HUMILITY
To the humble man, and to the humble man alone,
the sun is really a sun;
to the humble man, and to the humble man alone,
the sea is really a sea.
G.K. Chesterton
Before I started recovery, lack of clarity was all around me and within me. There was too much fear. I was unable to acknowledge: This is who I am, and this is what's going on, no more, and no less. I was afraid to name my husband's abusive behaviour. I was afraid to name my complicity in it. I was afraid to name who I was and what I wanted and needed, and I was afraid to name the behaviour of those around me who wanted me to fit into their mould. My husband was scared silly that one day the world would find out that we weren't the perfect family.
So I was not humble. I kept nurturing the fog that covered what was really going on. And boy, was I good at it. I kind of had an inkling that something wasn't right, so, semi-consciously, I made sure that my denial was watertight. I knew that if we pretended that we were a 100% perfect family, there might be suspicions. So I made sure I'd slip in a little problem here and there.
At one point, luckily, I allowed the bubble to burst. I started naming things, loud and clear. I named them to the police, I named them to my friends and family, I named them in my poetry. I started playing with another 12-step program.
But it took me another twelve years to name that I was an overeater. In those years I gained another 70 pounds (with some yoyo dieting thrown in, of course). Humbly admitting that, yes, really, I was an overeater, was the best thing I've done since ridding my family of my abusive spouse. I humbly admitted that I had been abusing myself with my eating behaviours. Now I can see clearly. (I can also see more clearly how wounded my ex spouse is, making it easier for me to work on forgiving him).
One day at a time ... I accept the gift of humility. I am not afraid anymore to look reality in the eye - and what I see is as right as the sun and the sea.
~ I.M.
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Each Day a New Beginning
I want to dance always, to be good
and not evil, and, when it is all over, not to have the feeling that I
might have done better.
—Ruth St. Denis
Our wants in life may be simple, or they may be complex. They may yet be confused in our minds, but the clarity will come if we're patient. God has a way of giving us an "inner tug" when a certain direction beckons. Our responsibility is to follow that tug and trust it, fully. Too often we look back on our lives with regret. What is done, is done. We learned lessons from those mistakes. Every day is a new beginning. And we can close every day with no regrets when we have followed our consciences, that "inner tug" that beckons.
The opportunities will come today. Opportunities to be good or evil. Opportunities for making choices over which we will feel good or full of regret at the day's close. Many of our choices will bring us closer to the satisfaction, the contentment with life that we all search for as women, as human beings. We need not fear coming to life's close, wishing we had done more or better. Living each day in good conscience, waiting for the tug and following it, will ensure a life well lived.
My ego can block out the tug, if I let it. Or I can trust.
—Ruth St. Denis
Our wants in life may be simple, or they may be complex. They may yet be confused in our minds, but the clarity will come if we're patient. God has a way of giving us an "inner tug" when a certain direction beckons. Our responsibility is to follow that tug and trust it, fully. Too often we look back on our lives with regret. What is done, is done. We learned lessons from those mistakes. Every day is a new beginning. And we can close every day with no regrets when we have followed our consciences, that "inner tug" that beckons.
The opportunities will come today. Opportunities to be good or evil. Opportunities for making choices over which we will feel good or full of regret at the day's close. Many of our choices will bring us closer to the satisfaction, the contentment with life that we all search for as women, as human beings. We need not fear coming to life's close, wishing we had done more or better. Living each day in good conscience, waiting for the tug and following it, will ensure a life well lived.
My ego can block out the tug, if I let it. Or I can trust.
From Each Day a New Beginning: Daily Meditations for Women by Karen Casey
© 1982, 1991 by Hazelden Foundation.
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Food for Thought
Dependency
In the past, we used excess food as a crutch, and we developed a false dependency on it. We turned to unnecessary food to calm us down, to cheer us up, and to avoid facing our problems. As a cure-all, food let us down. Rather than solving our problems, overeating multiplied them.
As human beings, there are many times when we are weak and dependent. If we say we can go it alone, we are whistling in the dark and deluding ourselves. We need to rely on a Power greater than ourselves, but food is not that Power. What we need to find is the Power strong enough to sustain our dependency.
Accepting the fact that we are dependent, that we cannot manage our lives by ourselves--this is the beginning of recovery. We need to be humble, open, and willing to be led by those who have replaced their false dependency on food with a healthy dependency on God.
Lord, may I not be too proud to be dependent on You.
In the past, we used excess food as a crutch, and we developed a false dependency on it. We turned to unnecessary food to calm us down, to cheer us up, and to avoid facing our problems. As a cure-all, food let us down. Rather than solving our problems, overeating multiplied them.
As human beings, there are many times when we are weak and dependent. If we say we can go it alone, we are whistling in the dark and deluding ourselves. We need to rely on a Power greater than ourselves, but food is not that Power. What we need to find is the Power strong enough to sustain our dependency.
Accepting the fact that we are dependent, that we cannot manage our lives by ourselves--this is the beginning of recovery. We need to be humble, open, and willing to be led by those who have replaced their false dependency on food with a healthy dependency on God.
Lord, may I not be too proud to be dependent on You.
From Food for Thought: Daily Meditations for Overeaters by Elisabeth L.
©1980, 1992 by Hazelden Foundation.
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The Language of Letting Go
Strength
We don't always have to be strong. Sometimes, our strength is expressed in being vulnerable. Sometimes, we need to fall apart to regroup and stay on track.
We all have days when we cannot push any harder, cannot hold back self-doubt, cannot stop focusing on fear, cannot be strong.
There are days when we cannot focus on being responsible. Occasionally we don't want to get out of our pajamas. Sometimes, we cry in front of people. We expose our tiredness, irritability, or anger.
Those days are okay. They are just okay.
Part of taking care of ourselves means we give ourselves permission to "fall apart" when we need to. We do not have to be perpetual towers of strength. We are strong. We have proven that. Our strength will continue if we allow ourselves the courage to feel scared, weak, and vulnerable when we need to experience those feelings.
Today, God, help me to know that it is okay to allow myself to be human. Help me not to feel guilty or punish myself when I need to "fall apart."
We don't always have to be strong. Sometimes, our strength is expressed in being vulnerable. Sometimes, we need to fall apart to regroup and stay on track.
We all have days when we cannot push any harder, cannot hold back self-doubt, cannot stop focusing on fear, cannot be strong.
There are days when we cannot focus on being responsible. Occasionally we don't want to get out of our pajamas. Sometimes, we cry in front of people. We expose our tiredness, irritability, or anger.
Those days are okay. They are just okay.
Part of taking care of ourselves means we give ourselves permission to "fall apart" when we need to. We do not have to be perpetual towers of strength. We are strong. We have proven that. Our strength will continue if we allow ourselves the courage to feel scared, weak, and vulnerable when we need to experience those feelings.
Today, God, help me to know that it is okay to allow myself to be human. Help me not to feel guilty or punish myself when I need to "fall apart."
From The Language of Letting Go by Melody Beattie
©1990, Hazelden Foundation
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Today's thought from Hazelden is:
Say when it's time to stop coping.
In her book Recovering from the Loss of a Child, author Katherine Fair Donnelly writes of a man whose infant daughter, Robyn, died from SIDS (sudden infant death syndrome). The child had died in the stroller, while the mother was out walking her. The father had stopped to get a haircut that day and was given a number for his turn.
"It was something he never did again in future years," Donnelly wrote. "He would never take a number at the barber's and always came home first to make sure everything was all right. Then he would go and get a haircut. It became one of the ways he found of coping."
I hate coping. It's not living. It's not being free. It reeks of surviving.
But sometimes it's the best we can do, for a while.
Eight years after my son died, I was signing the papers to purchase a home. It was the first home I had bought since his death. The night before he died, I had also signed papers to buy a new home. I didn't know that I had begun to associate buying a home with his death, until I noticed my hand trembling and my heart pounding as I finished signing the purchase agreement. For eight years, I had simply avoiding buying a home, renting one less-than-desirable place after another and complaining about the travails of being a renter. I only knew then that I was "never going to buy another house again." I didn't understand that I was coping.
Many of us find ways of coping. As children, we may have become very angry with our parents. Having no recourse, we may have said to ourselves, "I'll show them, I'm never going to do well at music, or sports, or studies again." As adults, we may deal with a loss, or death, by saying, "I'm always going to be nice to people and make them happy. Then they won't go away." Or we may deal with a betrayal by saying, "I'm never going to open my heart to a woman, or man, again."
Coping often includes making an incorrect connection between an event and our behavior. It may help us survive., but at some point our coping behaviors usually get in our way. They become habits and take on a life of their own. And although we think we're protecting ourselves or someone we love, we aren't.
Robyn didn't die because her father took a number and waited to get his hair cut.
My son didn't die because I brought a new house.
Are you keeping yourself from doing something that you really want to do as a means of coping with something that happened to you a long time ago? Cope if you must, if it helps save your life. But maybe today is the day you could set yourself free.
God, show me if I'm limiting myself and my life in some way by using an outdated coping behavior. Help me know that I'm safe and strong enough now to let that survival behavior go.
You are reading from the book: More Language of Letting Go by Melody Beattie
Say when it's time to stop coping.
In her book Recovering from the Loss of a Child, author Katherine Fair Donnelly writes of a man whose infant daughter, Robyn, died from SIDS (sudden infant death syndrome). The child had died in the stroller, while the mother was out walking her. The father had stopped to get a haircut that day and was given a number for his turn.
"It was something he never did again in future years," Donnelly wrote. "He would never take a number at the barber's and always came home first to make sure everything was all right. Then he would go and get a haircut. It became one of the ways he found of coping."
I hate coping. It's not living. It's not being free. It reeks of surviving.
But sometimes it's the best we can do, for a while.
Eight years after my son died, I was signing the papers to purchase a home. It was the first home I had bought since his death. The night before he died, I had also signed papers to buy a new home. I didn't know that I had begun to associate buying a home with his death, until I noticed my hand trembling and my heart pounding as I finished signing the purchase agreement. For eight years, I had simply avoiding buying a home, renting one less-than-desirable place after another and complaining about the travails of being a renter. I only knew then that I was "never going to buy another house again." I didn't understand that I was coping.
Many of us find ways of coping. As children, we may have become very angry with our parents. Having no recourse, we may have said to ourselves, "I'll show them, I'm never going to do well at music, or sports, or studies again." As adults, we may deal with a loss, or death, by saying, "I'm always going to be nice to people and make them happy. Then they won't go away." Or we may deal with a betrayal by saying, "I'm never going to open my heart to a woman, or man, again."
Coping often includes making an incorrect connection between an event and our behavior. It may help us survive., but at some point our coping behaviors usually get in our way. They become habits and take on a life of their own. And although we think we're protecting ourselves or someone we love, we aren't.
Robyn didn't die because her father took a number and waited to get his hair cut.
My son didn't die because I brought a new house.
Are you keeping yourself from doing something that you really want to do as a means of coping with something that happened to you a long time ago? Cope if you must, if it helps save your life. But maybe today is the day you could set yourself free.
God, show me if I'm limiting myself and my life in some way by using an outdated coping behavior. Help me know that I'm safe and strong enough now to let that survival behavior go.
You are reading from the book: More Language of Letting Go by Melody Beattie
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