Tag: moms

Losing Yourself to Find Someone Who’s No Longer There

Includes guest blog by Melissa Gillman

Have you ever sat by a river and watched the leaves and sticks flow by? This is one of my favorite things to do. I contemplate, every single time, where all the water comes from, where it’s going, and what its purpose is, right now, in front of me. I watch the leaves and wonder if they’re happy just being tossed around wherever life takes them. Once in a while a beautiful duck may appear, and I think, “Maybe it’s all about the duck”.

I sometimes try to remember who I was before the river. Before I was the leaf being tossed around.

Have you ever thought who you were before you were trying to save someone else?

Who were you before this current tragedy or quest took over?

What did you enjoy? What brought you joy? What was your foundation?

When our foundation is based on something out of our control, there is bound to be an earthquake to shake it up. When our very existence seems to depend on a situation getting better or worse, we know we’re off center.

What center?

The Center of being true to ourselves. As hard as it is to admit, especially in the rawness of broken hearts or deep pain that shoots through our core; we are all separate individuals.

This is not to invalidate feelings. Our feelings are our own. Grief is real. Sadness is real. Disappointment is real. But we don’t have to let them own us.

Just like the river flows without any help from us, others’ lives will unfold and flow without a whole lot of input from us. So what actions and input will help us find our true essence? Will we only be happy if x, y, or z happens? We all know that it doesn’t stop there. We might be happy for a minute but soon another concern will arise and we will be hyper-focused on making that happen.

What if instead of us being the leaves being tossed around, what if the leaves were our emotions? We see them coming, we don’t panic, we just lovingly accept and observe them? They might be angry leaves, mad at getting wet. Mad at the river. Mad at the people watching who won’t pull them out. Mad at the logs that won’t stop their decline to some unknown destination of fear.

What kind of quality of life by the hour, by the day, does that make? We wonder why we’re miserable and anxious. Maybe it’s all about the foundation and not the river that’s tossing us…….

Fellow addicted loved one supporter wrote this: 

“With my jagged edges and sharp blades around my heart, I could come here and speak it into the world. I was rarely judged, and so many people would give opinions, words of encouragement, knowledge, acceptance, and love. I was caught up in my own sickness. The sickness so many of us, non-addicted loved ones get ill with. Which is thinking we can absorb the addiction out of the people we love or care about. That we can love it out of them, teach them their worth, their potential, and value. And the cold hard reality is, we can’t. Even while we try, I think we are so blind by what we THINK they want. What we THINK someone can become. And perhaps we are wrong. Maybe not. But what I do know now at this point. Nothing I ever did or didn’t do has anything to do with them getting sober and into recovery. I wasn’t to blame for drug use and relapse. And I couldn’t take credit for sober time either. That was them. Completely. The good and the bad choices. This also meant I had to realize, staying in my own illness of fixing, solving, enabling.. was also on me fully. Good days and bad. Just as their addiction was on them. My point is, something beautiful happened when I stopped pouring every ounce of myself into someone else. There was now something to pour into me. In the last few months I have ALLOWED, yes allowed being the correct word.. allowed myself to pour into me. ( After my five kids ) allowed me to laugh. Allowed me to go out and meet new people, good people. Allowed me to still be all the things about me I love while keeping boundaries of who and when people can receive the good parts of me. On my terms. I recognize myself again. I actually feel.. happy most days. Letting go of someone or something that is toxic or unhealthy does not mean the love was never there or wasn’t real. But it sometimes means you now know how to treat yourself right FIRST, and by doing so.. if other things fall off, or out, you know they weren’t meant for you. I will always wish sobriety, health, accountability, and a life of honesty and integrity for the previous addict in my life. I will always hope somewhere in this lifetime my kids will know the happy, funny, charismatic version of their father that long ago I once knew. Whether or not that is the real him, only he knows. But if they can know that person, I would be so happy for them. As for me, I found a new love. She’s about 5’10” and she is actually someone I reconnected with from long ago.. she is MYSELF. Loving her can only bring the correct kind of love in my life from here forward. To those who lost themselves trying to save someone. I see you. Rest. Pray. And remember who YOU ARE. Not be consumed remembering who THEY WERE. Let THEM do that. ❤️

MELISSA GILLMAN

Absorb the addiction out of them.

I love that. The only one we can absorb something out of- is ourself. What do you need to fo to absorb the worry, the fear, the disappointment out of yourself and reconnect with that person who just loves? Loving the one who loves so deeply….

You.

Arachnophobia

Life lessons from the pool

This is the conversation I just heard at the pool:

“Honey come get this dead spider out of the water, HURRY! OMG!!!! It’s alive!!! How can that be? Get it! Wait how is that even a thing?? How can it be ALIVE in the water? OMG it’s MORE than NOT dead! it’s booking it! Hurry! How Is that possible??”

To which the guy said:

Chill, Quit screeching.. You’re gonna be ok….”

You're gonna be ok.

I tell myself this all the time. Do I believe it?

Spiders are a bit scary, I admit, but when facing more insurmountable problems in life, they are fiddlesticks. What used to scare me, I look at with a mild curiosity at the power it once held on me.

Remember that being afraid of something is not the same thing as having a specific phobia. In order to receive a diagnosis for a specific phobia, certain criteria must be met, including disruption to acts of daily living and a decrease in your quality of life due to the intensity of the fear.

Verywellmind.com

“A decrease in quality of life, due to the intensity of fear..”

Interesting.

These days, my challenge is getting through the day without overwhelming fear taking over. Loving an addict is like seeing a spider 🕷️ every second of every day but you can’t swat at it. It’s as if you’re stuck in it’s tangled web trying to save yourself while it’s just doing it’s own thing to survive.

I think it’s important to not “breathe that fear onto them- like the lady at the pool breathed her fear onto everyone there.

There are many treatments for arachnophobia and other fears, including “Exposure Therapy”.

Basically flooding the brain- usually slowly- with thoughts of the thing you fear the most. We mommas already do our own exposure therapy. We live and breathe the possible outcomes every day. This is called ‘over thinking’ or ‘catastrophic thinking’

Here’s some tips to help with that, not necessarily geared toward substance use.

wp-1624629454273.pdfDownload

Another way is to learn to trust a higher power. Trust in something or someone that doesn’t have all the emotions attached to it, like we do.

As Libby Cataldi, one of my fellow mommas-in-hope, stated:

“It’s difficult for our suffering loved ones to carry our anxieties, as well as their own. When they are in the throes of their addiction, they are struggling with obsession, shame, and the chase of the drug. When they are in early recovery, they face countless fears daily – how to get a job, how to pay rent, and how to go the next day without drugs. Today, I’ll try to bolster my serenity and breathe hope into my loved one”.

Libby Cataldi
Breathe hope, not fear.

I’ve found that when I talk to my son in fear mode, it just creates defensiveness on his part. He’s a debater at heart, so imagine with such a monster of substance use added on, he wins the argument every time, EVEN if he’s wrong.

Proverbs 31 Ministries

We’ve all heard the saying, “Do you want to be right or be happy?”. With our addicted loved ones, it’s so easy to tell them what to do with their life so that WE can feel better. But that kind of compliance ( if we even get compliance) doesn’t last. Connections last….. 

Keep the connection, lose the fear.

I Am My Mama

I don’t smoke.

I didn’t grow up with 14 siblings.

I didn’t work at a turkey plant cleaning up turkey guts.

I haven’t lost a child to suicide.

Even so, early this morning @ 6 am, I find myself leaning under my Elder bush transplanting a flower and the thought hit me: 

I am my mother!

She had a beautiful yard. She would go out early in the coolness of the morning, sometimes before the sun was fully up, and weed. She despised weeds and my dad despised ants. Between the two, they kept their 1/13 of an acre virtually weed free and ant free!

Growing up and then starting my family, I had lots of thoughts of NOT raising my kids the way my parents did.

  • Poor communication
  • NO communication
  • Silent treatment
  • Poor
  • Old, old house
  • No vacation memories
  • Constant struggling with survival
  • No real goals except to get through the day
  • Family fell apart & she didn’t see most of her kids the last 10 years of her life
  • Always pushing up her glasses & trying to see
  • Always trying to cover her gray hair

I started out with great intentions. I made it my daily goal to master the secret of self-improvement. I was going to figure out all the answers then I could relax and enjoy a life of ease and have a happy family.

But here I am, three days away from turning 54. Fifty Four! My mama has been gone 13 years.

The similarities are easy to spot.

  • I’m weeding in the early morning
  • I struggle with relationships
  • Some silent treatment is definitely involved
  • I live paycheck to paycheck
  • My son has been swirled into the world of drugs to the point of me fearing his death daily
  • I still have zero clue of what life is and what I’ve mastered
  • My glasses- ugh the daily struggle
  • And my gray hair……always a task

You could say I’m my Mama.

At least I don’t have dentures at a young age like she had. She would take them out and scare the babies with. But I do push, adjust and take off my glasses 100 times a day. My hair seems to turn gray within days of coloring it.

My family is in shreds. After diligently putting effort into vacations, religion, nice housing, sports activities, my family has caved to the ravages of being addictions’ extended victims.

Those are the negative similarities. My mama lived a simple life. She wasn’t impressed by money or power. She didn’t really care for the luxuries of life or having material things, despite growing up poor.

Now, I want a simple life. After decades of always wanting more than my parents had, now I just want simple. Sure, I am impressed by a nice house with a pool and misting sprays coming off the porch. I also desire peace. My mom loved peace. She had an innocent way about her that screamed authenticity. She didn’t ever want to upset anyone, but her blunt manner and uncouthness did, at times.

I want my Mama’s innocence.

I want her ability to be forgiven because “she just didn’t know better”, instead of intentional. I want to be remembered like her, for the good things: her homemade chicken stew, her beautiful yard, her sense of humor.

I don’t want the usual idolizing after death but I want to be missed.

I want to be remembered when someone sees a yellow rose. Or smells Wrigley Spearmint gum. I want someone to hear John Denver’s “Take Me Home Country Roads” and feel a tear well up in their eye.

Mostly I just want to be loved.

Loved like my Mama and I want to Love like my Mama.

The Forgotten Pool

Life lessons from the pool

As the clear sky reflected off the deep blue of the water, I glided through the pool in a quiet calm. I was alone, enjoying my old familiar routine after an entire year without access to the pool.

Yup, you guessed it- due to Covid.

I couldn’t believe how much I missed it! What’s funny is- during those years where I went swimming 3 or more times a week; I remember thinking, “this isn’t even doing me any good, I’m not losing any weight”. Little did I know how good it was for my sanity, and also how it actually had maintained my weight. I’ve gained a good 15 lbs in one year AND almost went off the DEEP end of crazy.

So, in my reminiscent, exhilarating state of a refreshing solo swim, I hear the gate open. I should say that I felt the presence before the gate even opened. The lady with the Hawaiian Print skirts.

She swooped in – with all her glory- her glory being about a hundred bags & towels and precious water bottle and the boy. Ahh- I remember her.

I don’t know many people in my apartment complex and zero names, but I know “characters”.

The people you see walking….. Walking their little dog, their big dog….those who you see jogging in the skimpy clothes. To keep cool of course.  They’re all characters in my world of life.

Very quickly it became clear as she started barking orders to THE BOY, that she was the one who liked to bark orders & sneers to THE BOY. The boy being about 13 by now; I remember him at this very pool as a 10 yr old, then 11; excited to be at the pool, wanting to please his mom, but only getting negative feedback with not only her words but the tone of them.

She seemed irritated with him. Always. I’m a pretty good judge of brat- factors in kids & this kid didn’t strike me as one who fit the annoying part. Which is surprising because it seemed she took every opportunity to make him feel like shit.

With my solace obviously ruined, I packed up as quickly as I could. I wanted to scream as I went out the gate: 

"Do you realize that you only have maybe one or two years left before he isn't going to give a rats- ass about you or coming to the pool?!!!!

Do you realize that if he feels like he never lives up to your expectations, hes going to find someone or someone or some THING that accepts him? 

Do you know the first time he tastes alcohol or hits his first joint or tries heroin, it's going to feel like he found heaven to fill up all his empty holes of inadequacy & self-worth?

He's going to start a love affair with an illusion - albeit a powerful tangible one- that 'might' take a lifetime to get over".

But I kept silent.

I walked out of the gate with my measly bag & foam water weights & headed to the safety of my car where I could check messages from my first born son who’s in purgatory county jail………..

Momma Bear/Bird

The momma bird pecked ferociously at the window. She could feel her eggs wobbling inside her patiently awaiting their day.

It only made her peck harder at the window, fervently NEEDING to accomplish this feat.

Finally! SUCCESS! She broke through the barrier that meant stability and LIFE for her littles.

She went home feeling accomplished. Time was SO SHORT. She could already feel the warm breezes of spring coming closer every day. She must return bright and early to continue her mission. She tossed and turned all night in the flapping dryer vent. It was warm there but the tin was hard and flat. She could think of nothing else but a nice round warm nest where she pictured her brightly colored baby eggs getting nurtured in her love.

The next day was more pecking, cautiously stopping when she heard a sound approach. Ah, it was just the neighbor, the ones who have the lovely bird feeder on their porch. Thirsty & hungry she flew away for lunch, reveling in her progress. Back at it, in what seemed like an eternity, but was really only hours in human time; she broke through the barrier.

She couldn’t believe it! Persistence paid off! Her nest would be the strongest in the whole neighborhood! She ravagely pulled off the steel screen pieces to line her sweet babies first precious sanctuary.

Her babies would be so happy! They would grow up strong and safe and warm. They would fill their beaks and tummies with worms and bugs and all things wonderful that momma found. They would squawk and play and frolic while momma watched on proudly.

When the time came for their departure, momma would shed a big wet bird tear and push them out of the nest.

Momma bird would have a moment of silence saying a little bird prayer for them to live a full and safe life. She prayed for them to have the wisdom to stay clear of airplanes and vultures and all things that mean instant death. She hoped they would have strong instincts to avoid the slow killers too, poisonous plants and moldy water.

But she didn’t have long to worry. She had to start preparing for the next batch. She started singing in her best, clearest most beautiful birdsong ever!

Word press

Just in case you ever wondered why Mom’s are so stubborn and refuse to detach from their child or at least ‘ worry-like-a-muttha’ when they don’t have food or adequate shelter. I guess the key is-be more like a momma bear when they’re little but become a momma bird later. Detach with loving purpose as you push them into the vast world.

Addicted to the Addict

Guest blog by Cindy Gainer-Furst

PONDERING THOUGHTS

Have you ever looked at the parallels of our behavior vs. the addict?

In all honestly the addict isn’t proud that they are an addict, yet they are, they will do anything to use, to stop their pain.

We, in all honesty aren’t proud to be in the chaos of their addiction, yet we want to stop our pain and theirs.

The addict doesn’t take note of “how they might change” to help themselves.
We, also don’t take note on “how we might change” to help ourselves.

We are both struggling to resolve an issue that “ONLY WE CAN CHANGE FOR OURSELVES”.

We are begging and asking the addict to get a grip, get help, stop, change, etc.
Yet as we travel down this road, this is exactly what we should be doing for ourselves.

I’m not one to be the 1st to say leave by any means. However, I will always be the 1st to say, stop! Stop trying to swim up stream, stop and look at your situation and how you can help yourself to stay well.

Just like the addict we have to admit that we are powerless over their addiction.
So where does that leave you, where is that taking you? What can you do to not become emotionally wounded and feel less than, not worthy, helpless and all those ugly things?

This is your work, this is where you take back control of your life. You honestly have to take these measures, whether you stay, go or straddle the fence.

So let go of trying to control them, condem them, fix them or become so emotionally vulnerable to them. Truly acknowledge and accept that this is your journey and their journey!

Now take control of you….
Use your tools…

Boundaries
Stop enabling
Detachment
Create a life outside of them, Their addiction doesn’t have to be a life sentence to you.

If you take these measures of self love and work towards a positive life, the answers will emerge.

I mean why are we not allowing ourselves to take the same measures we want our addict to take?

Love yourself and get well and you know what, just maybe your new strength will be a turning point for both of you.

RESPECTFULLY WISHING ALL OF US HEALING AND CLARITY- Cindy Gainer-Furst

The Black Bag

The bag.

That blasted black bag.

It sits there in all its lonely glory, awaiting to be carried, slung, moved & re-arranged. Hoping for a final home that seems only a dream.

The bag has been drug around for months. Every holiday – in fact- for the last 10 months. Transplanted from it’s temporary base in a cold garage only to be reduced to the seat of a car, then many a cold tile hotel floor.

It’s contents of candy & shoes sit willingly and patiently awaiting their owner to adore them with greatfulness.

Doesn’t seem like much. But it makes this momma feel better. That is, if it’s ever delivered. I haven’t seen my boy for 10 months.

The future recipient of this bag, is a little boy who once spent days digging a moar- a canal really- to bypass the spring flooding that, in his mind, threatened his childhood home.

In reality, it was just mild spring run-off from the small fishing pond above our house.

He would rush through the back door of the house like a whirlwind, a muddy wind-of -whirl that is; looking for a treat or a drink or another tool to make his project more efficient. He would leave as fast as he came, leaving you perplexed but with a certain envy at his vigor and vivaciousness & curiosity at what drives them both.

The future recipient of this bag, once as a 23 year old hard-working construction foreman was driving home through a dark deep canyon over a rural mountain range. The work week of 60 hours was complete and he had a wad of cash in the front seat with him. He then rolled his huge $50k truck into a ravine where he had no service. He actually walked away from it without a scratch, up to the road where miraculously his electric personality drew in a morsel of service long enough to make a call to get help.

This would be the first of many appointments his guardian angels would make with him. And the first of many “wads of cash” that tumbled over the dark edge in his grasp.

This boy-turned-man-turned entrepreneur-turned-dad-turned substance use dependant; now owns no truck, no cash, no home and hasn’t seen his kids in over a year. The deals he once maneuvered with crane companies, inspectors, pipelines, & electricians are now replaced with deals for hits or points or whatever else will fulfill his audacious cravings that this monster has made him a slave of.

My little boy is lost.

I’m bringing him his favorite candy. The candy he always asks for when he detoxes or is clean. I want weight on him. I want the big brawny son I remember being proud of. I can’t even look at the pictures of him now. The ravages of drugs are not just some picture in a Don’t Do Drugs pamphlet. These ravages are visible front and center on the sunken-in skin and pale eyes of my beautiful first born son.

My strong, funny, determined warrior of a son.

My son who loves fully & completely. My son who feels deep shame. My son who is so embarrassed of the mess he made of his life that he stays locked in this self- determined prison. The ligitimity of his devotion to this disease is evidenced by the rough corrosive steel chains that bind him to the day to day depravity of that lifestyle.

Hence the black bag.

The bag that this mom hopes will breathe a wisp of life back into a boy who has lost his sense of everything good and healthy.

This cloth & leatherish vinyl bag, stitched together with my last threads of life strung with hope for my boy.

In it, some simple candy, his favorite, to remind him of the sheer taste of joy & pleasure of life outside of drugs.

A new pair of shoes for him to remember the privilege of a regular life, working a”regular” job and the wonderful places they can take him.

Further in the bag of hope, is a pair of gloves. New, stiff faux leather. The droopy finger spaces longing for human hands to fill up space and mold them to what they were designed to do. To remind him of his incredible talent. Of how his hands have not lost that talent and how they can make his dreams come true again.

I will find my boy. I dream of him running to the bag. His face full of adventure like that muddy little boy running in the house looking for treats. 

My dream is he will accept the gifts offered as a hope that he is still worthy of a life of joy and self-respect again. That he will go back out into the world and take that shovel back. Take it and dig his way out of this darkness into the light of true joy and happiness.

The Dream

“What exactly seems to be the problem????”

I could hear the words echo like a child’s faraway pleading…

“Why, God?? Why can you part an entire sea of water but you can’t seem to fix my “little” problem.”

I spouted the accusations into the air like a thick plume of smog…

I felt the searing pain and confusion deep in my heart.

Why wasn’t I worthy enough for God’s attention?

Why did others have these spiritual experiences, yet my little family is still fractured seemingly beyond repair with what my eldest son’s addiction had caused?

I had prayed. Oh, how I had prayed.
Oh, I’ve always been a believer that there was a power greater than myself who was directing this harrowing game of life. But I had never truly NEEDED there to be one as much as I had the last 2-3 years.

That was about the time I started the wrenching conundrum of wanting more than anything to believe that there is SOMEONE who is listening and can take a look at my problems and put them on the “to be solved list”.

On this particular day, I wasn’t feeling my list was even visible, let alone being checked off.

My son was still deep in addiction, with no signs of wanting help. He had legal warrants for his arrest for many felonies for possession while trying to feed the cravings of his disease. He had abandoned his family; including his kids, lost his million-dollar business & had zero possessions or money to his name.

I had been praying to my God, with some anger and disappointment, that no mountains were being moved on my behalf. I had inquired fervently why I wasn’t good enough to receive all the spiritual blessings that “others” seem to get, with a very quick disclaimer of “not that I’m not appreciative of everything I have sir. “
So I drifted off to sleep with the compromise of “ok then, please just show me, my son, in the future with his kids & a house & a real job again…”
By dang it, I had not been awake the next morning for more than 30 seconds when I realized that my God had done it.

My dream…..

I was in some sort of open mall. I was with his ex-wife and his kids. Suddenly I see my son out of the corner of my eye. He’s strolling down the center like nothing!
I freeze!  It had been a year at least since they had seen each other but more than that, I KNEW she would think that I set her up just for him to see his kids.
I panicked, as she hurried to block her kids from seeing him, but it was too late. I was trying to reassure her that I didn’t know he was here….but it didn’t matter, his beautiful Daughter had seen him. She yelled, “Daddy!”
He took her in his arms.

This moment.
This moment that every child of an addict must feel.
To be abandoned-no-more. To be loved and cared for by the most important people in their life.
To feel validated.
Important.
In that moment, the drugs, a disease, work, or whatever else the reason was told for the disappearance from their life, didn’t matter.

Life was complete.

All the dots were connected.
They could now color in the black and white picture of the happy family & turn the page……

I somehow disappeared in typical dream fashion…

Only to reappear in chapter 3 or so. Where I visualized them talking and the kids playing together.

Wow.

God had done it again…

Now I’m wondering what to ask for tonight….

Bamboozled

You WANT so desperately to believe them…

You NEED to believe them….

Your SANITY and PEACE depend on believing them…
Not to mention your ability to get a good night’s sleep….
Just for tonight…

Until you are lying there and the realization Hits you….

You’ve been bamboozled again…
You’ve become addictions 550 million- possibly- billionth second-hand victim of the big lie of the day…or hour…

Your sweet child…
How many lessons on lying & doing what’s right did you try to instill in them?

At our house, we had files of “Family Home Evening” lessons. Lessons on life & integrity & honestly.

None of it seems to matter now…

Lost concepts in the wind…

Years of fixing nutritious meals, bandaging boo-boos, Dr’s visits, and volunteering for the “fluoride treatments” at school.

As the tears fall onto your cool sheets, you feel that familiar sense of dropping into the abyss of darkness.

The feeling of powerless & dread.

As you beg someone, somewhere, anyone, to save your sweet little family.

For the 💯time…

You realize that YOU can’t.

You can’t do this again.

Because tomorrow is a new day.

Tomorrow just MIGHT be THE DAY. The day he calls and says “What was that place you told me to call?

Mom, do you really think I could do this?”

And you have to be ready.

You can’t be tired.

You can’t have swollen eyes and scratched up arms or bitten nails.

You HAVE to be healthy and strong…

You have to be the one with hope…

You HAVE to be able to turn pain into gold…

To take every evil lie that was told to you and turn it back onto its master.

To not be victim #550 billion.

To empower yourself and others to rise above it…

To shine over all the darkness…

Reign Supreme…
Shine like a diamond under all the pressure….. 💥

But just for tonight…

I need sleep.

So I pull myself out of the dark place…

Even if tomorrow doesn’t work out….

I CAN be at peace tonight.
🌛🌜

Staying in The Moment

At my job, we teach staying in the present as a coping skill.
The last few weeks and months seem to have a lot of minds busy with turbulence & unrest…

One of the things I’ve learned most about helping people in duress is to bring them back to the moment.

“Grounding” is the new term.

Since most or at least some forms of anxiety usually come from thinking about too many scenarios that may happen or problems you are having and feeling overwhelmed, it’s important to slow down those thoughts & ground yourself to the moment.

One great strategy I’ve found is to say:

“We don’t have to fix this all right now”.

And

“What is your body telling you that you need at this moment? “

Recently I was looking in my old journals and I found in one of my notebook ramblings from 2006- long before all my current job training-which had MY SIMPLE TRUTHS written at the top:

#1: I don’t have to fix everything right now

I think we instinctively know what we need at any given moment ….it’s just breaking down the barriers to reach that wisdom. Being quiet enough with our egos & fears & insecurities to allow peace in.

Which is really the whole premise to meditation.

I haven’t mastered meditation or even stuck with it long enough to master it, but yesterday I found Joe Dispenza’s motivational videos and I just might start again.

As a life longer “self improvement obsessive-er ( because I can’t say junkie) I never really stop looking for life hacks. But along the way of doing this, we can still get lost in the ” fixing”.

Whether it be fixing ourselves or someone else, or just a situation in crisis; There are moments in your life when you come to a crossroads and realize that you are losing yourself in the process.

Mine was seeing a picture pop up in memories from three years ago. I saw a vibrant, white teeth, soft, freshly colored – gray hair covered-styled hair, person who’s biggest problem seemed to be to make it on time to dance class at age 49.

Now, having fun seems so far away from my mental health after being in survival mode for so long.

I’ve heard that desperation and pain are great motivators for change. For me, seeing a picture of myself caused me great distress in my need to change.

So, just for today, I will tell myself:

Yoυ don’т need тo ғιх everyтнιng rιgнт now, or  тoday, or even тoмorrow

Then ask my body, what is it you need right now?

Today, mine is saying freedom from this excess weight that has been used as a cushion to comfort me in times of great stress.

I’ve become a Hibernating 🐻 Bear on a Long voyage to Mars. ( Since I can’t say “trip”. But it’s time to come back to Earth.