Healing

Healthy Change Is Nurtured Into Being

Changing habits takes time. Gentleness, kindness and nurturing. There’s a reason for that. It’s so that change can be permanent. Think of your recovery, or any major life change as a tree. It starts as a seed – small, hard, seemingly unimportant in the grand scheme of things. That us, we’re seeds. Waiting to grow up.

If we’re rushed, we grow up stunted unable to be fruitful or to blossom. If we’re nurtured, fed nourishment and given everything that helps us to evolve we grow in strength and beauty. Granted, for most of us who struggle with limits or addiction or self-inflicting pain, we want to be better now – we want our lives to be different now. We judge ourselves harshly for not healing or growing or developing quickly enough. That kind of judgment hurts us and can be debilitating.

Healing and growing takes nurturing and kindness. Healthy change is nurtured into being. Be gentle with yourself dear one.

Hugs and love, Phoenix.

The Girl In The Mirror

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I love the madness that is the April A to Z Blogging Challenge. The creativity, the fast-paced induced adrenaline rush of posting every 24 hours, the community spirit, and at times, the frustrating but glorious intensity.

This year I chose to write poems inspired by movies about addiction and absolution. I write often about the importance of honouring our emotions, about allowing ourselves to sit with the darkness, kicking at it until it bleeds light, but every now and then I resist the complete vulnerability and surrender that any sort of healing needs. So as April approached I took stock of my progress so far: two years of sobriety; an understanding and acceptance of my triggers; the warmth and affection that had grown in key relationships with loved ones; and the knowledge of what I felt I still needed to work on.

It was my intention to reach deep down to the dark, murky, frightening depths with both hands and pull hard against what needed to be uprooted, clearing away the weeds and plastic debris that were stunting my growth. I hoped to reveal, better understand, and become more accepting and appreciative of the dark emotions I keep at bay. I was ready, or so I thought.

Don’t get me wrong, all in all, this year’s challenge exceeded all expectations. For one, I reached the depths I wanted to and spent more time there than I cared to in the end. Even though I’ve come away with several poems that are worth shaping and rewriting, my plan to use movies about addiction as triggers worked better that I’d anticipated.

The shift was gradual and I did not notice it at first. But by the time I’d reached the middle of the alphabet I was staying in bed longer on mornings, wide-eyed with the covers to my chin, unsure and a little afraid of what the day would bring. My meditative morning habit – a cup of ginger tea on my front porch with an inspiring book – had been replaced with reviewing the difficult poem I’d written the night before, and I was no longer jumping out of bed looking forward to my day. I had underestimated my vulnerabilities. The writing challenge theme I’d set for myself, together with two unexpected life events, affected me adversely. I won’t be doing something like this again. At least not without setting some boundaries and safe zones first.

There were breakthroughs as well, which I am grateful for, with poems like The Quiet, which makes me so uncomfortable to read even though I wrote it, and Thirteen, which I wrote when I came to an understanding about my relationship with my mother. I think if there is anything I am truly happy about is turning that corner with my Mom. It was my last important relationship to heal and I believe that now I can begin doing just that.

In the end, and today I am grateful for the opportunity to learn. I am not invincible. I cannot, ever, underestimate my triggers nor the importance of boundaries. I am grateful for loved ones (online and IRL) who supported me through this “mad experiment” and never judged me for it. It has helped me to be gentler with myself and keep my own Judge in check. I even have to send a nod to the Universe for crashing my laptop two weeks into the challenge. I chuckle to myself now when I think about it. Perhaps the Universe was sending me a message after all.

Love and light,

Phoenix

Ikiru (1956)

Ikiru (meaning: to live; to be alive)

Ikiru (meaning: to live; to be alive)

“Life is brief / Fall in love, maidens / before the crimson bloom fades from your lips / before the tides of passion cool within you / for those of you who know no tomorrow.”

2nd February 2014 to 11th April 2016:
1 new hat, one healthier liver
2 clear eyes, two lungs more pink than grey
3 new career paths with ladybirds on sunflowers
4 loves given a reboot
5 community projects that bring the sunshine
7 writing partners with Mad Hatter hats
8 dear friendships strengthened and deepened
17 pounds of excess weight lost
27 articles published, with blushes (did I write that?)
43 new poems I’ve grown so fond of
91 sober blogging friends I could not do this without
100 revealing blogposts
216 times I chose not to drink
324 packs of cigarettes I chose not to buy
800 life-changing days of sobriety
48,600 TT dollars I did not spend on alcohol
69,120,000 seconds of hard truths and lessons, of learning self-care and self-respect.
1,152,000 minutes of healing and hope, with growth, gifts and gratitude.
19,200 hours and me, here now with a newborn lust for life, embracing joy, passion and pride.
800 days of being in love with living.

~*~

My 2016 A to Z Blogging Challenge Theme:

Pieces They Left Behind: Poems inspired by Movies about Addiction & Absolution

Copyright © 2016 by Phoenix, author of Shadow. Ash. Spirit. Flame. All rights reserved. This poem or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author.

The Universe In My Mouth

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Hannibal Lecter: “I’ve always found the idea of death comforting. The thought that my life could end at any moment frees me to fully appreciate the beauty, and art, and horror of everything this world has to offer.”

While somewhat morbid I actually understand what Hannibal meant. About a year after I gave up drinking and smoking, after the months of self-analysis and clarity that hit me square in the face, after the dizzying euphoria of my body healing and beginning to function well, and after the initial sadness and subsequent mourning period for a decade lost, I developed a marked lust for life.

While I’ve always loved so many aspects of life, I found my appetite for wanting more growing. I truly felt, and still do feel, like I’ve been given a second chance and the happiness I feel about that is made even sweeter because of the role I played in being rewarded with this second chance.

I’m proud of myself for recognizing that to successfully stop drinking was not only go to be about abstaining but also about having the courage to dig deep down to find and understand the reasons for wanting a numbing escape. I am grateful that I endeavoured to be compassionate with myself, to see myself as worth fighting for, and for making a commitment to do what needs to be done.

I have been releasing what does not work for me and what I no longer need. It takes time though, months in some cases, changing habits, de-cluttering my apartment, my computer (tablet and phone), sorting through clothes to donate, healing or letting go of unhealthy relationships. But for every item, bad habit, toxic relationship I get rid of, the clearer and wider the way opens for all the good stuff to find its way to me. I get nervous and excited at the thought of new good things heading my way, and sometimes I can’t wait!

I want to fling my arms wide open, reach out and wrap my arms around ALL of it – the whole Earth, around everyone. I want to talk to people and cry and laugh with them as they tell me their stories, I want to travel. I’ve never been more than 5000 km from my home (and that was only once). I’ve never crossed the Atlantic. The urge I had as a teenager to study ancient cities is now stronger than ever fueled by some underlying sense that I am destined to walk those historical streets. I am pushing my creative boundaries and finding new ways to express myself. And I want more. I want to learn more, create more, say more, do more. For the first time in a really long time I honestly believe I can make a difference in this world. I feel like the Hindu god Krishna, with the whole universe in my mouth. I have so much to offer. So do you my friend. It is time to get to work.

From my second chance to yours,
Phoenix

~*~

On February 6th 2014, four days after I stopped drinking alcohol, I started this blog. My two-year soberversary is fast approaching and my January posts, inspired by fictional philosophers who’ve inspired me with their bad-ass thoughts, is a way of celebrating my journey. I hope, in turn, to inspire you on yours.

It’s Never Too Late For Daughters

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For what it’s worth: it’s never too late or, in my case, too early to be whoever you want to be. There’s no time limit, stop whenever you want. You can change or stay the same, there are no rules to this thing. We can make the best or the worst of it. I hope you make the best of it. And I hope you see things that startle you. I hope you feel things you never felt before. I hope you meet people with a different point of view. I hope you live a life you’re proud of. If you find that you’re not, I hope you have the strength to start all over again.” ~ Benjamin Button to his daughter.

A few months ago I participated in a metaphysical workshop which taught me how to sever ties with people and events that have caused pain. These ties, or cords, connect us with people, places, objects and situations that have meaning to us. They are made of astral and etheric energy stretching between the two, very much like an umbilical cord, and transfering emotional energy and chi, no matter how physically far apart we are from the person or how long ago the situation occured. We create these ties because it is a natural way for us to interact with other people and communicate with the surrounding world. Some cords are beneficial and create a nurturing sharing of energy and information, as with healthy relationships between family members and good friends. The more energy is being exchanged (healthy or unhealthy) through a cord, the stronger it will be. Sometimes when we end unhealthy relationships or move away from unhealthy situations these cords remain, painfully binding us on an emotional and energetic level. Most of us find these cords, or ties, very diffcult to remove. We carry around hurt, pain and anguish because we are still connected to the source of that pain.

When I signed up for the workshop I knew I had a cord to sever with my father. I wanted to sever the tie that connected my heart to his judgmental words and to the emotional indifference that I remember of our shared past. There were more cords to sever as well which tied me to other people and situations, but I had decided beforehand that this one with Dad had to be dealt with first, and then I’d allow whatever / whoever was next to reveal themselves to me. (That story is for another day!)

The Best Relationship

I was open to the experience, wanting more than anything, to heal myself and allow our relationship to improve. Six months prior, at a Closeness, Distance and Intimacy in Relationships workshop, I promised myself that I would do my part to develop the relationship I wanted with my Dad: a loving, supportive and open one with reassurances of love and affection; where we would enjoy each other’s company and have freedom of discussion without judgment; with acceptance and guidance from both sides and I wanted us to feel proud of each other. I wanted us to forgive each other and appreciate what each could bring to the relationship.

What We Were

I did try. For the first few weeks. I remembered my promise to myself to reach out more, and to be more patient and understanding and accepting of him. I knew it would not be easy as when it comes to my father I’d carried around particular fears for so long: fear of judgment, fear of rejection, and the fear of effort without reward or appreciation. I actively worked to think more positively about our relationship but to be honest I was not giving my all to do my part. It was because in the back of my mind, and locked away in a box in my heart, I still stored those fears and pain from the past.

Letting Go of Dad? 

So, when the opportunity came to get past those fears and blocks I took it. During the workshop, we prepared ourselves through meditation and when the time came to cut the ties participants were encouraged to visualize the person we wished to sever ties with. I closed my eyes and pictured Dad walking toward me. I saw the fine threads that connected us and I began to weep. Tears streamed down my cheeks and I just could not do it. I was afraid that I would lose him altogether. But I knew that it had to be done. I had to cut the ties between us that were harmful to our relationship. I took a deep breath and repeated the required words until I felt calm. All was quiet in my mind and you know what? He was still there, but there were no more bad feelings, only love. The workshop took a lot out of me but I was hopeful.

In the weeks that followed, little by little, things started happening.

I started back calling to say hi, how’re you doing. With my sister and little nephew now living abroad there are spaces left in his life. He has been calling to check up on me too.
Dad does not come to my side of the island often but now when he does, he calls and schedules lunch or asks to meet so that he can give me avocados from the tree at home.

One day an ex-boyfried from two decades ago sent me a photo via a whatsapp message. It was a copy of the Dictionary of Quotations and Proverbs, that looked strangely familiar. His message stated that he believed the book to be mine. I asked him if my name was on the inside (back then I put my name on all my books). His next message was a photo of the inside cover. It was inscribed: “To Phoenix, Love Daddy, Christmas 1985.” I cried. I would have been 13 years old when he gave this book to me. Maybe back then I’d already fallen in love with words. 1985 was before my parents split up and I took it as a reminder that there were moments of love between us and that those are the things I should remember.

The Dad who was there all along

And I did. In the following weeks I remembered things that I’d forgotten about: the two-story dollhouses he built by hand, one yellow and one green, for my sister and me; the many times he drove for over an hour after midnight to pick us up from nightclubs when we were in our late teens, before we learned to drive, and when we did learn, he still drove for an hour to meet us and follow us home, (we lived too far for friends to give us a lift you see); the time when in his own way he offered wisdom and comfort after my first breakup with my best friends. Stories I’d overheard of his difficult childhood also surfaced in my mind and my understanding and compassion for him grew. I recognized the meaning behind him saying that one of his regrets in life was that he did not provide a safe home. He had said it was important for fathers to do that for their daughters, should they ever need a place to return to.

About six weeks after the cord-cutting workshop I went to visit him and we had a really good conversation, about life, purpose, philosophy mostly. We’ve had these discussions in the past but I’d always been tense, feeling unheard and foolish and very sensitive to perceived criticism, even if he merely had a difference of opinion. This time I felt more relaxed and comfortable sharing my views and ideas because I was no longer equating agreement with his acceptance of me. I was calm in my thinking and speaking and there were no signs of the the old desperate need to say something that he liked so that I could prove that I was worthy of love. I was very happy. The most incredible thing of all? When I was leaving that day, as I got to the door and turned around to say my goodbyes he reached out and pulled me to him, embracing me as he kissed my cheek. My father – the emotionally distant, prone to withholding affection, uncomfortable with expressing emotions other than anger and frustration father – hugged me. It was a brief hug but meant so much.

When my sister and I hosted an art exhibition last October, he came. And after he left I saw that he’d signed “So proud, Daddy” in our guest book. That was huge for me, for my sister too, as they are words he’d never said to us before.

Clear the way of negatives, so the positives can rush in.

There is still room for improvement but I guess the point of my post is this: If you can clear the way to better relationships with the people who matter to you, it is possible to heal. We can’t change events and situations that happened in the past but we can change how we react to them now. We can change the value we place on them and we can choose to let go. When we cut ties that no longer serve us, the healthy ties remain, and with openness and love can become definitive and grow stronger.

“I don’t know what frightens me more, the power that crushes us, or our endless ability to endure it. It’s forgiveness that makes us what we are. Without forgiveness, our species would’ve annihilated itself in endless retributions. Without forgiveness, there would be no history. Without that hope, there would be no art, for every work of art is in some way an act of forgiveness. Without that dream, there would be no love, for every act of love is in some way a promise to forgive. We live on and because we can love, and we love because we can forgive.” ~ Gregory David Roberts

~*~

On February 6th 2014, four days after I stopped drinking alcohol, I started this blog. My two-year soberversary is fast approaching and my January posts, inspired by thought-provoking quotes by fictional philosophers, is a way of celebrating my journey. I hope, in turn, to inspire you on yours.

Love, not time, heals all wounds

Print by Enjo Mathew

Print by Enjo Mathew

“I’ve learned… That love, not time, heals all wounds.” ~ Andy Rooney

A friend posted that on facebook last year and it made an impression on me because it struck as me as completely true. Having known people who are still harbouring hurt and anger over circumstances that happened years ago, and knowing people who seem to be able to quickly let go and move on, it seems as though Time is not the deciding factor in healing. Time may allow us the opportunity to fine tune our masks, perfect burying our heads in the sand, and hone our defensive skills, but true healing can only take place with Love.

Nanice Ellis wrote, “every time we talk about an unhealed wound or trauma, we re-activate it in our emotional, spiritual and physical bodies. As we speak, or even think, about an old issue, we experience it as if it is happening right now. Since our subconscious mind does not know the difference between current experience and past memory, for all intents and purposes, the trauma or negative experience is happening now.”

When we re-activate old painful memories, our thoughts, words and emotions create a negative energy that we unknowingly project out into our future. This energy manifests in more painful experiences, similar to the original issue. In other words, when issues come up without resolution, a pattern develops. When I look at my past behaviour I can see how this can be possible.

According to her article, each time this pattern manifests in real life situations, we re-experience the original wound and the current hurt simultaneously. When this occurs, we have a powerful opportunity to heal the past wound by healing the current one. “Wounds are meant to be healed. We are not meant to spend our lives carrying around past issues and hurts. Unhealed issues weigh us down, keep us asleep and prevent us from consciously creating. It is only our personal issues that stop us from experiencing our greatest potential.”

I’m not made of steel. I too have residual hurt from wounds sustained long ago. But instead of ignoring my feelings or pushing them away, I take deep breaths and wrap my heart in love as it fills up with every breath. I send love to the source of my hurt and to myself. I write a letter from my heart, wishing only love.

My Beating Heart

Artwork by Michael Parkes

Artwork by Michael Parkes

“Once. I was on a trek in the Andes, and a hummingbird flew up to me and just hovered there staring at me. Its tiny heart was pattering like a machine gun… And I thought, what a thing, you know, to have to work that hard every day just to stay alive, to be constantly on the verge of death, and how satisfying every day must be that it survived” ~ Klaus Mikaelson

The human body is remarkable in the way it is designed to repair and heal itself. With the exception of serious illnesses or compromised immune systems, from the moment we sustain an injury or get sick, our bodies begin repairing. Blood clots, new cells replace old or damaged ones, muscle tissue regenerates. When I gave up drinking, I understood that I would experience physical withdrawal symptoms until the alcohol was completely out of my system, and I also understood that healing would take time. For me, I started feeling healthier about six weeks after I quit. By then my sleeping and eating habits had normalized. My energy levels were higher than ever and I steered more of it toward enjoying life instead of fighting hangovers.

A few months ago I went in for my annual physical and after listening to my heartbeat my doctor recommended that I schedule an echo cardiogram. She explained that it was probably nothing to be concerned about, but she was hearing a ‘snap’ in the mistral valve of my heart. She explained what the mistral valve was and what may have been creating the sound she heard through her stethoscope. Of course when I got to work that day I googled and learned all about the mistral valve and put myself in a nice little state of panic. After a few deep breaths I decided not to worry until there was something to worry about, after all the appointment was a week away and I didn’t want to spend seven whole days worrying and imagining the worst.

The day of the echo cardiogram I arrived at the lab early and while I waited, chatted with an elderly lady who was also scheduled for the same scan. Having been in and out of hospitals for problems with her heart, she was worried because the prognosis for her ailment was not good. I didn’t know what to say to her.

When it was my turn in the exam room, I removed my shirt, and lay down as I was asked. The technician came in, set up the monitor and explained what he was going to do. I knew from my research on the net that it was more or less the same equipment used when performing a sonogram to see unborn babies. Then I heard a squoosh-woosh, squoosh-woosh sound and looking at the monitor saw my heart pumping away. It was fascinating. Almost as cool as seeing a baby on the monitor.

The technician looked at my heart from three different perspectives, and explained which image showed my mistral valve. The squoosh-woosh sound continued and I felt so very protective of my own heart. It actually seemed vulnerable, which made me feel guilty for ever doing things that were bad for my heart. Things like way too much alcohol and thousands of cigarettes, poor diet and not exercising. My heart was working so faithfully to keep me alive and I had been completely disregarding that fact for most of my life.

I started to feel better when the technician said that all seemed well. What a relief. I was very grateful. Then the doc came in and confirmed the technician’s opinion, “Yes…”, he said, studying the images, “Yes, you have one happy healthy heart there.” I liked that. ‘Happy healthy heart.’

From my Happy Healthy Heart to yours: Be kind to your hearts and take care of them. They work hard to keep you alive, and they give you the chance to see all the beauty, love, and magic in this world.

Take care of each other’s hearts too.

~*~

On February 6th 2014, four days after I stopped drinking alcohol, I started this blog. My two-year soberversary is fast approaching and my January posts, inspired by fictional philosophers who’ve inspired me with their bad-ass thoughts, is a way of celebrating my journey. I hope, in turn, to inspire you on yours.

From the Tao of Pooh

Motisfont Christopher Robin and Pooh playing poohsticks creditThe E.H. Shepard Trust reproduced by permission of Curtis Brown Group Ltd

“Promise me you’ll always remember: You’re braver than you believe, and stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think.” ~ Christopher Robin to Pooh

I’ve been writing and rewriting cover letters and resumes for the past month. I’m leaving a job where I’ve been involved in sales for the last 15 years and I have to say it’s been challenging figuring out how to sell myself.

So many of us who have had issues with alcohol (or have issues with addictive behaviour for that matter) are uncomfortable coming to terms with and expressing our worth. We feel ashamed and broken and tend to focus on all the ways we don’t measure up. So imagine my quandry: How do I convince a new company that an alcohol abuser with residual psychological issues from past trauma and poor choices is the best fit for their open position?

By coming to terms with, and believing, that those things are only a part of me and do not make up the whole of me. They are not ALL of who I am. So I sat down with a blank piece of paper and started taking notes. I thought about the strengths a journey like this allows us to develop:

Courage and Resilience
Compassion and Benevolence
Discipline and Analytical Skills (you know, the overthinking!)
Honesty and Accountability

And you know what? I started to feel better about myself. I could do this. I forced myself not to give in to doubt and I called up a few trusted friends. I asked them what they considered to be my assets. I was humbled, grateful and touched by what they had to say. Sometimes our friends see us in ways that we can’t, especially when Ms Doubt and Mr Self Sabotage walk next to us so often, whispering tales from our negative core beliefs.

In each person who has found the courage to admit the truth and tackle their addictive behaviour there are reserves of strength we should not take for granted. We are resilient because we won’t give up. If we falter we will try again, simply because we already know how to begin. We begin again, because we have to, carrying what we’ve learned every step of the way.

~*~

On February 6th 2014, four days after I stopped drinking alcohol, I started this blog. My two-year soberversary is fast approaching and my January posts, inspired by fictional philosophers who’ve inspired me with their bad-ass thoughts, is a way of celebrating my journey. I hope, in turn, to inspire you on yours.

All Change Begins With A Plan

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“All change begins with a plan, the success of which depends upon several things: depth of commitment, passion for one’s cause, willingness to embrace a new path, determination to overcome any obstacle, and in some cases, even making unnatural alliances.” ~ Klaus Mikaelson

On February 6th 2014, four days after I stopped drinking alcohol, I started this blog. My two-year soberversary is only a month away and the next month of posts, inspired by fictional philosophers who’ve inspired me with their bad-ass thoughts, is a way of celebrating my journey. I hope, in turn, to inspire you on yours.

All change begins with a plan

January is the month that many people make New Year resolutions to quit drinking, or at least, to not drink so much. When I made the decision to quit it was not the first time I’d said “That’s it! I’m NEVER drinking again. By that time in my life, I’d made that statement more times that I could remember, usually on the morning (or afternoon) after a night of heavy drinking. I’d be nursing the hangover from hell, trying with a very foggy brain to remember details of the night before, hoping and praying that I hadn’t said or done anything I’d really regret. Sounds familiar? So what made this declaration different than the ones before? For one thing, I’d just found out that I was in danger of losing the person I’d hurt this time. It was my sister and she had had enough. It was a wake-up call. I was full of remorse for what I’d done, disappointed in and more than angry and fed-up with myself. I was scared too. How many times was I going to do this to myself and to the people I care about? Why was it so hard to simply behave!? But you see, there wasn’t anything simple about my drinking at all. It was time to face facts: I had a problem, needed to get help and had to do whatever it took to deal.

Commitment, passion, openness, and determination

Deciding to give up drinking is an emotional, mental and physical struggle I remember very well. For years I suspected I had a problem and was terrified to admit it. I was afraid that it would mean that I was broken and a mess, which (in my way of thinking back then) would mean that I was unworthy and unlovable. I was afraid that I would have to give up my keys to The Little World of Block-It-All-Out and be left with no way to escape all those issues I was running from. I wasn’t ready to spend time with real me because I believed myself to be ugly and shameful.

I had tried quitting or at least curbing my drinking before. Especially after particularly embarrassing episodes or near misses. I tried “not drinking during the week” or limiting my consumption, you know, with the “three drinks minimum”. I changed what I drank and who I hung out with. I “had it under control.” But the truth was, I didn’t want to give it up, or to be more honest, I didn’t want to be the girl who had to give it up. So no amount of rules or agendas would’ve worked. When I finally got fed up enough with myself and knew I had no choice, I knew that this time, I was quitting for ME. In my heart I believe that this made all the difference in the world.

I made some phone calls and asked for advice on where to go. I went to a meeting and started this blog to hold myself accountable. I knew it was not going to be easy but I also knew that nothing was going to make me give up. When I quit drinking I quickly found out that I had let alcohol become a habitual way to deal with so many emotions: anger, hurt, loneliness, frustration, fear. Of course, I wasn’t really dealing with any emotion. I was in the “efficient” habit of numbing what I felt. In actuality, the numbing and “escaping” only served to push the difficult emotions deep down into my psyche, where they prevented any real growth on my part. Once I figured that out the real work began.

Making unnatural alliances

I had to become a friend, to myself. Before you think I’m referring to the “I have to learn to love myself” philosophy that’s all the rage, let me stop you right there. I mean, I had to get to KNOW myself. I know I did not quit drinking for my sister but her actions that day forced me to look at the kind of person I was. Who I knew myself to be deep down inside was not the person on the outside. The Me on the outside was drowning in alcohol related side effects and becoming someone who had no understanding of herself and honestly did not like herself very much. I needed to understand myself, simple as that. I had to dig deep to find the source of my triggers and negative core beliefs, and rewire my thinking process with compassion and acceptance. It’s a work in progress but it is doable. I’m proof of that.

Quitting Drinking for 2016

If you’ve come across my blog because you’re wondering if you have a problem with alcohol maybe this can help clear it up:

I was a binge drinker. Which means that I didn’t drink every day, or got drunk every time I drank, but I had problems with limits. By the time I reached my low point I was drinking at least three times for the week and getting drunk about four times for the month. Once or twice a year I’d get drunk enough to have to rely on loved ones to drive me home. Oh and most importantly, I used alcohol as a means of escape instead of dealing with life. Long story short, all binge drinkers can and, if their habits are not checked, will become alcoholics at some point. What happens next, is up to you.

Love, light and courage,

Phoenix

 

You’re Kind of a Great Mess

You're kind of a great mess

“You’ve been hanging around here, trying to make yourself invisible behind this fragile little fuck-up routine of yours, but you can’t. You’re anything but invisible. You’re big. And you’re kind of a great mess, like a candle burning on both ends, but it’s beautiful. No amount or booze or weed or attitude is going to hide that.” ~ Birdman: Or (The Unexpected Virtue of Ignorance)

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the way we treat ourselves. Even those of us without obvious addictions. Many of my friends, beautiful, wonderfully creative and caring people, hurt themselves in so many ways. A few of us have trouble with recognizable addictions like alcohol and cigarettes, toxic relationships, unhealthy eating habits, too many hours at work, etc. For many of us, our negative habits are more internal: we put ourselves down, decry aspects of our bodies, doubt our worth, sabotage our potential and can be outright nasty when talking to own hearts. We say “I’m not good enough” far too often. We make ourselves so much smaller than we really are.

“The world beats you up on its own without you doing it to yourself.”  (The Way, 2010)

Nowadays, there is so much pressure to BE something else: more successful in business, finding the right partner, looking the right way, buying the right things, that it is no wonder so many of us think we don’t measure up to some preconceived notion of what we believe society expects us to be. By aiming to check things off on an impossible list we have forgotten how to trust our own hearts. Figuring out what are our passions, our strengths, the ways in which we can give back to the community or serve mankind. This kind of thinking is not usually encouraged and these goals are not made priorities. There’s so much pressure to become this or that, that little value is placed on just being true to ourselves.

Right now, all I want for myself and my friends (that includes you), is for us to be good to ourselves. To not make ourselves small by hiding and running away from our issues. To not hide parts of ourselves in shame. To recognize that it’s okay to have struggled and suffered and come out on the other side and to understand that it’s okay to celebrate that too. To be patient and tender and supportive if we’re still finding our way through. To honour that place inside that whispers wishes and hopes and tells us what we really want. Listen for it, underneath all the harsh words and cruel doubts. I know it’s hard to reach that place, to believe in that truth, especially if for years, we’ve been hearing something else. We ALL have good in us and deserve kindness and care, and deserve to stand up for ourselves, even if it’s to stand up to our own selves sometimes.

I get that it’s easier sometimes to be hard on ourselves, about our appearance or our progress toward our goals. But trying is what’s important. Reaching out to ask for help or to help others; doing the work to understand ourselves better; hoping, believing and trusting that we are all improving, fall backs and all, are the things that really matter.

As Spike told Buffy: “I love who you are, what you do, and how you try. You are very brave. I’ve seen your kindness and your strength and your weaknesses. I’ve seen the best and the worst of you. Everything that you are, makes you beautiful.” Okay granted, Buffy was fighting vampires and other supernatural demons but we’re fighting our own demons too aren’t we? And we make messes and cry and scream against the madness and we try. Because we try and we fight, we are all the more beautiful in my eyes.

Love and light,

Phoenix