Landing on the Shore

I love "drunk books".  That's my lovingly affectionate name for the memoirs of recovering alcoholics and drug addicts.  I've probably read close to 50 or 60 of them since I put down my wine glass.  Most of them in my first year.  When I say that they saved my sobriety, I am not exaggerating one little bit.  It's true.  Remember, I didn't go to AA until midway through my second year of being sober and didn't really begin to recover for months after that.  These books let me know that I wasn't alone, that I wasn't crazy and, most importantly, that eventually I was going to be okay.

At first I read them like they were a vaccine for my disease...and by that I mean constantly.  Then I found that I didn't need them as much so I'd read one about once a month or so.  Later, I picked them up from time to time when I felt like I needed a good shot of where it could all go wrong if I wasn't constantly vigilant.  Kind of like a booster shot for sobriety.

I was thinking the other day that I hadn't read a good drunk book in a long time.  I went to Amazon and found one with four stars and I read it all weekend.  But...well...it had the absolute opposite effect.  It triggered me and depressed the hell out of me all at the same time.  Weird.

Late yesterday afternoon, I got to a point when the author had hit bottom, been through rehab and is now rebuilding her life, and I felt the old restless, irritable and discontent feelings rising.  That hole opened in my soul and I felt the need to fill it. 

I started with food.  I ate some nuts.  Some fruit.  Some dinner.  Nope...didn't do it.  I realized what I was doing and stopped...thought and realized I wanted chocolate.  I wanted potato chips.  I wanted wine.

What the fuck?

They weren't exactly cravings as much as they were "wants".  For me, cravings are physical. They can actually hurt.  Wants are more psychological and they are much harder to overcome.  After a few weeks of being sober, the physical pull of alcohol abated but it was replaced with the ever present want that lasted MUCH longer.  Same with the sugar.  After two weeks I was over it physically.  Psychologically...well, I'm still on my pink cloud but I'm sure it will be the same.  This was a want.  I WANTED something, anything to fill that whole and the fact that I knew I couldn't have it was depressing me and fucking with my zen.

In the old days I would have taken the hubs for a ride or up in our room and just talked about what I was feeling.  But now I get the impression that he's kind of sick of hearing me whine about my addictions and how I cope.  I'm sure, for a normy, this shit gets pretty tedious after a while.  Plus it was noisy, football was on and...well it just didn't feel like anyone would really be listening if I started talking.
So I did what I knew would satisfy it, give me a chance to clear my head and wouldn't cost anything, financially or emotionally.

I got in the car and went to Target.

There is something about that store that calms me.  I can peruse the aisles, check out the end caps where all of the clearance items are, try on clothes and jewelry, compare nail colors or other girly stuff, and dream about how I'm going to redecorate my house.  I can also get a Starbucks coffee and pick up lettuce and dish detergent if I want.  It's therapy and it works for me.  And I didn't spend a dime.

It gave me time away to think this feeling all the way through (Was it the book?  The Whole 30?  The kids?  The hubs?) and decide that the why really didn't matter.  What mattered was that I took control of the feeling, did SOMETHING that wasn't destructive, rode the wave and landed safely back on shore.

Now I know why it's called "retail therapy".

Namaste

Moody Blues

Why do other people's moods bother me so? 

The biggest reason is that I always assume I have done something wrong.  That somehow, I am responsible.  And unfortunately, that's just the way I'm built.  I'm Italian, I'm Catholic and I'm the product of a mother with a narcissistic disorder - there are days I'm sure I'm responsible for the death of Christ.  So someones mood?  Yeah...it's probably me.

My boss came back from vacation today.  She is not in a good place.  Of course my assumption is that I did something wrong which is not true at all.  But I'm still sitting here with a knot in my stomach waiting for the other shoe to fall.  What I should be doing is leaving her to herself and letting her work out what is obviously HER problem.  What I am doing is trying to figure out how to "fix" this so the tension in the office is lifted.

Note to self...contrary to what your mother taught you Sherry...everything is NOT about you.

Then there's the hubs.  Every once in a while he gets grumpy.  Usually when he's feeling overwhelmed or under appreciated.  (Those are my words...not his.  According to him he's FINE.)  He becomes extremely negative and goes on rants about the silliest things.  For example, we were onstage yesterday with the kids for the spring musical and the lighting director announced to everyone that she needed to "go dark" for a moment.  Then the lights went out.  A second or so later, when it became inconvenient for him to be in the dark, he yelled, "I would if I could get someone to turn on the lights!"  Of course she turned them on immediately but damn dude...could you be anymore RUDE?

On Saturday we were on our way to watch one of my twins participate in a state wide choral group.  It was on the campus of a local university.  I had to listen to the hubs rant about how nit picky the campus police were.  Now...I agree that they are nit picky but the negativity the man was spewing into the universe was so draining!  Would it kill you to smile once in a while?

Not to mention a tirade last night about how we're paying a fortune for cable and there's never anything on to watch.  To which I replied, "There is plenty on TV it's just not something YOU want to see right now."  Big mistake, that spurred the tirade to go on for another few minutes. 

All of which has left me feeling quite a bit wonky.  Like I'm off balance.  My stomach is twisty and there is the aforementioned knot.  What's troubling to me is why I let this stuff get to me?  Why does it bother me so much?  Doesn't bother the hubs.  When I get like he is now, he just gives me some room, waits for me to get a grip, or tells me my meds need adjusting.  He doesn't take it personally.  He doesn't feel the need to fix it.  He just lets it be unless I ask for help.

The office is the same way.  My coworkers (we've all worked for this boss for the same amount of time), don't take her moods personally.  They wait until she makes it about them before they make it about them.  If it's about her, they just give her a wide berth and wait for her to get out of her funk.  Me?  Not so much.

I'd like to say this is all about me being a really, really good person and that I just like to spread sunshine and sprinkly fairy dust and roses where ever I go.  But really?  It's all about me feeling responsible for all the ills of the planet and that's because that's the way my mother conditioned me to be because that's the way her father conditioned her to be.

The good news is that I've raised my kids to think differently.  While they are sensitive and caring, they do not think that everything is about them or that someones bad mood is directly related to them.  They just think it's a bad mood!

I could learn a lot from my kids.

Namaste

Shades of Crazy

Ever since being diagnosed with clinical depression in 1996, I have wavered between feeling like I was crazy and feeling like I had a condition like heart disease or diabetes and was perfectly normal.  Since my depression appears to be purely physiological (according to my psychiatrist) I don't participate in regular talk therapy or group meetings.  I just see the doc every six months or so and we chat for five or ten minutes about how I'm doing and my dosages.  Then he gives me a script for my two anti-depressants and I'm on my merry way.

Until I'm not.

See finding the right balance of meds is an ongoing and dynamic thing.  What works for 10 years might not work for the next 10.  New medications with fewer or different side effects are always coming on the market.  Plus, I change from year to year.  My physiological makeup when I was in my 30's is not the same as it is now (duh).  Life changes as well.  It's a roller coaster and merry-go-round all in one.

(Imagine the face you make when you're on a roller coaster.  Now imagine the one you make when you're on a merry go round and you've gotten dizzy.  Now combine those two.  Now tell me that face doesn't say crazy to you.)

Of course, add to that a woman who has a hard time admitting she's not perfect; who is always trying to come off the drugs AND has spent the last 10 years either drinking herself into oblivion or abstaining, and you can add a "one tooth in his mouth hasn't taken a bath for years" carnival worker running the equipment.

I can't help but feel crazy when things start to shift and I have to call the doc and make adjustments in the meds.  Indications that something is wrong are extremely vague.  It can be a look from the hubs in response to something I've said.  A look that says, "I'm not going to say anything here because she's really not herself right now."  It can be that all of a sudden I realize that I haven't cried in months in spite of some very good reasons to cry.  It can be that I feel "flat".  Conversely, it can be that I've been losing my temper more lately and that things that shouldn't bother me are making me go all "screaming mom" on everyone.  Or it can be that I'm getting my feelings hurt when someone goes to the bathroom and doesn't ask me to go too.

If my condition were more physical, not only would it be more evident when something was wrong but others would be able to see it more clearly as well; and (and this is important) would be much less judgemental about my condition.  If I had diabetes and my sugar dropped and I was weak and shaky and I had to check it and then get some sugar and protein, people would be running around trying to help.  If I had a broken leg and needed help up the stairs, strangers would stop to help me.  Even telling someone you're an alcoholic and can't drink illicits a better response than telling them that you're on medication for depression.

Lots of times when I tell people I'm on medication for depression, their first response is to tell me that they were also on it at one time and but now they are not - insinuating that I must really be a lost cause if I'm still on them after all these years.  Or they tell me how the medication made them feel just AWFUL, and how could I take those.  Or they tell me that I should be able to just deal with my depression by talking to a good friend or seeing a therapist.  Sigh...

So sometimes, even after all this time, I do feel crazy.  I feel all 50 shades of crazy.  And sometimes it scares me because my mother was a pathological liar with narcissistic personality disorder and my sister is a bi-polar sociopath (which is now referred to generically as anti-social personality disorder) drug and alcohol addict.  And my father was an alcoholic.  I've got lots of shades of crazy in my family from which to choose.  It's hard when something is going on in your brain and you can't see it, touch it or feel it but it is most certainly there and fucking with you all the time.

But believe me when I say I would take this particular shade of crazy over any other.  I can be successfully treated (not all people who suffer from depression can be treated and treating more complicated mental illnesses is very difficult even for the best of medical professionals).  I live a very wonderful life, especially now that I'm sober.  There are people who love me and watch out for me and tell me when I've gotten off track.

So once again I've had my medication adjusted (after just having it done in November).  I've had my little pity party (thanks for listening).  And now it's time to put on my big girl panties and just deal.

Namaste

Moving On...

I think I'm beginning to move forward, away from the tragedy of last Friday (tragedy is a weak word for what occurred).  I was actually singing Christmas Carols on the way into work this morning and I'm starting to really laugh again.  This was the first morning I woke up and didn't think, "20 children were massacred on Friday."  I guess that's moving on.

The fact is...I don't know what I'm supposed to feel or do right now.  The only thing I can bring to mind is how I felt during 9/11.  But 9/11 was political.  It was directed at a country in an effort to bring us to our knees.  It was military in nature.  The intent was clear.  Pearl Harbor came to mind.

But this?  That man looked into the eyes of those sweet children and intentionally murdered them.

I've got nothing.

In addition, there are 26 families in Connecticut who are burying their loved ones a week before Christmas.  There are friends and relatives who are grieving in unimaginable ways.  Parents who are burying their children and who are forced to go on because they have other children who need them.  A town that is forever bonded in a way that no one would every choose.  Christmas will never be the same for these families or this town ever again.  We will move forward and give a prayer or a nod every year on December 14th in remembrance of the tragedy, but they are forever changed.  Nothing will ever be the same.

So I don't know how or when it is appropriate to move forward.  I don't know what to do.  I felt guilty when I caught myself singing.  I don't know if it's okay. 

I...just...don't...know.

Namaste

December 14th

On Friday I posted a silly little post about the 14th being not only the day my mom was born but the day she died as well.

Then the world changed.

I have removed the post...it's no longer appropriate.

Then Kary May wrote a beautiful piece about a little boy and his trip to heaven during surgery.  I won't recap here but I encourage you to pop over to Kary's blog.  It's a lovely post and one that helped me cope a little bit this weekend.

Now I will choose to remember this as the day my mom held one of those children during the insanity, providing a warm, safe place while she ushered him to heaven to be with Jesus.

Namaste

Feeling Crummy

That's an old word, I know - but it's the one that popped into my head today when I decided to express how I'm feeling.  I feel crummy.  Dictionary.com defines it as wretchedly inadequate; miserable; lousy.

Yep...that about covers it.

See I did something this weekend of which I can't let go.  I hurt a friend's feelings, out of love...I promise, but I opened my big mouth when I should have kept it shut.  Sometimes I get so caught up in the situation and I'm so concerned, or worried, or frustrated that my tongue gets in front of my eye teeth and I can't see what I'm saying and how it will impact the other person after it's been released into the Universe.

I, of all people, should know that you can't take back words.  Sticks and stones can break my bones but the wrong words can wound like no other.  I'm still carrying around shit that was said to me as a child or a young woman.  In fact, in thinking about it this morning, my mother's words came to mind.  She once call me a self-righteous, self-centered, sanctimonious (or maybe it was selfish) bitch.  This morning I felt every one of those words.

Let's be clear.  I have already apologized and it has already been accepted.  But in my crazy ass mind, I have many more mental beatings before I can let something like this go.  I will turn it over and over in my head, analyze it every way to Sunday, beat myself black and blue (Is that you Boxing Bitch?  Welcome home.) and generally make myself feel like shit before I will finally, and blessedly, let it go.

Of course every time it comes to mind for the next couple of months I'll feel a pinch in my heart.  But that will pass more quickly.

Sigh.

The good news is that as I'm moving through sobriety and recovery, I'm learning to keep my mouth shut more and more and to only offer my own experience and not tell people what I think they should do.  Who the hell am I to tell anyone what they should do?  When I do that, just tell my experience, I feel calm and loving.  It's like my heart is open and I can put my arms around people and not judge.  I like it when I feel this way.

When I start telling people what I think they should do I feel anxious and worried.  I become consumed with whether or not they took it the right way.  It begins to take up real estate in my head and I begin to feel very judgemental which makes me want to puke.  I do not like it when I feel this way.

So to turn this around (in my head), I will use this as a learning experience.  After I'm done self-flagellating, I will file this away and resolve to be more careful with my words.   I will use my toolbox and remember that it's progress not perfection.  I will use this opportunity to grow.

You know how when you first get sober you're all worried about who you will become as a sober person?  You have no idea because all you've ever known is how to numb everything and escape with booze.  I really hope my mother wasn't right.

So here's my question...does anyone else out there ever do this? 

Namaste

PS - And now I'm second guessing this post because it looks like I'm looking for someone to make it okay.  I'm really not.  I just needed to process this morning and this was the best way.  I'm just going to publish now and shut the fuck up.

Happy

Today I am happy...just plain old happy.  Not jump up and down shouting happy.  Not creepy Wal-Mart smiley face happy.  Not even squealing and hugging yourself happy.  Just boring old smiling eyes happy.  (You know what that is right?  When you see someone who's not exactly smiling but the smile is in their eyes just the same? Yeah, that kind of happy.)

This may not seem like a big deal to most people.  After all, at any one time, all over the world there are likely billions of people who are happy for one reason or another.  People who, right now, are smiling, skipping, humming to themselves, singing along to the radio at the top of their lungs...whatever.  It's a common, everyday occurrence right?

Maybe for "normal" people but not for me.  It has nothing to do with my depression and it's not like I've never been happy before because, clearly, I have.  It's just that "plain old happy" is an unusual occurrence for this alcoholic.  My life has been one of extremes brought on by external forces (parents, sister, friends) who love to embroil themselves in drama, or internal ones in which I embroil my own damn self.

Before I started down this path to recovery, I could be ecstatic one minute and, just by a look from someone or a harsh word (including the word "no") I would be plunged into the depths of despair or so angry I just wanted to punch something.  It seemed that it was all or nothing for me.  Over the years I learned to temper my reaction and snap myself out of it but it continued to happen...no matter how much I didn't want it to happen.

I'm pretty sure this is one of those things that is in my psyche that makes me seek alcohol in excess.  When I would drink, it would not only numb me from issues I was trying to avoid, but it would level me out as well.  When buzzed, I was happy ALL of the time (a little too happy most of the time).  As long as there was more to drink, no despair or bad thought could touch me.  I was always on cloud nine, floating above the fray. Happy, happy, happy.

Until I wasn't of course.

Sober, I was always waiting for the bad if I was feeling good.  Surely goodness couldn't happen to me.  This feeling of happy was only temporary...people like me don't get the good stuff for long.  There's always a drama or disappointment around every corner. 

And yet I remain the eternal optimist and a hopeless romantic.  Why?

Because God knew that one day I would begin to get my shit together and understand that happy is not a moment to moment thing.  It is not something that comes from the outside in but from the inside out.  Now that I'm looking through the eyes and heart of a sober person, I see that happy (pardon the cliche) is a state of mind.  I can choose to be happy (I never really understood what the hell that meant until recovery either) no matter what chaos is happening around me.  I can see the light and love in any situation which serves to circumvent, temper, or annihilate the ugly.  And, while I can still be disappointed or angry or unhappy, I can see that this is not my preferred or natural state of being and I can ride it out or reason it through until the happy can fight its way back again.

So today, I am happy.  And I am grateful that God built me this way and led me on this path to recovery so that I could finally get it through my thick head that this is my natural state and embrace it.

Of course, check back tomorrow as this could always change.

Just kidding.

Namaste

"Only one thing has to change for us to know happiness in our lives: where we focus our attention."  ~Greg Anderson

Meandering

I've decided that I'm just going to meander here today.  I love the word "meander".  It makes me think of early fall days when the weather is cooling and the leaves are just beginning to change.  When you put on a sweater and take a long walk in the park or on the beach or where ever. 

Oh yeah...I am soooo over this summer.

I'm alone in the office for a few hours with very little to do (after our crazy busy season we have these lulls...they are so welcome) so I'm going to just let the post take me where it wants to take me this morning.  If you don't have the patience for this kinds of drivel - you can disconnect, click the little read "x", or hang up...whichever you prefer.

I overslept and missed my morning yoga practice and now I'm all wonky (I love that word too - wonky...I just like the way it sounds).  Even though it's only been a few months of every morning yoga, its amazing how tilted I feel when I don't get to practice.  There is yet another event tonight so I won't get a practice in tonight either (or maybe I will...we'll see how it goes). 

I stumbled upon a new to me blog yesterday and it's really, really good.  Imogen over at Life Spent Drunk is in the early phases of her recovery.  She's a wonderful writer and her posts take me back to a time that I'd like to forget but won't...because its dangerous to forget.  Thank you Imogen, for reminding me how important my sobriety is to me.  And also thank you for the lovely compliment.

I just noticed that every paragraph so far has begun with "I".  How self-centered is this post?  Oh wait...its my blog...it's supposed to be self centered.  Carry on...

My friend (ha-ha...fooled you) has been laid off from work.  I'm going to call her later this morning and talk through some of what she's feeling, lend a little advice (if asked), and just listen.  Its so hard being laid off.  You know it's likely not personal but after a while you can't help taking it personally.  What's wrong with me?  Why is so and so still employed?  It's also hard to watch friends who you've counseled and mentored rise to levels in the company you never will.  Rewarding but difficult just the same.  Some say its a matter of age and circumstance (wrong place, wrong time).  I've come to believe that it's all just part of God's plan for us. 

I work in the banking industry so I've seen my share of layoffs in my 30+ year career (holy crap!) and with the exception of one individual (who was an alcoholic in denial) I have never known anyone who wasn't happier with their life after the layoff.  Most say, "I wish I had done this sooner."  Sometimes you have to be pushed out of the nest in order to really fly.  Layoffs are ugly and hard and can put you in a mountain of debt (oh...maybe that's just me) but they also provide an opportunity to take a long hard look at your career and take it in a new direction if you want.


My battle with food.  Man this is HARD.  Everytime I get on a roll I have another event, or I have to meet with a caterer who insists I sample their selections, or we have company for dinner or...oh bloody hell!  Apparently I am just not strong enough to combat this thing right now.  The good news is that with all the research and all the books and articles I've read over the last several months, I have learned what's considered good for you (MUFA's) what isn't (refined sugar) and what misconceptions have been debunked ("fat free" is not, necessarily, a good thing).  I'm better equipped in my day to day pursuit of health even if I'm still the same size.  And really, isn't that the point?

So for now I'll keep make every attempt to eat a balanced and healthy diet.  Control my portion sizes.  Try not to trade Chardonnay for sugar.  And practice mindfulness when I eat.  And, most importantly, stay the hell off the scale!

And...um...maybe give Jenny Craig another shot...we'll see.  ;-)

Namaste

"Happiness, that grand mistress of the ceremonies in the dance of life, impels us through all its mazes and meandering, but leads none of us by the same route."

~Charles Caleb Colton

Identity Crisis...Of Sorts

I spent the weekend making good use of my new room.  I meditated, I yoga'd, I tangled, and I listened to music.  I cut out new pictures for my LifeBoard and taped them onto it.  I just enjoyed the space.

I've told several people about my room and I've gotten responses that range from, "OMG - that's wonderful!" to "What's the big deal?  It's just a room."  Which got me thinking...why IS this so important to me.  (Because, of course, I have to analyze the hell out of everything...it's what I do for heaven's sake!)  And the best reason I can come up with is that as our living and family situation has changed over the years, I have slowly been inched out of not only a space of my own but my identity in the family as well. 

Before kids, let's face it, the whole damn house was mine.  The hubs could care less most of the time what it looked like as long as I was happy with it.  When I first moved in, there were a lot of unfinished projects in the house and one morning he said, "I think I should take down this wallpaper (in the tiny master bath) and paint."  Poof!  I was off to the races...  Live in girlfriend and home decorator all rolled into one tight (I was only 22) package.

After the kids came along, I worked from home exclusively except for travel and the hubs was running his company.  That made the whole dang house mine...again.  Even after my mother moved in, the house and all that happened inside, was my domain.  (The hubs took care of the outside.)  I did all the cooking, all the cleaning, all the laundry, all the decorating, all the decluttering, etc.  Nothing got done unless it got by me first.  Nothing was lost unless I couldn't find it.  We always maintained our bedroom as our sanctuary and the lower level was reserved as my workout space where the kids were not allowed while I was exercising (lest they get a 10 lb weight upside the head).  And of course, if all else failed, I had my office.

When we moved to the beach (yes...to the house I whine about from time to time), the situation was the same with the additional benefit of an enormous kitchen where, except for my office, I practically lived 24/7.  My office was also mine and I turned the attached, unused dining room, into my yoga/meditation room.   Our bedroom was my workout space.  I also spent every evening there watching TV.  The hubs often watched with me but could go downstairs to the family room if he wanted to watch something else.  In other words, the inside of our home continued to be my domain. 

Then we moved to our current home (which is beautiful BTW) and several things have changed.

• My mother has passed away so I am no longer a caretaker.
• I work from an office in the city so I am no longer home 24/7.
• My husband retired so I am no longer needed to cook, clean, do laundry, cut the grass, mend clothes, help with homework, fill out school paperwork...you get the idea...because he takes care of all of that.  And I KNOW what a blessing this is and I appreciate the hell out of it (because lots of women work outside the home and don't have any support)...but essentially...I have been outsourced.
• Since I'm not working from home anymore, my office became my husband's office.
• I am sober - which changes a lot of things - but one change is that I don't want to be stuck up in my bedroom watching TV anymore...it reminds me too much of the drunk days.
• The family room space belongs to the hubs and the dogs.  It's the center of our home anyway and that's the way it needs to stay.  The boys have the upstairs family room as the man cave, and their bedrooms in which to hang, and trust me...I don't want to be in that space.  Think locker rooms with furniture and gaming systems.

Then came the epiphany...I didn't just lose a place to be, I lost my identity within the family.  I'm not sure where I fit in and who I am in the dynamic anymore.  (Besides the best mom and hug giver ever.) I once read that a woman is defined by who she is to her family and a man is defined by what he does for his family.  Well, as it stands now I know what I do - I work to provide for my family - but I'm not sure who I am.  And my issues with this house come from the fact that I don't feel like it's mine.  Not the way the others were anyway.

What I am sure of is that I need that room to be mine.  I need somewhere that is just for and about me.  Whether it's for yoga, or reading or watching cartoons...it needs to be an estrogen filled space in a testosterone filled home. 

Of course, I'm still the only one that can find anything around here.

As for my identity?  That, like everything else in my life, will happen one day at a time.

Namaste 

Found: One Attitude Adjustment

The Mom Cave

After I posted yesterday, the hubs read it and we we talked.  He came up with a great thought (he always does) which places the trigger squarely in the court of deprivation.  Subconsciously (aw hell...it was consciously) I felt deprived at the dinner because I couldn't have wine like the normies which I proceeded to stuff down.  THEN I came home and perceived that I was being deprived of a pedicure.  Told you I was dense.

 

Here's the crazy part.  I could have easily told the hubs to kiss my ample ass and that I was getting a pedicure if I wanted one.  But I didn't.  I got angry.  Angry!  Over polish on my toes!  That's what threw me.  It was such an out of control reaction to such a simple thing.  Honestly, it was stupid.

 

So once we talked it through we started moving furniture.  I got the boys out of bed at the crack of noon and they helped us relocate the hubs' desk to the alcove in our bedroom, move bookshelves into the game room on the second floor and create what you see above.  My new meditation/yoga room, or, as I like to refer to it, the Mom Zone.

 

The room is so pretty (it's already lavender...that was actually a paint choice error that has now ended well) and it's the one place in the house that is all mine.  A soft and pretty place in my house o' men.  And I love it.

 

I promptly did an extended yoga practice and a short meditation before we headed out to a birthday party for a neighbor.  Later today I need to find some shades or curtains for the french doors that open from the foyer to the room because, let's face it, no one wants to come face to ass with my behind in downward dog.  And then I'll find some new pictures for my lifeboard.
  A gratitude list is also necessary for an attitude adjustment so here goes...

 

Today I am grateful and thankful for:

• A family that loves me enough to give up a public area in our home so that I have a place of my own.
• A family that loves me enough to spend a good chunk of their Saturday schleping furniture up and down stairs.
• The means and luck to have a home that is large enough to make this happen.
• The blogger community who "listens" and sometimes comments on, what often feels to me, like whining.  I hate whining.
• The hubs who ALWAYS listens and comments on my whining, issues, and problems.  I love you honey.
• My new job.
• My new benefits - we'll save about $700 a month on health care costs.
• God...nuff said.

Namaste

Wanted: One Attitude Adjustment

The restaurant

The bar...really?

I took off yesterday and Monday, mainly because I haven't had any time off all summer, in spite of working 50-60 hour weeks; but also because I'm celebrating getting the new job.

You'd think that would put me in a fabulous mood and that I'd be walking on sunshine.

You'd be wrong.

It all started on Friday morning when I told the hubs I was getting my nails done and throwing in a pedicure.  He gave me a look that clearly said, "You should really wait for the 15th to do that."  That really pissed me off.  I caught an attitude and as hard as I try I can't seem to shake it.

Here's the thing...it's not about the stupid pedicure and, up until this morning, I didn't know that.  I did know there was more to what I was feeling than the stupid pedicure, but what I hadn't figured out was that the stupid pedicure really had nothing to do with it.  What did have to do with it was brought on by a dream.

For the last few nights, my subconscious has been in overdrive and my dreams have been...um...really wild.  I'm used to dreaming often, in color, and vividly.  I'm also used to getting messages from my subconscious in my dreams so I often pay attention and try to decipher what they mean.  You know you're stubborn when your subconscious has to use your dreams to tap you on the shoulder and say, "Listen up!"

Anyway, I had a dream last night that I got drunk at a work function and overslept the next day and was late for work.  I was trying to call in sick (which I only did once in real life - even though I wanted to...many, many times).  I was mortified and the hubs was disappointed in me and wouldn't take my calls.  When I woke up this morning and began to process how I was feeling and how it made me feel, that's when it hit me.

I was pissed off about not being able to drink at my work function the other night.

Really?

Most of our functions are at bars/restaurants in the low to mid-price range.  The kind of place you go to watch a game or to grab a beer after work.  Relaxed, fun, no frills.  These outings only bother me because the food, while great tasting, is not good for you at all and so I either eat it and ruin my diet or I don't and I leave hungry.  Oh well.

But a couple of our outings are at upscale restaurants or venues with really good (and sometimes good for you) food and high end wine.  Those are the ones that kick my ass every...fucking...time.  And...as I'm realizing now...that pisses me off. 

The one on Thursday night was in a beautiful restaurant just outside of the city.  It's a converted church and is exactly the kind of place the hubs and I frequented before kids...a lot.  I walked in and there were 50 or so wine glasses set up and filled with Merlot, Cabernet, Savingnon Blanc and...gasp...Chardonnay.  The smell of that wine filled the entire restaurant...at least for me it did.  And the glasses were those huge ones that I used to fill to the brim (they hold about a half a bottle of wine...seriously) and they were filled with a healthy pour since we were paying by the bottle.

In the restaurant it registered with me as sadness.  I was sad that I couldn't join in and drink like a normal person and I was sad that I wouldn't be bringing the hubs there for dinner on date night because, at least right now, it would just be too much and I wouldn't enjoy myself.

What I didn't register was the anger and resentment I was feeling.  I...um...stuffed it down.  At first I did it because I was "on" and had to be a good host, but I'm so damn good at it that once it was down, it kind of stayed there for awhile.  Then when I got home and tried to talk about how I was feeling, the hubs kind of brushed it off and went back to watching TV and commenting on the dogs (he's probably so sick of hearing about this crap he just wants me to shut the hell up - can't say I blame him one bit)  so I stuffed it down again.  Where it stayed.  Until I got the look about the pedicure.

And then it jumped up and bit me on the ass, all the while yelling, "I'm baaaaaaccccckkkkkk."

While I'm not sure what I'm going to do with all this new found knowledge, I'm actually thrilled that I was able to figure it out and bring it forward so that I can deal with it rather than letting it fester like an infection until it makes me sick...again.  I'm so happy I don't have to go back to that ugly place where I needed to isolate and drink in order to cope.  I'm so happy I'm healthier than I was 2 1/2 years ago.

But I still need an attitude adjustment.  I think I'll do a little yoga, some meditation, some prayer and then I think I'll rearrange the house and create myself a place in here that's just mine.  So when I come home after an evening like that I can go there, center myself and adjust my attitude before it infects the rest of my world.

Sounds like a plan.

Sounds like recovery.

Namaste

Mother...Daughter...Sister...Friend

My daughter and her kids are here for a long weekend.  They are part of the light and joy that make up my life.  I love it when they are around and I wish the universe would work to bring us closer to them geographically...we really can't get much closer otherwise.

Last night she and I were having a conversation like we always do when she's here...catching up, pouring out our guts, gossiping, child-rearing and it came to me how much I look forward to her visits because of these chats.  I am not a phone person so talking for hours on the phone just doesn't work for me.  Email, text, blog...those work for me but phones...not so much.

She knows this and accepted it long ago...so much so she didn't even call me on my birthday, she texted me.  I can't explain how much that little bitty action meant to me.

L came into my life when she was 12 and I was 22.  For many years I was the only authority figure in her life and I didn't have a clue what the hell I was doing.  Her mom was off trying to figure out her own life and the hubs was the "good time daddy" who always said yes.  I was the one that said, "No...you can't wear that" or "No...you can't drive there".  Sometimes it was a little contentious but for the most part I think we worked it out.

Over the years we've grown up together.  Both of us had three kids and I got to actually watch two of hers come into the world.  She's a wonderful big sister to her brothers.  I'm an okay grandma.  Not exactly the warm and fuzzy go everywhere with you grandma but if you need advice about shoes or tattoos, or you need someone to bake some monkey bread...I'm your girl.

Anyway, as we were talking last night I tried to tell her how I feel about her and I didn't do a very good job.  I felt awkward and vulernable and, as she well knows, that's not a place I like to be.  It's a lot harder when you're sober.  We used to talk long into the night about a whole host of stuff - she with a glass of wine and me with a couple of bottles.  But now I'm so afraid of sounding stupid or needy or goofy or just plain wrong, that the words just don't tumble out the way they used to.  They stumble and trip coming out of my face so that I end up feeling stupid or needy or goofy or wrong so eventually I just give up and revert back to listener and advisor.  It's sad because she is really one of the few people to whom I would actually spill my guts. 

But I'm a work in progress and she knows this and "gets me" which means I also do not have to worry and obssess about what I say and when.  It's actually very liberating.

Anyway...I thought I'd take a moment this morning to write a post about how much she means to me 'cause I know she reads my blog.  Yes...it's cheating.  No...I don't give a shit.

I struggle with putting this into words because on one hand, I AM a mom figure to her and I love that role AND I am a firm believer in not being friends with your kids.  They have enough friends...they need parents.

But since we're so close in age and I didn't actually give birth to her, I think I'm safe when I say that she is one of my best and closest friends.  I can tell her anything and she'll call bullshit on me in a minute (but she has a soft and easy way of doing it because she knows how deeply I feel things).  I feel like she knows me better than anyone except her father.  She's always there.

And here's the key to all of it - I know she always will be because more than anything I trust her.  I don't trust many people the way I trust her.  Pretty much just my husband and my kids...yup...that it.  She fills the need I have to have a girl relationship with someone within my family.  The closest thing I can think of is that she's like my little sister that, because of our home life I had to be a mom figure to but now that we're all grown up with kids of our own, we can be best friends.

Yeah...that's it...I think.  Doesn't really matter...doesn't really need a name...it is what it is and I'm glad that it is.

So to L I say...I love you honey.  Thanks for listening, loving me and being my friend.

Namaste'

Feeling and Dealing

My dog Pepper.  He teaches me a lot about how to deal...he's cool like that.

I am irritated, aggravated and carrying around a fairly short fuse lately and I have no flipping idea why.  I've also been a little weepy.  If I were a younger woman, I'd say this was a PMS thing because that's exactly what it feels like.  But I'm not a younger woman and I no longer deal with that crap (yay!).   So...um...that's not it.  Shit.

Still, things are getting on my nerves that don't normally bother me.  I'm having to bite my tongue and remind myself to mind my own beeswax and stay in my own lane (choose one or all cliches).  And I'm letting my feelings get hurt when there's no real reason for it.

So it's established...I'm in bitch mode.  Nothing new there.  But how I deal with it...that's a different story.

It still consistently amazes me how self-aware I am now.  I actually sat down at my desk this morning and took a minute to examine how I was feeling.  Seriously?  WTF is that?  Believe me when I say that while I will spend all dang day trying to get to the root of your feelings, I have never been one to spend a second worrying about where mine were coming from.  Why bother?  Just stuff 'em down and move on...and if things get too hairy...self medicate.

Hmmm...how's that working for ya?

So now I'm trying to really feel the feelings and ask myself, "Self...what is the root cause of this feeling?"

Seriously - that's how I talk to myself.

Or I'll ask God.  "Hey Dude (notice the capital D) - WTF?  What is going on and what do I need to do about it?  Better yet Big Guy (again...capitals) - what would you have me do about it?"

And yes - I really do talk to God that way.  We're tight...known Him my whole life.

And sometimes I am able to figure it out in pretty short order.  Like today I think it all comes down to moving one of my anti-depressants back to the morning and the getting up at 5:30 or 6:00 every morning and working out (I mean really?  That alone is enough to piss anyone off.)  And the 60 hour work weeks with a co-worker not pulling their weight.  Yep...that's probably it.

And the resulting, "What are you going to do about it" has changed as well.  I'm just going to ride this one out, exercise a little self care in the form of more sleep this weekend and some "me" time spent practicing yoga and meditation, spend some quality time with my daughter and her kids while they are visiting and just...be.

Now...how's THAT working for ya?

Pretty damn good thank you very much.

Namaste'

An Exercise in Self-Care

You know, I've learned a lot about myself during this sober journey of mine.  But I think the most important thing I've learned is that self-care is not the same as self-ish.

I come from a very long line of selfish and self-absorbed people.  As a result, I tend to shy away from anything that says "me" and if I do occasionally indulge in some semblance of self-care (how's THAT for an alliteration) then I feel guilty about it.  I remember how I felt when it was all about my mom or my dad and never about me.  I went a long way to making sure none of my children EVER felt that.

Maybe I went too far.

I know I went too far.

But now I realize that exercising a little self-care is not only a good thing, it's essential for making me a whole and healthy human being.  It's okay to say no sometimes and to take a little "me" time.  It doesn't mean that I'm not available for my kids (or friends or whomever), but it does mean that they get to see me take care of myself and maybe, in turn, they will learn to take care of themselves as well.  They will learn to set healthy boundaries and turn out even happier and healthier than they are now.

At least I hope so.

It's not easy though.  I still feel a tremendous amount of guilt when I do anything for myself.  For example, I'm working long and crazy hours right now.  Last night my family waited for me to eat dinner but when I got home I wasn't hungry and I wanted an hour of yoga time (which is better on an empty stomach).  I didn't say anything at first but after everyone got their dinner, I let them know that I was going upstairs and to go ahead and eat without me.

Oh the GUILT!  I felt awful (at first).  I am a HUGE proponent of the entire family eating together and since the kids are older that doesn't happen very often anymore.  To have them all there...waiting for me...and then have me ditch them!  Oy.

Here's the thing...they could have cared less.  They were just happy I was home at a decent hour AND that they didn't have to wait any longer to eat.  Everyone kissed and hugged me and told me how glad they were to see me and to enjoy my yoga session.

Now I ask you, who is the fucked up one in this scenario...THIS GIRL!

But I'm learning.  I didn't let the guilt stop me (because I REALLY NEEDED that time) and by the time I was done I felt 100% better.  I was more present than I would have been if I had ignored my needs and isn't that what's important?  Not just that I'm there, but that I'm actually present when I'm with them?

See...told you I was learning.

So this weekend I will repeat my behavior of last weekend.  I will do exactly what I need to do for me while still being there for my family.  I will put on my own oxygen mask before putting on theirs. 

Because we all know that the world will stop spinning on its axis if anything happens to me.

Okay...so I still have a little more work to do.

Nasmaste'

Coming to Terms with My Alcoholism

I was well into 18 months of sobriety before I could say "alcoholic" out loud when referring to "my problem".  In fact, it wasn't until I went into the AA rooms and said, "Hi, I'm Sherry and I'm an alcoholic" that I really came to terms with it.

Up until then I was a "problem drinker".  I fully expected to get sober, figure out what my problem was (childhood trauma, empty nest syndrome, stress, whatever) and then I would be able to drink like a normal person...you know...the way I used to drink.

The only flaw in that logic was that I NEVER drank like a normie.  Here's why...

• Normal people don't watch other people's wine glasses and mentally comment on what is left in the glass.
• Normal people don't worry about getting "enough".
• Normal people don't try and convince everyone to keep drinking when they want to go home.
• Normal people don't dread last call.
• Normal people don't plan their entire day or weekend around when and how they will drink.
• Normal people aren't devastated when an event is cancelled, not because they were really looking forward to the event, but because they were really looking forward to an excuse to drink.
• Normal people don't look for excuses to drink.  They either drink or they don't...end of shory.
• Normal people have no reason to lie about their drinking - especially to themselves.
• Normal people don't lie to their doctors about how much they drink - they don't have to because it's not a big deal.  (Okay..maybe some do but it doesn't have an impact because they are normal.)
• Normal people don't blackout on a nightly basis or everytime they drink. 
• Normal people don't write notes to themselves in said blackout that say, "Normal people don't drink like you do."
• Normal people don't make their children cry because of their drinking.
• Normal people don't consistently Google, "Am I drinking too much?" and take the tests over and over again hoping for a different result. (That's the definition of crazy you know.)
• Normal people don't hoard alcohol because they're afraid that they'll be a snowstorm, blackout, monsoon or apocalypse and they might run out (I am not even kidding about this).
• Normal people don't spend all day looking forward to that first drink in the evening like it's Christmas.
• Normal people don't have tryglyceride levels of 580 (they should be lower than 150 - mine are now down to 118...woot!).

This is how I FINALLY admitted that I was a full blown drunk.  Didn't matter how "high functioning" I was.  Didn't matter that I went to work everyday, cared for my children, loved my husband, cleaned the house, cooked food...none of that mattered.  What mattered was that I was not one of the normal people.

And the feeling that I had once I made this admission?

Relief.

Namaste'.

A Letter to My Disease

Alcoholism -

I will not begin this letter with "Dear" because you are not dear to me...you never have been and you never will be.

You and I have had a long and interesting journey together.  I met you as a child - you and my father were well acquainted.  You lived in my home alongside me everyday of my young and vulnerable life.  While I was the first born, you were the most loved.  My father put you before me and cherished your relationship with him more than mine.  You almost killed him three times but not until the third time did he decide to end his love affair with you.

I hated you and because of that, for a time I hated my father.  I cared for him.  Stood by his side when no one else did except you.  I tried to save his life while you tried to kill him.  It wasn't until you had almost succeeded that he turned to me.  By then he was old and you had exacted your toll.  He only had 13 years left for me.  13 out of 35...even I can do that math...you won.

Because of your relationship with my father, I avoided your company for many years.  I drank beer on occasion and tried wine from time to time.  Since my first husband had lived with you when he was a child as well, there was no alcohol in our home.  Because of you I invented rules to keep you at bay.

No drinking alone.
No drinking at home.
No drinking before 5:00 pm

But you were always below the surface because you had already taken up residence in my soul.  You slept...for a time...until my life changed and I stepped over the line and woke you.

Like the abuser that you are, you began by courting me.  You were warm and inviting after a hard day at work.  You gave an insecure and beaten young woman the confidence she desperately sought.  You made me witty.  You let me fit in to a world that I believed belonged only to the most successful.

But soon you began to show yourself...slowly...and I wasn't paying attention.  Or I ignored you.  I suspect the latter to be true.

Because of you I was not capable of only one drink.  I was the one who always got drunk.  I was the life of the party.  I thought about alcohol all the time.  I became obsessed with when and how I would drink.  I organized my life around when I could drink.  And I rationlized and made excuses for you.  I lied for you (mostly to myself).

And then you woke completely and we came face to face.  And, after all you had done to me, after all the hurt and heartache you gave me, I embraced you!  It was like I had forgotten all of your ugliness.  I had forgotten all of the pain you brought to my life.  I think it was more like I dressed you in different clothes and called you by a different name in order to co-exist with you.  I could not deal with my father's lover.  I had to figure out a way to live with you on my own terms.  I called you fun.  I called you coping.  I referred to you as temporary.

Until I didn't.

When you were finally unmasked and I saw you for what you were I was ashamed.  I hid my face and pretended I was fine.  I negotiated with you to try and pretend you didn't actually exist.  But you persisted.  The harder and louder I denied you, the stronger you became. 

And then one day I gathered my courage and brought you out of the shadows and into the light.  I exposed you for what you were.  Cunning, baffling and powerful.  I decided to fight you. 

I began fighting you alone but learned quickly that you would not go quietly into the night.  I needed help.  I didn't want to need help because it meant I would have to admit I let you in and I was still ashamed.  It meant I would have to call you by name and that I would have to admit to myself that you lived within me...I had to say, "I am an alcoholic."  I wasn't ready for that.

As with any abusive relationship, people tend to look from the outside in, shake their heads and say, "How could she put up with that?  Why doesn't she leave?"  I was still ashamed because those of us that live with abusers know...it's just not that easy.

Finally I put aside my pride and stretched my hand out for help.

And there were hands!  Hands from AA that taught me not to be ashamed.  Hands from therapists who are trained to fight you. Hands from bloggers who have had the same experiences as mine and who taught me that I am not special. My relationship with you is not special.  I am just a drunk and you are just a disease and you CAN be defeated.  They had and continue to defeat you every day.

They also taught me that you never go away.  Like polio you are only sleeping.  Thanks to those helping hands I have learned to be hyper-viligant and to recognize my cravings for what they are, your attempt to come back into my life.  Keep sleeping - you are not welcome here.

Most importantly the hand of God was there.  By His grace I was able to put you in your place within my soul.  I gave you a tiny, tiny little piece of me because you will never go away.  You will always be waiting to reawaken our love affair and assert yourself as my abuser once again.  But God occupies the remainder of my soul and as long as I stay connected to Him...you can never hurt me again.

So remain in that small part of my soul, alcoholism.  I no longer hate you or what you did to my childhood, or my adulthood or the childhood of my children.  I do not hate you for what you did to my body and the work I must now do to regain my health.  I do not hate you because hate and love are strong emotions that sit side by side.

Rather I respect you.  I will never underestimate your power.  I will keep you close because that's what you do with your enemies.  But I will not give you any more power.

Sleep you bastard of a disease...you can't hurt me unless I allow it...and I no longer allow it.

My name is Sherry and I am an alcoholic.

"The real sin against life is to abuse and destroy beauty, even one's own --even more, one's own, for that has been put in our care and we are responsible for its well-being."

~ Katherine Anne Porter

Remembering to Breathe

a : to draw air into and expel it from the lungs : respire; broadly : to take in oxygen and give out carbon dioxide through natural processes b : to inhale and exhale freely

Sometimes I get going so fast that I forget to breathe...literally.  Of course eventually I remember, and I take a big, gulping breath so I don't, you know, pass out or anything, but I really wish I could slow down and remember to breathe on a regular basis.

All my yoga teachings, meditation education and self-help books always emphasize slowing down...be in the moment...breathe.  Um yeah.  That works when I'm home, in my pale blue and white bedroom with the billowy white curtains (it's the only girly place in the house) or when I'm in a yoga studio with a big Buddha head on the wall and new age music playing softly in the background.  Not so much when I'm doing 14 things at once and I'm juggling another 20 more plus lining up the world so it goes smoothly tomorrow.  That's when I seem to forget to "be present", "be still" and "breathe".

I often wonder what these "present" and "in the moment" people look like in real life.  Do they ever get stressed out and forget to take a deep, cleansing, ojai breath?  Do they ever just lose it?  Somewhere, is there a formerly serene yogi going off on her teenage sons because they forgot to mention a party that 1) they need a gift for and 2) means they won't be home for the dinner you just spent 2 hours of your time making when you and your husband could have made due with peanut butter and jelly? 

I hope so...it would make me feel so much better about myself. 

If I really, really practice all my yoga and meditation principles, will I be a serene yogi?  Or will I just be able to recover quicker and get back to my happy place faster?  Even that would be an improvement.

I feel scattered and overwhelmed and like I need to take a breath...hold on...ahhhh....that's better.  Now I won't turn blue.  It is my favorite color but not when it's in my complexion.

So I'll use this brief post to remind myself to stop and breathe. Then, if necessary, I'll go ahead yell at my kids or my husband or the dog because really, that can be therapeutic as well.

Oh What a Beautiful Morning

The view in my backyard this morning.

We have been experiencing some GORGEOUS weather the last few days.  As a native of the southern half of the east coast, I am not used to weather like this in the summer.  The lack of humidity makes me think of when I was in San Franciso many years ago.  I remarked that all of the restaurants were open air and that it seemed there were no screens on any windows.

"Where are all the bugs?  How come they don't have any bugs?" I asked.

"They can't afford the rent," my friend deadpanned.

Touche'

In my "normal" drinking days, waking up on a day like this would have me plotting a way to get to an outside cafe for dinner so that we (I) could drink alfresco.  I would have us start with lunch and then just keep drinking the day away.  I can't tell you how many beautiful days like this I spent in a dark bar drinking the day away and remarking how nice the weather was....wait...what?

Now you see why I put "normal" in quotation marks.  I'm fairly certain that normal people don't wake up on a beautiful day and think about how and when they will get to drink.  I could be wrong but I don't think I am.

After I started drinking at home, I used days like this to start drinking earlier than usual.  Usually I waited until sometime between 5 and 8 to kick off my festivities; but on days like this I'd justify an early glass of wine by saying I was going to relax on the back porch and enjoy the weather and before I knew it, I was off to the races again.

Now don't get me wrong, while I was waiting for an appropriate happy hour I might give the day a half hearted attempt by walking the dogs, or sitting on the back porch reading or gardening or, when we lived in our old house, making a trip to the beach with all the windows down.  But it was all to make me appear more normal than I was.  The entire time I was thinking about how and when I could drink.

Newsflash..."normies" don't spend a beautiful day thinking about drinking.  They DO stuff...or not.  But they don't sit around obsessing about how and when they are going to drink. 

Here's the worst part - I still think that way.  My first thought upon waking the last few days has been, "What a great day to have a glass of wine on the porch."  Really?  30 months of sobriety that's STILL what I think on a beautiful, God blessed Sunday?  Sigh...

Of course it may be the best part as well.  It keeps me humble and reminds me that my alcoholism is a part of me just like my cowlicks, oily skin and wrinkly thumbs.  It's in my DNA and I can't get rid of it any more than I can get rid of my olive green eyes or slow metabolism...it just IS.

And the sooner I accept that fact, the sooner I can give myself a break and get on with my life as a sober and recovering alcoholic.

You Know What That Means...

I didn't post yesterday because work was INSANE and I was exhausted when I got home.  Today?  I can't figure out what to write.  Soooooo, you know what THAT means!

It's time for GRATITUDE!!!!

(and the crowd goes wild)

Today I am grateful for:

Beautiful weather.  We had a really hot and muggy Spring.  Most of the time it felt like August and August in the Southeast is not pretty.  Now?  It feels like May in the Southeast.  Glorious.  Windows open, breeze blowing...just glorious.

Not giving in to my cravings for wine and that they are so infrequent that riding them out is not a problem.  Driving home last night I rolled down the window and turned off the air-conditioner.  I took a deep breath and thought...ahhh...drinking weather.  Sad but true.  But I rode it out (pun intended) and it was gone almost as soon as it started.

That we are over the half-way point in our busy season at work.  My biggest part starts Monday.  I need some prayers that all goes well (if you have a minute).  Please and thank you.

My family and my husband.  They are my heart.

My openness and acceptance to other religions and cultures.  #1 twin's best friend is a Mormon.  He's visiting for the summer after moving away last year.  He has embraced his faith over this last year and in teaching me more about it, all of the "boys" have become interested.  #1 twin is considering converting.  I am thrilled.  Anything that brings my family closer to God is okay in my book.

My Groupon at the local yoga studio.  I can't afford to join but having these 10 sessions at a much reduced rate has been great.  I practice at home but it's nice to go in and get "checked" every once in a while.  How's my form?  Can I still keep up with a class?  Does it really matter that I've gained so much weight? (It doesn't.)

Weekends!

Have a wonderful weekend everyone!

"Joy is what happens to us when we allow ourselves to realize how good things really are."

 ~ Marianne Williamson

A Sense of Entitlement

 

I grew up with women who harbored a sense of entitlement. 

My grandmother felt everyone in the world owed her something because...well I don't know why but I think it's because she was vain and believed that she was better than others.  I'm not sure.  I only just realized that about her.  She passed on about 20 or so years ago and I still miss her...in spite of looking at her through the eyes of a middle aged (if I live to be 102) woman vs. those of a child. 

My grandmother's younger sister was a brat of epic proportions and felt the world owed her a living.  I really didn't like that woman.  Mostly because she called me fat and ugly as a child and a little because she ALWAYS gave me ugly socks for Christmas.

My mother was the queen of entitlement.  I believe it came from her narcissistic disorder and the fact that she was totally unstable but it really doesn't matter - it drove me batshit.  She was the one in the grocery store that would park her cart right in the middle of the aisle and expect you to either wait for her or go around her.  She was the one who would park her car wherever the hell she wanted just because she didn't want to have to walk too far.  She would sit on her ample behind and bellow for us to come out of the bedroom, walk past her into the kitchen to get her a snack (or a soda or whatever) just because she worked all day and shouldn't have to lift a finger at home.  Seriously people...it drove me batshit.

So I have always followed one mantra that I repeat to my children over and over and over and over...

YOU DESERVE EVERYTHING...YOU ARE ENTITLED TO NOTHING

Now I am surrounded by interns and new hires, right out of Ivy League colleges, many of whom were born with the proverbial silver spoon in their mouths and have spent the last three or four summers of their lives backpacking through Europe, or skiing in the Himalayas or sunning themselves on a Greek island.  I am not even making this shit up.

Most of them are perfectly lovely, have impeccable manners and I really like them a lot.  They are bright and ready to work and eager to please.  They are excellent conversationalists and the product of good grooming and great parenting.

But some...

Well...

Let's just say they drive me batshit.

They expect to be catered to and picked up after and babied.  They want what they want when they want it and they can't understand the word NO.  They whine.  They complain.  They show up late and expect the instructor to start over for them.  They decide they are not going to attend mandatory events simply because they may be bored.  Again...I am not even making this shit up.

This may help them later in life.  They may be able to bully and cajole their way through their careers and be really successful.  But if they do not stop plucking with my last freaking nerve they will never make it out of training. 

Seriously.

  

And if you don't believe me then just keep trying my patience because this middle aged mom of six will take you apart and put you back together and I will have parts left over...namely, those that say "entitlement" on them.

Remember kiddies...

YOU DESERVE EVERYTHING...YOU ARE ENTITLED TO NOTHING

Have a nice day...right after you pick up your coffee cups and water bottles and put them in the trash!

I'm telling you...batshit.