Good Saturday morning to y’all. I need you to know that I only have a laptop on the weekends, as mine took a crapola last week. Of course, my husband offered to take me to Best Buy this weekend, but I am not ready. Very interesting…a week ago I felt like someone took my nubby-How Will I Ever Exist? I won’t be able to write, go on Twatter, see the REAL news. Yet God, in His infinite wisdom, had much greater plans. Goosebumps….
Let’s just say that I had been way too preoccupied with the web, and with my addictive personality? I had cut down on pc time, but still carried the computer with me, room to room. True confession time: I took it to the bathroom with me. Don’t judge me, that room is the only room in the house with a door! Sometimes a girl needs to breathe. So, while my husband, friends and support network were extremely concerned (I have to say, my brother was probably ready to send for the men in white coats-haha!) Wouldn’t that be special? My sister tried to have me committed to a facility the night I tried to take my own life-wise, you are saying to yourselves. I just covered my ears until the social worker on duty promised me there would be no psychiatric institutions. The very next morning they released me, gave me an Atarax (boy, if I could get my hands on some of those babies-but nah, just the drug addict in me) which allowed me to sleep my entire first day of sobriety away….giving my man time to drain the booze, and anything expensive was given to the neighbors.
When I awoke that stormy October afternoon, back in 2007? I went directly for the booze cupboard, searching for something-anything alcoholic-to my surprise I found a jug of white wine. I sat that baby on the table and we had a talk, until Jesus intervened.
My precious child, when? When will you say enough? How much more of this life will you waste?
That did it. I put the jug back where it belonged and waited it out. This would be the beginning of years of cravings, big and small. Relapses. Drinking upstate without my husband’s knowledge-at the beautiful cabin we are gifted access to from time to time-I knew that was a big bowl of WRONG, yet I couldn’t, or wouldn’t give that once a year libation up-and one day, I thought of all of the miracles that Jesus had performed for me, personal triumphs, freedom from cancer, the very fact that I was alive and breathing spoke volumes to me.
What if I made a covenant with God? What if in exchange for all He has done, I put away the thought of ever drinking alcohol again, and prayed for Him to give me the strength to do so.
That conversation took place a year ago.
Not. One. Craving.
I could not give up on the worldwide web, the loss was profound…and if I can tell you anything about myself, I can tell you that I am highly adaptable to almost any situation. They say it takes two weeks to form a habit, and that is why I said “No thanks,” when Dwain offered to buy me a lap top. I am perfectly content writing on the weekends, and once I am convinced my internet addiction is tamed? Only then will I purchase new equipment.
It turns out? I have a life to live. I cannot fathom the chunks of time I wasted, sitting in my hidy hole, reading every bit of the Great Awakening news I could find… I went down Rabbit Holes no person in their right mind would want to travel. And again, once I got the monkey off of my back? I began getting things done. Actually working on the farmhouse, baking, cooking, finding me again.
My husband drove out to New Hampshire for a business trip last week. And so it was, on Monday evening, the house quiet, no music, no television-that I found a picture of me and my father.
“Wow. I always hated this picture of myself. Not so much anymore, huh dad? Umm…it’s/been/hard…” The words tumbled from my mouth, and before I knew it, I was crying-my body wracked with emotional pain, I sensed something huge was in the air.
Jesus spoke to me again.
Child, it is time to let go of your shame.
Was I hearing Abba correctly? Why, I didn’t realize I still carried it with me, the deep seated self loathing. It took some time, but everything came together, as if a giant piece of the puzzle had been found. I turned the pain into gratitude, as I remembered why I had such shame to begin with.
As a child, I knew shame. My mother would go for days without speaking to me, and for the life of me, I truly never knew what provoked her ire. I stopped a moment to think about what deep shame could do to a child in her formative years. Eventually, I would buy her a card or pick her flowers. I came across one such card in my mother’s bible just a while back.
Mom, I just wanted you to know that I’m sorry, and I love you very much.
In school I suffered total shame because of my weight. The kids were cruel, and the taunting was so persistent? It took me well into my thirties before I could jog or walk past a group of teens. No matter that I had lost the weight, I still felt the shame.
In High School, considered a jock and oddball, (Varsity Crew Coxswain) I began to realize that this wasn’t going to resolve itself, but I had no idea where to begin. At Villanova, my shame came from not having or being enough. Surrounded by incredibly wealthy and beautiful people, I made up a story about being a Jontue model. Unfortunately, people not only believed me, they spread the word. I mean, who doesn’t want to be friends with a famous model, right? In college I learned to reinvent myself, and the only person I was hurting was me. Why wasn’t I enough?
After college, my drinking career became legend in some parts of King of Prussia. I began seeking attention (love) through a series of promiscuous love affairs-and the reputation stuck. I began doing cocaine as a way to lift my spirits and self esteem; what could possibly go wrong?
The day I found myself on the doorstep of my rented home, due to losing an eight ball of coke. I had given my brother a birthday party, and while I had my back turned, one of my nearest and dearest friends (I had only invited people we were very close to) had lifted the bag I had hidden, way in the back of my closet, under a stack of love letters. I had promised Ted, my landlord, that I would sell it all that night. There are no words to express my horror at finding I had been robbed. I had no money to give him, and that didn’t sit well, not at all.
Ted sold drugs for the Gambino crime family.
I went on the run. My room mate and best friend, Mel, beside me-we drove away like bats out of hell, and didn’t look back, not once.
So, with my worsening alcoholism and drug addiction, there were reasons to be ashamed. And as I sat in my bedroom, weeping between the litter boxes, I asked myself this question:
What is there to be ashamed of now? Why do you feel unworthy? Why do you punish yourself for simply existing?
Let me light my lamp, says the tiny star; and never debate whether it will dispel the darkness.
– Rabindranath Tagore
May you shed your shame like the cloak of darkness it has become.
You are special, unique and loved-let your freak flag fly, baby~