The terror is over? Are you kidding? Peace felt like some kind of farce new-agey people posted memes about during their quarterly juice cleanses.
I started my recovery 7 years ago. That's more than 3-5 years. That's almost *almost* double. I've done a lot of stuff during that time: conferences, retreats, programs, workbooks. I've felt myself fishing, fishing, FISHING for help, much like the apostles of old.
I tried everything that landed at my front door. There was meditation and yoga and support groups of all kinds! My cell phone was used more than my dish rags. I called for help, I scrolled through articles. There were sponsors (plural) and real life friends and online friends. I prayed hard and long. Sometimes I hated God, sometimes I ran away from Him because His answers were confusing and made no sense to me. Sometimes I still do.
Here comes the big
During this last year, I have found peace in the wind storms. Waves have crashed in my boat, just as they always have, and I have accessed this place of stillness and peace -no juice cleanse needed.
I have found contentment and acceptance, and I've realized getting present with where I am is the key to truly living life.
Things I knew in theory became understood.
My finances -a big wave that have crashed at our door -are slowly beginning to still. Why? Because I AM STILL. I'm putting them in God's hands. My physical health is crashing in right now, and I know -I see now -that if I hold still and rest, the storm will calm around me.
I feel the truth of this. I feel it fully.
As I sang the 3rd verse on Saturday night, my heart burned within me. Master, the terror is over.
The truth simply is this: when and if Danny acts out again, I will be okay. God has me. God has all of me. It will be okay. I will be okay.
Pain and trials will come, and they won't be easy -but they will be different now. I see it differently now. Something has come undone and redone within me, and I wouldn't go back for any amount of money.
This takes a lot of work... working to let go. The irony is not lost on me. It isn't easy, either. Church is harder now. I hear things that don't feel right at all, and going to church isn't comfy like it used to be. I listen to people judge others from the pulpit and I get so angry and THEN I JUDGE THEM, and so it is: church is the place I go to grow and sometimes it is awesome and sometimes it hurts like hell.
Those proverbial mirrors aren't fun to look into, but I'm glad I know they're there now. I didn't know that before.
For whom God loveth, He chasteneth.
And wo unto Alicia when she is at ease in Zion.
She isn't at ease right now. But guess what she is? At peace.
Yesterday we cleaned the kids room. I haven't taught my kids housekeeping routine stuff. I've struggled with it in my own life, and working recovery for so long has taken precedence over dishes and dusting. The kids' room has gotten so bad that it was dangerous.
Someone could trip or get mold poisoning, or something.
We banded together -the three kids and Danny and I -yesterday and we cleaned for 3 hours. I asked the kids what they wanted for a reward for cleaning and they were united in their cause, "TACO BELL!"
And kinda gross, but whatever.
As we worked together, I felt an old sort of feeling burning in my stomach and heart: goodness, happiness. Those feelings always came up right after Danny relapsed. The Honeymoon Phase was my favorite. It felt so high and good and sweet and wonderful. It is what kept me hanging on through the definitely NOT Honeymoon Phases.
Yesterday as my son disappeared under his bed and started throwing blocks and papers out, my oldest argued with Danny about WHY she NEEDED every RIPPED PAPER EVER, the youngest refused to put her kitchen stuff away until we chanted, "TACO BELL" and Danny and I passed the trash bag back and forth... I felt that old, familiar happy feeling.
But it used to hold a really painful element: I knew it was full of lies and false hope. It was the doughnut kind of happy -it tasted so good while it lasted and was followed up with sickness and regrets.
But everything that happened last night? The high wasn't as high as it used to be. There wasn't that fake, shiny lining around it. It just WAS. And as we sat around a table at Taco Bell, I was happy.
I watched the kids stuffing their faces with tortillas and beans and cheese and laughed out loud.
These days are rare and beautiful, and I can do something now that I couldn't before: I can show up.
The flip side is true as well:
I show up for the awful days.
I feel it now, I see it now.
I reach out like crazy -to God, within, and to others.
The terror is over, and now I look to God and work on sleeping through the storms of life. I can pause and let go of giving circumstances more credit than they're due. I am not my circumstances.
Which thing I never before had supposed.