Letting Go
Circumstance is a funny thing. Elizabeth Lesser's book, "Broken Open" came into my life via a recommendation from my therapist. Never did I expect to find a road map to compassion, love, and loss on some of the most topical issues I'm working on.
In my younger life, I would hide from loss. I was fearful that feelings about whatever may be leaving my life would only deepen the sadness that was constantly with me anyway. The dull ache that was always with me would begin to pulsate when something ended. In retrospect, I now realize that the dull ache had to do with that core abandonment I was left with as the result of adverse childhood experiences.
This is not to say that I couldn't experience loss. I was pretty good at being an example of how to deal with feelings, where others were concerned. I could feel the comfort in stepping up in a difficult situation for the sake of someone's benefit during trying times. My employment history has always been in service to others. From making pizzas, to lifeguarding, working with youth at risk, and later, mental health and substance abuse work. I found comfort in being of service to others. It fulfills a need, and I don't quibble about wanting to help others from a professional standpoint.
But make the pain or loss singular to me, and there is a whole different ballgame that happens. I have been known to become needy on steroids.
Before I got sober, fighting the process of letting go entailed ingesting massive amounts of drugs and alcohol, passive-aggressive statements (Thank GOD that social media was not around back then!) to friends and friends of friends, cruising, fighting, throwing myself into work, sabotaging other areas of my life to distract myself. Add on infinitude.
This is not to say that I couldn't experience loss. I was pretty good at being an example of how to deal with feelings, where others were concerned. I could feel the comfort in stepping up in a difficult situation for the sake of someone's benefit during trying times. My employment history has always been in service to others. From making pizzas, to lifeguarding, working with youth at risk, and later, mental health and substance abuse work. I found comfort in being of service to others. It fulfills a need, and I don't quibble about wanting to help others from a professional standpoint.
But make the pain or loss singular to me, and there is a whole different ballgame that happens. I have been known to become needy on steroids.
Before I got sober, fighting the process of letting go entailed ingesting massive amounts of drugs and alcohol, passive-aggressive statements (Thank GOD that social media was not around back then!) to friends and friends of friends, cruising, fighting, throwing myself into work, sabotaging other areas of my life to distract myself. Add on infinitude.
Even after I got sober, there were several episodes of loss or change that I would try my best to prevent through one more attempt at contact. One more letter, one more share in a public setting. One more . . . Something! Oh, and passive aggressive statements to friends of friends of friends, fighting, throwing myself into work, sabotaging other areas of my life to distract myself. Add on infinitude.
One hopes that the reader sees the pattern of behavior transcends addiction to substances.
One hopes that the reader sees the pattern of behavior transcends addiction to substances.
The one more attempt at contact strategy, of course, would lead to cementing closed the door of what may have only been a temporary boundary. After years of practicing recovery, I've found that maintaining the practice of letting go creates the best outcomes in even the most uncomfortable of situations.
My skills sets developed with the help and wisdom of friends include long walks (alone, or with a friend), swimming, exercising, making room/space for grief, writing, prayer and meditation, support groups, hobbies, literature, and expression of feelings; which never seems to happen on the time table I prepare them for. Darned feelings! I have so wished that I could schedule feelings like one places appointments in a day planner. "Sadness? 9:30-10:15 on Monday morning? Hmmm. Let me see . . . Sure! I'll pencil you in."
I still, occasionally, wander back into thinking, justification, and "bright ideas" of how to orchestrate some sort of contact that will appear random and innocent enough, while being fraught with some sort of specific plan. These are few and far between, and are usually met with emotional hangovers that discourage future attempts at such "spontaneous" contact.
However, Maine is one big small town, and I've found myself also denying things that are good and enjoyable for fear of bumping into someone. I need not deny my life's aspirations and enjoyments just because someone else may not want contact with me. There is a balance between being a victim who must isolate, and being omnipresent in the hopes of getting a rush of satisfaction (or dread) from maintaining contact.
So these past few months, I have returned to Elizabeth Lesser's book, "Broken Open" to look for guidance on letting go. The final section of the book deals with dying. Not necessarily the dying of the body, thought that is a part of the lessons contained within. But the dying portion of change that all of us experience in our daily lives. At least that what I come away with when I read her book. Lesser talks openly about experiencing the sadness and pain of change, as a way to release and be free of the burdens of pain associated with loss.
This is not the first time or person I have heard from that processing through pain is a means to healing from it. One recovery phrase that is a favorite of mine is, "The only way out, is through."
So as I embark upon my day today, I will look for the opportunities to let go. It may be as simple as letting go of location as my Husband and I travel to Cape Cod to visit with family, and my adorable niece. Few things make room in my heart like her smile, and her little shy, shoulder shrug when she sees us. I will read to her when she hands me a book, and accept toys, and eat plastic vegetables she prepares for me out of her little shopping cart.
But I will also connect with people who, like me, are in recovery from addiction. I will connect to their wisdom and experience. Invariably, someone will give voice to whatever it is that I need to hear for that day.
I will also find time to work out or swim while down there. There is a local pool that I can access for a day pass.
And I will make room to open my heart to whatever sadness, grief or loss comes my way.
Now, where's my day planner?
M ❤😊
My skills sets developed with the help and wisdom of friends include long walks (alone, or with a friend), swimming, exercising, making room/space for grief, writing, prayer and meditation, support groups, hobbies, literature, and expression of feelings; which never seems to happen on the time table I prepare them for. Darned feelings! I have so wished that I could schedule feelings like one places appointments in a day planner. "Sadness? 9:30-10:15 on Monday morning? Hmmm. Let me see . . . Sure! I'll pencil you in."
I still, occasionally, wander back into thinking, justification, and "bright ideas" of how to orchestrate some sort of contact that will appear random and innocent enough, while being fraught with some sort of specific plan. These are few and far between, and are usually met with emotional hangovers that discourage future attempts at such "spontaneous" contact.
However, Maine is one big small town, and I've found myself also denying things that are good and enjoyable for fear of bumping into someone. I need not deny my life's aspirations and enjoyments just because someone else may not want contact with me. There is a balance between being a victim who must isolate, and being omnipresent in the hopes of getting a rush of satisfaction (or dread) from maintaining contact.
So these past few months, I have returned to Elizabeth Lesser's book, "Broken Open" to look for guidance on letting go. The final section of the book deals with dying. Not necessarily the dying of the body, thought that is a part of the lessons contained within. But the dying portion of change that all of us experience in our daily lives. At least that what I come away with when I read her book. Lesser talks openly about experiencing the sadness and pain of change, as a way to release and be free of the burdens of pain associated with loss.
This is not the first time or person I have heard from that processing through pain is a means to healing from it. One recovery phrase that is a favorite of mine is, "The only way out, is through."
So as I embark upon my day today, I will look for the opportunities to let go. It may be as simple as letting go of location as my Husband and I travel to Cape Cod to visit with family, and my adorable niece. Few things make room in my heart like her smile, and her little shy, shoulder shrug when she sees us. I will read to her when she hands me a book, and accept toys, and eat plastic vegetables she prepares for me out of her little shopping cart.
But I will also connect with people who, like me, are in recovery from addiction. I will connect to their wisdom and experience. Invariably, someone will give voice to whatever it is that I need to hear for that day.
I will also find time to work out or swim while down there. There is a local pool that I can access for a day pass.
And I will make room to open my heart to whatever sadness, grief or loss comes my way.
Now, where's my day planner?
M ❤😊
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