Sour City

No one wants to be in Sour City.

I ended up there by accident. My happily ever after seemed to be moving along nicely.

The road to Sour City was one I hadn’t realized I was on. The road was paved with apologies and grand gestures made by my addict alcoholic that distracted me from the mile makers (aka red flags) that indicated I was rapidly approaching Sour City.

I was living in an addict alcoholics world, two failed rehab attempts, bootleg suboxzone, drinking day and night while we were raising one very busy toddler, I found myself smack in the middle of Sour City.

It dawned on me as I was pleading, yet again to my addict acholic, “ I don’t want to live like this”. That I’d become sour and worn out. Bitterly unaware that I was just as out of control as my addict alcoholic was. I hated who I allowed myself to become.

I was the Mayor of Sour City and needed to be fired.

All my Moms out there raise your hand if you feel like sometimes your parenting your life partner. So not sexy. We all do it to each other from time to time. It usually doesn’t feel good so we stop. Now raise your hand if you are parenting your life partner who is an addict alcoholic. Now stand up if you can’t make it through an average day without parenting that addict alcoholic. Oh how it burns my cookies to even write that… Welcome to Sour City Moms, the place where we land when there isn’t anything more we can do to “help” our addict alcoholics.

I’m someone who writes stuff down. In an app, a note book, scraps of paper . I’ll write on anything. The urge to write compelles me. It was the reread of my own writing that slapped me with a reality check. I read everything as if I were my friend. Periodically asking myself “If I could help that woman how would I?” My writing spoke of a deep, unforgiving shame, loneliness, and isolation.

So there I was introducing myself to myself and wishing I could help me find my way out of Sour City.

This is the part where I started telling the world my story, even if they didn’t want to hear it. Often I found myself telling myself to stop talking, I didn’t of course. It was like I’d been marinating in Sour City for so long I just couldn’t keep it in anymore. I was a volcano of emotion that had erupted and I needed a safe, judgment free zone to share my story and ask for help. I took my search to google. It was slim pickings for Moms like me who had been supportive, supporting and raising my addict alcoholic. With free time being non exsistant I tried groups, one on one therapy, all sorts of 12 steps. I learned so much that first year. So so much. I also learned folks weren’t always great listeners and they were full of advice that didn’t apply to me. The deep loneliness was still there.

My addict alcoholic was in Rehab in FL, thrid round, when I connected with an acquaintance. As she told me her story I felt this strange feeling of belonging. She spoke of her addict alcoholic as if she was speaking of mine. She had the same battle wounds that had gone unattended because she like me was to busy raising her baby and surviving the day. It was so sad that our shared pain brought me the space I’d been looking for. In the months to come my friend offered up a piece of normalcy I hadn’t felt in my life with my addict alcoholic. That year she changed my life. Having that space I was desperate to find, having a sense of belonging, my loneliness started to let up. It was like being able to take a breath again.

A full, deep breath.

Today I’m passionate about creating a space for Sour City Moms to connect, to be heard, to feel the power of belonging and the potential for their loneliness to subside. And maybe, just maybe find their way back to the sweet life.

I’m Frozen With Anxiety

Today I’m frozen with anxiety. The tricky Part about anxiety is that it started days before it’s paralyzing effects took hold. I’ve lovingly labeled my malfunction as “the melt down”. These past few days I was just to busy to slow down and listen to my body tell me it needed to address something. The result is a full on war. It truly makes it hard to function.

My melt down looks something like confusion to the out side world. I walk aimlessly around my space hoping to find anything to ground my spinning top of a brain. I hold my breath then tap on my chest to remind myself to breath. The tools and techniques I have to bring my anexity back to a reasonable, controllable state are vast, but in the moment I feel alone and terrified. It’s a huge undertaking to talk myself out of the panic my brain is telling my body to feel. It’s exhausting to push back the running commentary that has me thinking of all theses horrible untrue things.

I sat down to write in hopes I’d find why I’m having this flare up, it’s been months since it’s been this bad. As of yet nothing is jumping off the page. Maybe sharing today will trigger an ah-ha moment for me.

Here is my must do, don’t think, list when my anexity takes over.

1. Sit in a chair, feet on the floor, and breath.

2. Drink a glass of water.

3. Write down the first things that comes to mind.

4. Make a plan todo something for myself.

Tonight acupuncture.

I will not let my anexity run my day. It just can’t own me today.

We Are Both Learning

I’m seated in a very tiny room in front of 6 professionals filling me in on procedure and guidelines. My brain is working hard to comprehend what they are saying. I’m working so hard I can’t even glance to my right to look at Kevin (my super supportive boyfriend).

I’m fighting with my mind not to drift, stay focused, don’t panic. My cheeks are on fire from anxiety. I want so badly to understand whats happening with Hadley at school.

I have several, processing disorders that fall under the learning disability category. Diagnosed in elementary school I was given little to no help. It was the 80’s, enough said. The lack of understanding and empathy from the people in my forty hour school week broke my self esteem, leaving my self worth holding on by a thread. I believed I was stupid, a lazy disciplinary problem. My own family was often frustrated and disappointed in me. My brain doesn’t see numbers and letters like most folks. It doesn’t retain and commit things to memory as an average mind would. Years of hard work with experts (work that will never end) has me living a fully functioning adult life. Exhausted, but fully functioning adult, lol.

My sweet Mo has had a front row seat to the deconstruction of her family. She’s witnessed her father spin out of control with alcohol/drugs. She’s had major surgery (not life threatening). She has felt the harshness of mean people, yes adults. She didn’t back down and still gravitates to kind people. Amazing! She met the challenges she faced while watching her Momma’s heartbreak unfold with curiosity and love. She learned to handle situations that she couldn’t begin to understand, confusing even for grownups, with honesty. I’ve learned many things from watching her navigate our lives.

Resilience. Courage. kindness. Equality. Eight years old, these qualities are the ones she carries with her. These are her foundational pillars she shares openly with others (sometime she shares to much, lol). These are the super powers I know will help her work through the school stuff. School could be the thing to take her out. Self esteem, worthynesss, creative problem solving, are at stake in a system built to help our children grow. Scary stuff.

The massive number of children overwhelming our public school teachers leaves my little lady vulnerable to lossing the part of her she doesn’t know to keep safe. The part of her she should know how to keep safe. That part of me that no one showed me how to keep intact. I’m learning how to show her how to keep her self worth safe and intact. It’s our daily conversation about life that guides me to the things she needs from me.

This meeting has served me up a big ah-ha moment. I’m feverishly writing notes in the meeting. So much information. I write myself a note “rise to be the person who fills in the holes for her. Be the Mom that takes responsibility for the things the school can’t give her. Do what you do best, problem solve, get creative. Reach out to your tribe”. I have the most marvelous tribe.

I’m told she’s struggling in an average second grade way and improving with the extra help. She’s in third grade. It’s my understanding there isn’t a enough data todo a full accessment at this time. Ok. I exhale thank them, say our goodbyes.

Now we wait and see what the next 45 days will bring. They are going to look into it and meet with me again.

I’m sacred. I’m sad. I’m a mother with her hackles up. It’s my job. She’s my kid. I’ve started the conversation with school. Her classroom teachers are champions for her, I adore them. No need to sit on my hands waiting though. If I’m unsure about the way the school is working with her it’s my responsibility to keep her moving forward. So many wonderful people in our school. So many wonderful kiddos, but I’m in charge of just one.

This is another life shift… A life lesson for me. I won’t let this be the hole Hadley trips in on the path of growing up.

Belonging

As I thumb through my 2017/2018 journals (yup, plural) a theme presented its self. I was searching for something to belong to. I was looking for anything that would take away the loneliness. You know “fill my cup”. The journal entries read as stories of my failed attempts to find a person, place, or thing that invoked feelings of worthiness. Screaming at me from these pages is my life long struggle. A struggle I want to move past. I finally see that I crave a belonging filled with purpose, a belonging to my self worth, a belonging to my choices. Rereading my words brought fear and shame, it made my heart heavy like the lead vest at the dentist office. So many rushed, confused choices made out of what was reading as desperation. (Ugg, truth can be so ugly). Not what I ever intended for myself.

I set aside my “ah ha” moment because I need to digest my findings. I need to shift my way of thinking. I have some really big work todo on myself.

In a Starbucks on on a Weekday morning I ran into a friend… Their recent life situation was painfully familiar to me. I got misty just thinking of the emotional torture that we were discussing. “How are you doing” promoted a candid snap shot of the loneliness my sweet friend was feeling. A loneliness that has burned my cookies for years. A loneliness I wouldn’t wish on any good intentioned person, ever. There we were bonding and belonging over a shared loneliness. My ah ha moment just kicked me in my soul.

OK universe, thank you for the push. Now it’s time to get to work:)

I Filled the Dumpster

Figuratively I got rid of my emotional garbage. Literally got rid of garbage. Both were clogging up my life and stopping me from moving past my past.

As the full dumpster pulled away this morning a rush of joy filled calm is with me. The painful, humbling journey I’ve been on, that has often left me paralyzed, has come to a close.

The work I’ve done I’ve had to do alone. No one else can do this type of heavy lifting for us. It’s work that is overwhelming and scary. To realize my own life choices got me to a wonderful place is a big win for me. All the tears, all the sweat, all the self doubt, worth it!

6 weeks ago I called a friend, I asked for help. (That’s huge for me). To say it out loud “I can’t hang on to my tiny home.” was devastating.

I was stuck, spinning my wheels, couldn’t breath. She showed up with advice, guidance, solutions. Most of all empathy and love. No shaming or guilt was handed out. In that moment my world shifted.

I’ve learned to forgive (so hard to truly forgive) but was missing a very important piece, actually letting go. I hadn’t realized till Chloe was leaving that day that I needed someone to give me permission to let go. That there was nothing left in my old life. That the proverbially “come back” had started (and I’ve been crushing it) so get moving to a better thing.

Let’s recap…

Fell apart, check

Phoned a friend, check

Asked for help, check

Got said help, check

I’m thrilled with the results, check

OMG! Happiness!

I did the work, I filled the dumpster.

The emotional dumpster and the physical dumpster. I did it alone because I needed too. Asked for help at a crossroad and now I’m moving on to greater things.

Woot woot!

These past few years have brought me to my knees, knocked my on my ass, and punched me in the gut.

To stand on the back porch of my sold home, watching the dumpster pull away, smiling, not crying, feels amazing.

I wish us all to know such joy over something so simple.