Affirmations

We have talked about this a lot on this blog and on Heidicction Lives.

Affirmations.

When people are at an inpatient facility dealing with addiction, affirmations are something that are taught, and repeated daily.

Yes, addicts stand in front of the mirror and repeat affirmations to themselves.

It's a thing.

And, it's not even that weird of a thing.

12-step groups teach the very same thing.

If you think about it, and as I have tried to pound into my own dang head -

Addictions are not brought about because someone loves to do whatever it is they are doing.

Addictions come about because there is something missing from or broken in the person.

Addiction is brought on by abuse, neglect, pain, trauma, void.

Therefore, it makes complete sense that we would start with something as simple as repeating affirmations to our amazing selves in front of a mirror daily.

And, it's not even hard!

Get out of the shower.

While drying off, repeat the following:

We ARE worthy of love.

i.e. We ARE loveable.

Our worth is completely separate from our performance.

i.e. Our worth is not up for discussion. It is unchangeable.

We ARE enough.

i.e. Shout this one from the rooftops. We are ALL enough.

Our story matters.

i.e. Our story matters so much. Tell your story. It's yours to tell.

We don't have to earn God's love.

i.e. It's already there. It's more abundant than our mortal minds can grasp. No matter what we do, or don't do, it's there. It's all we need, really.

We belong.

i.e. Everyone belongs. We are worthy of belonging. Find your table. Find your seat at that table. 

Soul Work

This quote is on the money.

I do believe that the term "self care" is often perceived to be unicorns and cinnamon rolls at our dispense.

Like, the greatest of all greats.

It's not.

It's really not.

There are parts of it that are comforting and that physically feel good.

There are parts of it where our soul truly feels fed and enveloped with peace and abundance.

But, there are really hard parts about self care as well.

Those are no less self care than the really tough, treacherous parts.

My path into recovery from addiction and my counseling through enormous holes in my soul began very painfully.

Physically painful.

Mentally painful.

Emotionally disastrous.

That is kind of the point.

Without those feelings, we would never know comfort and peace and abundance.

We would never recognize that feeling when our soul, our spirit, feels full of goodness.

It has not yet felt like a high road to me... well maybe it has...

Since the stroke, altitude is not my friend.

I get altitude sickness quickly.

I vomit and vomit and vomit at high altitude and windy roads.

So, in that case - it has felt just like that.

But, it has certainly felt like an unprotected fall into unforgiving darkness.

Confusion.

Shock.

Shame. 

Disappointment.

Fear.

Anger.

Sadness.

Exhaustion.

I still have not found the song that sings me home.

That is because my recovery is not over.

In fact, it is far from over.

It is just beginning.

We are ALL still on training wheels.

The S Word

The S word.

Not shit.

Not suck.

Not suck the suck.

Not scrub the toilet.

Shame.

Read these quotes.

These three quotes are the essence of what I felt for 41 years.

Unworthy of love and belonging.

Capable of courage.

Disconnected.

Depressed.

Eating disorder.

Addiction.

This word is really the worst of the "feeling" words, in my opinion.

It is sort of the catch-all of the negative feelings.

And it is brutal.

It is painful.

It is debilitating.

It is bad.

And, it is worse when we ignore it.

When we shove it into that closet where all of our feelings hide out...

It grows and develops into an absolute monster.

So, what do we do with the S word?

We notice it.

For instance:

Lately, I have been feeling shame about going to the gym.

So, this is what I tell myself:

"I can feel that I am in shame. I feel it in my body not feeling worthy of being there with all of the fit people. I feel it in my wanting to just stay in bed. I hear it in my head, loud and clear - maybe if I lose weight or focus on fasting... I feel you and I hear you, Shame. 

And, in fact I have a chair for you at my table.

But, I am no longer interested in your feedback.

You don't get to have a voice anymore.

I am worthy.

I am enough."

And, that is literally what I have to do with feelings.

I have to have a conversation with them!

That is how I am noticing them.

Not ignoring them.

That is how I put a name to the feeling.

Then I ask myself why I am feeling this feeling.

Feelings are never dangerous.

Some of them just need to come, then go.

Others need to be looked at just a bit closer for information on what we need to do about them.

Then, I either act on them or I let them go and move on.

I know what it is like to feel DESPERATE for worthiness and connection and belonging.

It is the entire essence of my addiction.

It IS my addiction.

So, I keep practicing.

I keep working.

I keep reminding myself, hourly, that I am enough.

My worth has never been in question.

And, we can do hard things.

The Shit-Starter

Curiosity really is scary.

And scary is okay.

It's not dangerous.

Curiosity allows us to explore and learn and grow.

It helps us to know better who we are and what we want.

It allows us to try new things.

Yes, it also teaches us what we don't want and where we shouldn't be.

It teaches us to listen to our "gut." 

People, our gut is the Spirit.

F to the Y to the I.

Be curious!

Even if it is a shit-starter and I'm a shit-stirrer!

An Open Letter to Insecurity

Isn't this picture so beautiful?

Look at how individual and exquisite that log is.

It stands out, doesn't it?

It's so unique and wondrous.

It makes me feel proud of that log.

It is in that pile like a boss.

As if it doesn't even notice that it's different or damaged or broken.

Or, perhaps, it does notice that it is not like all the others and it is marking its spot because it KNOWS it belongs.

 Look at the growth around that rotten circle there.

I think to myself, "What did my log friend endure during those years of 'damage?'"

What kind of storms did it weather?

Did it sit in a forest alone?

Or, was it surrounded by a village that buoyed it up and loved it because it was so resilient?

This log, I've gently named Heidi 2.0, is just my most favorite visual.

And, speaking of Log Heidi 2.0...

I have something I want to say to Insecurity and Invalidation.

Although I have actually brought a chair to the table for Fear, Shame and Comparison (which together are the Insecurity Family), I have rules and regulations.

It is my table, after all.

They are welcome at my table.

I know they are at my table every moment of every day.

I see them and I hear them and I feel them right next to me, or directly across the table from me.

I even set them a place there.

Forks on the left, knife and spoons on the right.

I remind them to put their napkin in their laps, even.

Manners.

However, they are no longer allowed to give me any feedback.

I will no longer listen to their voices.

It is not welcome at MY table.

Their opinions are not worthy of  being voiced.

There are others at my table, as well.

My children, of course.

Courage has a spot.

Strength has a spot.

Compassion, Grace and Love all have spots.

And, me.

I sit at the head of my own table.

Sometimes, too, the Insecurity Family brings friends and allies.

They are in the human form.

I can put a leaf extension in the table and we can make room for them.

I will ensure they have proper silverware, napkins and water.

But the rules are the same for them as they are for the Insecurity Family.

Their opinions won't be heard at my table.

And, should they be voiced over my objection they will then be dismissed.

My table is a safe place.

Where rest is felt.

Where there are all feelings and all are valid.

Where feelings are not dangerous.

Where love and courage and strength and fatigue and sadness and fear and anger and joy and peace and anxiety are all felt, honored, and exercised.

Where we all make mistakes and bad choices.

Where we are loved anyways.

Where we are all aware that our worth and value is never in question.

Ever.

Where we will never not be enough.

Look Within

I haven't posted about this little gem for a minute. 

Inside of my room at IMC was a glass sign.

Rand began writing on it each day;

Or having me write on it from my wheelchair.

My writing was lower because I couldn't reach.

Everyday, Rand would read to me.

He would read the scripture and the Tao to me.

He would then ask me about what he read (which was literally like a paragraph before I would zone out again).

This was to help my comprehension and my ability to focus for a few minutes at a time.

It was also because I could not have any technology at all.

No TV.

No phone.

No nothing.

He would play Christmas music in between therapy sessions, meals, showering, and reading.

We had this amazing routine that we did every day.

And, on the days (2) when he wasn't there the entire day, whoever was in charge of me (Kalynn or T) was given instructions on what to and what not to do.

This sign caught the eyes of everyone.

People would ask about the words on it.

It became a really great connection piece in the hospital.

"Fight" came from a nurse's aid at the U.

She had a mini-stroke a year prior to me being there.

She would come in every morning and say, "Honey, FIGHT FIGHT FIGHT."

"Vision" came from me staring outside, unable to really see with my eyes, but more and more capable of seeing with my heart.

This has only intensified over the last two years.

"Build" came from the therapists constantly telling me that every single little thing I did was HUGE, and even unexpected. They would tell me each day that we would just build on it.

"Slowly" was the same idea.

I hated that word.

It was not in my character to go at anything slowly.

I would cry and cry and cry every time one of the doctors would tell me that this would be slow.

When they would leave, Rand would close the door and turn out the lights and have me rest.

Then, it was "go time" again when I would wake up.

Go-time meant coloring (he would sit me up in my wheelchair and pull the tray table over to me with my markers and a piece of paper).

It took me three weeks to color one paper.

But, it was beautiful.

I did it all by myself.

Slowly.

And, he reminded me of that lesson daily.

There are so many words on there that I am not good at, still.

Patience. Allow. Just be.

But, I know them to be important.

That room was a room full of the Spirit.

Everyone would mention the "different feeling" in our room.

It was full of hope and faith and trust because that was all we had!

We prayed often.

Like, all the time.

We invited others to pray with us.

There were so many tears in that room.

I know he won't read this, ever, but I have something to say to the above-referenced Rand.

Rand LeRoy-

You are brave.

You are full of strength.

You are light in the darkness.

You have described your fears and feelings of being overwhelmed.

You were told I would die.

The girl you loved.

It was December.

Your daughter and her husband were coming home from a different continent any day.

Your mind was stuck on: I need to adopt the four boys and move them to Orem and get that apartment cleaned out.

I need to make sure that Heidi's quality of life is full and good.

I need to comfort the boys.

I need to figure all of this out.

Then I started to recover in miraculous ways.

Now what?

You were there every single day.

You washed me.

You clothed me.

You learned how to pull my hair back.

You rescued me on two choking occasions, then decided that peas and green beans would no longer come to me.

You were there when I sat up the first time, rolled over the first time, and walked the first time.

That first step, you ran onto the apparatus and lifted me up in the hair... sobbing.

WE had done it.

You took care of the boys, and your own kids, and ran your business from a hospital room in Murray.

You then took me home to your house so that they would discharge me prior to Christmas.

You did the holidays for everyone.

By yourself.

Once at your house, you fed me every meal.

Made sure I followed a schedule of yoga, meditation, reading, coloring, showering, going for independent walks (with Tipper).

You continued to take care of the kids (all of them).

Then, it was time for me to go home and be with my boys.

Still unable to drive.

Still unable to do most things, the boys took turns caring for me.

Doing my hair.

Shopping.

Cooking.

Laundry.

Cleaning.

Washing me.

Clothing me.

Giving me my meds.

Taking me to appointments.

Teaching me how to drive.

And, we broke up.

Rand, I will forever love you to the moon.

Thank you.

Thank you for all of it.

So much of it I will never understand.

I will never understand the toll that took on you emotionally, mentally and physically.

Thank you.

50%

I have no doubt that God leads my recovery.

None.

He makes sure that the right people are in my path at all times EVEN when I am not deserving of it - or at least when I don't FEEL deserving of it.

At my med check on Monday, our family doctor (who is literally a God send) and I were having a discussion.

We were talking about that awesome lesson I learned last week - 

That feelings are GOOD.

That we can't actually choose our FEELINGS.

That feelings aren't bad, or even dangerous.

Then he said that he was listening to a podcast with a neuro psychologist.

She said this:

If you are HAPPY 50% of the time, you are doing pretty good.

Praise that neuro psych!

Amen and Hallelujah!

He talked about the swinging pendulum.

Our feelings go back and forth and up and down.

Our thoughts create feelings.

If we aren't careful, our feelings create our attitude.

There is no need to worry until we stay at one end, or the other, of that pendulum.

Is that not the best Christmas news ever?!

Y'all are welcome.

So, wipe off your britches.

We have some swinging to do!

Not that kind of swinging...

We have some feelings to feel, though!

And, it's OK!!!