Shaking God's Hand

The topic at my home group Sunday night was based on a reading in this months Grapevinve. The topic was based on 'finding' a power greater than ourselves, one that we could live by.
I listened to a man share about his belief in God, even though he's never 'shaken His hand'.
Suddenly, it occured to me just how far Ive come (came to believe...that concept I once scoffed at) in my belief in a power greater than myself. I call that power God....mostly for ease. Although sometimes I call him Buddy, Friend or even Hey-You.
I thought about my job (I work with persons who have fairly severe dementia, traumatic brain injury and end stage alzhiemers disease)and I thought "I get to shake God's hand every day!"
With every bone in my body, I know I am doing the job I am supposed to be doing. It has become clear to me that God gave me a gift, and that gift was wrapped in wrinkles and drool. Most days I can excel at my job with ease....I even have days that I cant believe I get paid to do what Im doing. (Nonono..not every day. Management drives me nuts, co-workers tick me off and the government red tape/rules/regulations baffle me and anger me)
But most days, when I am able to recognize that I am powerless to change management/co-workers/the government and I simply focus on what is in front of me, I wonder how I got to be so lucky. Who gets to come in to work, step off the elevator to a waiting 90 year old who has her arms outstretched for her morning hug? Who gets to hear they are beautiful and special dozens of times a day? Who gets to finish their shift knowing they made a difference that day?
I get to shake God's hand every day. I get to hug Him and hear Him whisper sweet nothings in my ear.
Mother Theresa said: "We can do no great things. Only small things with great love".
I finally get it.
Show up with gratitude in my heart, take care of all the small things, and sink an incredible amount of love into them.
What a gift.

Still Trudging

I read one particular recovery blog every day. I have a few others that I pop in to read weekly.
It astounds me sometimes that these good souls are disciplined enough to blog their thoughts, their experience strength and hope, every day! I've gone months without touching this blog.
Although I have been very busy living, working, parenting, going to school, being sponsored and sponsoring, there is something about this blog thing that I would like to cultivate enough self- discipline to visit here and post at least once a week.
It forces me to slow down, have a visit with myself and my life....
It allows me to organize my thoughts, and hopefully spit some of them out in a way that will help me see where Im at and where I'd like to go.
The girl I was will drink again. If I'm not changing, every single day...Im moving backwards. Im moving towards that drink."
Time to excersize and develop some self discipline.

An unfortunate meeting for a beautiful mess.

Remember the new girl? The beautiful mess girl? She had a really unfortunate incident in a meeting the other night....it almost scared her away.
What follows is an email I sent her about a personal story about my 'unfortunate meeting" in early recovery.

Ok, the story....and Im not making it up...this really happened.

I was somewhere around 60 days sober. I went to the saturday night meeting. It was not one of my favoite meetings....I found it clique-y, and it was too big for my comfort zone. BUT...it was a speaker meeting....so at least I wouldnt have to worry about sharing.
As plans go (not 'my' plans exactly...but whatever kinda plan is going on in the universe)
I was asked to read something.
At the front.
In front of all those clique-y people.
WITH a microphone!
Even though I didnt want to, I braved-up and agreed to read 'yesterday, today and tomorrow'.
I shook the whole time, my voice squeeked....it was a pretty scary experience, but nonetheless, I didnt die.
Then.......(drum roll please)
At the end of the meeting, a well known woman, with plenty of sobriety came up to me, and loud enough for everyone within a 10 foot radius said "Ummm, Julie...you might want to rethink what you wear to meetings."
Huh? What? WTF?
"well....that top you are wearing is pretty low cut, I mean...I can see cleavage for goodness sakes. What exactly are you trying to prove?"
At that moment I wished the earth would open up and swallow me.
I was so embarressed...and I wasnt even sure why.
I thought my top was ok....
I mean...I did think it was ok....
well, it was ok wasnt it?
Oh god...
maybe it wasnt ok...
maybe everyone was looking at me thinking that I was simply using AA as a way to attract men.
Oh my god....they all think Im a slut! Why would I wear this stupid top??!!!
I came home in tears.
My husband forced the story out of me...and then he laughed.
Laughed!
As it turns out, my top (at least acccording to hubby, and later the other 10 people I questioned) was fine. It was appropriate, it was not even slutty in a minor way.
But I took on the words and opinion of one other person, and I gave those words enormous power. I turned her words into the words that everbody must be saying behind my back.

Turns out, us alcoholics are extremely sensitive people.
The lesson for me was learning how to wrap my sensitive-nerve in a bit of insulation.
I had left that 'feeling-nerve' exposed to the world my whole life. If someone said the least little thing that I precieved as critical, then before long, I was ashamed, guilty, angry, less-than, broken, fucked-up, worthless etc....
How you ask? How do we insulate that particlar feeling-nerve?
We trust the people around us, that know us and love us, to tell us the truth.
IF my top had of been inapropriate, Jay would have told me. So would Christie and Lou.
Even if they knew I would be embarressed at that bit of info, they would tell me the truth.

I will always tel you the truth.
Lou will always tell you the truth.
Jen and Kendra will tell you the truth.
Trust the people who love you while you are learning to trust yourself.

The whirlwind that is my life this week

My 18 year old daughter swallowed 60 pills last sunday.
Bought herself a 72 hour psych hold. It ended (or is it 'began'?) with a soft landing in a treatment facility that is world renowned for a variety of things (addictions, eating disorders, post traumatic stress, panic and anxiety).
I hate her boyfriend.
I want to point the finger at him and make this all his fault, although my own program of recovery knows better.
I want her to move home with me after her stay at 'the hospital' because I think I could help direct her life for her. My own program tells me better.
I guess I will settle for praying that she is open minded about the help (the gift really) that has landed in her lap. I will stop thinking about good places to hide the boyfriends body.
And ~sigh~ I will get my butt to a meeting and dump all my thoughts there and be open minded to recieving my own help.

Surrender

It was my dreams that I had clenched in a fist of discontent and wouldn't release. But time and grace had now pried every finger open. There is peace in an open and upraised hand that isn't grasping for anything.


I can remember a time where I had definately surrendered to the problem, yet was unwilling to surrender to the solution. I still wanted to do things my way, and sought out people who would agree with everything I did.
Surrendering to the solution meant going against the grain of who I seemed to be...taking direction that I did not like, doing things that I was convinced would not work.
Funny, when I let go of any notion that I knew what was best for me and let God take the wheel, allowed him to work through the people around me, I finally got a glimpse of what serentity tasted like.

Its a Family Disease

I was introduced to the rooms of AA at the age of 8. My dad used to bring me along to his Sunday night meetings, and I loved it! Oh, how I loved those rooms! Somebody would usually sneak me a styrofoam cup full of sugar cubes, and I could have my snack while I listened to the speaker.
Back then, what I saw was a gathering of people from all walks of life, readily accepting anyone who walked through the doors. Even me, even though I didnt qualify as an alcoholic (yet).
What I heard was fabulous tales of biker fights, bar room brawls, jail stories and looney bins. To me, it was better than any movie I could watch on tv!
I remember thinking that an alcoholic isnt such a bad thing to be.
I somehow missed the part of the story of exactly what needs to happen for a person to qualify as one.
My perception of alcoholics was grand. Both sides of my family were inhabited by alcoholics.....and from my perspective, they were the most funny, most daring, most exciting members of the bunch. The ones who didnt drink were boring, stiff and I sure didnt want to grow up to be anything like them!
My dad joined AA when I was 7, and apparantly my mom did a really good job of sheilding me from the negative consequences of his drinking. I had no idea until I was grown that he had made his own trips to jail, suffered job losses, alienated friends and family and wreaked havok in the lives of those around him.
My beloved grandpa drank every weekend away....he was useless to my grandma, but what I saw was a grown man who was willing to shed the adult persona and allow us to play hairdresser on him. My grandma would get fed up and tell him to go to bed, and we kids would sneak in and crawl into bed with him where he would entertain us with crazy, make believe stories.
My Aunt Shirley was a chronic alcoholic....drank every day, was incapable of holding down a job and changed her men faster than the average person changes the sheets on their bed. What I saw was an amazing creative woman who I believed was an artist. She painted and sang, so I figured she didnt need a job. All the men....I saw an incredibly beautiful woman who lived like a movie star. The reality was nothing like what I saw. She died when I was 15 as a direct result of alcoholism. Her daughter hadnt spoke to her in years because she suffered unspeakable abuse by some of the men Aunt Shirley brought home.
Sometimes I wonder if I was born with a messed up perception of the world. Long before I took my first drink or drug, I was atracted to that kind of life and alcoholism didnt carry any stigma. If anything, I kind of romatisized it. I seemed to simply have a blind spot when it came to looking at any negative consequence of drinking.
I only saw the fun, the romance, the freedom from worry, or boredom.
That is, until it was time for me to qualify as an alcoholic.
Today, Im so very very thankful that my dad got sober in the rooms of AA, and that he exposed me to the solution long before I picked up my first drink.
He celebrates 33 years of sobriety next week.
AA works.