Don't Fear The Inventory - It's A Gift.

Many of us struggle with the idea of examining our character in depth - what horrors might we encounter, down there in the muck and mire of our crazed thinking? When we've been raised in families of dysfunction, we can have a self-image fragile and wobbly; I know I was afraid that I'd find out even worse things about myself than I thought I "knew" already.

What I discovered, was that much of my shame and guilt were assigned, and not deserved: that I had coping mechanisms which got in the way of my having a peaceful and serene life: that I was worthy of love simply for the fact of my existence - I didn't have to "earn" love.

Once I had a reasonable idea of my character, and my presumptions, conclusions, projections and assumptions, many of which I'd been unaware, prior to my first Step Four, my real self-improvement could begin. Without the inventory, I was a woman with no sense of direction, trying to find true north. Before Al-Anon, my deficits infuriated and distressed me, because they seemed to prove my unworthiness. In program I learned that I'm not unworthy, and that my mistakes, if I allow it, can be instructive.

Last night I was gathering the waistband of a dress I'm making, and laughed to realise that I was trying to get the gathers exactly perfectly distributed - unaware, I fall easily back into that lunatic perfectionism first acquired, when shame was a constant companion. I catch myself, because I know now how I operate, and I recognise my patterns of thought.

I know that when I have a sense of irritation rising in my chest as someone gives me feedback about myself, it's because I'm feeling defensive. I only feel defensive when I'm hearing the truth - so now, when I feel that irritation rising in that situation, I take a few deep breaths, and pay attention. My Higher Power is using this person as a conduit to teach me.

I do not have to like the lesson.

I don't float about my life, never feeling sad or bad or pissed right off - life is the way it always was, it's my response which has changed. It's the changed response which leads to serenity and peace.

The only way to a changed response, is to find out what my original response was, and why I had it - for that, I needed and still need, Step Four. I'm not afraid of myself anymore. I can be frustrated with my inability to grasp a message, but even that has paled and faded over time. I ruefully accept that I can be a very slow learner when I'm not thrilled with the reality of "It is what it is" and I can joke of this to my program friends, who will laugh with me, and give examples of their own dragging heels.

Some of the best laughing fits I've ever had, have happened while discussing character defects.

Pray for courage, and plunge into Step Four. Trust long-timers. when we tell you that you will be glad you did. Some things you just have to take on faith - this may be one.

Pulling On My Hair.

When a friend in Al-Anon is having a bad day, and I ask how she's doing, she'll respond cheerfully, "Oh, pulling on my hair!"  That one sentence encapsulates all the things we've discussed over the years, about living with an alcoholic, and not relinquishing our sanity in the process.

I'm feeling completely surrendered today. It's a wonderful, peaceful feeling. I know (again) that I am powerless. I'd like to be able to be supportive to the alcoholic as they struggle through their painful feelings about the loss of the friendship, but that's just not possible - when I try, the anger is simply redirected onto me.

I spoke to a program friend late last night, and we ended up in helpless laughing fits, describing to each other, the crazed thinking of our own early recovery. That helped me. Today, I feel compassion for the alcoholic's inability to say, "This hurts! I'm angry and frustrated, and I am mourning the loss of this friendship." I remember what an awful lonely place it was, when I was trying to pretend that I was "fine."

I remember the self-loathing, and how it affected my relationships with other people, and my inability to act with love when I was angry or in pain. I remember denying I was angry, while my heart pounded, and my hands shook with the intensity of my rage. I really was a crazy person.

No-one in Al-Anon ever told me how to change, or what to change - I changed because I could see their serenity, and I desired it with a powerful longing.

I pray for detachment to allow the alcoholic room to grow at their own pace, and compassion for their struggle.

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.

Dog Love, And Love Of Dogs.

Dogs have been a comfort and a joy in my life from as far back as I can remember. In my childhood, when people frightened and hurt me, dogs were a source of love. 

When I came home from school, and stepping through the door, felt the air tense with anger, and my stomach clenched in fear, for the beatings that I knew were coming, the dog was a soft and quiet presence. I would drop to my knees, and put my arms around her, holding her warmth against me, trying to gain courage with the love she gave.

When I escaped outdoors, down into the marsh behind the house of my adoptive parents, the dog was a sentry on the path ahead. I felt perfect safety, even when in the tall grasses and reeds that grew down there, all I could catch sight of, was a glimpse of waving tail held high.

My dogs have been a constant in my adult life, when the rest of my world was in chaos because of alcoholism. They've been companions, entertainers, friends, comforters.

Our little male dog, who has a tumour on his foreleg, has made me laugh like no dog before him. He was my introduction to dachshunds, and what comedians they are. When he was a tiny puppy, he was the same size as a plastic rat toy our cat loved to attack, and the same color - pure gleaming black from nose to tail tip.

When he was 5 or 6, the first grey hairs began to appear around his muzzle, and I thought that was far too early, since he had all the energy and bounce of a very young dog. The grey has slowly advanced along his nose until now he has the dog equivalent of quite a full mustache. But he still has the energy and bounce of a young dog - one vet suggested that the other dog in the mix was quite likely a terrier of some sort.

Last night, I was sitting on the bed telling my husband what the vet had said. A rush of emotion made me suddenly burst out with a wail of, "It's too soon!"

My husband said quietly, "It's always too soon with dogs."

And that is how it is, and ever will be. This is one of those "accept the things I cannot change" parts of life - dogs die long before we are ready. No matter what their age, or state of infirmity, we can't believe that it has come time to let them go.

I have tried my best to be a loving friend, and give my dogs a swift and painless death. But I realise that I expected to have our little dog for years yet, and I haven't even begun to deal with the reality of his aging. I've been in complete denial.

A program friend wrote: "I actually use my dog as an inspiration about how to live…..to try to capture her boundless capacity to live life to the fullest, each and every day."

For some of us, they will never be "just a dog."

Dog Problems.

Update: It's a tumour, so he's booked in for surgery in a week to have it removed, and I'm going to try not to worry in the meantime. I've got a sponsee coming in a few minutes, so I'll write more later.

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I'm taking our older male dog in to the vet in about 45 minutes, to get a small growth on his front leg checked out.

I thought that I'd write a post, but find that I cannot concentrate or think clearly with that before me, so I'm giving it up for now, and will try again later.

Birds and Belief.

Silly title, I know, but I'm in a whimsical mood. There's a birdhouse on the top of the clothesline pole, and it's being used at the moment, by a sparrow family. I  watch impossibly tiny beaks appearing at the entrance, and a parent bird stuffing them with food. Whenever the adults return from their hunts, the excited squeaking of the babies makes me smile - anticipation and demand, all rolled into one loud sound.

I feel my Higher Power most strongly when I'm outside, listening to the soughing of the tall pines, feeling the wind in my hair, the sun on my face, and the satisfying crunch of twigs and pine cones beneath my feet.

I've passed the point in my belief where I feel the need to justify or explain. I have a comfort, I offer that to those with whom I speak and write, with no expectations that they will join me.

Today, I am content. I wish for you the same.

Dominance and Powerlessness.

A friend used to have a small dog, who was on a continual quest to find a larger dog to bully. He could never leave well enough alone; always had to push it just that one bit further, and then - smackdown! He'd find himself on the ground, belly-up, with teeth hovering over his neck, and a strong warning being growled into his ear. (He reminded me of my first husband - seemed to thrive on conflict.)

At the time, I had a large Lab cross who was only interested in sticks, balls, or anything which could be thrown and retrieved. She dealt with my friend's dog by not dealing with him - it was as though he didn't exist. Until one day when he had been posturing and prancing about in front of her, ignored as usual, and for whatever reason, decided to give her a nip on the leg.

My dog dropped the stick she'd been holding, peeled her lips back from her teeth, put her head down, and slowly advanced upon him, legs stiff, ruff up, tail held straight out - very threatening body language.

My friend's dog realised that he had gone too far, and began to ever-so-slowly back up. My dog kept advancing, and he kept retreating, and she backed him one circuit around the yard, until he finally dropped to the ground and rolled over in the canine gesture of submission.

My dog grasped his throat in her jaws and held him for a long moment, then let go, shook herself, and trotted back to get her stick. He rolled up into a sitting position, and sat there, then went over and flopped down beneath a bush.

His entire world view had been changed in that one moment, because he was a different dog after that, according to my friend - seemed to have given up trying to dominate anything but his squeaky toys. I found that fascinating - what was it about being told off by my dog that changed him? He'd been told off by Rottweilers, pit bulls, you name the breed, he'd challenged them and been put in his place, and it hadn't changed his behavior; why now? What was different? We never did come up with a satisfying answer to that question, and he's long gone.

Displays of dominance in people can be equally as mystifying - we watch as someone will cause themselves added harm, from not being able to stand down, to let go, to accept, to admit to their own powerlessness.

I tried for almost the entire ten years of my first marriage to dominate my husband's alcoholism, and I failed completely. I challenged him time and again, trying to force my will, and it had no effect whatsoever, except to increase conflict between us.

Whenever I try to force my will upon another person, I will fail. That's a given, because I can't change another person. I do not have the right to try to dominate anyone. I may try to justify my attempts to dominate with explanations about it being for their own good, or look at what they are doing to themselves, yada yada yada.

I am powerless over alcoholism. I am powerless over other people. How many times must I find myself with teeth at my throat and hot breath growling a warning into my ear, before I am willing to accept this?