addiction, I become very afraid, which makes me feel powerless, then I become angry, which makes me feel powerful. My anger seems like a tool to force change. It never works, of course. My anger only alienates those that I love and erects an impenetrable wall between us. When I can stop myself from reacting with anger, when I can detach from the problem, not take it personally, I am able to lovingly listen and offer support. I always want to offer answers when what I really need to do is ask what they think their options are. Respect and loving detachment are amazing tools for healthy relationships. Why do I so frequently forget that?

Beginnings

My sponsor told my long ago that it is possible to work a great program if you are in a closet all by yourself, but invite some people or situations into your closet and all hell breaks loose. Well, there are some people and situations in my closet, and I am struggling.

My road of recovery has been long and circuitous. I repeatedly spiral around to the same issue - the inability to detach with love from the people I am closest to. I react with anger when I am afraid, and put up walls between myself and the ones I love the most.

I am entirely ready to surrender, to have this defect of character removed, but I know that until I really understand the reward for continuing to behave in this manner, I will not truly let go. I am determined to explore this and other issues that prevent me from living in harmony with my family and myself. I am programmed by genetics, upbringing, experience to behave in ways that do not serve me well. I am opening myself to the process of self discovery and recovery. Let the journey commence.