“Let me know, let me know when I’ve got room to run” – Dermot Kennedy
I’m very much moved by music. I easily cry during my favorite songs. And my favorite artist is singer-songwriter Dermot Kennedy. I listen to him a lot. Therefore, I cry a lot. His music makes me think. It’s also positive. There’s this feeling of hope in his songs. His songs never end sadly; there’s always a light at the end.
Lately I’ve been doing some meditation, journaling and making a gratitude list each night. It’s part of this book Rituals for Transformation: 108 Day Journey to Your Sacred Life. Each morning, you read the message for the day, meditate (sometimes I only can for a few minutes) on that message, then journal your meditations. At night you do the same thing but you make a list of people and things you are grateful for.
I realize how much I have to be grateful. It’s easy to get down on myself. “I don’t have a father. My mother is crazy.” That’s what my Inner Critic tells me. I hate that dude. My Inner Critic reminds me of every mistake, every dumb thing I said or did when I was absolutely wasted out of my mind. Even though I have my college degree, my Inner Critic reminds me about those classes I failed, or barely passed. “Do you even deserve your degree?” my Inner Critic asks me? I so easily take ownership for the bad I’ve done. But I don’t own my wins. My degrees. My published work projects. My blog. How I’m transforming. I’m rewiring my brain and what I’ve come to believe about myself about my place in the world. But for the first time, I’m challenging the thoughts I have about myself. I feel no good, just rotten sometimes, I told my counselor recently. No one wants to be friends with me. Well just a few days ago I was invited to lunch with a group of ladies. I have Motherless Daughters Ministry – they are always emailing a video or podcast or posting something nurturing on Facebook. And they connect with me on an individual level. I’ve gotten texts and emails and calls from the support group leaders – this is the link to a mother’s love that I so desperately need.
I’m seeking comfort in the Lord, but I’m also seeking comfort in substances. Not so much alcohol as my prescription medication. I would die without my Adderall and Vyvanse. I want something stronger for my anxiety that I can take when I get home and just space out. That’s what I want for my life? To just space out? What about this meditation and journaling I’m doing? What if substances get in the way?
I’m on day 14 of a 108-day journey, so there’s a way to go but I also know there is no such thing as time and these next 100 days will fly by. Who am I choosing to be in the next 100 days? Am I messed up on pills, or am I sober and running and maybe even trying my hand at my piano again? Am I writing my book or continuing to just journal? At some point the journal’s got to jump into a story of its own. I have to tell my story through a memoir. I want to help other daughters of borderline, narcissistic and emotionally absent mothers. I want to help other females who have had to make the hardest choice of their life, especially when that “choice” didn’t feel like a choice. I want to help others who have struggled with substance abuse. We all have a story to tell, and I want to tell mine.
In addition to reading, meditating and journaling each day, I commit to writing one blog post each day. It may only be a paragraph, or it may be two pages. But I need to begin sharing my story, really sharing it. For my healing and for someone else’s.