Relinquishing Veils

Another revelation. Another veil dropped yesterday. Where was I? Where have I been that I didn't see this coming? I guess the answer is: I was deep in my sickness.

I expressed to several my feelings of shock and dismay at the discovery. I felt betrayed by lies, more lies, but I felt really dumb. I should have known. I should have seen it long before this.

I could have sunk to the bottom. My habit would be to isolate, and hit myself over the head at least a hundred times before dusk. Thank goodness for sponsors and friends.

It was suggested to me that I could do something else a hundred times a day. I could think this thought every time it passes by my brain: God is restoring me to sanity right now!

I heard another good thing, too. Seeing things more clearly, with veils dropping daily, is God's way of stretching me to believe that he can restore me to sanity. So I see that Step Two, also, is not a hop and a skip across a puddle, but a wide, wide ice floe adrift in a big ocean. I'm putting on my snow shoes for this trek!

Another valuable 'take-away' from a shared conversation: Now I can begin to see who I am becoming. I like that. I'd rather use my time by focusing on Who I Am Becoming than on How Could I Have Been So Dumb.

With a grateful heart for the rooms, the tools, the Program, my sponsor and friends, and the sickness that sent me to them.

Steps-Sister

Hiding My Self in Clutter

Talked to a friend today. She's dealing with resentment issues. I said I'd have to wait till later for that. I'm working on clutter first. She has dealt with some clutter in her Steps. I told her I am staring at mine - aghast at the monument to rage I've built. A funeral pyre of grief. Ugh. Sometimes I feel almost like a scientist about it - detached, curious, studying it for clues. I told her I feel like the only way to disassemble it is to carefully pull out twigs and hope it doesn't collapse on top of me. Oh dear. Surprised by tears. Gone to cry. Dammit.

Not At All Linear

Last post was in May. I said I'd do something, in a minute. Now it is July. It somehow turned into a very long minute. I got stuck.

Step One was not a linear step for me. At first glance, the Twelve Steps looked as easy as stepping stones across the shallowest part of a stream. I thought I would lightly hop and skip straight across. Instead, I slipped off the first stone and sank. It was not the shallow stream I thought it was. It was deep, and I paddled around in the dark without a flashlight.

The long dark night of Step One ended at dawn. There was no sense of having accomplished anything or solved anything. Yet, there I was, right next to the Step Two stone, so I clambered onto its broad surface.

Sitting there in the sunrise, dripping and fresh, was the most peaceful sunrise moment I have ever experienced. So this is me - the one who wanted to do it "by myself!" and succeeded only in making a big mess of it.

I've been blessed, held up, deposited safely on Step Two. There's work to do. Starting right now!!

Swallowing Pain

Thinking. Again, why is it I think food will feed the empty spot inside me? Over and over I've found it doesn't, but that has never stopped me from trying. Kind of like a Chinese puzzle. When my repeated attempts at solution don't work, I still try the same thing one more time. I'm sure psychologists have a term for that. I probably don't want to know what it is.

More thinking. Why do I think food is my friend? It has betrayed me again and again. And yet, I can't seem to leave it. That wonderful Broadway show, A Chorus Line, has a beautiful plaintive song, "What I Did For Love." I sing it to myself this way - "What I Did For Food." It shames me to think of what I've done to make sure I wouldn't be left out or miss out on my "fair" share of food. I'm gulping pain today, on my way to learning where to stuff it. I have phone numbers. I have literature, tools and resources. I have God nearby. I'll get up and do something. In a minute.

Volume Control

I've been to the refrigerator four times already. It's only 8:30 in the morning. It's a mindless habit, reaching for the handle and scanning the contents.

I asked for a recommitment chip at yesterday's OA meeting. It was a necessary step to guide me back to Program.

It's different today than before. Before, I wasn't even conscious of how many times food drew me to the shelves and cupboards of my kitchen. I ate frequently, whether happy, bored, stressed, sad, worried. The pounds piled up over the years until I reached a weight that shocked me. There they were, on the bathroom scales, those numbers that screamed Enough! Stop!

Today, I've managed to shut the door on the sweet offerings of the refrigerator, or at least postpone until later.

I'm learning about volume control. Not just the volume dial on a loud TV, but a quantity volume control. Less food equals less me, so I dusted off the food scale. I let it add up the ounces of food spooned into my mouth. It feels good not to eat to the point of bursting. Bending over is easier already.

Come to think of it, this volume control does double duty, even silencing the noises of reproach in my head. I can hear the good voices more clearly. They are the encouraging voices from OA that follow me through the minutes and hours of Program when I can't even think about focusing on a whole day.

I'm turning this volume control up to LOUD!

Starting Place

My journal fell open to the entry for my fifth day under the wings of OA. Reading it took me back to those feelings I felt then.

I wrote:

Was this a good idea? Why did I think I should start on this journey just before a holiday? I don't have a food plan yet; no sponsor; no days of recovery stacked up in reserve; just my Newcomer Chip with the engraved Serenity Prayer. This chip means a lot. It was held and meditated over by each member of the group before giving it into my keeping. The timing seems appropriate to the people on the chairs in this circle. Before a holiday, after a holiday, middle of the year - makes no difference. Getting started is what makes the difference.

So far, all I have is this: An armload of my messy life, a desperate fingertip grip on hope, Program's welcome packet, and a gnawing spiritual hunger. I guess I'm as ready as I'll ever be.

Welcome Lake

We walked the shoreline of a small lake yesterday, then sat in the pickup for awhile. A half-hour vignette of lake life played out before us while we watched. A bird trolled the waters, swooping in on dinner. A family explored the waterfront on the far side of the lake. A few clouds dallied overhead. Wind brushed up the surface into white caps, and the sun kissed each crest. A lone duck paddled back and forth at intervals. We decided she must be ferrying food to a nest full of ducklings. A fisherman cast his line and soaked up the ambience just long enough to catch one fish. It was our first visit there, but we could tell this was habit for him, and the protected place by the trees was his favorite spot.

There was never a big crowd, but the lake had something to offer whoever was drawn to its waters and its borders. It occurred to me how much that quiet lake is like OA, operating under the principle of Tradition 11 - attraction, not promotion. A silver lure, a deep water healing to be drawn to, not a program to be advertised or rammed down unwilling throats.

Now that I've found the road to that spot, I won't need to be dragged back there. I will keep going back because I want to. I find something of value there.

When the student is ready, the teacher will appear.
**Buddhist proverb **