Don't just walk past the mess.....

Apparently, just because I see the mess in the middle of the floor, doesn’t mean that anyone else that lives in this house does.  I’ve actually seen my kids step over things, stop, look down, think about picking them up, and then continue on their way….  It’s funny sometimes and wildly annoying the next.    I have two adorable little boys.  They are 15 months apart and the best of friends.  I see myself in them every day.  It scares me a little….every day.

Matthew, my youngest, is five.  He has the kind of face that draws people to touch it, or squeeze it if you will, when they are having a conversation with him.   I’ve had more than one teacher tell me they talk to him with their hands in their pockets.  The dimples and the cheeks are just too much sometimes.  I don’t recall ever hearing stories like that about me, but I hear on the regular that he and I look exactly alike.  Obviously, I love that.  The part where the fear steps in is that we act exactly alike.  He’s extremely competitive.  I’ve been known to turn an animal seek and find into a competition.  He’s impulsive.  When I was 12 I pierced holes 2, 3 and 4 in my ears with a safety-pin during French class.  He’s manipulative, already.  I once convinced a friend to take the rap for bringing alcohol to school.  We were in the seventh grade.  He’s right.  Always.  I’m right, most of the time….  unless I’m talking to him.  You get the picture.

My seven-year old, Nicholas, looks exactly like my older brother.  Precious, sweet, soft…  He is an old soul, and that, on occasion, makes him a bit uncomfortable in his own skin.  I can totally relate to that discomfort.  He’s insecure.  I remember feeling fat because I weighed 96 pounds when I left the 8th grade.  He’s a perfectionist.  I paid someone to hand cut the marble in our master bath because the size I wanted wasn’t stock.  He is so smart.  My best friend in 11th grade was my history teacher.  He is the kid that other parents want their kids to be around.  Melts my heart….

The two of them are as different as any two brothers could be.  Perfect example….  This past Easter we were having brunch with friends and family.  Nicholas was pulling out chairs for his friends, talking with the “grown-ups”, carrying plates for people, and planning his strategy for the Easter egg hunt.  Matthew was handing out pennies and chocolates to the girls.  It’s remarkable to me, as their mother, to see the differences.  It’s debilitating some days to think that it’s my job, as their mother, to teach them how to be the best people they can be.  I want them to learn to fail, succeed, change, and grow with humility.  I want them to love and respect themselves in a way that I didn’t.  I desperately want to protect them and set them free at the same time.

Living in recovery, I’ve learned a lot about myself.  I’m learning in my own life how important it is to face the pains of life, feel the feelings, let go of the things I can’t control, and have faith that I am in the care of something greater than myself.  With those two babies sleeping down the hall, it’s imperative that I remember how important it is teach them those same lessons.  Boys….  please don’t just walk past the mess.  Take a minute to clean it up now.  Life is totally worth it……

Bitter, party of one....

I've been working hard to write this blog with out the clouds of blame and bitterness hanging overhead.  Unfortunately, some days I think the sun just isn't bright enough to burn off those clouds.  I get a little bitter when I'm told I cannot have any money for living expenses.  I can't have money for gas.  He'd rather meet me at the gas station to fill the tank himself.  I don't have any money for activities with the boys, or hot lunch programs, or after school activities.  He has to cover that.  Shampoo, toothpaste, lotions, t-shirts for boys, jeans that fit Matthew....  all things I have to ask permission to receive the money to make those purchases.  It's a control freak's dream come true (sorry, :)).  I can't stay because I'll lose it, truly go crazy.  I can't leave because I, literally, can't afford it and will lose boys.  I'm trapped!

Does he win??  Not when I continue to do what I know is right....  When this process is over, I don't want to have regrets about the way I've treated someone.  I want to be able to look my boys in the eyes and tell them that Mommy truly did what was best for them at the time.  No shame.  I want to teach my boys that they can survive devastating life changes with their heads held high.  This will not define who we become, only where we've been.

So, for now, I may grovel just for a minute.  Tomorrow I know will be brighter, if for no other reason than the fact that we have soccer.  I have loved coaching Matthew's soccer team.  There is something about watching a group of 5 year olds chase a soccer ball in the general direction of the goal.  Sheer joy in the middle of what has become a pretty chaotic situation.  The chaos will pass though.  It always does.....  What will stay with me forever is how I handle this particular situation.  I have the tools to be a solid role model for my children and to get through this with out having to go back and make amends for my behavior.  That's the hit right there.....

Apparently I can make pancakes....

"Apparently, I can make pancakes."  I said those exact words tonight after successfully pulling off chocolate chip pancakes for my family.  I felt a slight feeling of empathy for my husband, while at the same time an abnormally huge sense of personal accomplishment.  I mean really, it was just pancakes.  Quite a small thing really, unless your existence, like my husband's, has depended on "making pancakes" , or if your existence, like mine, has demanded that those in my life should be grateful for the opportunity to make them for me.

My husband is a good man struggling to come to terms with his issues of extreme codependency.  Whether it's making pancakes or making beds, he measures his worth by what he feels he is doing for others.  He's been so afraid that he was disposable that he felt that doing more would ensure love.  It is something that, unfortunately, has taken a toll on the both of us.  Now, don't get me wrong.....  when one learns that his wife has been abusing drugs by finding her in a ball on the floor begging for help, said "one", may have his own issues slam him in the face.  I was ready to accept help.  I was ready to live.  I was ready to face family and friends in a way I never dreamed possible.  And parenting, don't even get me started on how excited I was about the possibilities of molding those two little lives.  I didn't ask him if he was ready for all of the changes that were coming his way.  I truly expected him to be as excited and as happy as I was for me.:)  When that didn't happen, (what???, didn't happen, you may be thinking, lol) thankfully, I was able to utilize some of the tools I've been given through recovery to continue living and growing in spite of his best attempts to "sabotage" (his words) my process.

Ultimately, I'm not sure if there is a short end of the stick here, and if there is who gets it.  I'm sure there are pretty solid arguments for both sides of the debate.  On the side of the addict seeking recovery, there is the lifelong commitment to staying clean; the knowledge that if you ever use again you could, and most likely will, die; or, if you don't die, you will want to be dead because everything in your life will be lost.   The never ending awareness that life will get tough and you will have to fight against every instinct, muster all the courage you have, and walk away, don't use.  That all pretty much sucks.  On the flip side, once I grabbed on to recovery, I've been given a life I never could have imagined.  Very cliche, I know.  I my head, that statement means that I have friends, family, and fellow addicts that love me today.  They love me in spite of myself, and that is a tremendous gift.

The enabler in the addict's life has to learn to live with the new and improved recovering addict.  They have to begin to come to terms with the knowledge that everything they thought made said addict happy was pretty much all bullshit.  And then, BAM, those issues they had quietly tucked away hit the surface and run like wildfire.  The codependency, OCD, potential bi-polar disorder issues have all been kept relatively quiet while tending to the other person in the relationship.  Dealing with all of that head on....  that pretty much sucks too.

From my perspective, the pancakes in this story represent one more baby step in my road to recovery. It's one more step to help those in my life understand that I am not that girl anymore.  Not only am I capable, I'm willing.  Not only is it o.k., it should be expected.  Part of being a member of this family, however it ends up looking, is contributing to the greater good.  Especially when that greater good involves pancakes......

Gotta start sometime......

I've got to start sometime......  There have been so many times in my life that I've thought, "I can do this", only to follow that thought with, "maybe tomorrow".  I'm growing up at 41.  It's an amazing feeling to type these words although it's a pretty safe bet I'll be the only one reading them.  I think that's the hit though.....  This time it's for me.  This time I don't care who reads what or who tells who what's going on with me.  It's a legitimate need to share the gifts I've been given, an honest longing to help, however that is defined, and a genuine interest in hearing others share their stories with me.  My story is not unique.  My take on it may be.  It's after 11:30pm my time.  I'm looking forward to beginning this journey.  I'll keep you posted....