Now, Where Was I Before The Phone Rang?

I had such a productive evening planned for myself tonight - I've got a light black wool fabric laid out on my cutting table, with the pattern pieces resting on it, and had planned to get my new winter coat cut out this evening. I'm so well prepared I've even got the buttons - not usual for me - buttons are often the last thing I consider when making a garment. I had it all planned, but it didn't happen. A sponsee called, and we went off into that wonderful place:  a connection is made between us, we speak with honesty, and no fear of being judged.

When I finally hung up, the phone had reached the point of beeping every 30 seconds to warn of impending failure of the battery ( it's amazing what one can ignore, when the conversation is really engaging) and I felt bone-tired, but satisfied. Doing service work with other Al-Anon members makes me feel useful, in a way that nothing else does, or ever has.

No amount of money earned, or possessions gained, has ever given me the same feeling that I receive, when I share my experience, strength and hope, with others caught in the same desperate straits in which I once floundered. I try to give back to others, what was so freely, and lovingly, given to me.
I get emotional, when I think of the way so many people have kept this incredible program working throughout the years. All that generosity of spirit - it's amazing, truly.

Questions About Guilt

1. How do I deal with my friend who guilt-trips me when I don't do what she thinks I should?

2. An elderly family member tries to manipulate me with guilt, when my choices don't meet with her approval - any suggestions?

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

I've learned that in order to deal with something like this in my relationships, I need to break it down into small manageable pieces, and deal with each in turn.

I start with my feeling: what am I feeling?

- I'm feeling ashamed.

Next, I try to understand: why am I feeling this?

- Because for me, that's the natural progression: first I will feel guilt, then I will feel shame.

So why was I feeling the guilt?

- Someone I care about made it clear to me that they think I was wrong to think/act/feel in a certain way.

Was I wrong? Did I trespass a boundary? Break a promise? Not fufill an obligation?

- No, I didn't. I made a choice that this person didn't like, or with which they didn't agree. Perhaps my choice meant that they didn't get something they wanted from me.

Did I have the right to make this choice? Was it mine to make?

- Yes. This was entirely up to me. This choice could be anything from deciding how I will spend my free time, to the best way to raise kids, to the car I buy, to the life partner I choose. I may be wise to ask for input or wisdom from other people, to help me clarify my thinking, or ask them to evaluate their experience in a similar situation, but in the end, I'm the one who has to make the decision, and accept the responsibility for having done so.

Do I feel comfortable and safe with this person, to the extent that I feel I can state a modified and courteous precis of the above?

- No. I don't. Experience has taught me that if I try to confront in any way, the ladling of guilt over my head, I will be met with denials, righteous indignation, and the taking of offense.

What, then, are my choices in dealing with this?

- I can't change other people. I can't force another person to stop with the guilt-trips, already.
I can, however, stop rewarding this behavior with apologies, explanations, rationalisations, and justifications. I can respond to the attempts to make me feel guilty, by not responding. I can use variations on a theme:
"Oh yeah."
"Hmmm."
"Isn't that something!" (I love this one - an Al-Anon friend shared that she uses it when she wants to sound as if she's responding with a meaningful comment, while in truth remaining non-committal.)

With those in whose company I feel safe, I can be a little more direct:

"When you say ______, I feel _______. I'd like you to stop saying that to me, please."

I have a (not-in-program) friend who has tried several times to induce guilt in me with statements about how disappointed she was when I didn't do this, or I did do that, and I've learned that even the innocuous "I'm sorry you feel that way" will be taken as positive reinforcement of the behavior.

I once heard someone saying that they respond to guilt-trips thusly:

"I know some people might think me selfish to have made this choice, but I know that you are much more open-minded, and will be able to see what others might miss, and therefore understand why I made this choice."

I laughed when I first heard that, but I've since discovered that it works very well with my friend - it's as though I'm offering her an opportunity to display her better character, and she comes through each and every time. I love her for it.

A Familiar Face, And Open Ears.

I've recently begun to attend an extra meeting on Thursday nights, and I'm really enjoying the mix of people. I don't know if it's because it's halfway across the city, but up until last night, there hasn't been anyone I know at this meeting. Last night for the first time, someone I know from other meetings was there. I find it raises my comfort level in a new meeting, to see a familiar face. It can feel more welcoming - warmer. In some way, I feel as though I'm being heard in a way I might not when everyone else is a relative stranger. (I once expressed this to a friend, who joked that he was sorry, he'd been daydreaming when I'd been speaking, and hadn't heard a word; he'd had his face set on "autopilot.")

I've been thinking lately, about the fact that most of us don't listen very well. I first had training in active listening, when I volunteered for the local crisis line. The training had demonstrated, how poorly developed, are most people's listening skills. The trainers would break us up into small groups, one of whom would have been chosen ahead of time, and told to ramble, use sentence fillers such as "you know?" get sidetracked and never finish a thought, all the ways in which we make it difficult for our listeners. It was the first time that I considered listening to be an activity; before then, I'd seen the speaker as active, and the listener as passive.

It was enlightening to watch myself fasten upon "you know?" and be increasingly irritated with each repetition. Why was this? I realised that I'd been taught that this was an "annoying verbal habit." I judged it, and I judged the person using it.

Time and again, I'd catch myself getting hung up on the person's vocabulary, or their grammar, or tone of voice, and the content would slide past, half-heard. Active listening is hard work; it requires that we detach from our internal dialogue, and pay close attention to the other person.

I like to listen to program speakers while torturing myself with yoga poses; last night the speaker I had chosen, mentioned how difficult it can be to listen, with no assessing. and no judgement of the speaker, or what they are saying:

"To really listen, you have to temporarily surrender your personality - all your likes, your dislikes, attitudes, biases - you have to let it all go, in order to have room in your head to take in the message."

I had a situation recently, where a (not in recovery)friend and I, were in a small social group - 5 people - and afterwards, I'd mentioned that some of the language used had seemed negating or dismissive - lots of labelling, and assumptions. My friend asked that I elaborate, give her some examples - when I did, she responded that she hadn't heard any of that. I was surprised, as it had been gratingly obvious to me, perhaps because it was "criticism of others." The longer I'm in Al-Anon, the more aware I seem to become of this, and the more it bothers me.

In other areas of my life, such as my relationship with my spouse, I have not been a great listener. Too much emotion swirling, too much of allowing myself to get away with behaviors that I know in my heart, are not the kindest of choices. Too much rationalising about "not wanting to hear his excuses when his behavior" yada yada yada - I lose my focus, and when I lose my focus, I lose sight of both my listening training, and my program training. I know better. I pray to be aware and open-minded, to be a good listener, in all aspects of my life.

Why Write It Out?

When it was first suggested to me that when I was feeling irritated, agitated, frustrated, annoyed, resentful, I should sit down and write about it, I couldn't see the point. What was the difference between writing about it, and "reasoning things out with someone else?" Or just thinking about it?

I quickly learned that were I to write out all my feelings, and write about the event which had provoked those feelings, then leave it overnight, or for a few days, return to it when calm and serene, and read it, my character defects and negative thinking leapt off the page and did a high-kick dance before my eyes. It was all so obvious when I'd had time to calm down; because I'd written it in the heat of the feeling, I wasn't censoring myself, and couldn't pretend.

I was a great pretender before Al-Anon. I pretended I was fine when my life was completely unmanageable, I pretended that I felt what I didn't feel, and didn't feel what I did feel...pretending was a childhood coping mechanism which I'd carried into my adult life, and never questioned. Until Al-Anon, and some direct questioning from my sponsor, with regard to honesty in relationships, and whether or not I had any. (I didn't.)

I encourage my sponsees to use this technique of writing about it when they are upset in any way, and to be very detailed in describing their feelings, their assumptions, their expectations, all of it. Invariably, I will hear about how when they went back the next day/several days later and read it, they cringed to see how unreasonable/childish/petty/crazed they sounded. One or two have told me a long time later, that they have stopped using this technique after a few tries, because they "couldn't face the truth about their own thinking" at the time, or because they "didn't want to admit that they could be so unreasonable or resentful."

Because I try to keep the lightest of hands with my sponsees, (both to rein in my own control-freak tendencies, and to allow them to be fully who they are, without feeling in any way criticised) I will suggest this as a tool I found helpful, and then let it go. I don't nag them to do it, I don't ask if they have done it, I just offer it.

Not everything works for everybody. Some people will resist to their deaths any suggestion that they consider their own part in the problems in a relationship; they seem to attend meetings for a while, and then fade away. Some folks are so obsessed with their own bad points, that they will use this as a whip with which to lash themselves - with those sponsees, I suggest that they not look at it until we have a chance to go over it together. That way when they are starting to give themselves hell for being human, I can offer the ways in which I was precisely that crazed, and how I've changed, so they can see that they are not evil, not monsters, but only human. (That's presupposing that I'm only human, as well. Took me a long while to arrive at that destination, I promise you.)

Try it. You might be astounded. Write it out, then go back and read it when you've calmed down. You might find that things previously obscured in the murk of your subconcious, become clear: that, "Why do I do/say/think that?" is suddenly obvious.

What I'm finding so wondrous, is that because I've worked my program like a good little maniacal co-dependent, more often than not, nowadays, this "stop and examine what's really going on inside my head, stripped of any justification or rationalising" occurs in my internal dialogue within the space of a few seconds, so that I can decide before I say or do anything, that I'm being irritable, or unreasonable. Or that I'm setting myself up with an expectation. Or that perhaps my intolerance is in the driver's seat.

I don't need days of time to: write it all out, cool down, go back and read it, then deal with the truth of it. Many times, I can do that now, on the spot. And that is one cool thing.

Repeat After Me: "I Can't Control Other People, I Can't Control..."

Some days I have to go to a quiet place -  inside myself: inside my house: outside into nature - wherever I can find solitude and serenity at that moment, and remind myself of my powerlessness.

When I feel that irritation rising in my chest, I know enough to stop talking, close my mouth firmly upon the words fighting themselves to spill out and over, and walk away.

I can't control other people. I can't force them to do anything. Not one single solitary measly thing can I make someone else do. They do what they choose to do, and all my yarping, harping, moaning, reasoning, complaining and explaining, none of it will have the slightest effect, if they choose not to do whatever it is.

I can ask. I can request. I can suggest. But I cannot force my will upon another person, even if I am thoroughly convinced, (as I always seem to be at those moments, coincidentally) that I am in the right, and being perfectly reasonable in my asking.

It is completely irrelevent that I have requested twenty thousand times previously, that they not allow our male dog to strut out into the back forty, and bark like a raving lunatic, screaming dog warnings of imaginary monsters approaching, requiring that he exercise his lungs, letting all in the neighbourhood know to take cover.

Or perhaps he's just alerting the other dogs within a 30 mile radius, that there's a large black squirrel in one of our trees; who knows what goes on in dog brain?
Whatever he's doing with all that barking, he's doing it with surprising volume for a small 18 pound creature, and will continue unabated, unless I open the sliding glass door and correct him, at which point he will immediately assume that canine "picture of angelic innocence" pose, and pretend that it must have been some other creature making all that noise, because he's just out here sniffing, honestly! No really, barking? He hasn't barked all day, he doesn't remember doing it, anyway, he might have loosed off one or two in early morning, when he saw that deer, but not recently, goodness no....

I just have to open the door, stick my head out, and say quietly, "Stop that racket" and he stops. He knows that if he doesn't, he'll be in doggy time-out. My spouse, on the other hand, can open the door and roar a command, and be completely ignored - he won't follow through, the dog knows it, so he pays no attention.

I've said this many more times than I ever should have, and boy did I want to say it again just now. Instead, I went out, got the dog, put him into time-out and came into my workroom and wrote this post. That way, I don't have to make an amend later, for having said something I regret. In a tone I regret.

I close my mouth, walk away, and give myself a little spiritual time-out. It always helps.

Perfectionism

I'm in the process of making myself a new item of clothing, from a material with a distinct pattern. I've realised how easily my perfectionism can still be triggered, by the length of time it took me to cut the pieces out. I had to match the material pattern in every possible place on the garment - front and sleeves, seams, pockets, inner and outer lapels...

Now I grant you, any tailored garment in a material with a repeating pattern, looks much more professional if the pattern is matched at seams, etc, but it was the obsession to get it "perfect" that took me over at moments. I spent twice or three times as long on the cutting process, because of this matchy-matchy thing going on inside my head.

I found myself, at one point, leaning down to check that one teeny tiny diddly bit on the pattern piece was lined up just exactly perfectly with the teeny tiny diddly bit on the other pattern piece, and had to stop, walk away, and give myself a mental shake. It was insanity in action. It's just a new piece of clothing, for me to wear. I'm not making it to sell, I'm not wearing it at a command performance before the Queen, my life does not depend upon matching the pattern on a microscopic level - it's just a garment.

When I catch myself in this craziness, after the little talking-to I give myself, well-laden with Al-Anon wisdom, and a slogan such as Easy Does It, inevitably, the next feeling which will wash over me, is gratitude for my program. Before Al-Anon, I thought my crazed perfectionism was a good thing; I had no understanding of the misery I inflicted both upon myself, and upon those around me, of whom I had such unrealistic expectations.

In Al-Anon, I have learned that my best is good enough. I can celebrate my efforts, and not be always picking at myself because I didn't achieve perfection. I have learned that my perfectionism was rooted in childhood experience, and that I can shake that off, and choose my own standards.

 In the major city where we once lived, I had a program friend who was also a mad perfectionist. I'd arrive at her place, she'd have her coat and shoes on, but getting her out of the house would try my patience. (Patience is not one of my virtues, I've had to work like the dickens for every drop I now possess.) She would almost get out the door, have one foot upon the sill, but would then drop her purse and rush across the foyer to pick a dead leaf from a plant, or rearrange the shoes on the shoe rack, or straighten the hangers in the closet, or ... I started saying to her, "Screw it! That's good enough; leave it alone. It's fine. Put that thing down, woman!"

The day that she said, "Maybe I should..." and I replied "Screw it!" and she agreed, "Right, screw it!" and marched across that doorsill without a backward glance, we knew she was getting somewhere with all her efforts to let go of her perfectionism. The next time she came to pick me up, and I hesitated when the phone rang just as I was closing my front door, she said firmly, "Screw it!" I closed the door, locked it, and we walked arm-in-arm out to the car, feeling enormous satisfaction. My time in program is filled with such memories of achievements. They might seem slight to someone whose life hasn't been ravaged by alcoholism, but to those of us who have been locked away in our own small and lonely boxes of self, they are our victories, and we celebrate them.

I have another piece of checked fabric in my stash of material; a lovely soft wool blend, in autumn golds and browns. I want to enjoy this fabric when I work with it. To achieve that, I may need to make a reminder sign for the wall above my cutting table, reading: How Important Is It?

Why I Do The Things I Do - Motives.

"What would be your motive, were you to say that?"

A question my first sponsor used on me, and which I now use, with great glee thoughtfulness, on my sponsees. When I was new to program, that question was guaranteed to bring me to a screeching halt - tires smoking, long line of black rubber on the road behind me.

I understood the question, but I also didn't understand it. I had good language comprehension, but emotional comprehension? None at all. I would be in the strange position of having a clear picture of what was being asked of me, and no way to reply. I hadn't a clue where I could begin to search for an answer, because my motives were well hidden in the hoarder's house of my brain.

I like that analogy for several reasons, not least of which that I had a tendency (A "tendency," ha! Slight understatement there, dear reader.) to scorekeep. I could not let go of anything; on the contrary, I was always on the hunt for more evidence to add to my stash of "Look at what they did, it's only natural that I would ___!"
Any slight, insult, unkindness, emotional/verbal/physical abuse ever perpetrated against me, which I was old enough to remember, and all of those  which the memory retains, but over which it draws a curtain, (so that we may continue to function, albeit not very smoothly) were in that house of self. 

Somewhere. Buried under mountains of unidentifiable, dust-covered, mouse poop decorated - all right, all right, enough of this analogy, what's my point here?

I couldn't let go of any trespass against me. I couldn't forgive or forget, and because of that, my motives were poisoned by my resentment. I acted and spoke to "get back" at the alcoholic, and every miserable rotten person in my life who had hurt me. The drinking alcoholic became a symbol, a representative of that group. I knew that when he was in his cups, I could say anything I pleased, no matter how viciously cruel, and not have to pay the price for saying it. He was in blackout - his memory would not retain it.

When I did a Step Five with him about this, much later on, after we'd divorced and been apart for quite some time, I wept and shook with pain, fear and sorrow. He reached across the table and grasped my hands: his own were shaking: tears were streaming down his face, too. In that moment, I saw in the still-drinking alcoholic wreck before me, the man I had loved and married so many years before. I am so grateful to program, for giving me the ability and willingness to make that amend, to make my peace with him, to go on in my life with no unfinished business from that relationship.

Before Al-Anon, I was not in the habit of digging down to find my motives. They were a deep and dark mystery of self, and I feared them, if I considered them at all. In Al-Anon, I have learned that if I do not deal with my resentments, they will begin to poison the ground water, and I'll start to suffer from strange ailments, such as being "irritable and unreasonable" or restlessness, perhaps a feeling of being trapped by circumstance.  All those awful feelings, and the insane thinking which once ruled me, will once again begin to stir if I do not work my program every single blessed day, whether I wish to, or do not.

If I want to be able to answer questions from myself, or anyone else, about my motives, with something other than an abashed and shame-filled hesitance, I have to work my program. It's that simple.