Go to the profile of June 19, 2016
June 19, 2016
is the first day of my recovery from the bottom.

August 7, 2016

For the last few days I’ve been in a funk. I’ve become more internally judgemental. I am growing tired of waiting for A to move toward me. I’m getting angry. I’m justifying my bad mood. I’m wrestling with it, but it’s harder than it has been. I’m still going to AA every day.

Because

  • I haven’t been getting up early and doing my routine with as much care over the last week.
  • I haven’t been meditating with as much practice.
  • I haven’t been diving into scripture with as much need.

A is not going through her own things that may need to be addressed at some point, but I am not in the circle of people to address them for her at right now. My job right now is to grow spiritually and in my character, and to help my children daily, and in this same growth. Until I am invited back into friendship with A, we don’t have that capacity.

I sat on the front porch this morning after feeling all this, and wanting to address these character defects, knowing these were my issues and mine alone. I listened to the crickets. I heard the cawing of a jay. I am picking out different birds and wonder what bird they are. I see the grass. Some is vibrant and strong. Some is weedy and decrepit. I felt the knots in my stomach. There they are. I felt the tightness in my chest. There it is. I stood up and pulled those objects out of my throat and set them in front of Jesus. Jesus can take them, and he can pull all that I have missed from my body — today, all I need is today, right now, this help. Tomorrow’s help will be sought for tomorrow.

As I sat here I connected again with a character I’m getting to know. Baby M. The littlest me. The infant who cries alone in the dark. The infant hiding and screaming inside himself. He closed his body around him, like blankets being pulled over his head and hid himself inside himself. Layers over layers to be safe from the cold dread of being left alone. I don’t know why I feel this. I wasn’t orphaned as a child. My mom wasn’t abusive. My dad was. My mom has a hard time with emotions, but not crazy hard. But I still feel this. It’s there. So adult M, 37 year old M, holds baby M. Bare skin to bare skin. Warm me to cold me. I look in his beautiful baby eyes and I hold him tight into my neck and my warmth and I comfort him. I am weeping. I am him, comforting myself, getting my energy to comfort from the one comforter. From the source. From the fire that won’t go out. I am a good dad. I know how to comfort. I know how to hold. I know how to sympathize and empathize and be close. As I hold baby M, my anger subsides. My need for A to change subsides. The sun comes out, and I am more calm.

Still I need to practice. I let my guard down and didn’t take the hard road to go to sleep early enough to get up at 5am and make this routine matter. I’m 48 days into sobriety. 47 days into separation from A. 43 Days into deep personality change. This is the hardest shit I’ve ever gone through. I am not changing me. I am making myself open to being changed. This is new.