Happy Mother's Day, Medea

If productivity was down in your workplace this week you can blame your mother. All across the community workers were lingering through their lunch hour in card stores reading and sighing. Buying a Mother’s Day card is not easy. 

For some, the card that says, “Mom, Thanks for being perfect” is fine, but for the rest of us, with complicated mothers and complicated relationships, the search for the right message is tough.

But even as children–of all ages--struggle to summarize their maternal relationship in a card, those on the receiving end have mixed feelings too. Most of us know we don’t come close to the platitudes in those greeting cards. What is a good mother? Do we measure up? On this day that celebrates kindness, patience and sacrifice many of us squirm remembering our less than ideal maternal moments; We wonder if we’ve done something really bad along the way and worry whether our worst day as a mother damaged our kids.

Mothers who hurt their children is a painful topic. The reality of mothers’ hostile impulses against their children is old news in psychological circles and parenting books, but we rarely allow parents to admit those feelings. Thank goodness, most of us don’t act on our thoughts, but some mothers have struggled with the limits and lost. When we hear about them, many of us know--in the privacy of our hearts--that it was just the grace of God, good friends, a reliable baby-sitter and money in the bank that kept us from taking their place.

 So maybe we should, especially on Mother’s Day, have some compassion for the mothers who lost it, those women who did the unthinkable; they hurt their own child. If some mothers weren’t so newsworthy for their sheer failure at mothering the rest of us would not know where to draw the line in self-judgment. We can count ourselves lucky and a little grateful that most of us have slapped but did not scald, screamed but did not hit, or cursed but did not kill. When we react to a child-abuse horror story with the common, “Can you imagine?” the truth is that most of us can. We owe a debt to those mothers because they give us the outside limit from which to measure our parenting. The “bad” mother relieves us of the shadowy fear we all carry.  

We can’t talk about bad mothers without mentioning Medea; the mythological woman who killed her kids to punish their philandering father. But Medea got to her breaking point after a world tour of abuse, abandonment and humiliation. After being dumped in a strange country with no way home, she lost it and she killed. Medea’s story is a myth but, as with all myths there is universal truth being revealed.  Nobody starts out wanting to kill their children; nobody starts out thinking scalding is reasonable discipline. It’s baby steps all the way. 

When we read about women who hurt their kids a healthy mother has to stop and ask herself, “How did that woman get there?

Every mother who lost it at least once, or who did something she swore she’d never do, can be grateful for everything that keeps her from crossing over to the territory of the terrible mother.

Alexander Solzhenitsyn, Russian novelist, wrote: “If only there were evil people somewhere committing evil deeds, and we could separate them from us and destroy them, but the line dividing good and evil cuts through the heart of every human being.” That includes yours and mine. 

So for Mother’s Day let’s thank the good mothers and show a moment of compassion for the “Medeas” of the world, who in their tragic solution to life’s problems show us where we ought not to go.

Balance--a Yoga Lesson in Long-term Recovery

I have just arrived home from two weeks of yoga training. Two weeks of doing daily yoga, and extra yoga posture training, and study of yoga philosophy, and the anatomy and physiology of yoga. In addition, there were lectures on Ayurvedic medicine, nutrition, psychology, and conscious communication.

So, yes it was very intense. And an emotional roller coaster at times. But here’s the thing: I loved it! I also knew—even at the hardest moments—that practicing my twelve-step life tools was carrying me through. 

One thing that was physically present was this question of balance. In my last post I wrote about the value of an unbalanced life—following a passion (like yoga an yoga teaching) is seriously unbalanced, even as, yoga brings more balance into one’s life.

Seem like a paradox? Yeah, it is, just like all the paradoxes in our Twelve-step programs.

One of the challenging tasks in these first two weeks of yoga teacher training was that we had to get up and start teaching within the first few days. Yeah, kinda intimidating to find my voice in this new area. But I also felt my recovery become full-bodied. I know how to chair a meeting, and how to stand up and share, and how to guide a newcomer. And I could draw on that.

I also heard myself say something that made me laugh: I was teaching the Tree Pose where you stand on one leg and put the other food on your calf or thigh and balance while breathing, and I heard myself say, “And you’ll feel yourself wobble a bit because balance is really made up of a million moments of being out of balance.”

Balance comes from out of balance. Our lives get balanced as the pendulum swings get smaller and smaller. We are coming out of the woods. 

In Defense of an Unbalanced Life

Over and over, almost like a mantra, so many of us are saying “I need to balance my life.”  Toward that end we fill our calendars outside of work with quality time with loved ones, and commitments –sometimes against the grain—to meditate or do yoga, to take classes or to volunteer. So many of us find ourselves doing little bits of lots of things and not feeling good about much of what we do. 

I realized this week that  “Balance my life” is just another item on the big to-do list in my head, and it’s another thing nagging at me that I should do.

Well, I’ve decided that balance is overrated. 

Think about it. People we admire, those who have made a difference or a contribution or who have a clear vocation lead remarkably unbalanced lives. Consider the greats in any field: Einstein? No balance at all; he was actually quite a weird guy. Thomas Edison? He never left the lab. Ditto for Marie Curie. Venus and Serena Williams? Tiger Woods? For serious athletes their entire family has to live on a tilt-a-whirl. 

It’s true for creative types too. Emily Dickinson? Edna St. Vincent Millay? We love their poems, but look at their lives. And statesmen? Saints? You get the idea.

So while in early recovery we needed to get some balance—we were seriously unbalanced in a bad way—in later recovery we need to find the good unbalance that celebrates who we really are and what matters in our lives. It might be home and family or a big career, or our creative work—the things we could never have done when we were using, or in early recovery when we were unbalanced in favor of learning this new way of life. But now, with spiritual and psychological ground under our feet we get to find our true place. 

The theologian Fredrick Buechner—who had a seriously unbalanced life—defines true vocation as “the place where your deep gladness meets the worlds deep need.” Now it doesn’t make sense that deep gladness will come from ticking off a long to-do list or that the world’s deep need is met by doing tiny bits of this and that like rote do-gooders.

But the idea of balance so appeals that we run faster and faster to balance our social and emotional portfolios; we take yoga and meditate, try to eat well, call friends, see the latest play, buy if not read the latest bestseller, attend the school play and send emails from the car and leave voice mail at midnight.

How much energy we waste striving to balance our lives.  What if we celebrated a tilting life, one in which we gave a primary commitment to kids or a job we love or making art or seeking spirit?  We do have to make choices but they are not for all time. 

I don’t think it’s balance that we really want at all. What we want is to feel good and to have peace, and that mostly comes from feeling well used by life. That doesn’t happen when we are running around doing little bits of many things. 

Here’s a radical idea as we move into spring: Give up balance; don’t go to any store, party, or event unless you really want to. Read what you like even if it’s not  “good” books, and choose the couch over the gym, and the woods over the party if that is what your soul craves. 

Stop and look into the world’s deep need that’s in your community. Find the source of your deep gladness that runs near by. Allow yourself to lose your balance. And just fall in. 

***

For the next two weeks I’ll be traveling and falling into yoga. I’m sure I’ll be stretching my mind, body and spirit. I’ll be back here in early May to tell you all about it.

In the meantime you can read more about recovery and life “out of the woods” in my book: “Out of the Woods” published by Central Recovery Press.

Running Yellow Lights

Last week I heard this great line: “Running yellow lights is not accepting life on life’s terms.” It’s so funny—and perfectly true.

It got me thinking about all the ways that Twelve-step recovery is trying, trying, trying to teach us how to live life as it is—and on its terms –both to limit our own pain, and the pain

we inflict on others.

Think about our sayings and slogans: One Day at a Time, Be Here Now and 

“Look down at your feet and stay where they are”.

I think about all the kinds of discomfort that I struggle with, and how much it’s almost always because I want to be somewhere other than right here where I am. Yesterday I had to walk several blocks from my office to another business location and I realized that the whole time I was walking that I wanted to be a block ahead of where I was. Even though it was a beautiful day I wanted to be there rather than here.

And, of course as soon as I got there, I wanted the next there not the here. I heard my mind doing this—and I realized it’s a constant state of mind. 

And its not just when I am walking. It’s also when I’m driving: When I stop at an intersection I want to be on the other side of it, not on this side. When I read a book I want to know what going to happen instead of enjoying what the writer is showing me now. When I am listening to a CD I want to be on the next track or the next disc—not this one. No matter the form or place or idea, I want to be there. But when I get there I’m not really there at all; I’m still longing for the next there. 

I do this with things too. I can long for a pair of new boots or handbag or coat, but shockingly soon after I get it, I’m thinking about some other thing that I imagine I’ll like a lot. That thing will be the next right thing. It’s just another way of trying to get there instead of fully experiencing being here.

As active addicts we were all about grasping and craving and clinging, and now in recovery we have softened our behavior and changed our medium. But still. When I drive through an intersection and think, “Here I go,” or when I want to be over there and not here, or when I want a different dress or purse or necklace--I’m not living life on life’s terms.

Maybe, just maybe, I could let that next yellow light be my clear signal.

Prayer and More Prayer

Today in my morning prayer time it hit me: One of the women that I sponsor is struggling and I thought, “She needs more prayer.” Things are not going her way, and she’s mad. I thought, “OK, how do I explain to her that it’s going to be a lot easier to surrender sooner rather than later.” Then I thought, “OK Diane, can you take your own advice?” 

Note to me: More prayer.

It seems so obvious, but now I also know why the “Twelve and Twelve” says, “We should not be lax on this matter of prayer”. It is like that old juice commercial that reminds, “I could have had a V-8”. So often after struggling, musing, wondering and making myself miserable trying to control something, I think, “I could have prayed-or maybe prayed sooner.

Put prayer first.

Yesterday I had a cranky day. Not quite relaxed, not quite working, slightly bored even though there was plenty to do; it was just an off day. When I did my 10^th step at night (I use the Ignatian Examen as my Step Ten format) I realized that I had skipped my morning prayer time, and from there the day was just unsettled. Note to me: Put prayer first.

Gratitude and Compassion.

I read this ages ago, and I keep a sticky note in my planner that says, “Pray for a grateful heart and a compassionate heart”. It’s a great piece of guidance and an all-purpose solution to things that bother me. Gratitude shifts my attitude. Gratitude reminds me of the good. Gratitude shows me that there is growth, change and recovery in my life when my feelings try to convince me otherwise. 

A compassionate heart softens me. Compassion helps me to see other people- (even people who I think are bad or wrong)—are mostly broken or troubled people. And often they are broken or troubled I ways that I am too or that I have been. Having a compassionate heart slows me down. I am more inclined to practice “restraint of tongue and pen” when I have a compassionate heart. 

But to get there: More prayer.

Years ago I thought that people who had years of recovery must be doing all the right things, all the time. But I don’t, we don’t. But we do have a couple of things that come with time. One is good recovery habits. So I pray each morning and I do a 10th step at night that closes with a prayer. If I skip either one I feel crummy, kind of like not brushing my teeth. So even if I’m rushed or even not feeling very sincere I’ll get on my knees and read the Third Step Prayer. I say the words out loud. Even if done without complete sincerity, it helps.

The other thing that people with long recovery have are stories. We have our own stories, but even better; we have other people’s stories too. If you go to meetings for lots of years you accumulate stories. So when times are hard I can lean into someone else’s story. I can recall what they said about the time when they prayed; or the time they yelled at God, and the time a prayer was answered in a miraculous way; or the time they let go of what they wanted and got something so better instead.  

And each time what I remember is: More prayer.

***

Lots more on prayer and long-term recovery in the book, "Out of the Woods" published by Central Recovery Press.

In the Garden..Mary Magdalene

One of my mother’s favorite hymns, which became one of my favorite hymns, is the old and classic song, “I Come to the Garden.” The first verse and chorus go like this:

I come to the garden alone

While the dew is still on the roses

And the voice I hear

Falling on my ear

The Son of God discloses.

And He walks with me, and He talks with me

And He tells me that I am His own

And the joy we share as we tarry there

None other has ever known.

Does that sound familiar? I learned that song when I was very young and I sang it at home

and all through my childhood in United Methodist Sunday School. It seemed a pretty, and nature-based kind of hymn. And it has that sweet “Jesus Loves Me” quality to it offering the reassurance that I am loved and that I personally matter to God --or my Higher Power.

But over the years as I fell out of, back into, and again out of churches and faith communities it was always the hymns of my Methodist childhood that were the containers –and supporters--of my hesitant, questioning faith.

Recently I learned the story of the song and I was thrilled to find there is a feminist core to “I Come to the Garden” and that, in fact, this is an Easter song and maybe even, a kind of a recovery song.

“I Come to the Garden” was written by a pharmacist named C. Austin Miles. He wanted to write a song offering, “rest for the weary.” Ready to compose, he began to read from scripture--John: 20—which is the story of Mary Magdalene and her visit to the garden where Jesus had been buried, and her discovery that he had risen from the dead.

So the “I” of the hymn is Mary Magdalene on Easter morning. It is a song of a woman who had feared the loss of a man she loved so much, the man who had been her teacher and leader, and the loss of what we she believed had kept her safe. In this garden scene –in the song-she is discovering that He and she—and we-- have a resurrection.

In recovery each of us experiences a profound resurrection and the opportunity to live again. Like Mary in that garden, we too have new lives, and we are once again known—and loved.

Happy Easter!

How to Write Step One

A colleague who lives a few towns away wrote to ask me to guide her on Step One. She’s not a newcomer, and had worked the steps before, but wanted another go and possibly to uncover some new layers.

Here’s what I wrote back:

Week One: Get a spiral notebook and on page one write:

“I am powerless over…”

And start making a list—include everything from the weather to your car, your boss, to friends and men to your hair—you name it.

Repeat that on a new page for seven nights. More things will show up each time. Just do it quickly for maybe two to five minutes. Don’t think just write.

Week Two: 

Now write about addictions: “When I was drinking/eating/using…I was powerless over…”: (another fast list each night)

Then, “and still today I am powerless over…”

During these two weeks you pray daily for complete honesty with yourself. Ask God to nudge you about those things you and denying or trying to not see.  After that, call your sponsor and have a chat—or have coffee with a recovering woman and share your lists.

Laughter guaranteed.

******
I write more about working the steps in later recovery in the book: Out of the Woods--A Guide to Long-term Recovery, published by Central Recovery Press.