Work In Progress

  I write a lot about connection; how it is vital to our happiness, our wholeness, our purpose in life.   Each day I struggle with "I-don't-need-anyone-because-I-am-protecting-myself-from-crumbling-into-a-mess-if-you-disappoint-me-or-let-me-down-itis" and the prescribed path to wellness continues to feel like a combination of rehab and a 1/4 cup of cod liver oil.  Lately I feel myself withdrawing; hauling up anchor and heading to the solitude of the open water. It is peaceful out there. The water is calm, no one asks anything of me and I risk nothing.  But it is lonely and it is easy to lose track of the horizon, unable to find your way back. Last night, while trying out my talk to text feature on my phone, I was texting my Sista Perfectionista, who I haven't seen in a couple of weeks.  An unfortunate mumble on my part turned camping near a beach to another not as nice "b" word and my plan for a 6 night trip became six months As I rea

At the end of the adult day treatment program, we had to pass around a certificate and have it signed by all the other participants.  This was an opportunity for people to wish you well and everyone had to write something, even if they had just started the program that week.  It was a final exercise in giving and receiving with an open heart.  The instructor collected them at the end of the session and then would pass them out to those of us "graduating" as we left the room. During the course of the program I had shared my history of divorce, single motherhood, return to school, moving across country, bankruptcy ---the shame of being unable to work at this time---the feeling like this was not a "real" condition---and my debilitating fear of having to face people at work (how would I talk to them? What would I say? How would any of them take me seriously? Would they tease me? Talk behind my back? Treat me like I was broken?).  I had also learned I had so

As human beings, we are hardwired for connection.  It is the common thread that connects everything I read these days regardless of the title, theme; whether it is on the bestseller list or notes I have taken while in the hospital programs.   Last summer I read Brene Brown's The Gifts of Imperfection and I wrote as I read.  It was a bit like shopping for new clothes.  I tried on her words.  What did they look like if I put them on?  Which ones fit me?    It was harder then.  I had felt like the hospital programs had helped me identify and discard many unhelpful patterns of though and behavior. The problem was, while I was working hard to let them go, I was struggling with who that left behind.  It was an identity void.  The things that had defined me, were also the things that had destroyed me, but they were also the things that had made me successful and carried me far in life.   I held up "need for connection" and looked at it draped in front of me, frown

"Words have energy". This is the single message that continues to tumble around in my brain after listening to the recorded call of session six of Inner Mean Girl Reform School.  I play witness to their truth every day, which only proves their point as those three words motivate me on my path to wellness. If you asked me to create a list of 100 words to describe myself I can't say that I would think to put the word "sensitive" among them.  (Strangely enough, I do have to create a list of over 100 things I like about myself for this weeks homework...)  It continues to amaze me; the dichotomy of how we see ourselves, how others see us and how WE think others see us.   What I am slowly coming to terms with is that I am, a sensitive person.  It is actually hard to type that as I believe that this word carries energy that equates it with weakness.   Be careful when you give her feedback on her work.  She is so 'sensitive'. He is 's

One quarter of 2014 is gone.  It all happens so fast when you don't mark the days by workday and weekend. My Sista Perfectionista and I were talking last week about how our time not working has allowed for more reflection on finding a life of purpose.  This is not a new discussion for her and I.  We talk about how your life's purpose does not have to have anything to do with your work.  Your work can be the paycheck that supports your life's purpose--whether that is painting or travel or breeding dogs.  Your purpose may lie in volunteering, baking, helping friends, knitting, raising children--the list goes on and on. I often think of my dad, who died in 2010 because I wonder what he would say about this sort of  conversation.  he worked, sometimes three jobs, when I was a kid, and weekends were spent building things, working, swimming in the pool, reading.  I always though he had it pretty well balanced.  At least on the outside, that is what it looked like.