Your Body Is Trying To Get Your Attention.

When I was last at my doctor, we were discussing sleep, and getting, or not getting, enough. What is enough? Enough for me, is an amount that allows me to awaken naturally, rather than being blasted out of sleep with the alarm. When the alarm wakens me, I feel instant resistance, I don't want to get up. Even if I've set it the night before so that I may meet my obligations, and even as I'm getting out of bed, I'm thinking to myself that I hate getting up early.

It's all to do with feeling forced. When I awaken naturally, I feel as though I've had enough sleep. When the alarm pushes its way into my brain and brings me forcibly to the surface, to wakefulness, my entire system revolts. I try to get up at the same time every day to keep some structure in my life, but that requires retiring to bed the night before, sufficiently early that I will sleep long enough to do so.

When my normal system is interrupted, it's always because I'm struggling with something which interferes with my serenity to such a point that I cannot go to sleep.

My body is always the first sentinel warning me of lapses in my serenity. I get vague headaches, and my eating habits slide, and all because of my mental state. When I ignore these changes in my usual habits, I ignore myself.

My body is the temple of my spirit, and as such, it deserves respect.

Being Pushed To Think Differently.

Spnsors can be vital in this role, as can life itself. I've been having to accept that some of what I'm struggling to allow into my mind as just the way it is, was that way before we married. Did I believe that with enough effort, the right way to say it, the necessary influence, I would be able to change those realities? I may have. I may not have fully understood the wear patterns upon even the very best part of us, that living with an alcoholic can create.

I was thinking today of a time when we were newly married, and he'd started asking for "favours" from me. This is an example of the way that language is used to minimise the loss of entire countries of self - the borders are re-drawn, the name is changed, and soon, only the old (old friends, in my case) can clearly recall a time when things were not this way.

I offered up so much of myself in hoping that the gift of me would satiate the endless wanting. Straw or gold, it was devoured with the same intensity in the fire of his addictive personality. I gave what I now see was the treasure of myself; to him, it was third-rate lumber, comsumed in no time, leaving him always, always, wanting more. Those "favours" that I did for him, almost destroyed my sense of self. I'd be still reeling from the effects of one, and he'd be at me, mocking me for my response, and continually wanting another.

Living alone, with Spirit to guide me, is blissfully peaceful. I pray to feel compassion for the devouring alcoholic, and for myself.

Solitude And Peace.

When my marriage ended, I decided that I would move back to the city in which I had lived for 17 years, and have always loved. I'd come down here for visits many times over the years, and each time, would feel a wistful longing that I didn't live here anymore.

I have a strong feeling of having come home; I feel connected to this place in a way I never could in the smaller places we lived, perhaps because this is the place where I began my Al-Anon journey.

The setting is beautiful, beside the ocean, with a mountain range visible across the water, glorious old buildings and houses, and a sense of history recognised and appreciated.

I'm the one who decided to leave the marriage, and am not going to invade my privacy or his with details, they don't matter in this blog. It's over, and now I'm moving on to the next phase of my life. Thank you to all who wrote to give support, your kindness touched me - I feel such gratitude for people in program.

I think I've found the meeting that will become my home group, the people are friendly and welcoming, and I felt so comfortable at the first meeting I attended, that I could even share a little. I've been to lots of meetings since I've been here - they keep me feeling grounded and sane.

Now it's time to go home and cook myself something delicious to eat.

Don't Take It Personally.

My little dog is worse today, even with the steroids and painkiller, she's in pain.  I'm trying to believe what the vet and her breeder are telling me, that her prospects are good, that she will improve, that this is early in the injury, but it's distressing to see her suffering.

A few days ago, I sat quietly listening as someone spoke of how he didn't understand why anyone would spend so much money on "just a cat or a dog." He wasn't aware of my little dog's illness, so was quite forthcoming in his scorn for these foolish owners - why didn't they put the sick animal down and get a healthy one to replace it? Why spend all that money on an animal?  A friend (who is aware) glanced over at me, worried that I would be feeling upset.

As he spoke, I'd been thinking about the fact that I understood that sort of blanket-coverage opinionated statement very well, because I'd been a distributor of them myself, before Al-Anon. I was a strange mixture of very poor self-image with very strong opinions.

What I've learned in this marvellous program is that not only is it not necessary for me to give my opinion in every situation - many times I can just listen, or interject only a small joke to lighten the mood - but that it most circumstances, I don't need to possess an opinion of any sort. I can be neutral. If asked, I can reply that I don't think anything much  about it, or that I see both sides, and care to join neither.

If I do have an idea, I can easily and happily keep it to myself, I no longer feel the need to foist it upon other people. I don't feel personally slighted or offended if we disagree. I don't take the world personally in the way I once did. That sentence encapsulates my miracle in Al-Anon - I don't go out into the world every day "loaded for bear." And as a result, the world turns a much softer, more loving and accepting face back to me.

"Get Off Your Own Back!"

I love to sew, and have been trying, in the last while, to find a good t-shirt pattern to fit me. After several atttempts with purchased patterns, I gave up and did what I often seem to be doing when it comes to clothing - took apart one of my older ready-to-wear garments to use as a pattern. Tonight I was downstairs in my sewing room, putting the finishing touches on my first shirt made with this pattern, and listening to a talk given by one of my favourite 12-Step speakers, Father Tom W, who is a member of AA and Al-Anon, and wonderfully funny. (A talk of his from 2011 can be heard here.)

I'd been listening to one of his earlier talks, he was speaking about how we members of Al-Anon can be "viciously critical" of ourselves. That hit home with an audible thump - I realised that I'd been feeling disturbed and unhappy over the last 24 hours, because I've been engaged in vicious criticism of myself. (I had a conversation yesterday in which I reacted rather than responded, with predictable results: I've been giving myself a royal bollocking ever since.)

Father Tom went on to describe what that vicious criticism of himself sounded like, and how depressed he felt after bashing himself for a few days, and then after a short silence, he said, "Get off your own back!"

I started to laugh. I've been in program for a long time, but every now and then, I can still forget to give myself a break. If I get caught up in that vicious criticism of myself, I can't detach enough to be able to realise that 's what I'm doing - I'll be convinced that I'm "taking my inventory - working Step 10."

No. Inventory doesn't last 24 hours; it takes about two minutues.  No, I've got the mental sledgehammer out, and I'm whaling away.

If I walked around behind you for an entire day constantly telling you what a piece of crap you are for having made a mistake, you'd end up feeling angry, frustrated, raw, and depressed. Precisely the way I feel, when I do the same thing to me.

Forgiveness is a gift we can give to ourselves. Take inventory, make the amend, and then let it go, don't use the knowledge of our mistake as a club with which to rob the day of its pleasure. Let's all get off our own backs.

Reader Question

A reader of yesterday's post asked, "...where the line is between creating peace and being a doormat."

An excellent question. I experienced continued recurring abandonment as a small child.
I learned not to trust, and to believe both that I was unlovable, and unable to love. This, with the various abuses of my childhood, also made me a person who was vulnerable to accepting unacceptable behavior in the name of "love." As long as someone would regularly declare love, I would accept appalling behavior, as I did with my first husband.

In Al-Anon, I heard it said that I have an intrinsic value - I matter because I exist. The first hundred or so times I came across that idea I shrugged it off, because it felt so far removed from my reality. When I heard other members speak of unacceptable behavior, and how it damaged their self-esteem, I couldn't relate because I couldn't begin to grapple with the concept of self-esteem, I had only self-loathing.

It was through being accepted and loved by the other people in Al-Anon, that I could try to treat myself with love and respect. From page 51 in Courage to Change:

"...I suddenly realised that there was still one person from whom I regularly accepted unacceptable behavior - me! I was continually berating myself and blaming myself when things went wrong. I never gave myself credit for my efforts. I told myself I was homely, thoughtless, lazy, stupid. I would never say those things to a friend. I realised that until I started treating myself like a valued friend, I would be standing in the way of my own recovery."

I had to believe that I was a valuable person, and that I didn't have to accept unacceptable behavior in order to receive love. This was not an easy process, because it meant dismantling all the ideas about myself learned as a very small child, and it meant being willing to let go of my anger.

Nowadays, when I'm thinking of saying nothing, of letting it go, I need to check my motives. Am I making this choice because I know I have no control, no power? Or do I have something that I'd like to say about my feelings, or a boundary, but am afraid to state it aloud for fear of retribution in the form of a scene, coldness, or more bad behavior?

What will I gain from saying this, and what will I gain from letting it go? I can't change other people, and I lose my serenity when I try. Repeated efforts to "make someone hear " only result in frustration for me. If a boundary has been crossed, I can speak up, and make it plain I won't tolerate that, but if another person is determined not to respect my boundaries, perhaps I need to re-evaluate the relationship.

I will not tolerate certain behaviors from the alcoholic, and there has to be a consequence for the continued trespass of my boundaries, or they become meaningless. I choose what those consequences are going to be, and I try to choose wisely, with the help of my sponsor and other program friends.

If you aren't sure, ask someone else in program, "What do you do when your boundaries are continually ignored? How do you deal with it?"  Ask for their experience, strength and hope. I have found that in order for the alcoholic to have respect for my boundaries, I must, too. I must be willing to take the flak, hassle or grief I know I'll get, and keep going. My self-respect has to matter to me first, before the alcoholic will respect me.

Common Denominators - Envy.

I'm not a person who is particularly attached to things - I've moved so many times, and sold or given away or donated so much "stuff", that I have zero emotional attachment to furniture, dishes, clothing, any of that sort of thing. It comes, it goes, and one is equally as good as another. What I've envied is people. I've envied my friends and co-workers their loving parents and family.
I was born to alcoholics, and my mother walked out on us when I was two. My father turned us over to the Children's Aid, who separated my sisters and I and placed us into foster homes. When I met my sisters again in my mid twenties, I discovered that we had all been physically and sexually abused while in foster care. There were too many children, not enough foster homes, and a lack of oversight.

Back then, if the case worker thought a child was getting "too attached" to the foster parents, you were moved to a different foster home. I was in foster care for four years, and moved quite a few times. Then, at six years of age, I was adopted. I thought I was finally getting the loving family I'd always dreamed of, but within a very short period of time, I was once again being beaten - this time by my adoptive mother. Her rage terrified me, and she did an excellent job of convincing me that I deserved the abuse I received from her.

I looked at school friends, and their families, and I envied them with a desperation that was almost a physical ache in my chest. I was furiously angry and resentful that I had been "ripped off" when it came to family life. Why me? It wasn't fair.

Al-Anon has allowed me to make peace with my childhood.

That's something I wouldn't have thought possible when I was new to program. Now that I'm safely out of it, I can view my pain as compassion training. I understand sponsees who come into this program with a furious rage burning inside them, and I understand desperate loneliness. I've been there. I know how that feels. I also know that it is possible to heal. Friends in Al-Anon have told me that I have given them hope for themselves when I describe the person I was when I was new in program - vibrating with rage against the unfairness of life, resentful, depressed, despairing. They just can't picture me as that person.

I had to accept that my past was what it was, and I couldn't change it. My only choice was whether or not I allowed the past, and the people who had abused me, to ruin the rest of my life. I will never forget the moment when that idea finally registered with me: I felt the truth of it like a blow, and was staggered by the possibilities. (Until then, I'd been half hearing it, and giving it lip-service in a people-pleasing sort of way.)

I could go to my grave still raging against what had been done to me, or I could make a choice to let it go, start from this moment, and use that lessons of that old pain to be of service now, today. 
Now, when I hear people speak of their parents and family with love and gratitude, I can feel happy that they are happy, grateful for their gratitude, without wanting to exchange lives with them.
That's the difference.

A Question About Distancing.

Between Syd's post, and a question I received:

"Is it okay to distance myself from a family member who continues to treat me with sarcasm and rudeness?"


 - what's on my mind today, are the sufferings we endure, when our fear precludes our setting boundaries around unacceptable behavior. I accepted many years of abuse - physical, emotional, verbal - because my self-image was so damaged that I didn't believe I had the right to say, "No more!"

When I was a kid, whatever happened behind the closed doors of a family home was the inhabitant's business, and no-one would interfere, as long as it didn't become blatant.

Things are somewhat different now, at least with the justice system in this country. If I were to call the police because the neighbour was screaming abuse at his wife and kids, they'd come out and talk to him, give him both a warning as to his behavior, and options for seeking treatment for anger management.

But how many of us convince ourselves, that we have no choice but to accept unacceptable behavior, for one reason or another? I know I struggled for years with feelings of hurt and distress, with "jokes" which were nothing of the sort, they were thinly-veiled insults. If I protested, I'd be asked, "Can't you take a joke?" or be told, "I was only kidding."

It wasn't until I decided that I was going to challenge each and every one of these "not-jokes," that they diminished in frequency. As long as I tolerated them, the alcoholic used them as a way to take digs at me, without having to take responsibility for what he was doing.

I have to decide what I will, and will not, accept from another person. If I allow myself to be treated abusively, it's likely the person abusing me is going to continue with that behavior, because it works for them.

I can lean on the support, experience, strength and hope of my friends in Al-Anon, as I set new boundaries. If I quietly and calmly state that I will be treated with respect, or I will remove myself - from the room, the house, or the relationship - I'm letting this person know that things have changed, and it's not going to be the way it has been. When I act with calm dignity, it's because I've had an internal change, and this is how it's manifesting itself - in a desire to be treated with the respect that I deserve.

We all have to decide for ourselves how we are going to deal with family - I don't give specific advice, but I do suggest that you talk to other people in Al-Anon, and find out how they've dealt with this problem in their lives. We get tunnel vision; another viewpoint can be helpful.

"I'm Feeling Used."

"A member of my home group only ever calls when she wants a favour, and I'm feeling used.  I feel guilty if I say no, and anyway, a family member of hers only just passed. Any ideas?"

As a recovering rampant people-pleaser myself, this rings a chord with me. I've spent many hours helping people I wasn't even sure I liked, do things which bored me senseless, ate up my time off, and left me seething with silent resentment and frustration. Before Al-Anon, I was a profoundly conflicted person - the inner "true me," at war with the outer facade. I carried that facade like a shield held out in front of me, in the erroneous belief that it effectively hid my feelings. I hadn't an inkling that my anger was easily discernible, and I was a champion sulker.

I was in Al-Anon for quite a few years before I began to understand that I agreed to favours I didn't want to do, not because at heart I was a "nice person," but from fear. I was afraid that were I to refuse, I would spark someone's anger, be disliked or rejected. I had no understanding of what was reasonable for another person to ask of me, and no concept of appropriate behavior.

If I was trying to reason this out, I'd break it down into 3 separate areas:

1. I feel used.
2. I feel guilty when I say no.
3. I think I should agree, because this person has just suffered a personal loss.

1. Is this person trying to take advantage of me? How many times has she called to ask me to do her a favour? Once, twice. a dozen? Does she ever call me to talk, or is there always a request that I do something?
Am I feeling resentful about something else in our relationship, and this is how it's manifesting itself, or is the relationship consisting entirely of favours asked and granted?
Have I said to this person, "Call me if you need anything" and now that she's taken me at my word, and calling, I'm wishing I hadn't extended that promise of help? Perhaps I need to be more careful in saying that sort of thing, if I don't really mean it.

I've had to learn to sit on my hands, and keep my mouth firmly closed, so that I don't volunteer to do whatever it is, from unhealthy motives. I want to offer from a sincere desire to help.

2. Am I feeling guilty because I believe that I "should" want to help, and I don't? Do I believe that if I don't want to help, this makes me a bad person? Am I putting the other person's needs above my own, and then resenting them for my  choices?

I was raised in a family culture steeped in guilt; it was used to modify behavior, and motivate choices. In Al-Anon, I have learned that I can live with a little bit of residual guilt. What I don't want to live with, is the resentment I feel when I allow guilt to make my choices for me.

3. Does a personal loss make someone more deserving of help?  The death of a loved one is a massive earthquake - it rocks us to our foundations, shatters our feelings of safety, and changes our personal landscape in ways no-one who hasn't experienced it can imagine.
Any support, shoring up, reinforcement and help we receive, is a powerful statement of love, and one much needed at that time.

I believe it's acceptable to loosen our boundaries a bit in the area of favours asked and granted, to allow us to help out someone who is grieving. If we've had serious difficulties with boundaries with this person in the past, have finally established some that seem to be holding, and now fear they will collapse, and we won't be able to get them up again, that's a different matter.

We need to do what is going to work best for us. If we can't, we can't. Let go of our concerns about what other people will think of us, and turn it over to our Higher Power.

I need to be clear that "I don't want to do this" is a good enough reason, and I also  need to be sure that I can live comfortably with whatever choices I make.

I pray to be loving, without becoming a doormat. I pray to find it within me to give what I can, and accept when I can't, without lashing myself for my perceived inadequacies.

"I Feel Like My Sponsor Judges Me."

"My sponsor moved, so I had to find a new one. I thought I'd picked well, but when I try to talk to this person to "reason things out" I feel like I'm being hurried along, and I feel like my sponsor judges me for still having problems, when I'm not a newcomer."

Choosing, and working with, a sponsor, is an important part of recovery in Al-Anon. It's vital that we feel accepted as we are right this minute, with no judgement of how we should be/could be/might be/ought to be, or any variation thereof.

I, too, have been in this same position, of having chosen as a sponsor, someone with whom I was not a good "fit." I'd call my sponsor, try to talk about whatever it was that was on my mind, and either receive the same pat answer every time, which wasn't at all helpful to me, or, (as the person writing to me does,) I'd feel judged and found wanting, in some subtle, unspoken way.

CAUTION: I'm going to make one of those blanket statements we aren't supposed to make in Al-Anon. Make of it what you will, it is purely my opinion, and, as my grandfather used to snort dismissively, when exposed to "Free!" offers, "worth what you paid for it." Ready? Ok, here we go:

If you feel judged by your sponsor, you need a different sponsor.

Perhaps I feel strongly about this, as a result of having experienced it myself, and in hindsight, understanding how this negatively affected my ability to work an honest program. Because I felt judged and found wanting, I began to edit my ideas and feelings when I talked to this person, so as to appear more "recovered" and "healthy." Only problem was, those weren't my true ideas and feelings, so I was pretending to be someone I wasn't, in my encounters with her.

I presented her with a facade, rather than the real me. This caused me to slowly begin to feel distanced from Al-Anon. My co-dependent thinking began to assure me that if my sponsor judged me, and she was supposed to be the most forgiving and accepting person in my program, then so must everyone else in my meeting, and my feelings of safety and comfort in the program began to seep away. I still attended meetings, but I talked less and less, because I was fearful of being judged, and instead of listening to what was being shared at meetings, I was caught up in trying to decide who liked me, and who didn't, what they must think of me from what I'd already shared up to that point, yada yada yada.

I had worked myself around to quite a state of misery, by the time I received an invitation to dinner, from a woman in my home group. I went, and we chatted about this and that over the meal. As we relaxed in her livingroom after dinner, one of those natural pauses in the conversation was ended by her looking over at me, and saying in that crisp British voice, "Ok, kiddo, what's really up with you? And don't give me any of that "fine, fine" crap!"

To my horror and shame, I burst into tears. (I'm still not comfortable crying in front of other people, but back then, it was excruciating.) In the time it took us to drink one cup of coffee, I spilled my guts. I then sat and listened, while she gave me a short version of what she was struggling with at that very point in her life, and as she'd been in program for a long time, I listened carefully. I was astounded to discover that she wasn't perfectly serene, that she still had ups and downs and sideways jaunts, and that she was willing to admit to them.

We talked and talked and talked, and when the evening drew to a close, and we were hugging goodbye at the door, I mustered all of my nerve and asked her to sponsor me. She agreed, and I think of her as my "first" sponsor, because she's the first person with whom I truly began to work the program, and learn to live my life differently - with serenity and wisdom, and great lashings of humour.

She held my feet to the fire countless times, because she was a woman who understood human nature, and she knew that if she didn't, I'd weasle my way out through some loophole, and continue with my misery unabated. When we were first starting out, I took offense at what she said many times, but even so, never, never, did I feel as though she judged me. She was always willing and able to share with me, how her character defects operated in her own life - she didn't present herself as all cured, looking down on me, the lowly beginner.  She made a point of letting me know that in Al-Anon, we are all equals. Period. No experts.

Even as I'd be driving home feeling offended at some question she'd asked, on another level, the portion of my spirit that craved recovery, kept me going back to her, with my best attempt to answer her honestly. She helped set me on the path of honest self-examination, and for that, I will always be deeply grateful.

Am I Looking For Guidance, Or Sympathy?

How can I tell? In this, as in so much of Al-Anon, I need to stop and consider my motives. What is it that I'm hoping to receive, when I place this phone call, or open this conversation? In the past, what I wanted, was sympathy, and advice I could ignore. I felt that if someone cared about me, they'd offer me advice. I didn't want to take it, but I still wanted them to put the effort into the offering.

Also, sympathy. I loved it when someone would coo, "Oh, your poor thing, how do you put up with that?"

So when I was very new to Al-Anon, and would call my new sponsor, expecting her to give lashings of sympathy, and instead she'd suggest that I consider my powerlessness, and try turning it over to my Higher Power, I would feel frustrated, and angry. Furiously angry. I'd fall silent on the phone, stewing and fuming, and she'd let the silence extend for a while, then ask, "What are you feeling right now?" and I, of course, would respond brightly with, "Oh, I'm fine!" because I sure as heck wasn't going to tell her how offended I was by her response.

She would ask "Fine? You don't sound fine, you sound angry." And then somehow, instead of a nice satisfying (to me at the time) conversation about what a creep my alcoholic was, and what a great martyr I was, we'd be engaged in a discussion about my response to her suggestions, and why did that make me so angry, what was it that I thought she was supposed to give me, that I wasn't getting? Had I called her because I was looking for guidance, or for another reason? Did I want help, or did I want to continue in the same awful state I'd been in for so many years?

I used to come away from conversations with her feeling a mix of frustration, fury, bruised entitlement, and the dim realisation that she could help me, were I to keep trying. At the beginning of my time in Al-Anon, I didn't do what was suggested because I believed in it, so much as because she believed in it, and so did the other people in my meeting group. And I was desperate. So I would hang up the phone, and go do what she'd told me to do, whether it was to pray to a Higher Power I didn't yet recognise, or work my program in some other way.

From my present perspective, I marvel at my sponsor's patience with the childish, stubborn, self-pitying person I was at that time in my life. I was a sarcastic, chronic complainer. All of those character defects were closely tied, to my inability to love or value myself. Through my sponsor's willingness to work with me, I learned that putting the program into practise, could revolutionise my life.
I learned that were I to behave differently, my self-image would also change. This may sound like pretty basic reality to some of you, but for me, it was a revelation.

When I could rise above my own wants, and give of myself to another, I felt good in a way I'd never been able to achieve before Al-Anon. This is one of the basic tenets of 12 Step - when we share with another, we receive an amazing gift ourselves.

When I treated the alcoholic and myself with kindness and dignity, I felt like a good person, and that was new to me, to feel that way. I could respect myself when I used the tools of progam to deal with his acting out. The very first time I refused to respond to his rudeness and unkindness with like behavior, and instead, tried another way, I was astounded to discover that it worked. And worked very well, too.

When I was new to Al-Anon, I justified my own behavior, by pointing to the behavior of someone else - they "made me do it, by making me so angry!" "They hurt my feelings, so I hurt theirs in return." This kind of behavior may have afforded me momentary satisfaction, but somewhere deep inside, I knew it wasn't a good or loving or kind way to behave, and when I acted that way, it only added to my negative self-image.

In order to be able to love myself, I need to act in a loving way towards myself, and those around me. When I can let go of the little thoughtlessness, or perhaps unkindness someone may direct at me, I don't take it on and stew over it. I see it, I recognise it, I decide if I need to adjust my boundaries with that person, or whether I can let it pass by, unremarked upon. I choose to concentrate on that which is good in my day, because when I do, my spirit fills with gratitude, and I feel calm, centered, and serene.

I cannot change other people; I can change myself. Let it begin with me.

Fabrics Anonymous, and People-Pleasing.

I love fabric. I can spend hours in a fabric store, wandering about, admiring some and wincing at others, dreaming of garments I could make with this or that, hunting for the perfect buttons for whatever it is I'm constructing at the time. I love the feel of it, the amazing possibilities inherent in those bolts of material.

I have the skill reqired to sew just about anything, and as a result, have great difficulty with paying the prices in ready-to-wear clothing stores. I know I could make it myself, for a fraction of the price. I buy clothing patterns only for the pattern pieces - I rarely need to read the instructions. When we moved down to the city, I was thrilled to have easy access to fabric stores again.

I was in one yesterday, to get lining and interfacing for a coat, and was laughing with the lady cutting my fabric, about "the stash." Most of us who sew on a regular basis, have a stash of fabric waiting to be sewn up into wonderful articles of clothing.

Some of us aren't sure what we'd do with a particular fabric, but have to have a piece of it. Others of us are more in control; we only buy material we can imagine using for something specific - "that would make a great shirt for that long-sleeved pattern."

Some of us do both - I'm in the last category. When we moved from the city to a small town, I gave most of my stash to friends who sewed, and the rest to the hospital auxillary. I was astounded to see how much material I actually had - far more than any one person could ever use, unless I sewed night and day for about 15 years. While we lived away from the city, I didn't accumulate a stash.

We've been living back in the city for just over a year, and I've already started to grow another one, and, I have a "frequent flyer" card at one store.  I've got a large tote, and I've decided that if it will still fit into that one tote, I can purchase it. When the tote becomes full, then no more purchasing of fabric until I've used everything within the tote. A sewing friend does this, and says it works well for her, so I'm willing to try it.

I'm a sucker for the remnant bin, too. Yesterday, waiting to have my interfacing and lining cut, I was hunting through this bin, and found an electric royal blue textured velvet, which I couldn't resist. I looked at it, tried to imagine what I could make with it, put it down, looked at other remnants, picked it up again, and knew I'd regret it if I left it there.

A non-sewing friend once asked why I didn't just get a square foot of fabric I loved, frame it, and hang it as abstract art on my walls? I could do that with this velvet, it's such a delicious color, and textured, so the light plays across the different facets of the very soft surface. I think it might make a good sweater-jacket, but I'm still not sure. I just know it gives me pleasure.

My husband doesn't understand my addiction to fabric, but he admires the end result - the clothing I make for myself, the duvet covers I've sewn for our bed, the curtains and dog sweaters I've made over our years together. I've made him denim and leather baseball caps, truck seat covers, all sorts of goodies.

He jokes that were I to have unlimited funds, and unlimited space, I might turn into a fabric hoarder. I reply that I am already a fabric hoarder, on a very small scale.
My "stash" is a tote full of possibilities waiting to be realised, but I need to have a realistic understanding of just what is attainable within my lifetime, and work within those constraints. Everything in moderation.

Because I didn't sew much in the way of garments while we lived away from the city, I'd forgotten that making my own clothing and wearing it, will place me into situations where my people-pleasing will be heavily triggered. It's an interesting fact of life, that our friends and acquaintances will ask those of us who sew, to "make me something." Everything from curtains, to jeans, to winter coats, to blouses. Not only to make something from scratch, but also to fix and repair - replace zippers, stitch holes in ripped pockets, hem new pants. I don't know why, but people who'd never dream of asking an electrician friend to re-wire their house for free, will ask a sewing friend to make them a winter coat for free. Sewing is work. It may be work I love, but it's time consuming, and detailed work.

I have learned to reply: "I don't like doing alterations, but I'm sure there are businesses here in town that will do it for you."If I then get the response, "Oh come on, can't you just do one pair of pants for me? How long could it take?" I use the technique of "broken record" (repeating my statement and refusing to be drawn into discussion) until the person hears me. I was talking to a program friend about this, and she laughingly replied, "Just say NO!" As I get more comfortable in Al-Anon, and inside my own skin, I become more at home with saying "No."

I've become more honest. Instead of saying that I'm very busy, and don't know when I could get to it, I'm truthful. I say, "I don't like doing alterations. I find them tedious and boring. Just because I have the skill to do it, doesn't mean it's enjoyable."

Non-program people can be quite forceful in their desire to get from me, something for nothing. I was dealing with one recently, and my polite refusals seemed not only to spur her on, but in her frustration at not receiving the response she desired, she was getting increasingly snarky. I finally became exasperated, and taking a moment to compose myself, and ask my Higher Power for courage, I stated flatly:

"I'm not going to sew anything for you, and I'm also not going to discuss it any further. This topic is now closed."
An expression of intense anger crossed her face - lips thinned, nostrils flared, eyes narrowed. She looked at me for a moment, then said in an icy tone, "I just thought you might be willing to something nice for me."

I smiled and replied cheerily, "How's your sister doing? She was ill last time we spoke."

There was a moment of silence, in which I could feel her desire to control me almost as a physical force in the room, before she sighed heavily, and responded that her sister was much better, thanks for asking. We went on to other topics, and as soon as I could do so politely, I excused myself, and crossed the room to talk to someone else. I felt as though I'd narrowly escaped a life of servitude behind my sewing machine, in which I'd never have gotten to a single piece of lovely fabric in my stash, only been able to gaze longingly in the direction of the tote, while I toiled to satisfy someone else's desires, not my own. I'm exaggerating, but my people-pleasing tendencies have put me into that servitude to the desires to others, for a large part of my life.

I don't know how much time I have left upon this earth, but I don't want to spend it that way. I sew for the pure pleasure of it, and that's my right. I've finally learned that I have the right to do something, for no other reason, than that it pleases me to do it.

As I heard in a meeting the other day: "I matter, too!"

Honesty Can Be Painful.

On occasion, one of my sponsees will ask for my input, then when I give it, either fall silent with one of those pregnant pauses, or be direct about what they're feeling, with a statement along the lines of: "Why did I phone you, you're telling me what I don't want to hear!"

I believe that not only will I be unable to puncture someone else's denial, it's not my place to try, and I do not say things lightly when discussing program. I stop to consider before I speak, and I try very hard to be guided by my Higher Power. Many times I will open my mouth, reconsider, and close it again. That's one of the greatest gifts I've received from 12-Step - learning to be peacefully silent.

I've learned that there are going to be times when what I say is not well-received: remember how easily and regularly I was offended by my first sponsor: remind myself that if I've been careful before I spoke, I need to let go of the outcome.

My being unable or unwilling to be honest in my relationships, not only with the alcoholics in my life, but with everyone, was my part in the problems between us. I gave a false impression of who I was, and what was acceptable, when I didn't speak up. I can come up with many reasons for why I was this way, and how my denial was fostered by my childhood experiences, and the effect of my first husband - a furiously angry alcoholic, who raged and bellowed and slammed and ranted. I can justify, I can explain, I can rationalise. At bottom of it all was/is fear.

I have been afraid that because honesty can be painful, something I said, would cause the other person to reject me. I was so terrified of rejection, that I was willing to pretend to be someone I was not. I was willing to live a lie, in order to be accepted.

Before Al-Anon, I didn't know that, rather than try to manipulate another human being into acceptance of me by pretense and people-pleasing, I could seek out those who would accept me for who I truly am, "as is." I didn't believe that I was acceptable. I based my self-value upon what I accomplished in a day - how "productive" and "helpful" I was. I still get twinges when I look back upon a day and see that I didn't get anything done that I'd planned, but I'm learning to let those pass by - noticed - but not leapt upon and used as a blunt instrument with which to belabor myself.

When someone wants me to be what I am not, do what I have said I won't, I don't need to be giving lectures on how they shouldn't be wanting these things from me - that's an exercise in futility, and only causes a rise in the tension, with no change in the wanting.

Life is what it is, there will be incidents when that wanting from another person, feels strong enough to momentarily overpower my sense of self. I'm learning that if I keep quiet, and pray for strength and courage from my Higher Power, the wave of their wanting will recede a bit, and I can stand up, shake myself off, and speak my truth with courtesy and kindness. If I am true to myself and search my motives fearlessly, I will be able to withstand whatever then results.

I don't have to like it. I don't have to remark upon it. I only have to be able to hear it, and let it go. It's not my problem. My problem is finding the courage to be honest about who I am. If I cannot find any courage within myself, I can pray to be granted some.

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?

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

Begin As You Mean To Go On.

I recently agreed to be on a committee, and am second-guessing my decision, because I'm already being inundated with emails. My inbox is being stuffed with emails about minutiae, with seventeen  people all sending me an email stating their point of view, and then 289 emails responding to the first 17 points of view....eeeek!

I talked to another member this evening, and he supported me in my decision to write a blanket email saying: "Please do NOT send me this nonsense. (More politely stated, of course.) I will discuss committee matters at committee meetings, and no other time."

I don't want to hear what this person thinks about what that person wrote - it's enough to make my ears bleed. My serenity requires that I not get involved in triangle politics. I'd forgotten how tedious committees can be, when you have a few large egos all bashing into each other like bumper cars.

In my new spirit of absolutely no more people-pleasing, I have decided that if I'm going to be on this committee, I am going to honor myself first and foremost. This message I sent out was in service to that. In the past, I'd have just accepted the zillion blathering emails, read them all, and felt the need to reply. No more. I'm done. I'm going to say what I think. And what I think, is: Get up from your computer, and go talk to a friend or family member, take the dog for a walk, stop writing so many emails back and forth about such ridiculously tiny points!

I'd like to say that, but that sounds rude even to my exasperated self. So I sent out my milder version, which for me, is still pretty tough. I'm starting from the very beginning, to teach these people how to treat me. Respect my boundaries, and don't email me unless you are rescheduling a previously-set meeting. Other than that, you can argue amongst yourselves as much as you like, I'll be in the garden. Or painting. Or playing soccer with the dogs.

Halo-Polishing.

One aspect of being involved with a charming alcoholic with an excellent social facade, is that I have people telling me all the time how wonderful they are. For most of the marriage, rather than say anything to the contrary, and regardless of how poorly they may have been treating me at the time, in the privacy of our home, I would smile weakly and agree.

I heard someone at an Al-Anon meeting recently, refer to this behavior as "polishing the halo" of a passive aggressive spouse. This person's spouse isn't their qualifying alcoholic, a parent is, but their spouse has some serious problems, none of which are ever displayed in their public persona. And this Al-Anon member has, as I did for so many years, gone along with the public facade, and agreed when people talk to her about how lucky she is to be married to such a great guy! He's so laidback, and so mellow!

When alcoholics have such a great public face, we spouses can feel that we have no-one at all who can understand, believe or relate, to the truth of the matter.

We polish the halo from shame, pride, embarassment, unwillingness to indulge in conflict or argument, many reasons. For me, it's been a lot about pride, and shame.

I've decided I'm not going to do this anymore. Next time anyone suggests that I'm married to the best of all possible spouses, I'm going to politely comment that as a human being, they have their own faults and frailties, just as we all do.

And if, (as has often happened if I've not responded with immediate eagerness to a comment of that sort praising them,) the speaker keeps nudging me with words, wanting me to agree that my spouse is just the most perfectly amazingly wonderful person, I'm going to reply sweetly that actually, the shoe is on the other foot; they're lucky to have me.

What's Your Focal Point?

From Hope for Today, page 145:

"Whatever I concentrate on will become central to my life."

What do I want for a focal point in my day? Someone else's character defects?

Written out like that, it sounds so baldly ghastly, yet that is precisely how I've spent many, many days of my life. Preoccupied with my own obsessing: all else discarded, forgotten, or temporarily set aside. I could be indoors or out, it matters not, all that loomed in my view was this focal point of the alcoholic. And their shortcomings.

I didn't spend entire days, weeks, thinking about their positive character traits, although I was capable of recognising those, when not in complete nutcase mode.

For me, obsessing "follows as the night the day," from my inability to stand my ground. (I know I'm most likely boring you all senseless with this particular topic, as I seem to be writing about it a lot lately, but this is what's on my mind.)

Last night, I followed a line of reasoning from the end back to the beginning, and guess where it started? Same old place. Me with my mouth shut. Too tired to speak. Feeling that it was pointless.

I've created a lot of unhappiness for myself over the years by deciding ahead of time that it was pointless to speak up: nothing would change: I'd said it all before, yada yada yada.

I like something I've heard at meetings: "If I don't respect my boundaries, how can I expect the alcoholic to respect them?"

I'd like to add this:

 If I don't respect my own boundaries, I'm going to find myself doing a lot of obsessing.

Lonely.

I miss my sponsor. I'm going to drive over to have lunch with her in a couple of days, and I'm really looking forward to it. I miss that feeling of being known for all my good points and bad, and loved anyway.

It's hard being new, feeling my way through all the new relationships. I've met some amazingly wonderful people here, and for that I'm grateful, but nothing can compare with the comfort of being known, of not having to explain. I'm feeling lonely today.

I know this will pass, and I'll regain the feeling of comfort inside my own skin, but today I feel mournful, and a bit lost. I've learned in Al-Anon that this happens now and then; I don't have to panic because I'm not bursting with delight for the day. I've learned to allow myself my sad feelings, not to try to shove them down out of sight, or deny their existence. I can feel these feelings, and survive, it doesn't mean that anything dreadful is going to happen.
It is what it is. So it goes. Tomorrow is another day.

Frustration.

I had a frustrating day today. It was fine as long as I was in my own company, it was when I was around the alcoholic that my day began to go downhill. I had to work hard at letting go, and keeping my mouth firmly closed, no matter how many statements or behaviors meant to provoke, were displayed.

Some days, I can love the person, but I sure don't like them much. Some days, detaching is an act of will, and I must choose it repeatedly. I want to protest, to defend, to explain, to ask the other person not to treat me this way, but experience has taught me, that when the alcoholic is in the kind of mood they were today, any of those choices will only extend my discomfort, by giving them the chance to play head games. The only sane option is to tolerate it while I must, and as soon as I can, excuse myself.

I hate head games. A couple of hours of this sort of thing, and I can feel myself withdrawing away behind my mental barricades,  pulling up the drawbridge, flooding the moat, and sealing up the castle for a lenthy siege. It resets my trust meter back to zero, every damn time.

I've explained until I'm blue in the face that this choice of theirs cannot, for me, be shrugged off so lightly by the next day. When I detach to that degree, I am affected. Even with all that I have learned in Al-Anon, I haven't yet figured out how to detach to the degree necessary to tolerate the behavior, without also detaching emotionally from the person themselves.

When I'm withdrawn emotionally like that, weeks can go by with me feeling a sort of distant disinvolvement; I may appear to be sitting in the same room, making noises of acknowledgement as the alcoholic speaks, but my real self is far, far away. I disengage from them completely. It becomes a surface thing. Tomorrow, they'll be back in a good mood, and want me to be there with them. But I'll be miles away, watching though binoculars.

Reaching Out.

I hated the idea of calling anyone and telling them I was in need, when I was new to program. I had done it all by myself up until then, and I was going to continue doing it all by myself, until one day I heard someone at a meeting laughingly comment about this same thing, and realised I wasn't alone in that, either.

Breaking through the facade can be terrifying: feel shameful, to those of us who've lived with a false front as long as we can remember. But as the program reminds us, if we continue to do what we've always done, we'll get what we've always gotten.

So reach out - give another program member the chance to help by listening, and sharing their experience, strength, and hope - they may need the exercise as much as you do, and when you call, they gain as much, if not more, from the encounter as you do.