Sister Issues

Last weekend was the Fontana race.  Auto Club Speedway in Fontana, California was where I first fell in love with racing.  From the moment the engines started I was hooked. The roar, the noise, the smell of burning gasoline were all fascinating to me.  But what really drew me in was listening to the scanner.  Drivers are in constant communication with their team on the top of the pit box.  While at the track you can rent a radio and listen in to your hearts content.  It was the intricacies of the sport that clenched it for me.  I was a racing fan. 

My sister bribed me to go to that race.  She had been watching the sport for a good 6 months. I was around while she watched and had become acquainted with the teams and drivers.  She wanted to go to the race so badly but didn't want to go alone.  She offered to pay for the tickets if I would just go with her.  So rarely does she want to go out, I readily agreed. 

While we sat on the couch last week, watching the race, I wanted to share my memories of Fontana with her. 

"You know what I remember about driving home from Fontana?"

"How wet we were?" she responded.  No, I didn't remember that.  She proceeded to tell me how much it rained and how we only stayed dry because she bought ponchos for us.  After a few minutes, I tried again.

"You know what I remember about driving home from Fontana?"

"How fast you were driving?  it scared me."  She again tried to finish my thought with her own.  No, I didn't remember that until she mentioned it.  She again proceeded to tell me all about how I was driving like a mad woman and got mad at her when she tried to tell me what freeway to take.  My car was only a few weeks old then.  You bet I was driving fast.  I waited a few more minutes, and tried a third time.

"You know what I remember about driving home from Fontana?"

"How stupid you felt for signing up for that timeshare presentation?"  For a third time she shared her own memories thinking I had similar thoughts.  I listened, not feeling the same way at all. 

I didn't try again and she never asked.  Ever.

Later that evening I called my little sister and told her all about it.  "You know what I remember about driving home from Fontana?"  I asked her after laughing about the story.  "I don't know.  What?" She asked me.

How happy I was.  That is what I remember.  I loved that I had a good day with my sister. I loved the racing. I loved the gasoline smell and the tires and the engines.  I loved that I had something new to learn about.  I loved how excited I was about something.  I had felt so dead for so long and now I had something new.  I drove home with a huge smile on my face.

The gravity of the exchange hit me the next day.  She doesn't care what I remember.  It was all about her and what she remembered.  After three failed attempts at trying to share with her I shut down.  I felt sad, but more than that I felt rejected and unimportant. I felt that somehow I was someone she tolerated but didn't care about.  I wonder if she feels that way about me? 

At that moment, my mind was made up. I will do whatever it takes to not live with her anymore once our lease is up.  I don't care about the financial or social consequences for her or for me.  That means I will be moving.  I will set up the boundary and support my own emotional health. Another great opportunity to practice boundaries on steroids.  I guess.  But this one feels sad. 

No, I am not enabling

I met with my nutritional therapist yesterday.  We had a good visit.  I'm really excited about the changes I see in my relationship to food. 

Before recovery, my typical food day started at about 9:30am with a chocolate milk, big chocolate chip cookie and a ham and cheese croissant from the school cafeteria where I taught high school.  I would survive the rest of the day on a full bag of candy and a large caffeinated beverage - usually mountain dew or dr. pepper.  When I say a bag full of candy, I mean the large bags of candy that you find in the store, not a single serving bag of m&ms or something.  My bag of choice was sweedish fish or starburst jelly beans.  Then, at 7 or 8 pm when I was driving home, I would stop for food.  I typically ordered two drinks, so the people at the windows didn't think I was going to eat all the food myself.  But then I did - and both drinks as well.  I would eat until I was way beyond full.  Then I'd force myself to sleep using a sleep med.  I'd wake up two or three times with severe stomach aches and by morning felt horrible.  That was my eating disorder. 

My food addiction comes in the form of making cookies.  It's not the actual cookies that I'm addicted to -- it's the process of making them.  If I am angry, I make cookies. If I am frustrated, sad, lonely, happy, excited or proud , I make cookies.  I finally admitted the addiction, when, in a very trancelike state, I got all the way though adding flour before I kind of woke up and realized what I was doing.  I had no memory of starting the cookies or making them.  But there was the dough staring me in the face. It was scary to me. It felt so much like the ritualization I do around my sex addiction.  There was no denying it was an addiction.

Back to the point......  I've had this feeling the last few weeks that my world is closing in on me a little bit.  Things in my life have always been so compartmentalized.  But recently, things have changed.  My sister and one of my good friends started seeing my nutritional therapist.  My sex addiction sponsor started seeing my regular therapist. One of my really good friends from my church moved and now lives on the same street as one of my really good recovery friends.  Things just seem to be closing in on me. 

Yesterday, I'm sitting there with my nutritional therapist discussing my last few weeks with food.  I tell her about the day I made cookies.  I ate two, and left the rest for my sister.  I was quite proud of myself.  She asked how many I left for my sister (10), and then said something like: "You might consider not leaving so many for your sister to eat and enabling her to overeat."  I let that come in for a second and then was a little upset by it.  How is leaving cookies for my sister enabling?  She's an adult, she can make her own choices about how much and what she eats.  I wasn't even in the house.  I left them on a plate and told her to help herself.  It's not like I held a gun to her head and said EAT THESE NOW!  I waited a minute and said these things to her.  I'm not responsible for her eating habits or her choices.  I've spent nearly two years and thousands of dollars to break that enmeshment with her and my family.  She is an adult.  She's my OLDER sister.  What she chooses to do is her own responsibility. 

I didn't say it quite so emphatically.  Nor did I rant about it.  I only said that part about not being responsible and her being an adult.  I could tell that she felt bad about what she said and she acknowledged that I was right and that I was not enabling her.  I say the wrong thing and make mistakes all the time.  No worries.

Later in the conversation, when I was going to say something negative about my sister, I found myself editing.  And that is where my problem lies.  I don't want to be editing what I say to my therapist -- I feel like that kind of defeats the point, doesn't it?  Aren't I supposed to be able to say whatever I need to say?  I mentioned this, that I was editing.  She assured me that what I say is confidential, and I totally believe that is true. But I still edited.  And now, it's just different.

Later she brought up family therapy -- suggesting that maybe my sister and I see my regular therapist together.  I assured her that was never going to happen.  Though I didn't tell her, I tried that once.  I asked her to come to one of my therapy appointments when we first moved to Seattle in 2009.  It was a disaster, as the therapist took her side and started ganging up on me.  Of course, the therapist apologized at my next session, but the damage was done.  I felt betrayed and my sister felt empowered.  There was no coming back from that.  I quit seeing her. 

I suppose I should see this for what it is --  a beautiful opportunity to practice boundaries on steroids, right?  Exactly what I keep telling myself that I want!!  It felt really good to stand up for myself.  No, I am not enabling my sister by having cookies in the house. If that was the case, having food in the house would be enabling my sister.  She is an adult and I am not at all responsible for the choices or decisions she makes.  I held the boundary and even discussed it with the person involved in the moment.  I didn't hold onto it and let it fester and then become angry, bitter or resentful, all behaviors I would have exhibited in the past.  I'm not any of those things nor do I have any negative feelings towards my therapist.  Like I said, we all say the wrong thing and make mistakes some times.  No worries.

What I need to do now is let it go.  Boundaries on steroids recognizes the issue, discusses the issue, then let's it go and doesn't continually analyze it.  I don't have the mental time to do that. I could be doing much better things with my time.  I feel confident in the way I handled it. I don't feel like I could have done better or differently, so let it go. 

Boundaries on Steroids

Last week I told my therapist I was thinking about moving to Utah.  He jokingly responded with: "Wow.  You'll need some boundaries on steroids to make that work."  We went on with the conversation and had a good session. 

But the concept of "Boundaries on Steroids" has stuck with me.  I'm surprised sometimes at the little things that stick with me and make an impact.  I think I want boundaries on steroids. 

A few examples:

I was hired to teach a little 3-year old in my ward music lessons.  I was reluctant because I've never taught kids that young, but agreed.  I've been a little self-conscious about the whole thing.  The last two lessons the mother has cancelled.  Today I got a text from her that said: "I need to take my baby to the doctor, let's plan on next week."  (She has a 7 month old)  Instantly I thought: She doesn't like my lessons, she doesn't find them valuable, she doesn't want to pay my fee or thinks it's too high, etc.  Boundaries on steroids would take it for what it is and let it go.  She has a 7-month old and is trying to balance life.  This has nothing to do with me.  While writing this I got another text:  "She has an eye infection and today is the only day I could get in."  This really has nothing to do with me. 

My sister stomped down the hallway a few days ago making huffing sounds. "What's wrong?" I asked.  "Nothing" she spat back.  I spent the next few hours thinking over everything I've done, said, not done, and not said trying to figure out why she was mad.  Again, making it all about me.  Boundaries on steroids would say if she's not ready to talk or won't tell me if I did anything wrong, then it's not my problem.  This has nothing to do with me.

I worry about what people think, feel or say about me. I try to manage it and spend time obsessing about it.  I edit who I am to fit what I think other people want me to be.  Boundaries on steroids says: What other people think, feel or say about me is none of my business until they make it my business by talking to me about it.  It says work to be comfortable with who you are and how you respond and interact with others.  Ultimately, if you're confident in what you think, feel, do and say, you won't care about what other people think about you.  No one has the whole picture anyway.  And those that do have the whole picture - your therapist for example - think you're a great person.

I went to dinner last night with one of my very best friends.  I had a really great time. I felt confident in what I said. I voiced opinions that I normally wouldn't have. I also held my tongue when I felt it was the better decision.  In all of my interactions, I was authentic.  We discussed personal issues and private things about ourselves.  I needed him last night for so many reasons and he delivered.  But the best part is there is no "boundary hangover".  I'm not frantic today about what I said, playing every detail over in my head to make sure I didn't say anything that could be misinterpreted.  I don't feel the need for confirmation from him that we're still ok or that our friendship is still solid.  I feel secure in our interaction. 

The main difference I see between the boundaries I have now and those I want has to do with the automatic thoughts.  My boundaries now allow me to logically talk down my negative automatic thoughts -- like the mother doesn't like what I'm doing with her daughter.  The thought comes and I talk myself down from it.  But I still spend 20-30 minutes mentally engaged in trying to change my thought-process.  If I have several of these incidents in a day, it can be hours of mental engagement talking myself off the cliff.  I don't want to spend that time.  I don't want the thoughts.  I want to develop enough confidence in my interactions with others that there is no room for automatic thoughts.

I want boundaries on steroids. 

People Like Me

In doing the work for my 4th step, I came face to face with three major realizations.

1. While in addiction, I was completely and totally selfish.  Facing that was difficult.  I had longer term relationships with people and can't remember their names or much of anything about them.  It was all about what they gave me and had nothing to do with them or who they really were. 
2. I ended every relationship. All of the rejection was on my end. Not only that, in most if not all cases, it was complete abandonment. I didn't have a conversation and end the relationship -- rather, on a whim one day, or when life got too chaotic, I would just end all communication. 
3. These people I had relationships with liked me.  After the abandonment, I would get emails and phone calls and texts, begging for confirmation that I hadn't died or was in a tragic accident or something.  They would go on and on about how much they missed me and how much they wanted me to be ok.  Because I was so selfish in acting out - I never responded.

As I have pondered these realizations over the last few weeks, I finally understand why they have been so challenging to look at.  These three things are in direct opposition to three major things I believe about myself.

1. I am loving, accepting, a good friend, and look out for others.  I am a rescuer.
2. My life has been full of rejection.
3. People tolerate my existence and presence, but don't choose to be my friend.

I have felt like a victim for so long -- locked out of social circles, rejected for my appearance and other character flaws, always the friend but never the girlfriend.  My older sister told me countless times growing up that people didn't like me, they just pretended to be my friend.  I hadn't realized how much I thought that to be true.  I've carried these ideas with me my entire life. 

After discussing this with my therapist today he explained that when going to school and doing clinicals one of the things they drive home is finding something about everyone to like.  Some clients are easy to work with, but others aren't.  Then he said: "Some clients you really wish you could have met under different circumstances because they are just really great people and you wish you could have a friendship with them.  You are one of those people."  Wow. 

Apparently, people like me. Even my therapist who knows every ounce of dirt about me, thinks I'm a great person.  He qualified it even and said "I'm not just saying this because you're the perfect client and have made so much progress."

And you know what -- what's not to like?  I am pretty fantastic.  I'm smart, quick-witted, and fiercely loyal.  I'm an acute listener, an astute observer, and good at seeing the big picture.  I'm efficient, musical and have a great memory.  I'm opinionated but not over-bearing, and accepting of all.  I love all things jazz, chocolate and anything that comes off a grill.  I have a definite relationship with God and my Savior. I've seen every Dr. Who episode and love all things Harry Potter.  I have a knack for organizing spaces and people and can beat anyone at Rummikub.  I have a gift with children, they light up around me.  I have a gift with teenagers, they open up around me.  I'm a gifted teacher and musician.  I write well and excel at public speaking.  I have an eye for color and love to draw and paint. 

For thirty-seven years, none of that ever felt like enough.  When you pick and choose what makes you valuable or enough, you'll never win.  We are each valuable and enough for who we are right now - whatever and wherever that is. There is no magic formula to make us enough.  We make ourselves enough. 

Today - and every day from now on -- I choose to be enough. 

Feeling Shame

This new book I'm studying --  I Thought It Was Just Me (But It Isn't): Making the Journey to I Am Enough, by Brene Brown, is amazing.  Truly.  I read and re-read and ponder and discuss and am starting to feel like a different person.  One of my favorite quotes:

"We believe that the most terrifying and destructive feeling that a person can experience is psychological isolation. This is not the same as being alone. It is a feeling that one is locked out of the possibility of human connection and of being powerless to change the situation. In the extreme, psychological isolation can lead to a sense of hopelessness and desperation. People will do almost anything to escape this combination of condemned isolation and powerlessness." 

That is how I have felt about my entire life.  That there was this secret "thing" I didn't understand that locked me out of connection. I didn't have friends growing up, I didn't get along with girls or boys.  The whole friend thing was really difficult for me.  I remember feeling condemned, powerless, hopeless and desperate.  Desperate for any type of connection - even addictive connection. 

Brown's message is to normalize shame -- it's real, we all feel it, and will continue to experience it in our lives -- and then to build shame resilience so that we don't live in, operate by, or feel trapped by shame.  The following are questions the book provides to help you build your shame resilience. 

I physically feel shame in/on my:  chest and stomach.

It feels like:  my chest cavity is caving in, like I'm collapsing in on myself.  I start to feel sick to my stomach, even though it's not physically churning or sick.  After a few minutes, I start to panic. My mind races and a big dose of adrenalin kicks in with a fight or flight response brewing.  I almost always come out fighting.

I know I'm in shame when I feel: small, hopeless, desperate and angry.  Anger is a big one for me.

If I could taste shame, it would taste like:  revenge. When I'm in shame I want to lash out and hurt the people who "hurt" me. It's never a physical hurt. I want them to emotionally hurt as bad as I do.  Shame leaves me with an entitlement feeling. I'm entitled to do what I want because these people shamed me.

If I could smell shame, it would smell like: fresh baked cookies. I eat instead of listening to my feelings.  I know when I'm baking cookies - there is usually something I really don't want to deal with or feel shameful about. 

If I could touch shame, it would feel like: really gritty sandpaper. Sand paper is supposed to smooth things out, make it better, like my mom thought shaming me would make it better.  But the really gritty kind - like 60 grit - does nothing but eat up the wood to shape it. You swipe your finger over the sandpaper and come out bleeding and don't understand why.

How can knowing my physical triggers help in shame resilience?  Many times, I feel the effects of shame physically before I even know what is happening emotionally.  This is the case almost every time for me. Many times I'll have these uncomfortable, sick, or angry feelings for a few days before I can clearly connect to what happened, why I'm feeling this way and what to do about it.  Many times I'll end up in my therapist's office rambling about how I feel for 15-20 minutes and how I can't seem to figure out why I have these feelings and in one sentence he connects what happened to how I'm feeling.  Once I have that connection and can name why I feel that way, I'm able to let it go and move on.  I can physically feel myself relax and once I can name the shame, know exactly what to do to about it.

Your set of lenses

Where do some people get off? ..... No, I'm really not that angry....

Why do some people just cause drama? ..... No, I don't really care why they do .....

Why can't we accept what is?  .....  That feels better ......

Why can't people accept what is?  I'm sad for people who get so tangled up in drama all the time.  They must be hurting and really unable to see outside their own circumstances.  I have totally been there and have been caught up in more drama than probably imaginable.  Not only that, I've caused drama, lots of drama, because I believed whatever I believed was right, and didn't even try to consider other options.  I've been there and it is not a happy place. 

Reality is that you are only one person with one set of lenses with which you view the world.  Hopefully, you can develop enough empathy in life to be able to set aside those lenses long enough to appreciate other people and to take a realistic view of the world.  But whether you can or not, people will always have differing thoughts and opinions.  Unless you can learn to appreciate that, and accept that differing opinions does not mean you're a bad person or that your opinion is wrong, you will always live amid drama. 

Hope

About 4 months ago I began watching this show on BYUTV called "Turning Point".  I was instantly effected.  The show highlights people throughout the world that have done truly incredible things. Most of them are people you have never heard of who have done things you also have never heard of.  But these are truly amazing people who do incredible things. 

There have been several episodes that have had moved me.  Actually, I don't think I have watched an episode where I haven't cried. These episodes have tugged at emotions and things going on in my soul. 

These are my experiences in life:
7 years of high school teaching:  I love high school students. I had so many students in abusive homes. I had so many experiences with students who were abused, abandoned and neglected. It took a huge toll on me. It was difficult for me leave those kids. I connect with high school students. I do well with them and relate to them.

20+ years of addiction:  I've struggled with sex and food addictions for nearly my entire life.  I know the isolation that comes from addiction.  I know the dark hole you feel in your life and the thoughts that come -- I'll never get out. No one will ever love or trust me again.

2 years of recovery:  I've been attending therapy and recovery meetings for just under two years.  I'm on a pathway now that leads to good places.  I've learned so much. I've changed so much. My life is truly different. 

I'm feeling this change in my soul.  I look at my life and see where a little bit of support here, or knowledge there would have led to a much different outcome.  Not that I don't love my life, I do.  But I can imagine what could have been different.  I don't want to go back to old life of climbing a corporate ladder.  I want to do something to benefit children and women.  I want to be involved in helping people change.  I want to offer hope to people in despair.  I don't know how to do that yet.... but I'm looking for the opportunity. 

Yes, Yes I Am.

Since my inconsistency post a little bit ago (read it here), I've been making progress. 

1.  I made my bed.  Yep - washed my bedding and actually put clean sheets on my bed.  I know, amazing, right?  It took me a grand total of 15 minutes.

2.  I cleaned my office.  Swept the floor, washed the windows, cleaned the desk and organized the tables.  I threw tons of stuff away - recycled tons - and gave some away.  I spent approximately 90 minutes on it. 

3.  I started a morning routine that includes kneeling prayer.  It's a quick 30 minutes of recovery work and spirituality.  It helps me set the mood for the day and has been extremely helpful for me.

4.  I saw my nutritional therapist and started planning meals again.  She was so incredibly helpful.  I've been dealing with fatigue issues and she was able to give me some thoughts about the amount of food I've been eating.  I've got a solid plan for the week that I'm excited about. 

5.  I've been more honest in situations.  I've really been trying on this one.  It really bothers me that I am not always completely truthful and sometimes exaggerate.  I've caught myself thinking about lying and have really tried to be rigorously honest with everyone.  I'm not perfect at it, but I'm getting better.

Things are getting better.  I somehow dug myself into a hole the last three weeks and I feel like I'm just starting to peek my head out the top.  I've got some things to get caught up on this next week and then I'll really start to feel on top of it.  But progress everyday is helping.  I don't have to do everything all at once, but I need to do something every day to move towards congruency. 

Moving

I'm considering moving states to be closer to my family.  A year ago, hell 6 months ago, I would have never said that or thought it possible.  But here I am, having made significant progress in so many areas of my life, considering moving.

Moving has been a part of my life.  Between the ages of 18 and 32, I moved 19 times.  That doesn't count the 9 areas I served in on my mission. 19 times!!!  Moving has always been a form of escape.  When I couldn't handle things, or didn't know how to fix the mess I had somehow gotten myself into, I would move.  Sometimes it was apartments within the same city.  Other times, it was to the other end of the state.  Moving has always been a running of sorts.  I'd open my arms and run at lightning speed to a new environment, new situation with new people and hopefully leave my craziness behind. I wasn't calling it an addiction then, but that is what I was hoping and praying for, that a new start would mean a new me.  And it always worked...... for a period of time at least. 

But this time is different.  For the last 5 years I've lived in the same place, attended the same ward at church, and connected with people in a way I never have before.  In the past, I would move and never give the previous people in my life a second thought.  I'd never call, never write or email.  I might think about them occasionally, but never for more than a few seconds and usually in passing.

I think about moving and am conflicted.  I miss my family. I want to be part of their lives and not just the occasional family visit or holiday.  I want to know my nephews and go to their sporting events and school functions.  I want to have cousins sleepover at my house where they all come over and we watch movies and make pizza.  I want to have family dinner with them and be part of their lives.  That is exciting to me.  The idea of living in a place where the sun shines the majority of the time is also very exciting to me.  I'm tired of the wet pacific northwest.  

Yet - moving means losing my piano students, whom I have come to love so much.  It means no more Sundays with Adam, who literally has a melt down if I'm not at church.  It means no more hugs from Flora who shakes with excitement and screams my name when I walk into Nursery.  I've know her since she was born almost 4 years ago.  It means no more book club with the women I have come to adore and admire.  It means building a new network of support for recovery.  It means starting over.  No more spontaneous dinners with friends.  No more walks with Tina.  For the first time in my life, moving is scary, hurtful and full of loss.

Several things go through my head as I think about this and old cycles reveal themselves.....

• What if they don't remember me anymore? That's a prideful, selfish thing to think.
• It's ridiculous to plan your life around other people's kids.  These people I love so much could move away next week.  I can't plan around them.
• It's stupid to think that you mean anything to these people.  This one always haunts me.

If I decide to move this time, it's not because I'm running from anything.  This area will always be sacred to me because this is where I found recovery.  This is where I learned to value myself.  This is where the Lord forgave me for the things I had done wrong.  This is where I learned to stand on my own two feet and be the person I want to be. 

Moving will be a choice of running TO something.  But do I even need to run at all?  Even as I type that, I know the answer.  Yes, I do.  I have prayed and prayed and feel the confirmation of the spirit that moving is the right choice for me.  I'll be running to my family, my nephews, the sunshine, the snow, a beautiful area, my own home, new friends and new opportunities.

But, for awhile, it's going to hurt.  I'm not used to caring this much.  I'm not used to be so connected to people that leaving is painful.