Mood Swings.

Today started out well, then I was sitting here doing some unpicking of a waistband on a pair of pants I'm altering, because they've gotten too big for me, and began thinking about my partner and I collecting seeds for the rooftop terrace garden, and wondered if I'll even be around next year to garden. Within a short time, my mood has darkened considerably, and I've gone from feeling fairly cheerful and positive to a much more negative frame of mind. I'm wondering if there is any point in doing some of the future planning I've been doing - will I be alive to do these things I'm discussing with friends and family?

I was diagnosed on August 12th, it's now September 21st, and the waiting to get all the tests done in order to stage the tumour, and being told nothing whatsoever until they are all completed, is beginning to wear upon me. I'm trying with all of my might to accept the waiting period as just something which must be endured, and I'll find out when I find out, and not before, but some part of me is straining at the bit and wanting to scream, "Just tell me how far gone the bloody cancer is, will you?"

Patience has never been my strong suit, and waiting to find out something like this is trying beyond anything I've ever gone through. Most of the time, I can manage to push the wanting to know out of my consciousness, and go on with the next thing, but some days, days like today, it fills my worldview and leaves me feeling unable to cope. I want to collapse weeping in someone's arms, but as a friend who had cancer a few years ago said to me on Wednesday, "They're all so down about it that you feel like you have to stay cheerful for their sake, it leaves you feeling terribly alone."

That it does. My partner lost a family member to cancer a couple of years ago, so I have been feeling uncomfortable talking to him about it. My friends keep telling me how strong I am, how brave, etc, which leaves me feeling like I'm getting an unspoken message that this is how they want me to be, so that I feel stifled about revealing myself to them; where can I go to howl and cry and rage against this quirk of my fate? I feel alone in a way I wouldn't have expected. My sponsor has said several times that she's "proud of me for the way I'm handling it." That sets me up to feel that if I were to collapse into weeping the way I sometimes want to, I would be disappointing her. So I don't feel as though I can go to her when it threatens to overwhelm me.

I haven't felt this alone in a long, long time. I realise that partly, it is because no-one who hasn't had cancer can ever truly understand the way it feels, and partly, it is my own inability to reveal myself to other people past a certain point.

Today, I'm struggling.

Later:
I decided to speak to my partner, Robert about how I was feeling, because being the sensitive man that he is, he knew I wasn't doing well, and asked outright what was going on. It was an enormous relief to be able to get it all out over a period of several hours. At one point, we stood in the kitchen locked in an embrace while I wept into his shirt. There is nothing so comforting as loving arms holding us tightly.
He told me that he doesn't want me trying to protect his feelings by not telling him what's going on with me. He suggested that I call my sponsor, so I did, and was honest with her about my difficulties revealing my feelings to her, and was told lovingly that she is proud of me whether I'm doing well, or as I am today, being swept around in eddies and whirlpools of emotion.

So it all comes down to my own expectations of myself, which I've projected onto the people who love me - an old behavior pattern to which I've regressed somewhat, during this difficult time. I'm feeling much better this evening, am going to have something to eat, get some sleep, and go to church in the morning, and to see my sponsor in the afternoon.

Thank you to those of you who have written in support of me, I'm deeply grateful.

Isolation

A reader asked:

"So how do I begin to trust? I am very independent. My personal friends and acquaintances result in so much let down and are unreliable people. My famiy is entirely self absorbed. I have not begin to talk to others in the program at meetings beyond superficial hi and hello. I do not feel the need to call them on the phone or look for a person to be a sponsor.I conclude this is a trust issue.Need to change the isolation I am in. People = let down for me. I wonder, how can I get the support from people and a sponsor if I have a trust barrier? Any thoughts, suggestions or comments?"
---------------------------------------------------

My first thought is to notice the way you've written about the people in your life: your friends and acquaintances are "unreliable people,"  your family is "entirely self-absorbed."

I know that when I get caught up in judgement of another human being, not only have I lost my focus on myself and my own shortcomings, I've also put on a filter which has the strange effect of only allowing me to see the negative aspects of life and other people. And most people aren't saints, which means that if I'm judging and condemning them, always aware of their faults, and how they've fallen short of my standards for them, they aren't going to be rushing over to me, wanting to be supportive.

Our attitudes color our perception of the world, and other people.
We get back pretty much what we put out - that's why people who are positive and cheerful tend to have a better experience out in the world, than those of us who are negative, critical, and judgemental. I was all of those, and more.
 
How did I begin to trust? By deciding to. By deciding that I could handle it if this person wasn't perfect, or let me down. I decided first to relax, and then to let go of all of my standards of behavior for other people. I work to let go of my expectations, good and bad. When I have no expectations, I can't be disappointed when they aren't fufilled. If I want to have a friend who is loving, supportive and trustworthy, I need to be that friend first.

Instead of demanding that I get, I want to be a person who is delighted to give. I want to be open-minded, accepting, and a generous giver of love.

When Your Guppie Turns Out To Be A Shark.

Living with an alcoholic new to recovery can, at times, prove to be a difficult and even painful experience. I'm deeply grateful that I don't have to live with active drinking, but the "isms" can be truly crazymaking.

I've just had one of those conversations in which the alcoholic was blaming their choices and behavior on me, insisting that if I wasn't such a horrible person, they wouldn't be forced into behaving that way...when asked calmly why they were so angry, completely denied the anger which had them practically vibrating with rage, and finished up by declaring with apparent great satisfaction that they'd been lying to me for almost two months about something major. Then a dramatic exit, and I sat quietly trying to regain the good mood I'd had, just a scant half-hour before.

Today's outburst was one of several temper tantrums lately. I think this is happening because of a close friendship in which the other person (also very new to recovery) has cut them off, in anger at some choices made. It's ironic to see the level of anger felt at being treated in precisely the same way they treat me - ignored, shunned, dismissed. They've had a hair trigger lately, and have been difficult to be around, so I've been trying to stay out of the way.

I get moments now and then in which I glimpse the person with some recovery, but in the middle of these ranting, blaming fits, it's as if they'd never stepped foot inside a 12-Step meeting.

I'm trying to gain whatever wisdom I can from life lately, without letting their anger eat me up, the way it's devouring them.

Tonight, I laid a boundary down, and said, "No more, please, if you keep this up, I will ___."

That's when I was informed of the lying. I felt as if it was said in such a way as to try to cause maximum pain, and then leave me to suffer. They haven't been in AA long enough to realise that I can tell when they are lying - it's no mystery. So the dramatic declaration is no news to me, but I do confess I'm feeling tired of it all right now. I'm tired of the alcoholic and their coping mechanisms, tired of the anger being taken out on me, tired of all of it. Tonight, I wish I were single again. I'm feeling like I want out. I'm trying to allow myself to have my feelings, and let them pass, without giving them too much weight. I know I'm already a little vulnerable because of my little dog being ill.

I'm going to eat, and take the dogs for a nice long walk; it's a lovely evening. I'm going to pray for guidance, comfort, wisdom, tolerance and patience. I need all of those tonight.

Disagreeable and Lonesome.

"The question is not what a man can scorn, or disparage, or find fault with, but what he can love, and value, and appreciate."
                                                            John Ruskin.


Many of us have had so many years of frustration with someone's drinking by the time we hit the rooms of Al-Anon, that it can be quite the project to begin "loving, valuing and appreciating" our alcoholics.

We may treat our partner with a scornful disdain, while complaining that they no longer give us the affection we need and want. Someone once asked me, after I'd been complaining about the way I was treated by my first husband, "How do you treat him? With respect?"

I fell silent, unable to reply in the affirmative. I had lost all respect for him, with my loss of trust in him. I was new enough to Al-Anon to still be quite skilled at dismissing anything which didn't fit my world view, but that was one of those questions that would not be dismissed, it kept arising in my internal dialogue.

When working my first Step Four, I had to admit that I treated my first husband with contempt, disdain, rudeness, and cruelty, while at the same time complaining of the way he treated me. We were horrible to each other, it was just that his nastiness was delivered at the top of his voice, and mine came in quiet cutting remarks dropped into silences.

I could not begin to grow until I was able to admit where I was at the moment. All of my blaming and demonising of him may have satisfied the more childish element of my character, but it gave me no peace, and negatively affected my self-respect.

I have become a person I can love and respect, through my slow (so slow!) willingness to see my own character defects as affecting my experience in the world. If I am disagreeable, I will most likely be lonesome, because who wants to be around a chronic complainer who is full of scorn for the things others treasure?

When my husband was graduating from college, I somehow ended up sitting in the audience beside a woman who leant over and tried to fill my ear with disparaging remarks about the college, the courses, the instructors, the students...she was the girlfriend of a man who'd been in one of my husband's courses, and who he'd tried to avoid, because this man and his girlfriend shared a worldview unremittingly negative.

Before Al-Anon, I considered happy people to be fools who either didn't understand the realities of human life, or lucky bastards who had somehow escaped what the rest of us had suffered. It was unimaginable to me that anyone could suffer, and come through that suffering with an ability to "love, value, and appreciate."

From Courage to Change, page 148:

"After so many disappointments, it seemed too painful to continue to hope. We shut our hearts and minds to our dreams, and stopped expecting to find happiness. We weren't happy, but at least we wouldn't be let down anymore."


We may start out using a negative attitude as a way to protect our inner selves from the blows of disappointment, but it can become habitual, and then we're in real trouble, because our inner dialogue stops offering us the positive side, and we forget that there is one.

The reading goes on:

"I will not let fear of disappointment prevent me from enjoying this day. I have a great capacity for happiness."

I have found this to be nothing but the pure truth. I do have a great capacity for happiness, and that's a glorious thing.

Let It Be. (And If You Can't, Call Someone!)

For me, this has been one of the most continuingly difficult lessons of Al-Anon: detach. Let it be. Let go of the outcomes, let go of other people's choices, let go of what I want, what I think I need, what I feel, what I once felt, all of it.

Open my tightly clutching hand, and let it fall away. Turn my thinking to another topic, find a way to entertain myself, which will keep me not only off the gerbil wheel, but out of the room inside my head where that wheel is kept.

Don't go there, and stand in the doorway, wondering if I should just "go over, and dust it a little..." I know from long experience that in this area, I have much in common with the alcoholic - once I move that mental wheel even an inch, habit and compulsion will sweep me onto it, and before I realise it, I'll be running as fast as I can go, ramping up what might have begun as a slightly uncomfortable feeling, into a mess of overwhelming pain and frustration.

Last night, after the meeting, in the coffeeshop, we were talking about how hard it can be to call someone. That phone is the heaviest thing in the world when we are in the "I should be able to handle this myself!" state of  mind. Maybe we are suffering from false pride, not wanting to admit to others that we are in pain. Perhaps we are ashamed that we aren't further along in our program, that we don't have the answers right now, to help ourselves. Maybe we are afraid we will be bothering the other person, or setting ourselves up for an obligation.

I have been in all of those places, and believed all of those premises.  I have also learned to let those thoughts go through my head, and then go over and pick up the phone and start calling. 

If you decide to wait to feel comfortable, before your first time of calling a program friend when you need to, you will never do it.

It is going to feel wierd and uncomfortable. You will squirm and agonise, feel embarassed, and awkward. Everyone does. Call anyway.

There will be those who aren't home. Either leave a message asking to be called back, or go to the next person on the list. If you reach someone, ask if they have a few moments to talk. If they don't, thank them, and call the next person on the phone list.

Accept that these first few phone calls are going to bring up a host of feelings that you don't particularly like to feel. Look at it this way: you were most likely scared spitless the first time you went out onto the road in a car, learning how to drive, but the end result was enough to make you willing to suffer through that fear.

The end result of learning how to reach out, is the massive wealth of experience, strength and hope, just waiting for you to walk over, pick up the phone, feel what you feel, and plug into that source of help and comfort.

Think of it as learning how to drive your life down the road into serenity.

We Understand As Perhaps Few Others Can.

I've been sick with the flu for a few days now, so please forgive me if this post is garbled, my brain feels rather cotton-woolish at the moment.

Every time I hear someone in a meeting talk about how they felt they had "come home" when they found Al-Anon, I remember with a rush of feeling, just how powerful that sense of being understood was for me, when I was new.

Until then, I could try to talk to friends or family, and they could give advice and whatever help they could offer, but I felt like I was lost and alone in a world full of aliens, because nobody, but nobody can understand the loneliness of living with an alcoholic, (especially a charming one,) but another person who has been there.

Until you have driven home from a satisfying day at work, with the maelstrom in your stomach growing larger with each block that passes, you will not understand why the spouse doesn't just "tell him you want him to be nicer to you when he's had a few drinks."

Until you've walked the floor in the wee small hours of the night, with every siren slicing through your numbness to expose the fear beating within, you don't get why the partner doesn't just "tell her you want her to come home on time."

Until you've begged, pleaded, reasoned, argued, manipulated, tricked, expostulated, yelled, threatened, or any of the other ways in which we've tried to control the drinker, you don't understand why co-dependents don't just "tell him you want him to stop drinking."

Until you've been on the receiving end of a conversation in which the other person is re-writing history, denying, weaselling or being verbally abusive, you don't know why we don't just "talk to her about it."

Until you have sat with a person whose denial is operating at warp ten, you do not understand how it can be utterly impossible to reach them; you don't know the way we know it, what true "crazy-making conversations" are. You lucky souls believe that all it takes is some rational conversation, and the problem is on its way to being solved; you don't have experience with the addicted brain.

By the time we've broken the secret enough to speak out about what's happening at home, we've talked and talked and talked to the alcoholic. We've spent hours on the gerbil wheel inside our heads, having imaginary conversations in which we present again the reasons they need to stop drinking, and they (responding in a way they never  do in real life) agree to get help. We've bored ourselves and the alcoholic senseless with our reasoned arguments against their continued use. We've counted drinks, hid the booze, stormed and shouted, we've made every effort possible, except the one which can save us: to detach.

I remember so well, the feeling of having come home to a group of people who could help me, who wouldn't judge me, and who would show me how to save my own sanity, if I were willing to expend the effort. I believe it's very important to welcome newcomers, to approach them after the meeting for a chat - that ten minutes of empathetic listening, and the giving of my phone number and/or an email address, if they prefer that method of communication, can be huge comfort for someone living with alcoholism. When I was new to Al-Anon, my self-image was so bashed and degraded that even though I wasn't comfortable at meetings, in any sense of the word, I went back week after week, because I felt that I was seen, recognised, and understood.

"It's All Too Vague -Tell Me Something I Can Use!"

Many years ago, that sentence positively burst from a newcomer to Al-Anon, at his first meeting. It was as though he'd been sitting there listening, while the shares went around the table, becoming angrier as he heard each person speak. A gentle request from the chairperson for further information, unleashed a tsunami of words. He'd come looking for help, and all we were doing was yakking about how it had been for us when we'd been new to program, what use was that to him? He needed something concrete, something he could use, a list or something. At that, he began to weep, red in the face, and horribly embarassed. Someone passed him the kleenex box, and we sat in silence, waiting for him to regain himself.

After he'd been in program for a few years, he'd laugh at how angry he'd been with us, and then how embarassed - a middle-aged man, crying in front of twenty women! He'd speak of how he'd left that meeting convinced that Al-Anon was utterly useless, and he wasn't going back. Only to find himself driving to the church at the same time the next week. He'd sat in his car for a few minutes, trying to get up the nerve to walk into that room full of women again.

My sponsor saw him there, opened his car door, and gave a gentle pull on the shoulder of his jacket, saying "Come on, dear, don't think about it for too long, you won't do it, out you get, you can slink in behind me."

He'd said stiffly, "I was a jerk last time."

She said, "You were in pain, as we all were. We love you anyway; come on."

He'd asked plaintively, "What if I cry again?"

She replied, "You'll live. What's worse, embarassment, or no help with your partner's alcoholism?"

He loved to recall this, and say, "It was a no-brainer."

He became a regular at our meeting, and would set other newcomers at ease by passing them the kleenex box, saying gently, "I cried at my first meeting, too; it was the first time I cried since I was six."

I learned several valuable lessons from this man - I learned not to be too vague when talking about what program has given me, when I speak to a newcomer. I realised that we each have our own way of dealing with intolerable pain; some shut down, pull the facade into place, and become unreachable, some are despairing, some are furiously angry.

There is no right or wrong to this - we feel what we feel. If we  keep coming back to meetings, and we keep an open mind, we will find help.

From Courage to Change, page 322:

"Keep coming back" is a phrase we often hear in Al-Anon. Why is it so important? Because many of us have grown so hardened in our fights with alcoholics, or flights from alcoholics, that we literally found it difficult to sit still for the process of recovery. We had to have answers right away or take action right away. Yet we felt just enough relief at our first meeting to come back once more. and then again, and again. Slowly we learned to sit still, to listen, and to heal."

I like that. I was definitely "hardened" - in my anger, my thinking, in my habits. I needed to first accept this, as just the way it was, before I could begin to work to change any of it. Step One was surrender for me  - I admitted that I was "powerless over alcohol, and my life had become unmanageable." This surrender freed me, from the ghastly struggling insanity in which I'd been entangled. Step One was the equivalent of flopping back in my chair, heaving a heavy sigh, and saying, "I give up; I can't do it anymore, it doesn't work anyway."

When I was a newcomer, I didn't understand anything but the fact that at the meetings, I felt safe, I felt heard, I felt understood. That kept me coming back. I'd shoot out of the room after a meeting to avoid all that wierd hugging that went on, but someone would always ask, "See you next week?" as I almost ran out the door, and I'd always fling back over my shoulder, "Yep."

Notice your newcomers; welcome them. They are the new blood of your meeting, and of this great program. They have wisdom to offer which you may not have heard before, and they offer you a chance to pass on the gifts you have received. Don't let a newcomer sit alone in their car, trying to work up the courage to come in again, while you walk past, see them there, and just keep going. Do what my first sponsor did - pay attention, and if they need it, give them a boost over the threshold. Love them in a very special way.

The Power of Old Memories - Why We Need to Keep Coming Back.

I was thinking tonight, about the power of old memories to slither stealthily up on us when we are feeling marvellous, and whoosh, the rug under our feet is fiercely jacked out, and we feel ourselves falling, can do nothing to stop it, and land painfully on our tailbone, wondering - what the hell just happened?

I think for some of us who have had severe trauma in childhood, we are hardwired a certain way. We can learn to re-wire ourselves in Al-Anon, but the old wiring remains, and can still carry a current - it's just disconnected. When we've been re-wired for a long time, we can forget just how that old wiring used to spark and crackle and threaten to burn the house down: how it couldn't carry much of a load before becoming dangerously overheated: how through doing Step Four we found places where for years, it had been quietly burning through the support structure.

Were I to stop going to meetings and working my program, it wouldn't take long before I'd be right back where I started - doing the equivalent of trying to run 6 air-conditioners, a washer, dryer, dishwasher, computers, various lamps and chargers and tvs and kitchen appliances, on old knob-and-tube wiring designed to do not much more than provide enough electricity for lighting. (Enough of this analogy, already.)

From Courage to Change, page 322:

"Keep coming back" is a phrase we often hear in Al-Anon. Why is it so important? Because many of us have grown so hardened in our fights with alcoholics, or flights from alcoholics that we literally found it difficult to sit still for the process of recovery. We had to have answers right away or take action right away. Yet we felt just enough relief at our fist meeting to come back once more.And then again and again. Sowly we learned to sit still, to listen, and to heal."

"...grown so hardened..." I can see myself in those three words, not only myself in my first marriage, but myself as a child growing up. I slowly became so armored against pain that I was dulled to all feelings. All except anger - anger burned in me like an pilot light. I believe that my anger helped me to escape my childhood with some of myself intact, but so well defended, that I went about my daily life unaware that it existed, unaware that I was so hardened that I might as well be made of stone.

I keep coming back not only to maintain my recovery, but because I keep learning. It's an endless process, and it becomes more fascinating as I go, not less. I keep coming back for those who are newer, and need to hear what I've heard all along - that life is good, that "it is possible for us to find contentment and even happiness, whether the alcoholic is still drinking or not."

I felt quite doubtful when I used to hear that read at each meeting I attended, but I learned that it was simply the truth.

People-Pleasing As Shape-Shifting

I've been thinking about this lately - how does it work for my friend/spouse/family member, if I am always changing myself to accomodate them?

One of the aspects of a relationship in which I draw comfort, is in knowing certain things about the other person. I can feel safe in the knowledge that this person is this way. That knowledge not only brings a feeling of safety, it also gives me a framework upon which to build the relationship.

If the other person is a rampant people-pleaser, so that any time I endeavour to make sure that I understand where their boundaries are, and the mere asking of that question of "Where?" causes them to shift them back twenty feet, and then another twenty feet, and another and another and another - it's like quicksand. There is no foundation, no firm base upon which to stand and say, ok, this is sold ground.

Some days, when they are feeling braver, I might be walking up to where I think the boundary is from last time, and find myself being charged ferociously, and shoved backwards violently, while they yell at me about overstepping myself.

So the time after that, I am very careful to advance to the stopping line pointed out to me on our last encounter, only to have them ask in surprise, "What are you stopping there for? Come closer, a lot closer, come on, don't be so hesitant about it!"

I know I go away from this sort of thing reeling in confusion, irritation and frustration; I cannot get a clear picture of just who this person is. Every time I ask, I get a different answer. My response to this, over time, will be to distance myself. I cannot handle that level of confusion in my life anymore. I choose not to.

So flip this over, and why would I imagine that my behaving in a similar manner would be any the less distressing for those with whom I interact?

Is it possible that those for whom I've been so craven in my people-pleasing, (in my attempts to gain intimacy and closeness,) are distant for precisely the reason of my people-pleasing, and the reality that this impermanence of my boundaries, leaves them feeling lost and confused?

Could I be creating the opposite of what I seek, by doing what I do?

Could it be that I will be far more likely to have the respect I wish for, if I behave in such a way as to register more as a solid person, than a nebulous emotional shape-shifter, always changing?

-----------------------------------

"It ain't what they call you, it's what you answer to."
                                                 W.C. Fields

And, Which Personality Am I Speaking To At The Moment?

I was talking to a friend yesterday about something that has come up a few times lately - does a friend or lover or family member's behavior towards us change when a third person is around? (Out in public, etc) This can go either way, nicer to us, or ruder, but it's the change itself that is the important thing to recognise and identify.

I've been on the receiving end of both of those behaviors in my life, and having "ruder" first, was under the mistaken impression that "nicer" was different, or better.

It's nothing of the kind; they are two sides of the same coin.

Either way, there is falseness in the relationship.

Either way, there is something happening which isn't healthy. My first husband liked to be verbally and emotionally abusive to me in public - showing off how tough he was -  he could treat his wife like dog poop, and get away with it. (He didn't always get away with it, he once received a beating from a total stranger, who took offense to the words he was using to describe me, and pounded him into an apology.)

In retrospect, I find it hard to believe that I tolerated that behavior, but I've come a long way from the childhood which set me up to accept that sort of thing, as "just the way life and people treated me."

I've also experienced a relationship in which the person was nicer to me in public than in private - so that other people thought this person incredibly charming, and me incredibly fortunate to be with them - that's a wierd place to be, let me tell you.

There is nothing quite so guaranteed to make one feel as if one is deep in the midst of a Fellini movie, than to be in this sort of relationship. Most other people, (unless they've been in one themselves,) refuse to believe that this beguiling, marvellous person they like so much, could be being abusive behind closed doors. One gets strange looks, as they try to fit this information into the slot labelled "charming, kind, wonderful person named _____,"  and then, when it won't go in, discard it completely, and decide the person giving them the information must just be an ungrateful whiner, or much worse - barking mad.

One can be living with quite the disconnect between the public self, and the private self, when one's partner is this way. We can begin to doubt the information we are receiving from our own senses, and start trying to bend and twist ourselves to fit into the shape the abuser insists would cause the abuse to stop.

It can be a stunner when we realise - hey, wait a minute here, this has nothing to do with me, this is all about them.

That realisation can be the beginning of change and growth, if we are brave enough to grasp onto it with one hand, put our other hand into the outstretched hand of our Higher Power, and allow ourselves to be pulled from the pit, up into the sunshine.

It's a choice. (Maddening program this, always yarping off about how everything is a choice, but it is. There you are. Accept it or don't, that's a choice, too. I've made that choice many times.)

I choose freedom. I choose sunshine, even when it's so bright it makes me blink, my eyes water, and my head hurt. I know from experience, and the experience, strength and hope of my friends in Al-Anon, that if I just stand my ground, and keep blinking, my pupils will contract enough to allow clearer vision, and then I will be able to see life in its full beauty and wonder. I'll be able to view myself the same way - as a creature of beauty and wonder, lovable, and deserving of good treatment, just because I exist.

Powerlessness.

Thank heavens for this program, it keeps me sane when I'd otherwise be climbing the walls. And not just sane, but calmly sane. I know what to do, and most times, I remember to do it. For that, I am truly, deeply grateful.

I'm grateful for the new Step Study group just formed - I look forward to those meetings, for the extra intensity they bring to my recovery, and for the depth of intimacy the members are willing to share.

I'm trying to pay more attention to what happens in other areas of my life, when I'm in "disengaged mode" -  the result of  detaching from the alcoholic. I noticed today, that the world in general felt less safe, I felt less confident, and my outlook with people was less lighthearted than it is when I'm not actively detaching. I was more "on guard."  Inability to trust freely has been ongoing for me, but not trusting means I live apart from those with whom I share this journey, and thereby rob myself of love, comfort and support freely offered.

I noticed today that my first impulse was to adopt a social posture in which I greet people warmly, but don't stop to talk. (An isolation technique) I'll smile, make a friendly comment, and keep moving. This last is necessary to stop anyone from reading my body language and asking inconvenient questions such as: "Are you tired today?" In fact, I was tired today; I felt exhausted. I fell into bed after supper, and slept for about 2 hours. (Another isolation technique.)

Being aware of these habits can help me to work against them. Today I invited a couple of friends to come for tea, and to talk gardening. I don't think I'd have done so, had I not written out my thoughts on the blog yesterday - writing can be of enormous help to me, in recognising habits of thought, and patterns of behavior.

Forcing myself to engage, by putting myself in the position of having friends over to tea, was me pushing myself out of an old comfort zone. I really enjoyed myself, because I enjoy these people - we make each other laugh, and conversation ranges over a wide and interesting variety of topics.

Today, I acted as if I wanted to socialise, and reaped the benefits. That time with friends got me back into balance, helped to remind me that trust is a good thing, regardless of what the alcoholic is doing.

Gratitude, and Perspective.

This morning, I was thinking that my life,  my friendships, all the blessings I have been given, not one of them would be possible today, had I not first been directed to Al-Anon by my family doctor.

I owe that man a debt of gratitude I can never repay. I tried to tell him that, once, and he shrugged it off with some remark about just doing his job. I believe he went above and beyond the call of duty -  he kept on making that same suggestion time and again, until I had reached a place of such desperation, that I was actually able to hear him.

He cared enough about me as his patient, to keep on trying to make a dent in my self-absorption; he didn't become irritated with my inability to register that helpful suggestion the first 50 times.

I wonder if my doctor saw me the way I see newcomers to our program. 20 years in 12 Step, or one day, we're all fellow travellers on this earth. Let me see those who are in pain, and reaching out for a hand, any hand, to hold, so that their awful isolation can be breached for even a moment; they can be reminded that there is another way, that there is hope.

When I was new to Al-Anon, I could never have imagined the life I live today. The people around those tables in my early days, gave me a chance to rest for a while - rest in the comfort of a smiling face, and a friendly greeting. They gave me all the time I needed to begin to grasp the program and try to work it. They gave me encouragement and love in abundance - with never a word of criticism or impatience for my stumbling efforts.

God grant me the perspective to remember how painful it was at the beginning, so that I may offer to a newcomer that same loving, restful safety I received.

Listening Is Not A Passive Exercise.

From the ODAT, page 317:

"We could all make good progress if only we would cultivate the knack of listening - uncritically - to everything we hear at a meeting, or from an Al-Anon friend."

Many of us, (and I include myself in this category) come to Al-Anon completely oblivious to the hundreds of messages we receive daily, from our internal dialogue. It takes effort and determination to learn to be aware of that nattering voice, (or voices) and not just take what it's saying as truth. I think we need to learn to listen critically to our internal dialogue, and uncritically to meeting shares and Al-Anon friends.

How on earth does one go about doing this? First we need to become aware that we have an internal dialogue. If we've never stopped to consider it, it's usually happening half-hidden from us. We will be aware of it now and again, but most of it takes place as behind a sheer curtain, with vague movement and shadow, but not clearly seen, or easily understood.

My first sponsor had me carry a notepad and a pen around on a day I was at home alone, and jot down everything I thought in bullet form. It went something like this:
-dog needs out.
-cold
-need buy d.food
-porch board still loose
-break neck on that
-a--hole husband never fixes anything around here
-jerk
-never change
-drunken fool
-me fool marry him
-phone's ringing
-take meat out of freezer


and on and on it went, with most of it alternating between character assassination of my ex, and bashing of myself, with plenty of negative generalisations and depression mixed in - a viciously toxic stew. (When I next met with my sponsor, and we went over it, I felt hideously ashamed and embarassed, but she read it and laughed in recognition and gratitude - she recalled very clearly when the inside of her head had looked and sounded like that.)

For whatever reason, that one day doing that little exercise jump-started my ability to hear my internal dialogue. I'd still have long periods where I wasn't aware of it, and so was acting on those old messages rather than the new wisdom of 12-Step, but as my yoga tape says at one point, "..slowly, slowly, you begin to open up, and you can reach further."

I learned that some voices seem to be hardwired in - the parental ones - they haven't been silenced in 22 years of working my program, but they've retreated to the back room now, and only shout out occasionally, when I'm feeling stressed or anxious, and I can choose to detach from, or if I'm really lucky, laugh at, what they're saying. I can drown them out by saying the Serenity Prayer over and over, or a slogan, or a reminder from a program friend, or a prayer. I no longer go through my life with that strong chorus of negativity bellowing into my inner ear, poisoning my days and depressing my joy in living.

I've learned that when I share with my Al-Anon group something that one of my parental voices has said to me, and they all howl with laughter, this shared laughter weakens the power of that voice.

I've learned that when I work to close that backroom door, and listen uncritically to sharing at a meeting, I open myself to growth, peace, and serenity. I've heard gems of wisdom which have shoved me forward in a burst of change, from people to whom I'd never have paid the slightest attention, before Al-Anon. I don't build those artificial barriers between me and another person anymore. I don't care how you dress, what you drive, how you style your hair, or where you live. You are one of God's children, and we all have value and worth.

Reasoning Things Out With Someone Else.

This phrase, from our suggested closing to an Al-Anon meeting, was not an accurate description of how I dealt with life when I was a newcomer to 12-Step. I was not a reasoner when I entered program - that had fallen overboard eons past. I had one of two ways to deal with stress - ranting and raving, or shutting off my anger like the flicking of a switch. (I had a little phrase I used for this, almost like a mantra, repeating, "It doesn't matter, it doesn't matter" until...click! I'd go numb.) Since the only emotion I could feel by that point was anger, this worked for me. Let me rephrase that - I suffered from the illusion this worked for me. What it truly did, was make it possible for me to endure an unacceptable situation for many years.

I didn't like the idea of reasoning things out with someone else; my ego was sorely offended at the mere hint of my own reasoning powers being unreliable. No matter that my own reasoning had led me into a marriage with an alcoholic, who was the male version of the adult who had battered me so severely in my childhood. My ex battered with words rather than his fists, but he kept me in the same state of reduction.

My first sponsor once said, (kindly but with a hint of something else beneath) "If you can stop being offended long enough to see clearly, you might be able to change your behavior, and steer around this obstacle in future."

Stop being offended? How dare she suggest I was offended? Why, I found that thoroughly offensive of her!

Oh.

I recall looking at her rather sheepishly, and she looking back at me with such affectionate humour in her gaze, it brought the sting of tears to my eyes.

In this way did I slowly learn to listen to what another member had to offer me. I don't have to substitute their judgement for my own, but if I don't utilise the collected wisdom of my group and of Al-Anon, by reaching out when I am stymied, I shortchange my recovery. I almost guarantee my continued misery.

I was anxious all day yesterday, and finally called a program friend, who offered me ways to see my problem that had escaped me in my own obsessive pondering.

What a gift this program is, so freely and generously given.

Solitude.

If I don't get enough time to myself in a week, I begin to feel uneasy, claustrophobic, and hounded. My tolerance diminishes, and my irritation begins to ramp up. I need solitude - to process the day's happenings, to mull over new ideas, to meditate, to increase my conscious contact with the God of my understanding.

If I cannot find the time for those necessities, my judgement begins to slip. My character defects come to the fore, the fulcrum upon which my serenity balances begins to shift, and soon I'm tilting wildly to one side or the other, arms flailing, feeling like I'm in one of those log-rolling contests. Running like mad on a slippery surface, just trying to stay out of the water.

I then start to have one of those strange little experiences where my outsides and my insides are so far apart they might as well be taken from two dissimilar people. Inside, I will be a snarling mess of resentment, frustration, impatience, and self-pity - outside, I will be ( tightly controlled, thinly-veneered) courteous and agreeable. I cannot accomplish much useful in my recovery, if all my attention is diverted to an attempt to pretend to a graciousness I do not feel.

All of this can be attributed to one source - not enough solitude. When new to program, I accepted the suggestions of some other members that my desire for more solititude than the person making the suggestion needed, was "isolating," and tried very hard to be who I am not. I have prayed and meditated upon this aspect of my character repeatedly, and I've discovered that this is just how I am made - with a larger need for solitude than many other people.

I ignore this reality at the cost of my serenity. If, through people-pleasing, I agree to more social encounters than I can manage emotionally, I am not being true to my self, and I won't enjoy them. I don't need to feel less-than because of this, which I did most of my pre-program life, when I allowed others to define me, and suffered the consequences. I can be comfortable with my understanding of myself as a person who enjoys her own company, and needs a certain amount of it in a week, to feel relaxed and balanced, when in the company of others.

Humour.

I learned to use humour to defuse hostility, to disarm those who might otherwise disapprove of me, and to keep people at a firm distance, while giving the illusion of closeness. (That last adaptation is the most destructive of my recovery, because it keeps me isolated, in my own cocoon of co-dependency. More on that later.)

Humour can moderate animosity; it can be almost impossible to regain one's initial level of exasperation, with someone who has just made you burst out laughing. This opens the door to compromise, more easily than almost any other approach.
Levity can be a stealthy method in which to sidestep social defenses which might otherwise be erected against us, through fear, or ignorance.
Humour, when there is no specific target, but rather a general commentary on the wonderful silliness of human behavior, gives us a sense of shared humanity.

Joking, and laughter, can be a balm, a tonic, a soothing release. It can also be an impenetrable defense. I discovered, somewhere along the way, that making people laugh made them feel closer to me, and I could use it as a way to give that illusion, while actually keeping them from knowing much of anything about my internal, private, life.
When I did my first Step Four, I had listed humour under the "positive character traits" heading. My sponsor suggested it be put under the "negative character traits" heading, as well. I argued against this, how could humour be a negative character trait? We then had a long and to me, excruciating discussion on the ways I used humour to keep people at arm's length. My sponsor mentioned the most recent encounters she had witnessed, in which someone would share with me, then ask a question which was an invitation for me to share, in turn, how I was doing. In every case, I had neatly sidestepped that invitation by adroitly shifting the conversation's topic sharply away from me, through the use of humour.
My sponsor said she'd watched as the other Al-Anon members appeared to feel as if they'd had a warm encounter with me, but in truth, the sharing and openness had been strictly one-sided. I had cushioned my rejection of their invitation with sufficient humour that they'd seemed unaware. She suggested that I go to one or two or three of them, and ask them about this.


I was appalled. She was suggesting that I reveal myself, to an extent I found utterly terrifying. We went back and forth about this over the next few months, slowly evolving that idea from a complete impossibility, to a vaguely likely happening, to a compelling necessity.

When I did get my nerve up to do this, I found that in every instance, the person to whom I spoke, hadn't really ever considered whether their sharing was returned, because my use of humour, gave that sense of connection which fostered the illusion of closeness. But once we began to discuss it, they'd look at me with a dawning realisation, and say any number of versions of: "I've told you things I've never told anyone else, ever, and you've never really told me much of anything, now that I think about it."

I'd agreed with my sponsor before each of these discussions, just what I was comfortable revealing, how far I was willing to go, what I could do if I began to feel anxious or threatened.

Each time, I'd dredge up a piece of information about myself, (the revealing of which felt as though it should be accompanied by thunderous musical chords to mark the momentous nature of this self-revelation; I've written elsewhere on this blog about my tendency to take myself too seriously,) only to be met with warmth and encouragement and validation. Each time, I'd feel the hot sting of tears in my eyes, at this response.

That was one of the most challenging pieces of Fourth Step work I've ever done. It's gotten much easier over the years, because part of not being able to take myself so seriously, has come a sense of humour about my own frailties. Now I can use them to make us both laugh, when I'm talking to a program friend.

Dogs Aren't The Only Pack Animal.

I like being alone. I thoroughly enjoy my own company. I'm never bored, I can always find something with which to entertain myself, and I have a zillion projects waiting to be started. Given a choice, my first choice, my knee-jerk choice, is solitude. When I was married to an active drinker, I was unable to be alone in my own home, because it was always filled with groups of people partying, or people crashing on our couch, because they'd been kicked out of their own living quarters. I hated it, and what I hated most, apart from the constant drinking, was the inability to be alone. I felt like I could never relax.

That last sentence carries a major clue to my character at that time, before Al-Anon - I was unable to relax if I wasn't alone. I couldn't be comfortable in another person's company. The reasons for this began in my childhood. Other people weren't safe. I was only safe when I was alone. Other people were just a source of pain and misery. Their expectations, their mental and physical abuse - I learned very early on in life, that people could be cruel.

Al-Anon, and the people who truly embody and work the program, taught me that there are those who can be trusted. That may not sound like much to some of you reading this, but to me, that was a monumental discovery - it shifted my entire worldview a few degrees.

I've learned to be cautious, but open, to friendship offered. I've learned that inside a meeting, I can listen, and find comfort, enlightenment, and wisdom, even from those people I wouldn't be socialising with, in any other sphere of my life.

I've learned that at the best of times, other people can be an embodiment of my Higher Power's love.
That's progress.

Asking For Help.

I woke up this morning thinking about this, then found myself reading several of my favourite blogs only to find they'd posted on this very subject - kind of makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up when that happens - syncronicity.

I was, before 12-Step, a person who wanted to do it all by myself. I've had periods in my life when I think my Higher Power must have felt like any parent of a two year old does, watching them insist upon "I do it!" when it would be so much cleaner, tidier, faster to do it themselves, but how else do we learn? One of my major stumbling blocks when I was a newcomer, was in swallowing my pride and asking for help before I was hopelessly entangled. I still have (rarely, now) times I just cannot do it - my ego stands in my way.

My self-image was so shaky that I couldn't bear to admit to any weaknesses. I had the silly notion that were I not to admit to them, they'd be invisible to others. Now I realise they are glaringly visible, such is human nature, we see the shortcomings of others in neon display, it's our own we find strangely opaque.

But I do have one area of my life which I see with crystal clarity. Occasionally, I will have a newcomer try to suggest that because I have been around Al-Anon for a while, I'm an "expert." I hasten to disabuse them of this notion. I do not want that expectation hanging over my head, it's ghastly even to contemplate.  That way lies ego gratification - pontificating program, while not truly working it.

I strive for humility on a daily basis, because it's only when I am truly humble, that I am able to accept. When I accept, I learn the more challenging and onerous lessons. When I ask for help from a program friend, I am celebrating our shared humanity. When I ask for help from my Higher Power, I am admitting to the limits of my knowledge.

Who Really Knows Me?

Before Al-Anon, I was one of those people with whom it is impossible to get any closer than surface level, because below the surface is a seething rage.  When I'm stressed. I am absolutely masterful at diversion through humour. I had to be in 12-Step for a long time before I realised how I have always used humour to keep people away from my inner self. I also discovered early in life that most people love to talk about themselves, so if I asked specific questions: "How's work going with that problem you mentioned last time we talked?" I could usually get them so focused on their own life, that they wouldn't notice I wasn't giving them any information about me.

This was a very efficient way to keep myself feeling so alone, it was like living life with a glass wall between me and other people.
I was so afraid of being thought "less than" - less than perfect, less than capable, less than efficient, less than in control, that I was willing to live my life in a freezing isolation rather than admit to not being perfect in all areas.

Since I've been in program, I have learned the hard lesson that if I want to feel better, not only do I have to work my program, but I have to speak up. It may cause me to wiggle and squirm with discomfort to admit to what is going on with me, but once I do speak up, I receive comfort. The initial comfort is just the enormous one of having said it to another person.

"Step 5 - Admitted to God, to ourselves, and to another human being, the exact nature of our wrongs."

When I was new to Al-Anon, I had quite the speed-bump of resentment over the wording of this step; that last word just stuck in my craw - wrongs? wrongs? As far as I was concerned, it was the alcoholic who was doing all the wrongs, and I was the innocent victim of said evils. I had to learn to admit that I was equally at fault in my own way, and that this did not make me a bad person, it made me a misguided one. I had to be willing to speak to another human being about my own frailties and character defects, as that was the only way to release my immense shame about not being perfect, and receive that warm soothing balm of comfort from my Higher Power, and my meeting group. Once I could speak with my head up, looking around the table, rather than staring at my hands clasped in my lap, I began to see heads nodding in acknowledgment, recognition, agreement, and that helped me to learn that I wasn't a terrrible human being. I was a confused and lonely and distressed (and furious) one.