When I woke up this morning, I was laying in bed and a line from Pulp Fiction crossed my mind. I can't quote it exactly, but it is when Bruce Willis' gorgeous, very thin, French girlfriend says that she wants a pot belly. She says that it is funny that what feels good to touch doesn't look good to the eye, because the extra flesh of a pot belly is soft and appealing to the hand.
I'm not exactly sure what caused that scene to flash through my mind, aside from the fact that Pulp Fiction is one of my favorite movies and I haven't seen it in a while. But I do know that it hit home for me. I recently wrote about having put on some weight and how that bothers me. It does, I am determined to lose it. But I also know that yesterday, I was looking in the mirror and I actually enjoyed the extra flesh on my body. I haven't gained a lot of weight, but it seems to have gone to my legs and my butt, which are two of my smallest areas.
After I thought about Pulp Fiction, and about how important that one line is to modern women, I started thinking about my last boyfriend. He would always tell me that women are supposed to have fat and extra flesh on their bodies. Women were built to have some padding. He would always say that as if he wished women would remember it, which made him even more appealing in my eyes.
My real question is why women don't get this? Why don't women see this about themselves and want it? I am just as guilty of being blind to this as any other woman I meet or who may read this. As I write this, as I say that I enjoyed my extra weight yesterday, I am planning on losing it. I won't stand for being this weight for long. My ideal body is very thin, without the extra padding that my ex-boyfriend seemed to find appealing.
Should I blame the media for this loss of clarity? Should I blame men? Should I blame myself? Is there something broken in my mind that tells me that I should be skinnier than I am? I don't know. What I do know is that some of the women who I personally find the most beautiful are not thin. In fact, I can only name a handful of women who are as thin as I want to be and whose looks I admire.
Why is is that we can't embrace our softness and love the fact that we were meant to have it? For me, this is a continual battle. It is a fight between my body and my mind and everything I know and love about myself. And the bottom line is that it shouldn't be. I have bigger problems. Weight should be the least of my concern right now. I am told daily that I am beautiful, even by the man who's divorcing me, so why is it that I can't believe it.
My body has done wonderful things to earn this softness. I birthed a nine pound baby. I birthed a baby in twenty minutes once. And one other time, I birthed a baby in my living room. My body has run 13.1 miles, and I have the medal to prove it. My body has been sober for over a year. My body nursed one child for over two years. There are really good reasons why my body is not rock-hard and firm. There are really beautiful reasons for the softness of my flesh. Yet, all I really care about is hardening that softness.
It all leads me to the question: Would I rather sleep on a soft pillow or a hard one?
Sunday, September 28, 2014
Saturday, September 27, 2014
Pretty.
It just so happens,
that as the sun goes down,
the light hits you.
Your curls light up.
Your hair is on fire.
You are pretty.
It just so happens,
that as the sun rises,
the rays bounce off of your cheeks.
Your cheekbones appear rosy,
Your dimple glows,
You are priceless.
It just so happens,
that in the afternoon,
the sun is in the sky.
You look sun kissed.
Your shoulders glow.
You are luminous.
It doesn't matter,
what time of day.
Or if you have spilled coffee on your shirt.
Or if your socks don't match.
You are not perfect.
I am not perfect.
We are divine.
We match.
We just need the light to hit us, just so.
We just need to see it,
Through our eyes.
We just need to see it,
in the shadow.
With our hearts.
that as the sun goes down,
the light hits you.
Your curls light up.
Your hair is on fire.
You are pretty.
It just so happens,
that as the sun rises,
the rays bounce off of your cheeks.
Your cheekbones appear rosy,
Your dimple glows,
You are priceless.
It just so happens,
that in the afternoon,
the sun is in the sky.
You look sun kissed.
Your shoulders glow.
You are luminous.
It doesn't matter,
what time of day.
Or if you have spilled coffee on your shirt.
Or if your socks don't match.
You are not perfect.
I am not perfect.
We are divine.
We match.
We just need the light to hit us, just so.
We just need to see it,
Through our eyes.
We just need to see it,
in the shadow.
With our hearts.
Friday, September 26, 2014
Among.
I think that I have written about this before, but if I did it has been long enough that I don't think it matters.
I have always had issues with people. I like to be one on one or two on one, but if the group is much larger than that I will sit in the corner and look around. I don't like to feel socially pressured. Even if I am in a familiar place, like the place where I am currently staying, if there are people at the table playing games I will go to my room and do my own thing.
I could go on and on about how my introverted nature affects me daily. I run alone, do yoga alone, will walk to and from work alone and be perfectly happy. I like to ride my longboard alone and generally I prefer to be alone for a significant portion of my day. I have even always elected to go to college online because I feel uncomfortable in a classroom.
As it stands right now, I like to hang out with my son and with my best friend. Occasionally I will reach out to other adults for coffee or to talk. I do meet regularly with my sponsor from AA, and I do find myself looking forward to that.
Lately, however, I have been pushing myself to be among others. I started going to church and I am trying out different small groups. I have been working on making connections with other women in AA and asking people to meet for coffee so that I can socialize. It's hard for me because all of my gut instincts scream to me to cancel on them and to stay at home doing homework or drawing.
I have to fight with every corner of my mind to actually follow through with these commitments. And sometimes I have the tendency to dive in overboard and make too many social arrangements. It leaves me feeling exhausted and emotionally depleted. I have to find balance in this matter. I have to find myself able to socialize and able to come home when I need to. This is a learning process for me and sometimes I find myself wishing that I was an extrovert, for whom it came natural to be around people all of the time.
What is strange about me is that I am not socially awkward. I have social skills and I am friendly. In fact, most people are kind of surprised when I tell them that I am classically introverted. They think that I probably read an article about it and decided that was what I wanted to be. But that isn't the case. Many introverts work in extroverted jobs, are friendly, and even have bubbly, outgoing personalities. I think that I fall into that category of introvert and so it surprises people when I want to hide in my room rather than play monopoly.
It's very new for me to want to me among. It's hard for me to make myself a part of because I don't want to become overly involved and because I don't have a lot of practice at doing it. How does a twenty-eight-year-old adult learn new social practices? Does it just take time and patience? Should I read a book? It's a long road to normal and I don't know if I ever want to get there.
I have always had issues with people. I like to be one on one or two on one, but if the group is much larger than that I will sit in the corner and look around. I don't like to feel socially pressured. Even if I am in a familiar place, like the place where I am currently staying, if there are people at the table playing games I will go to my room and do my own thing.
I could go on and on about how my introverted nature affects me daily. I run alone, do yoga alone, will walk to and from work alone and be perfectly happy. I like to ride my longboard alone and generally I prefer to be alone for a significant portion of my day. I have even always elected to go to college online because I feel uncomfortable in a classroom.
As it stands right now, I like to hang out with my son and with my best friend. Occasionally I will reach out to other adults for coffee or to talk. I do meet regularly with my sponsor from AA, and I do find myself looking forward to that.
Lately, however, I have been pushing myself to be among others. I started going to church and I am trying out different small groups. I have been working on making connections with other women in AA and asking people to meet for coffee so that I can socialize. It's hard for me because all of my gut instincts scream to me to cancel on them and to stay at home doing homework or drawing.
I have to fight with every corner of my mind to actually follow through with these commitments. And sometimes I have the tendency to dive in overboard and make too many social arrangements. It leaves me feeling exhausted and emotionally depleted. I have to find balance in this matter. I have to find myself able to socialize and able to come home when I need to. This is a learning process for me and sometimes I find myself wishing that I was an extrovert, for whom it came natural to be around people all of the time.
What is strange about me is that I am not socially awkward. I have social skills and I am friendly. In fact, most people are kind of surprised when I tell them that I am classically introverted. They think that I probably read an article about it and decided that was what I wanted to be. But that isn't the case. Many introverts work in extroverted jobs, are friendly, and even have bubbly, outgoing personalities. I think that I fall into that category of introvert and so it surprises people when I want to hide in my room rather than play monopoly.
It's very new for me to want to me among. It's hard for me to make myself a part of because I don't want to become overly involved and because I don't have a lot of practice at doing it. How does a twenty-eight-year-old adult learn new social practices? Does it just take time and patience? Should I read a book? It's a long road to normal and I don't know if I ever want to get there.
Wednesday, September 24, 2014
Twist.
I found you on a broken hill.
Standing in the darkness.
Contemplating the precipice.
The Earth was broken.
Twisted.
The wind was still, the leaves were blowing.
I stood beside you, though you could not see me.
Watched you look around for someone,
to bear witness to your calm and serenity.
Surrounded by chaos,
as you contemplated.
The beauty and the madness,
of crumbling Earth.
Angry rock.
Dirt in the midst of a revolution.
You could not see me,
though I was tangible.
For when I pushed,
you dove.
Into the void,
the blackness.
And as you fell, the stars grew bright.
Flickering, singing.
Enthralled by your leap of faith.
The Earth, the stars, the wind.
A tree cried out with joy.
For the melting Earth began to heal.
Lick its wounds and seek to rest.
The writhing came to and end,
and there was peace.
And there was solitude.
And there was me.
Standing in the darkness.
Contemplating the precipice.
The Earth was broken.
Twisted.
The wind was still, the leaves were blowing.
I stood beside you, though you could not see me.
Watched you look around for someone,
to bear witness to your calm and serenity.
Surrounded by chaos,
as you contemplated.
The beauty and the madness,
of crumbling Earth.
Angry rock.
Dirt in the midst of a revolution.
You could not see me,
though I was tangible.
For when I pushed,
you dove.
Into the void,
the blackness.
And as you fell, the stars grew bright.
Flickering, singing.
Enthralled by your leap of faith.
The Earth, the stars, the wind.
A tree cried out with joy.
For the melting Earth began to heal.
Lick its wounds and seek to rest.
The writhing came to and end,
and there was peace.
And there was solitude.
And there was me.
Tuesday, September 23, 2014
Jesus.
My faith has always been really personal to me. Even when I was a practicing alcoholic, I had a life full of faith. I have always believed in a power greater than myself. However, now that I am sober faith takes the central spot in my life. I pray and meditate every day and sometimes I do this more than once per day. I find myself frequently stopping mid-movement and doing what I call a "single-breath prayer."
I usually hesitate to define my faith because I take it so personally and because I like to be so private about it, also because I think it is very hard for me to describe. Lately I have been in a strange emotional place. I wrote recently about hitting an emotional bottom and in that bottom I found myself looking to my faith for answers. I spent a whole day praying. God talked to me that day and gave me some pretty solid direction, which I have been doing my absolute best to follow.
But, I don't just pray when things are bad. Today when I got a very badly needed job, I hit my knees in the living room and just yelled "THANK YOU!" to the sky over and over. I ended with an "Amen," and then I got up and carried on with my day.
Every morning, when I exercise, I talk to my God about what I am grateful for. I try and name at least ten things and they are never material possessions. I talk to Jesus all the time because I am pretty sure that no matter what, he is always there listening to and he always has my back.
That said, I am not a Christian in the traditional sense of the word. I mean, who is? I tend to think of my faith as a full-Earth picture. Mother Earth, Father Sky, Jesus, the cosmos. It's all intertwined to me. I love them all. They are all the same entity, no matter what I choose to call it. I love the Bible and I love listening to the Word. I love reading and studying ANY faith, because I think that faith is the fabric of life. I live on and for faith. I have a tattoo of Buddha because I follow Buddha as well. I also practice Buddhist meditation from time to time, among other forms.
I love my faith. I feel at ease when I pray. I feel peace when I am on a run and I look up at the trees and the sky and I thank my divine Mother for the breath in my lungs and the sun on my skin. I have felt the stars staring down at me in a moment of prayer, making sure that my heart knows comfort. My faith means the world to me, because my faith is product of my sobriety and my sobriety is a product of faith.
I am really not sure what led me to write this, but what I do know is that day by day I feel better and I feel more love. I am thankful for today, and today I am full of faith.
I usually hesitate to define my faith because I take it so personally and because I like to be so private about it, also because I think it is very hard for me to describe. Lately I have been in a strange emotional place. I wrote recently about hitting an emotional bottom and in that bottom I found myself looking to my faith for answers. I spent a whole day praying. God talked to me that day and gave me some pretty solid direction, which I have been doing my absolute best to follow.
But, I don't just pray when things are bad. Today when I got a very badly needed job, I hit my knees in the living room and just yelled "THANK YOU!" to the sky over and over. I ended with an "Amen," and then I got up and carried on with my day.
Every morning, when I exercise, I talk to my God about what I am grateful for. I try and name at least ten things and they are never material possessions. I talk to Jesus all the time because I am pretty sure that no matter what, he is always there listening to and he always has my back.
That said, I am not a Christian in the traditional sense of the word. I mean, who is? I tend to think of my faith as a full-Earth picture. Mother Earth, Father Sky, Jesus, the cosmos. It's all intertwined to me. I love them all. They are all the same entity, no matter what I choose to call it. I love the Bible and I love listening to the Word. I love reading and studying ANY faith, because I think that faith is the fabric of life. I live on and for faith. I have a tattoo of Buddha because I follow Buddha as well. I also practice Buddhist meditation from time to time, among other forms.
I love my faith. I feel at ease when I pray. I feel peace when I am on a run and I look up at the trees and the sky and I thank my divine Mother for the breath in my lungs and the sun on my skin. I have felt the stars staring down at me in a moment of prayer, making sure that my heart knows comfort. My faith means the world to me, because my faith is product of my sobriety and my sobriety is a product of faith.
I am really not sure what led me to write this, but what I do know is that day by day I feel better and I feel more love. I am thankful for today, and today I am full of faith.
Friday, September 19, 2014
Fat.
Don't tell me that I am skinny. I don't want to hear about how good you think I look. I don't feel it. When I look in the mirror, I see someone who easily needs to lose another twenty pounds.
In my head, I can tell myself that my pants are a size 7 and that they are loose on my legs. But my head later tells me that I have probably stretched them out and that they fit more like a 9 or an 11. They might have even been sized incorrectly, because surely I need to lose weight.
I used to weigh close to 300 pounds. I was tightly compacted into my size twenty jeans and I hated myself. I hated my body. Now, I weigh over a hundred pounds less and I still hate my body. I still want to lose weight. But overall, I want to love my body. I want to look in the mirror and think "You are beautiful," but I don't. I want to look in the mirror and like my face, but all I see are pimples and eyebrows that need wax.
There are things that I like about myself, don't mistake my low self-esteem for utter self-loathing, but I do not like my body and I do not like my face. I don't know how to change it, if I could I definitely would.
What I do know is that I am tired of hearing that I am skinny. I don't feel skinny, especially because I have recently put on weight. I don't feel good about my body and until I do, the compliments feel like insults. They feel like eyes scanning over my muffin top and taking in my fat. If you are looking at me, clearly you can see how flabby I am, clearly you can see every ounce of extra skin and every stretch mark on my body.
I don't want you to see those things, I would hide from your eyes if I could. I would go away and not re-emerge until I had achieved my perfect body and somehow found a way to like my face. I wish that was an option, because I would take it. I don't know how to achieve my goals. I eat well. I run. I do yoga. But here I sit, having gained weight that I worked very hard to lose. Not feeling good in my skin and not feeling like I am presentable for the public.
I wish I knew why. I wish I understood my mentality. But all I understand is that I want to look a certain way and that I don't. I understand that until I meet my goals, I will feel fat. I understand that I do not want to be told that I am thin. I am not thin. I do not accept that.
In my head, I can tell myself that my pants are a size 7 and that they are loose on my legs. But my head later tells me that I have probably stretched them out and that they fit more like a 9 or an 11. They might have even been sized incorrectly, because surely I need to lose weight.
I used to weigh close to 300 pounds. I was tightly compacted into my size twenty jeans and I hated myself. I hated my body. Now, I weigh over a hundred pounds less and I still hate my body. I still want to lose weight. But overall, I want to love my body. I want to look in the mirror and think "You are beautiful," but I don't. I want to look in the mirror and like my face, but all I see are pimples and eyebrows that need wax.
There are things that I like about myself, don't mistake my low self-esteem for utter self-loathing, but I do not like my body and I do not like my face. I don't know how to change it, if I could I definitely would.
What I do know is that I am tired of hearing that I am skinny. I don't feel skinny, especially because I have recently put on weight. I don't feel good about my body and until I do, the compliments feel like insults. They feel like eyes scanning over my muffin top and taking in my fat. If you are looking at me, clearly you can see how flabby I am, clearly you can see every ounce of extra skin and every stretch mark on my body.
I don't want you to see those things, I would hide from your eyes if I could. I would go away and not re-emerge until I had achieved my perfect body and somehow found a way to like my face. I wish that was an option, because I would take it. I don't know how to achieve my goals. I eat well. I run. I do yoga. But here I sit, having gained weight that I worked very hard to lose. Not feeling good in my skin and not feeling like I am presentable for the public.
I wish I knew why. I wish I understood my mentality. But all I understand is that I want to look a certain way and that I don't. I understand that until I meet my goals, I will feel fat. I understand that I do not want to be told that I am thin. I am not thin. I do not accept that.
Thursday, September 18, 2014
I Threw a Fit.
My name is Molly. I am 28 years old. I just had a temper tantrum. I even threw my phone. I cried so hard that I had snot running down my face. What, may you ask, led to this? Well, the straw that broke the camel's back was the fact that I was asked to move my car. Instead of moving it, I had a tantrum. Now, I feel better. A lot better.
Obviously, the car was not the only reason that I lost it. I came home, mid-tantrum, and my best friend calmly told me that I have a tendency to let "one thing wreck my day." Well damn her for being right, because she is. I have problems. I have a lot of them. Right now, they seem huge. They seem like the end of the world and generally speaking, I don't know what to do. But, when it comes down to it, everyone has problems. Everyone probably thinks that their problems are huge and everyone probably should alleviate them by having a melt down.
I mean it.
Have a tantrum if you need to in order to feel better. Maybe don't throw your phone, because they are expensive, but if you need to scream... fucking do it. I'm glad that I did. If I hadn't I would probably still be stewing on my problems.
I think the thing is that I expect too much. I expect too much from life, I expect too much from myself, and I expect too much from other people. Things are not always going to go my way. In fact, lately, few things have come out the way that I have wanted them. I have to get used to that. I have to wrap my teeny tiny, pea-sized brain around the fact that life doesn't come on my terms. I have to live life on life's terms.
Sometimes that means I am going to have to continue using my Esca-legs to get around, that I need to find a new job, that I have to depend on the kindness of my friends to have a roof over my head. It means that my student loans aren't what I expected them to be and that I am not guaranteed to be a size 5 forever. It also means that I get to see my son off to school and pick him up from school. It means I might actually have the time to learn to ride my long board while I look for a job. It means that I can take the opportunity to learn to manage my money better instead of just spending it willy-nilly. It means that I have friends that love me and time to build strength of character.
Life is seldom what I want or expect it to be. Sometimes life is a big bag of dicks. No matter what, life is a gift. Life is beautiful. Life is growth. Life is change.
I learned today that I will probably always be in perpetual motion. I will probably always be in a state of chaos. What needs to happen is that I need to learn to handle the chaos and flow with it. I need to take a deep breath and not focus solely on the mud and the muck.
I came home mid-tantrum to someone who loves me unconditionally. I was told by that person that it is not as bad as I think it is. I believe her. And I also believe that what I really needed was a good cry.
Obviously, the car was not the only reason that I lost it. I came home, mid-tantrum, and my best friend calmly told me that I have a tendency to let "one thing wreck my day." Well damn her for being right, because she is. I have problems. I have a lot of them. Right now, they seem huge. They seem like the end of the world and generally speaking, I don't know what to do. But, when it comes down to it, everyone has problems. Everyone probably thinks that their problems are huge and everyone probably should alleviate them by having a melt down.
I mean it.
Have a tantrum if you need to in order to feel better. Maybe don't throw your phone, because they are expensive, but if you need to scream... fucking do it. I'm glad that I did. If I hadn't I would probably still be stewing on my problems.
I think the thing is that I expect too much. I expect too much from life, I expect too much from myself, and I expect too much from other people. Things are not always going to go my way. In fact, lately, few things have come out the way that I have wanted them. I have to get used to that. I have to wrap my teeny tiny, pea-sized brain around the fact that life doesn't come on my terms. I have to live life on life's terms.
Sometimes that means I am going to have to continue using my Esca-legs to get around, that I need to find a new job, that I have to depend on the kindness of my friends to have a roof over my head. It means that my student loans aren't what I expected them to be and that I am not guaranteed to be a size 5 forever. It also means that I get to see my son off to school and pick him up from school. It means I might actually have the time to learn to ride my long board while I look for a job. It means that I can take the opportunity to learn to manage my money better instead of just spending it willy-nilly. It means that I have friends that love me and time to build strength of character.
Life is seldom what I want or expect it to be. Sometimes life is a big bag of dicks. No matter what, life is a gift. Life is beautiful. Life is growth. Life is change.
I learned today that I will probably always be in perpetual motion. I will probably always be in a state of chaos. What needs to happen is that I need to learn to handle the chaos and flow with it. I need to take a deep breath and not focus solely on the mud and the muck.
I came home mid-tantrum to someone who loves me unconditionally. I was told by that person that it is not as bad as I think it is. I believe her. And I also believe that what I really needed was a good cry.
Tuesday, September 16, 2014
Holy Blogsack.
Has it been a while since I blogged? I can't remember. I was too busy getting sober, wrecking my life, rebuilding my life, and going through multiple cycles of crazy versus sane. Crazy almost consistently wins out, however a lot of the time when I get crazy my hair just gets curlier. Just kidding, I wish.
The last year has been emotional, action-packed, adventurous, spiritual, chaotic, unstable, magical, beautiful, and weird. Weird works for me, so that is probably why this has been the best year of my life. As of September 8, 2014 I have been sober for one full year. I now reside in Washington and my oldest son, Archer, resides with me. We live with a friend, as I am looking for my own place, and I am finally back in graduate school. I hope to teach history to high school kids in a couple of years.
Today I decided to blog again because I am having a shitty day. You hear that? Shitty. It's utterly horrible. A few days ago, I hit an emotional bottom. I won't go into details, but I will say that it was through my own actions, my confusing self-will with spirituality, and my inherent ability to be a Olympic level chode. I found myself sober, but feeling hungover. I was actually physically ill. I decided then that a purge was in order. I started eating vegan, took a ton of time to pray and meditate, and did a ridiculous, semi-embarrassing amount of journaling. As a result of hitting my knees in an utter state of surrender, my Creator and I came to a few conclusions together. I won't go into the details of those, but I will say that they are basically the same things that kept me sober for a year and regarding which I had become lax. My Creator and I are still working through a couple of things, but I am confident that She (or he) will eventually slap me in the face hard enough that I will see reason and submit.
As a general rule, my life today is amazing. Sobriety has (mostly) taught me to love me. I wake up in the mornings and embrace the day. I do things and I enjoy the sunshine. I am healthy and fit. I have fallen in love with my children again and I have fallen in a different kind of love with my ex-husband. I have friends and I have standards and I have morals and I have values. I have both short and long-term goals. I have a spiritual life and a creative life and an active life. I have very little materially speaking, but I have so much that my heart is full.
There are times when I have to remind myself that stress and anxiety are temporary. There are days when I just want to lay down and sleep. There are times when I want to give in and call it quits, because it's hard. Being a grown up sucks and being sober means I have to do it while feeling every single feeling. But they pass, the feelings do. I have learned, absolutely, that feelings are temporary. Grace is permanent. And it is through Grace that I am sober today.
The last year has been emotional, action-packed, adventurous, spiritual, chaotic, unstable, magical, beautiful, and weird. Weird works for me, so that is probably why this has been the best year of my life. As of September 8, 2014 I have been sober for one full year. I now reside in Washington and my oldest son, Archer, resides with me. We live with a friend, as I am looking for my own place, and I am finally back in graduate school. I hope to teach history to high school kids in a couple of years.
Today I decided to blog again because I am having a shitty day. You hear that? Shitty. It's utterly horrible. A few days ago, I hit an emotional bottom. I won't go into details, but I will say that it was through my own actions, my confusing self-will with spirituality, and my inherent ability to be a Olympic level chode. I found myself sober, but feeling hungover. I was actually physically ill. I decided then that a purge was in order. I started eating vegan, took a ton of time to pray and meditate, and did a ridiculous, semi-embarrassing amount of journaling. As a result of hitting my knees in an utter state of surrender, my Creator and I came to a few conclusions together. I won't go into the details of those, but I will say that they are basically the same things that kept me sober for a year and regarding which I had become lax. My Creator and I are still working through a couple of things, but I am confident that She (or he) will eventually slap me in the face hard enough that I will see reason and submit.
As a general rule, my life today is amazing. Sobriety has (mostly) taught me to love me. I wake up in the mornings and embrace the day. I do things and I enjoy the sunshine. I am healthy and fit. I have fallen in love with my children again and I have fallen in a different kind of love with my ex-husband. I have friends and I have standards and I have morals and I have values. I have both short and long-term goals. I have a spiritual life and a creative life and an active life. I have very little materially speaking, but I have so much that my heart is full.
There are times when I have to remind myself that stress and anxiety are temporary. There are days when I just want to lay down and sleep. There are times when I want to give in and call it quits, because it's hard. Being a grown up sucks and being sober means I have to do it while feeling every single feeling. But they pass, the feelings do. I have learned, absolutely, that feelings are temporary. Grace is permanent. And it is through Grace that I am sober today.
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