Over the years, I've come to realise that there may be advantages to revisiting old methods, giving them the once-over and opting to try something new. It's often difficult to leave one's comfy little nest - in this case my Blogger blog - after all, I'm warm and happy here but I'm still a little hesitant in recreating yet another nest. After all, it ain't broke, so why am I fixin' it....?
Well, for one, it keeps me on my toes - I have a leaning towards "mañana, baby..." at times - probably a throwback to my "marijuana, baby..." days and the soft option - to stay put and do nothing - often arrests my blogging development. And so... a shrug and a sigh and a flutter of the wings and I realise they weren't clipped at all. They were just relaxed...but poised. Much as I am myself these days.
And so... I'd like to welcome you into my new nest. It's a little rough around the edges and it's full of all the twigs and feathers from this one - I mean, I've just moved in and am still finding my way around - but I know I'll have it cosy in no time... but with much more room to expand and entertain my guests... with virtual cups of tea and dialogue - singing alone in my nest is fine and dandy but when I hear someone else's song, in response to my own, then it makes me want to sing all the more.... So... sing it loud, sing it clear and invite your friends along for a visit to my new Wordpress (eventually all-singin'-all-dancin') blog - and maybe even my website... and who knows... mañana might become a thing of the past.... Anything's possible!
http://positivefootsteps.wordpress.com/
24 August 2011
21 May 2011
One Woman and Her Dog....
Having found my new resting place and now experiencing a sense of domestic contentment which had thus far evaded me, I find myself contemplating gardening... putting down a different kind of root... potatoes. Guess middle-age draws me to middle earth...I'm appreciating the wonder and nature of beauty... and the nature and beauty of relationships and interconnections.
Accustomed as I am to codependency, I have decided to embrace that small rem(a)inder of 'self-destruct' me which had longed for an unconditional love ...total acceptance... for such a long time. It was not a wholly conscious decision - but there are no mistakes, we're told (all part of life's rich tapestry) - I became the guardian of a border collie pup. I named her Cosy - she looked that way and I kinda feel that way inside whenever I think of her. I believe she offers an antidote... an inadvertent healer of my injured self. Pets, we're told, can teach us much about loyalty, trust, love without strings (she doesn't care how I look) and can lower stress just by being around. Plus with a dog at least, a reason for walking, when one is needed and, with all pets I guess, a reason to get up in the morning.
In return, I offer her food, shelter, respect and yes, love. A sense of healthy interdependency emerges. It's made me question whether or not there was such a thing as a healthy codependency... but I reckon that's an oxymoron. I guess we are all dependent upon one another for survival but, on a micro-level, when feelings and identities become entangled and enmeshed, we lose sight of who we are as individuals - existing only as "the other half" of a couple and experiencing enjoyment by proxy, i.e. only when our "other half is happy". Claustrophobic relationships (as codependent relationships tend to be) invariably restrict the supply of oxygen as personal space is violated and we begin to feel constricted and no longer feel able to breathe freely. Feelings of fear, overwhelming anxiety, panic and depression often ensue.
Cosy is teaching me much about myself - a realisation dawns that I have been working on healthy interdependency in all of my relationships for some time now, breaking free from those chains which once constrained me. Maybe it's time to dismiss the notion that 'healthy codependency' might even exist... and continue to live with the more realistic and definitely attainable notion of healthy independency - now that's definitely not an oxymoron....Seems to me it's a rather cosy fit.
Accustomed as I am to codependency, I have decided to embrace that small rem(a)inder of 'self-destruct' me which had longed for an unconditional love ...total acceptance... for such a long time. It was not a wholly conscious decision - but there are no mistakes, we're told (all part of life's rich tapestry) - I became the guardian of a border collie pup. I named her Cosy - she looked that way and I kinda feel that way inside whenever I think of her. I believe she offers an antidote... an inadvertent healer of my injured self. Pets, we're told, can teach us much about loyalty, trust, love without strings (she doesn't care how I look) and can lower stress just by being around. Plus with a dog at least, a reason for walking, when one is needed and, with all pets I guess, a reason to get up in the morning.
In return, I offer her food, shelter, respect and yes, love. A sense of healthy interdependency emerges. It's made me question whether or not there was such a thing as a healthy codependency... but I reckon that's an oxymoron. I guess we are all dependent upon one another for survival but, on a micro-level, when feelings and identities become entangled and enmeshed, we lose sight of who we are as individuals - existing only as "the other half" of a couple and experiencing enjoyment by proxy, i.e. only when our "other half is happy". Claustrophobic relationships (as codependent relationships tend to be) invariably restrict the supply of oxygen as personal space is violated and we begin to feel constricted and no longer feel able to breathe freely. Feelings of fear, overwhelming anxiety, panic and depression often ensue.
Cosy is teaching me much about myself - a realisation dawns that I have been working on healthy interdependency in all of my relationships for some time now, breaking free from those chains which once constrained me. Maybe it's time to dismiss the notion that 'healthy codependency' might even exist... and continue to live with the more realistic and definitely attainable notion of healthy independency - now that's definitely not an oxymoron....Seems to me it's a rather cosy fit.
26 February 2011
100 Days of Magnitude...
For those of you who don't receive my newsletter, I thought I'd updated you with my latest venture... and adventure....
As a coach, I understand that warm fuzzy feeling which comes from being able to wave goodbye to procrastination and begin to turn positive intentions into happenings. I work with a coach myself and have decided to share with you the results of this experience for me. For this new chapter in my life, I’m setting myself a 100-day challenge to expand my world... There's always room for growth
Drifting aimlessly can be a good thing... particularly if you’ve never tried it. A chance to reflect on one’s life and its meaning can offer a new way of being in the world. But what if, instead, you’re just going through the motions and have lost sight of your own aspirations? Your days can become littered with broken promises... to yourself. Although I’ve spent many years working on self-improvement in one form or another, I still have a way to go... Recovery work never stops. I haven’t touched alcohol or drugs for years now but I’m still conscious of a switch inside my head labelled “self-destruct”. It’s rather dusty now... but occasionally it reminds me that it’s still there... and that’s when I need to do some more rewiring!
I’m getting ready for a house move soon, after two “almost” house moves in the past year. This time it’s a long-term home, which is very different for me. It’s bringing up feelings of excitement and anxiety... not so much at the move (I’d like to think I had some expertise in that area now!!) but more about the signifcance of the move. This will be a long-term resting place for me – I’m making a commitment to myself to put down some roots. I’ve also recently become the guardian of a Border Collie pup, whose name is Cosy – because that’s how she looks and feels! Cosy is a big responsibility and so I’m also making a commitment to her - to offer her the best life I can.
This week, I’m clearing the way – literally! I’ve decided to give away some furniture which won’t be of use in my new home. I’ve also cleared out more clothes and bedding. I’m taking a long hard look at the unnecessary items in my current home and getting rid of junk. Of course, this is relative. My ‘don’t-needs’ are someone else’s ‘must-haves’, I’m sure. But I recognise something about myself – my instinct to hoard... clinging on to remnants of the past, half-forgotten memories attached to trinkets. Saying goodbye is pretty tough for recovering co-dependents... even to inanimate objects!
So.. what’s the learning? A reminder that making a commitment to myself is equally - if not more - important to making a commitment to others. That I’ve always been a Maximalist – holding on to a scattered past - and I’d like to change that about myself. It’s time to let go.... and move on!
If you'd like to begin your own 100 Days of Magnitude, please visit my website for details...
As a coach, I understand that warm fuzzy feeling which comes from being able to wave goodbye to procrastination and begin to turn positive intentions into happenings. I work with a coach myself and have decided to share with you the results of this experience for me. For this new chapter in my life, I’m setting myself a 100-day challenge to expand my world... There's always room for growth
Drifting aimlessly can be a good thing... particularly if you’ve never tried it. A chance to reflect on one’s life and its meaning can offer a new way of being in the world. But what if, instead, you’re just going through the motions and have lost sight of your own aspirations? Your days can become littered with broken promises... to yourself. Although I’ve spent many years working on self-improvement in one form or another, I still have a way to go... Recovery work never stops. I haven’t touched alcohol or drugs for years now but I’m still conscious of a switch inside my head labelled “self-destruct”. It’s rather dusty now... but occasionally it reminds me that it’s still there... and that’s when I need to do some more rewiring!
I’m getting ready for a house move soon, after two “almost” house moves in the past year. This time it’s a long-term home, which is very different for me. It’s bringing up feelings of excitement and anxiety... not so much at the move (I’d like to think I had some expertise in that area now!!) but more about the signifcance of the move. This will be a long-term resting place for me – I’m making a commitment to myself to put down some roots. I’ve also recently become the guardian of a Border Collie pup, whose name is Cosy – because that’s how she looks and feels! Cosy is a big responsibility and so I’m also making a commitment to her - to offer her the best life I can.
This week, I’m clearing the way – literally! I’ve decided to give away some furniture which won’t be of use in my new home. I’ve also cleared out more clothes and bedding. I’m taking a long hard look at the unnecessary items in my current home and getting rid of junk. Of course, this is relative. My ‘don’t-needs’ are someone else’s ‘must-haves’, I’m sure. But I recognise something about myself – my instinct to hoard... clinging on to remnants of the past, half-forgotten memories attached to trinkets. Saying goodbye is pretty tough for recovering co-dependents... even to inanimate objects!
So.. what’s the learning? A reminder that making a commitment to myself is equally - if not more - important to making a commitment to others. That I’ve always been a Maximalist – holding on to a scattered past - and I’d like to change that about myself. It’s time to let go.... and move on!
If you'd like to begin your own 100 Days of Magnitude, please visit my website for details...
29 September 2010
Vanitas Vanitatum... Oh Vanity of Vanities...
I don't quite recall the context I first heard this phrase... I'm pretty sure it wasn't referring to the context it conjures up for me but I did manage to obliterate quite a few good brain cells whilst misusing myself, so can't quite recall. I do firmly believe that addiction is a misuse of self (we often describe it as a misuse of a substance/thing but surely our authentic selves weren't meant to be so badly treated?). My own precious cargo - my self - was mishandled. When they broke the proverbial mold, I reckon someone forgot to add the sticker... "Fragile... This Way Up... Handle With Care".. Certainly, I didn't realise it was there. Instead, I got a bit broken in places and arrived downside-up, I guess.... It's taken me years to try to 'right' myself (after capsize) to upside-down, my natural and authentic state of being.
And so to...Vanity is a rather strange thing which occurs in recovery. I'm using this word not in the sense of 'excessive pride in one's appearance' but merely as pride in one's appearance... and I'm using appearance to include external behaviours exhibited to others. I sometimes have a wry smile to myself when I revisit those paranoid thoughts about my hair not looking good, carrying too much weight, my clothes not being right... the 'What will they think of me?' thoughts... and then I remember... those less than halcien days (and nights) where staggering, unruly behaviour, and a general dishevellment prevailed... a distinct lack of pride in one's own appearance... a distinct lack of care... anger at the world... In fact, more a 'Who cares...!!' (how I look/what they think etc etc) with an appropriate gesture to match, no doubt. But.. what happened? Something switched in my head. Of course, this 'Who cares!' attitude revisits from time-to-time, even in sobriety, and some might argue it's healthy... but I know it's defensive. And when I'm defensive and judging others, I'm scared... simple as that...and I need to do some work. The answer eventually comes... 'I care!'
So... what price vanity? The feminist in me argues that I'm buying into the beauty propaganda (the Beauty Myth, as Naomi Wolf describes it). But the other part of me chooses to live in this society and adhere to some of its cultural norms and I buy into vanity. They reach a compromise - eyebrows plucked, hair dyed and, as I once inadvertently told a pathologist... "I'll be dyeing until I'm dead!" - and body modification is a work in progress, getting tangled up (as I frequently do) on the need to 'lose weight and shape up' treadmill... I tango on. But no FM shoes here, thanks.
Vanity... it damns me if I do... it damns me if I don't. I prefer to regard it as a benchmark... a sliding scale towards that downside-up way of being... If I don't tend to the basics of self-care... bathing, teeth, eyebrows, hair and checking-in with my mood, affirmations, gratitude etc... I know that I could so easily be transported forward to a time when it wouldn't matter to me how I looked on the outside, as private becomes public and the consequences of those crazy thoughts are on full view to all who care to glance pitifully or disdainfully in my general direction. And so, for me, vanity takes on a new meaning in recovery - but when it becomes obsessive, we're moving into narcissistic territory. I've never been 'in love' with my reflection, although it has become a rather good friend... at last.
A wry smile appears again with the self-knowledge that my version of vanity is based on 'as good as it gets'. I recall a hairdresser once taking pity on me when I told him I was inept at using hair technology... I received a phone call some time after the appointment, inviting me to a training session on 'straiteners for beginners'. It's a shame I was unable to attend. My life could have turned out so differently... but I seem to recall I was pretty busy that day... washing my hair. Ho-hum.
And so to...Vanity is a rather strange thing which occurs in recovery. I'm using this word not in the sense of 'excessive pride in one's appearance' but merely as pride in one's appearance... and I'm using appearance to include external behaviours exhibited to others. I sometimes have a wry smile to myself when I revisit those paranoid thoughts about my hair not looking good, carrying too much weight, my clothes not being right... the 'What will they think of me?' thoughts... and then I remember... those less than halcien days (and nights) where staggering, unruly behaviour, and a general dishevellment prevailed... a distinct lack of pride in one's own appearance... a distinct lack of care... anger at the world... In fact, more a 'Who cares...!!' (how I look/what they think etc etc) with an appropriate gesture to match, no doubt. But.. what happened? Something switched in my head. Of course, this 'Who cares!' attitude revisits from time-to-time, even in sobriety, and some might argue it's healthy... but I know it's defensive. And when I'm defensive and judging others, I'm scared... simple as that...and I need to do some work. The answer eventually comes... 'I care!'
So... what price vanity? The feminist in me argues that I'm buying into the beauty propaganda (the Beauty Myth, as Naomi Wolf describes it). But the other part of me chooses to live in this society and adhere to some of its cultural norms and I buy into vanity. They reach a compromise - eyebrows plucked, hair dyed and, as I once inadvertently told a pathologist... "I'll be dyeing until I'm dead!" - and body modification is a work in progress, getting tangled up (as I frequently do) on the need to 'lose weight and shape up' treadmill... I tango on. But no FM shoes here, thanks.
Vanity... it damns me if I do... it damns me if I don't. I prefer to regard it as a benchmark... a sliding scale towards that downside-up way of being... If I don't tend to the basics of self-care... bathing, teeth, eyebrows, hair and checking-in with my mood, affirmations, gratitude etc... I know that I could so easily be transported forward to a time when it wouldn't matter to me how I looked on the outside, as private becomes public and the consequences of those crazy thoughts are on full view to all who care to glance pitifully or disdainfully in my general direction. And so, for me, vanity takes on a new meaning in recovery - but when it becomes obsessive, we're moving into narcissistic territory. I've never been 'in love' with my reflection, although it has become a rather good friend... at last.
A wry smile appears again with the self-knowledge that my version of vanity is based on 'as good as it gets'. I recall a hairdresser once taking pity on me when I told him I was inept at using hair technology... I received a phone call some time after the appointment, inviting me to a training session on 'straiteners for beginners'. It's a shame I was unable to attend. My life could have turned out so differently... but I seem to recall I was pretty busy that day... washing my hair. Ho-hum.
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