Willing to Be Willing

What does that mean?  Willingness?  What does it look like?

It feels like open hands. No clenching. Not grasping. Not chasing.

I want to pray for my heart to be open. For my soul to be surrendered. For my mind to be moldable.  For my house to be a haven.

I don’t want to live in control and fear and chaos of the unknown. That is what used to lead me right towards a bottle.  Now the feelings still come, but it leads me into different places.  I can seek solace in a meeting, or a burger or a writing time. I seek solace in other ways that help me to feel and not numb.

I pray for willingness to have courage.

To be a leader.

To be a trailblazer.

To ask for help.

To sit in my pain and feel it.

To not have the answer.

To wait for God to show me.

To not rush around fixing.

To hold a safe place.

To be uncomfortable and not jump out of my skin.

To be.

To breathe.

To repeat all of this hourly if I need to.

I tend to want to race and rush.  I have a need to tweak and meddle. I have a long legacy of fixing and forcing.

I can rally the troops….but I have to ask myself if I really want to rally them and if I do, can I serve them and not lose my soul along the way.

In the willingness I find my why.  I find my answers to questions that I didn’t know I had in me until the answer rises to the surface.

In my willingness I find me, the me without the glossy on top and the sprinkles to make me more enticing to you from the glass case.

I find my heart when I am willing to hear and seek and sit still long along to wait for her to not be afraid anymore.

I find me in the willing walls.  I find me.  I find me.  I find me…

The Feelings

They keep coming. The Feelings.  Some are so big that I feel I will not survive….and yet, here I am. Here I am.  I am here.

I have so many feelings.  For most of my life, I think I felt like I was too much, too big, too loud, too “emotional”.  Too heart of my sleeve-ish. But I understand deeply now that this is exactly how God made me. It opened me up to be a counselor, a coach, a woman in recovery, a leader, a giver, a teacher, and a lover of people. My feelings also give me the gift of words and art and dancing and singing and laughter.

If I don’t allow the frightening ones to arrive, I cannot greet the gorgeous ones.  That’s the rub.  I was stomping out all of them, because I did not know how to have a relationship with some of them.

I did not allow anger or fear. I did not know they were in me.  I was only “allowed” to have happiness and depression and a deep sense of responsibility.  I did not know how to walk through the others… foreign territory scared me so much that I ran back to the sit inside of the tour bus, rather than leaving to see what was outside the door.

The unknown. The chaos. The off-ness. The dis-ease.  I was taught to hold it together, or tamp it down, or just be smart and show up and help and serve and give.  What about me?  No time to be tired, we don’t do that. We don’t get sick or take naps.  That is not what we do in our family.  We just keep going.  No matter what.  In my growing up family, we just ATE. There was no drinking going on so it was the FOOD that kept me in my zone of numbness.  Either by the indulging to satisfy my endless hunger for love and touch and support or by starving myself when I just felt like I needed to disappear completely so no one would be bothered by me. Neither one worked for very long as my human-ness (read: Hunger) kept rising up.

Now, today, in this early morning moment, I am so grateful for my hunger for life.  For the willingness to be sober physically and emotionally. For my magnitude of emotions. For my monumental heart that never ceases to give and love.

I am thankful for all of The Feelings.  They are much more messy than I ever expected. But so is life. I am right here.  In the mess of the miracle.

Admitting the Truth


Admitting it.

The truth is wide open spaces.  With no closet to hide in. It is miraculous since I can see the clouds and the mountain range in the distance and the valley that I just trudged through.

True. What is true. I am in a program of “rigourous honesty”.  This means that I tell truth. But I have come to understand that we can lie to ourselves and yet believe we are true.  We can believe our own version of what happened and we can adapt our mind and life to fit that version.  My world view. My mindset. My journey.  It is my testimony but it is only how I perceived it to be.  I might see it differently now as I look back on it.

The truth scares me.  I have a lot of truth that I need to walk through soon.  It makes me feel very vulnerable. It makes me want to call for a white horse rescue. It makes me feel naked. The truth.

Will it set me free or break me into bits?

Will I live through it?

Will I find my way?

Will everyone turn against me?

Will the very thing that I am getting honest about, turn and hunt me down?

What will happen?

The truth is only right here.  I have to make sure I don’t get knee deep in the swamp of the future.  The murky muddy gator filled waters of tomorrow where all of the bad things find me and I am screaming and no one comes. In today, I am right here.  I am OK. I have food and water and a home and a business and love.  I am not a swamp dwelling, living in the shadows of shame. I am ok here in my truth, in today.  My truth evolves as I know me more, as I allow myself the permission to say that I am tired, or sad, or mad or that my pants are too tight from too much eating this weekend. That is the truth.

My pants are too tight.  True story.  I am in the middle of my Monday and doing my Monday stuff and yet worried about big changes I am making.  That is true today.  I am basking in the glow from great memories from the weekend. That is true. I am here, in my tight pants eating carrots in between typing these words.

I have papers in every direction with tasks that I need to complete.  The truth is that I don’t want to. I want to keep writing. I want to go sit in a coffee shop and linger with strangers as we all type and talk and sip.

This is my true story today, right now.  This is me, unveiled.