From July 6, 2013

Written 10 years ago

Sometimes I have these moments that I like to give the fancy fixed up name "Flash of Brilliance". A sort of superhero that swoops in and saves the day. A gentle reminder that I really am growing, and changing. Getting better! Feeling.....happier.

These often come at the tail end of a really sad, hard time: just one day I wake up and I don't feel blah. Not a little frantic in my head. And I notice that I've been reading more, running again. Being patient when I want to yell and freak out. Putting flowers from the yard on the dining room table. Not calling myself names. 

You know....."normal". :)

This particular flash comes from my oldest. He is a serious kid. He isn't carefree. He is a kind of grumpy 60 year old man in an 8 year old body. He is so smart, and witty. Sharp. He has a temper, and is a terrible loser. He wants to be the best, and he wants it handed to him with no work at all. As in: "I should be able to show up at the swim meet and be the best at all the strokes just because I showed up." I don't know if you'll understand this but I had to quit drinking just to keep up with him and how he sees the world in this really sharp intuitive way. So we could talk about it at night like we do and I wouldn't become a big drunk dumbass. So I could still be smart and teach him stuff. So I could help him be happy.

Whoa. Now there's the part that I got brilliant about. It is not my job to make him happy. Or anybody else for that matter. I can twist and bend and gumbify myself into a thousand versions of best mom ever and guess what? He still might not be happy. And here's the bad part: neither will I. So I have to let that go.

That is hard. When I was little I don't remember anyone really caring whether or not I was happy. I didn't feel tenderness. Adored. Needed. Wanted around. I was more of a nuisance than a gift. And then when I drank I was the bad daughter on the outside that I felt like I already was on the inside. I have made it my personal mission to make sure my children know they are loved and adored. Important. Cared for. Thought of. Needed. That I am happy they are here. 

But see, that is my mission. And mine and theirs are two different things. Just like mine and yours.

One reason I love Gretchen Rubin is because she emphasizes how different what makes people happy can be. Muddy kids in the backyard makes me happy. But perhaps you can't stand dirt. Lists of hopeful goals makes me feel.....hopeful, whereas to some people that is way overdoing it. Going to bed early and getting up early makes me feel real good. But maybe 5 AM is much too early for you.

It seems like the real unhappiness creeps in for all of us, whether we know it or not, when we are trying to live someone else's happy life. And by doing that we make our own lives miserable. Oh. OH!!!!

FLASH OF BRILLIANCE!

I realized that everyone has their own truth. Their own way. And that where I was really fucking up was trying to fit my path to someone else's. This was so concretely true when I was drinking, heavy and true. Now that I'm sober I see that clearly: I cannot make myself happy when I'm not making myself happy.

Get it? I have other people's standards for a lot of my inner/outer stuff. Weight is a big one. The way I dress is another. (Although sobriety has released me from that big time. I hardly ever have outfit anxiety like I used to.) I feel so judged by my outward appearance that I forget to let my eyes shine when I smile, or I forget to smile at all. I tend to want what other people want rather than take some time to figure out what I want. Being sober makes me not so much that way. And then the F.O.B. showed up and I can lighten up some.

Cause it's amazing how trying so hard to make others happiness makes me so so un-happy.

I've had a rough time of it lately. Not overwhelming, not awful. Just blegh. Sometimes I feel guilty because my demons aren't in the shape of wine bottles, but repetitive soul searches- paths in my head worn paper thin from traveling them over and over again. For me, at this point in my sobriety it's not the booze I miss, it's a sense of well-being. I feel like now I'm getting my groove back, ready for another trip among the pink clouds until the next life lesson comes along. The nice part is that I feel better- stronger. Like I'm becoming more and more me.

P.S. Going to the recovery meetings (I've been to 2) has been a blessing and a curse. The relief, the be-lief, the connection to others has been extraordinary. Cleaning out the closet of my shoved down secret self is no fucking fun. But seeing the look of compassion from other people that says "You're still OK with me even with all this stuff" has helped me. Shored me up. Made me brave and unashamed. Proud of who I am.