Author: authordallash

I am a recovering alcoholic who celebrated 31 years of continuous sobriety august of 2018. In support of my book Shaking the Family Tree, a double genre memoir/poetry offering that looks at the genetic predisposition for alcoholism from a layman's point of view, I have decided to start a blog. By sharing my own experience, I hope to open the door of recovery for others affected by this disease. And that includes those loved ones who are hoping to gain a little insight into the mechanics of the disease and recovery. New publication as of 3/31/20 Kaleidoscope a poetry book of random meanderings intended to touch the heart tickle, tickle the funny-bone, awake the imagination, and in some cases, give pain a voice. Published under Dallas Hembra. Available for order now at Amazon, Books a Million, Barnes and Noble, and Written Dreams Publishing. I can be contacted on Facebook at authordallash; Twitter at Dallash01; Bookbub at DALLASHAUTHOR
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Expectations

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media

Expectations

I can’t think of any other topic that gets me into more trouble than expectations.  Whether they are my unreasonable expectations being placed on others, or what I perceive to be their expectations of me, weighing me down.  What a slippery slope they are.  They can cause disappointments, assumed failures, low self-esteem, anger, resentment, and fear, just to name a few.

There are also cases where expectations are believed to be beneficial and productive.   Many educators, for example, contend that placing expectations on their students motivates them to achieve their goals and reach their full potential.  And I am in complete agreement with that stance, if the expectations are reasonable and applicable to the individual student.

Remembering my own grade-school years, and my lackadaisical attitude, had there been no expectations placed on me, I would have simply faded into the background, taken the easier, softer way, and settled for just scraping by.  No expectations would have translated into nobody is watching, nobody cares, so why put forth the effort?

Here, the onus rests on the teacher’s ability to recognize and differentiate each individual child’s capabilities. For instance, when my son was in first and second grade, he was on Dilantin and Phenobarbital for a seizure condition, and it had an impact on his attention span. The first-grade teacher was on top of it, and he did fine.  But the following year, he was frustrated and showed signs of low self-esteem because his condition was not taken into consideration. Both teachers had the same information, but the latter’s response was that he spent too much time daydreaming and did not meet expectations.  A little bit of creativity might have gone a long way that year.

Even the positive expectations that seem to be stitched with hope and anticipation that we place on ourselves and loved ones can backfire.  They may be well-intentioned, but if based only on our desires for their success, they can be a setup for disappointment.

I have been a victim of my own unreasonable expectations on numerous occasions.  The combination of perfectionism and too big an ego are usually the two culprits that, when I fall short of my fantasies, lead me to feeling like a failure and often result in self-flagellation.

And, when others don’t meet my expectations, I form resentments against them. How fair is that? I’ve even gone so far as to justify it by telling myself the expectation was based on their past behavior.  Viewing this nasty habit from the lens of harm done, I must admit, it is a major flaw of mine that has often led to the irritation and alienation of those unlucky enough to have been on the receiving end of my Expectations.

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Through My Window

authordallash

(into my world)

Rest, if you so choose, on my window- sill and share a few scattered crumbs of daily impressions that I have scribed over the years. 

In 2006, I added to my collection of daily meditation books, an edition of Chicken Soup for the Recovering Soul by Jack Canfield who drew on excerpted passages from his previous books. Additional credits go to [et al.]  Mark Victor Hanson, Peter Vegso, Gary Seidler, Theresa Peluso, Tian Dayton, Rokelle Lerner, and Robert Ackerman

This particular gem is composed of three hundred and sixty -five pages of uplifting quotes by well known, renowned individuals, as well as proverbs shared around the world and throughout history.  A brief related paragraph and a quote sums up these pearls of wisdom and then invites the reader to share their own perceptions on space provided at the bottom of the page.

In 2006, I already had 18 years vested in my own recovery program and I am not quite sure when I composed all of my responses.  But I do not believe they all materialized that same year.  What I do know, is that they are reflective of who I was, and what I was feeling, on whatever day I penned them.  Shared below are some of those thoughts preceded by a passage or two that prompted them.

Change is generally regarded as positive, but it can be destructive as well.  When running toward change, ask yourself, “From what am I running?”  Are you leaving behind a family, a job, a reputation, or troubles that are overwhelming?

Elaine Young McGuire

I’ve never considered change from this perspective.  The program has instilled in me another option:  Run in place, lean on a friend, and I might just find a solution to my problem.

At times in the past, my love had been hidden, blocked off by impenetrable clouds.  No light or love came through.  In my family the love we felt for each other often got cloudy with broken promises, fear, anger, and confusion.

Rokelle Lerner

In the midst of chaos there is no season of love.  It gets lost in the confusion and fighting the elements.  The seasons of hope and love ae unattainable in the storms of addiction.

Powerful emotions stir as I recall the places from which I have come.

Godwin H. Barton

In my addiction, and in years prior, I seldom acknowledged emotional pain. Instead, I drank it away.  I didn’t laugh much either.  I lived my life flat-lined.  Experiencing very few in depth feelings.  I missed a lot.  Today, I welcome both joy and sadness.  They tell me I am alive.

Early in my recovery A.A. members told me, “Let us love you till you can love yourself.”  I surrendered.  As my sobriety grew, they offered, “Don’t get too hungry, angry, lonely or tired.”  I accepted.  When they advised, “it’s the first drink that gets you drunk, just stay away from that first drink.”  I understood.

Dorri Olds

The simpler the saying, the more specific its meaning.  The slogans in my twelve- step program are to the point.  You can’t get caught up in any unnecessary window dressings.  There is nothing to unravel.

What lies behind us and what lies before us are tiny matters compared to what lies within us.

Ralph Waldo Emerson

Our job is to be vessels through which God can work His miracles:  Like holding a child close, or lending an ear, or simply wearing and sharing a smile. 

Most people live in a very restrictive circle of their potential being.  We all have reservoirs of energy and genius to draw upon of which we do not dream.

William James

By expanding my creativity, I am enriching my Spirituality, because when I am emersed in whatever I am creating, I am divorced from self.

Argue for your limitations and sure enough they’re yours.

Richard Bach

I can think my way into a fearful, lazy person.  Or self-talk my way into a healthy vibrant soul.  It’s all about the messaging I choose to believe.

I honor my own experience and personal truth.  I know that no one from my past needs to see things the way I do for me to get better or move on.

Tian Dayton

Two sisters raised in the same home, garnering different strengths, and harboring different hurts.  Two distinct perceptions, two contrasting interpretations of their own truth.

The finest qualities of our nature can be preserved only by the most delicate handling.

Henry David Thoreau

I feel safest around gentle souls.  They are so unassuming and offer only love. Advice can be purchased anywhere, but gentleness has no price, it is freely given, no strings attached.  Dad was a gentle soul.

I have something now that I did not have as a child in an alcoholic home.  I have choices.  I will be an adult child of an alcoholic until the day I die.  But I am not going to die one more day because I am an adult child of an alcoholic.

Robert J Ackerman

Being an adult child and acting like one are worlds apart.  It is my behavior that sets the example, not my instincts, which may still reflect some nagging issues.

Today is today.  Today is not yesterday, crushing you with the mistakes you have made.  Today is not tomorrow, which is always out of your gasp.  But you can take hold of today.  You can face it.  You can deal with it.  You can rejoice in the gift that it is.

Sharon Siepel

God, When I am in a state of projection and missing out on the moment, help me pull the blind down on tomorrow, until its sun dawns.

Despite the miracle in my life, recovery remains a day-to-day process.   It began with the supernatural power to forgive and it continues with a grateful and ever repentant heart.  Miracles do happen.  Seekers do get healed.  Lives can be forever changed.  Recovery is not just a road; it is a reason.

Rev. Ed Donnally

Twelve step programs disprove the assertion that people can’t change.  I see it again and again.  I am surrounded by it in the program.  What a blessing to witness the miracles.

There is no need to prove the truth.  Trying to do so shows only your own stubbornness.  Truth will always reveal itself at the right moment and at the right place.  You need be concerned only with living true to your own self.  Focusing on your own part is more useful than passing judgement on others.

Brahma Kumaris:   World Spiritual University

I am only responsible for my own thoughts and behaviors.  That is a big enough job to handle.  When I remain true to myself, I am owned by no one.

To know what you prefer instead of what the world tells you you ought to prefer, is to keep your soul alive.

Robert Louis Stevenson

Lord, help me maintain my autonomy, lest I lose myself in others, and what I assume are their expectations of me.

The above were excerpts through June.  Saving the other half for later.  Thanks for reading.

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Food For Thought.

authordallash

 

Did it really sneak up from out of nowhere when it pounced on me with all its weight? Or on some familiar level was my penchant for denial masking the obvious?  The telltale signs, which began several months ago were all there.  Lying down on the bed in order to zip up the size eight jeans that I later retired, searching Amazon for one or two sizes larger, ignoring the discomfort of deep ridges being carved into my skin by bras, which were suddenly shrinking in the wash. And the biggest hint of all: My refusal to drag the scale back out, after that dark day when no matter where I placed it on the floor, it showed a five lb. weight gain.

 Five years ago, when my daughter in law gifted me with a Fitbit, it opened the door to a few years of unrelenting successes. Through exercise, and charting my calorie intake, then comparing it to calories burned, I managed to shed forty-five lbs.; I walked 5 days a week, mostly inside my home because it was during the height of covid, tried to remain under 1,300 calories a day, and paid close attention to the weekly reports Fitbit provided in my email. It even monitored my sleep patterns. I finally had a system, not a person, holding me accountable. And for about 4 years it worked for me.

So, what happened? Here I am, standing in front of a full-length mirror, examining the shock-wave revelation that an amassed fifteen to twenty lbs. has bestowed on me, wondering how I got here, and how to fix it?

The fact that I am finally acknowledging it, limits those options that I’ve proven don’t work. Can’t embrace it. Can’t deny it.

Why, I wonder, have I never been able to apply what I’ve learned in my AA Twelve Step Program to my weight problem? Stored in the vault of my recovery is an enormous toolbox that not only keeps me sober but has given me a blueprint for living.  Simple sayings like One day at a time, keep it simple, let go and let God, Progress not perfection, it works if you work it. Love that last one.

Then, of course, there are the principals:

Admitting the problem and accepting it.

Setting a goal but not planning the outcome.

Self-honesty.

And the biggie, sharing my concerns with a trusted friend or group.

Lots to ponder here.

 On reflecting, my mind goes back to my dreaded relationship with the scale. And the role it played in my denial, and currently into my slip. In the beginning, I refused to get on it until I felt sure I would like what I saw.  I based my imagined loss on how my clothes fit. I was so afraid that if it were a disappointing read out, I would give up. That mindset has been a constant throughout this life-long battle. Then once the lbs. began to drop and I liked what I saw, I made friends with the scale. Until, that is, when it registered a gain, and I quickly booted the burden of proof. Out of sight, out of mind, right?

Wrong.

I got back on the horse a couple of weeks ago. I’m once again exercising five days a week, and monitoring calories. Have even shared my dilemma with a couple of friends and am remaining cognizant of the tools I have at my disposal.

But the scale is still hiding in my pantry. Wish me luck.

recovery

Looking for My Gardens Pulse.

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I wonder how many of us throughout the years have lovingly tended either a vegetable or a flower garden, or perhaps both?  We planted flora, grasses, and veggies in carefully selected plots of soil that we ardently tilled to perfection.  We purchased the healthiest plants we could find. Selected flower seeds and arranged them according to their color contrasts and height in order to affect the most eye-popping exhibits in our neighborhoods.    No sacrifice was too demanding. On throbbing bent knees, and often in the blazing sun, we weeded, fed them nutrients, and quenched their undying thirst. It seemed a small sacrifice as we anticipated the fruits of our labor.  And then, we fluffed our feathers for doing such a great job, and patiently sat back, relaxed, and expected nature to take its course so we could gather our bounty.

Before long we were rewarded for our effort.  The flowers began to unfurl their petals in a variety of beguiling pastels and ravishing radiance. The vegetables produced succulent edibles that satisfied even the most persnickety palate.

So great was our satisfaction that we continued to sow and reap this pleasure year after year: Adding, subtracting, and retaining our favorites, we became expert gardeners.

But as we aged, some of us realized that alongside our beautiful gardens, there lay an untilled plot bereft of tending. It shed its undefined emptiness across the spectrum of our souls. 

I wrestled with this dilemma for some time, and after discussing it with like-minded friends, it finally dawned on me: The missing entity in my own backyard was a Spiritual Garden.

But where and how should I begin? What space would provide the most verdant soil in which to grow such a garden? Certainly, not the one between my ears. That space is often either too barren to feed my fledging faith or too full of random chaos and garbage to nurture any kind of Spirituality. Spirituality should reflect an Island of peace and serenity, right?

 Since just the right space hadn’t manifested yet, I decided to focus on what I wanted to grow in this Spiritual Garden and how I might expand that. For starters, I sifted through some of the virtues that I felt I might be lacking. A few of the obvious ones begging my attention were Patience, gratitude, and humility.

I knew I had a small pittance of the three, but like tiny, neglected buds, they rarely bloomed.  And so, in order to make them flourish, I began gathering bits and pieces from those who I knew had an abundance of them.  My sister, for instance, both possessed and actively practiced her gratitude.  It manifested itself in her radiant smile, a genuine interest in others, and her commitment to a daily ritual of prayer and meditation.

My AA sponsor was another source of inspiration. If she was ever frustrated by my rebellious nature, or weary of raising the curtain on new perspectives, she never showed it.  Instead of pointing out my misconceptions, she simply sat back and allowed me to spout off a bevy of excuses that proved I wasn’t an alcoholic: Until that is, I was overwhelmed by the thunder of the stupidity that was bouncing back. God, did I really believe that bull….?  She must have prayed for patience, and God sent her me.

Humility was really tricky.  I didn’t quite understand that principle. I thought that every time I hung my head, hid my merit, and profusely apologized for being myself, that I was being humble. Or, that those boisterous braggards, always vying for attention, were the only ones who lacked humility.  It wasn’t until I was further along in the program that I finally realized that true humility is an acceptance of who one truly is, the good and bad.  It is about recognizing our humanness.

Once I had my starters, I assembled a few basic tools and continued searching for a plot that could accommodate my new garden’s unfolding.  I looked high and low, but nothing jumped out.  Those being considered were either lacking spontaneity, the perimeters were too small to support expansion, or the foundations were too rocky and unyielding to harbor any serenity. The expedition was wearing me out. It had become a crusade. With every accelerated beat of my heart, my anxiety was mounting.  What if such a place didn’t exist?

Realizing that I had hit a wall, I decided to put it aside for a while.  Then, one evening, as I was scrolling through Facebook, I came across a video that captured the responses of several babies, who, thanks to a new hearing device, were experiencing the sound of their mother’s voice for the very first time.  It was miraculous.

Tears welled as I watched the animated joy spreading across their faces.  I could literally feel the increased drumming of my own heart.  I had found the source of my dilemma. My Spiritual Garden could only emanate from the heart; a space that was unencumbered by ego and other frivolous distractions.  My garden had finally found a home.  Its pulse is in sync with every beat of my heart.  Thus, I began to plant one earned value at a time, allowing it to take hold according to my Higher Power’s schedule.

recovery

The Gift of Choice

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Good or bad? Right or wrong? Malleable or cut in stone? Thought through, or made impulsively?  Just a few of the questions I struggled with in early sobriety? Making choices was completely foreign to me early on. It scared me to death. Escaping into the nether world of omission every time a decision or a choice was demanded, was all I knew how to do. It was my panacea for everything.

Not only did alcohol obliterate my ability to choose during my using, but it outright lied to me by not alerting me to the fact that hiding from, and refusing to make decisions, was indeed a choice.  And believe me, I repeatedly exercised that choice.

The sins of omission are as grave as the sins of commission.   Their effect carries just as much weight.  For instance: Because I had so little self-confidence and was terrified of change, when I was offered an opportunity to apply for a different job that had awesome benefits, an increase in salary, and a pension plan, I wrestled with it over too many glasses of wine and chose to relegate it to the land of coveted daydreams.  That was a choice.

 Lucky for me, years later that same opportunity presented itself again. And, with 10 years of sobriety under my belt, I made a conscious choice to act on it. Today I have over 25 happy, productive years in a job that allowed me to be independent and to feel valued. Yes, the delay did cost me a smaller pension due to the wasted years of indecision, but I choose not to cry over spilled milk, and am grateful for having been given a second chance.

The financial repercussions were insignificant compared to the effect that my choice to simply ignore the daily toll my marriage from hell was taking on me and my children.  That choice, to do nothing; to take no action to try to remedy my situation, or to simply seek help, sentenced me and my children to years of unnecessary grief and stagnation.  Escaping into the bottle after a verbal attack on my son, a head banging or choke hold that left no telltale marks, or three days of dead silence was my constant go-to.  I was always assuming that the next day it would get better.  It couldn’t possibly get any worse!  I had taken my kids hostage.  Imprisoned us all because I didn’t believe I had a choice.

Today, after many years of continuous sobriety in my jelly-bean jar, I recognize that making a choice is one of the magical gifts of recovery.   Are there risks, of course. But not only can I think them through and weigh them, but if they are wrong and don’t work out, I get to choose again.  How neat is that? Learning that all decisions aren’t cast in stone relieves me of those embedded fears that once crippled me.  Making choices no longer restricts me.  It allows me to be accountable and move on, remembering that no decision is indeed a choice.