As I previously mentioned, Queen Elizabeth's passing triggered a deep well of grief over my own mother, gone now ten years. Ten years. I'm finding it hard to comprehend that a decade has passed, and that is true for many things - I met my husband 13 years ago, moved into my house 19 years ago... so much time passing in a blink. I will honor my mother by visiting her gravesite at the anniversary of her death. I'm also making a trip to the Museum of the Oregon Trail with some letters from the 1800's and other family artifacts to donate in her name. While I've sometimes complained about all the things she kept, I'm grateful for the connection to family history. Not having children myself, many of her photos and letters have gone to cousins, but I do want some to be saved for posterity rather than getting tossed in a future recycle bin by someone unaware of their meaning.
I wasn't exactly sure what was going on with an unusual (for me) flat mood, but program has taught me to get quiet, to ask my heart, "What's up?" so that when I found myself face down on the massage table, the tears came. Oh. Hello Mother. I miss you. What I'd prefer to do is name my dis-ease as a way of distancing from the discomfort - give it a label, put it in a box and move on. Alas, I too often forget that my emotions simply want to be acknowledged. Ah, here's that grief again. Oh, insecurity, is that you? Hmm, hello impatience - just hold your horses. "Name it, claim it, tame it," doesn't mean "don't feel." That's old conditioning, the "don't talk, don't trust, don't feel" of alcoholism. These days, I can eventually name it, claim it, and not necessarily tame it, but accept my humanness and move on.
I think of Mom's annoyance when her doctor, a wonderful woman, first assigned her to hospice care. "They don't know!" she fumed, upset that the medical establishment presumed to "know" that her life would be over in six months. It ended up being eight, and as the end did near, Mom had shifted to hoping she'd see her dear father on the other side, dead since she was eight. Initially concerned that she was not going to go quietly into the night, I watched her move to a place of acceptance, maybe because she didn't feel good, maybe because the reality of her diagnosis simply took a while to sink in.
Acceptance is a process, though I used to think it was an event - that someday I'd wake up, cured, able to move through life accepting right and left. Loss? Oh well. Someone's slight or unkind words? Not mine to understand. My history - family and otherwise? Merely a blip. And it took some time to understand that acceptance doesn't equal approval, with the old arguments about "Acceptance is the answer," or simply the declaration of "Page 449!" as we 3rd edition folks call it. Does absolutely nothing happen by mistake? I doubt it. And... not mine to argue. Like Paul O said, I can't be at peace until I accept what is. Only then can I make those decisions to accept what I can't change (people, places, things) or change what I can (my attitude, my location, my perceptions and perhaps those I spend time with).
Take the aging process, for example, whether you're 35 or 70. There are fine lines between fighting the process, surrendering to it, and actively participating in efforts to slow the roll. I'm not talking face-lifts here, though to each their own, but more about the self-care involved in staying active while I can, monitoring my sodium (hello blood pressure), keeping appointments with the dermatologist, etc. A co-worker used to tease me about living forever as he munched a bag of chips while I ate salad. That isn't the goal, but what is the goal is to not speed up the inevitable decline with crappy habits, one day at a time. My current dilemma is how to be mindful without obsessing about food - at the end of my life will I be pleased that I had the fortitude to forego ice cream that one Saturday night, or be grateful for a fun evening with friends enjoying a treat? Moderation, I suppose, though I still have a tough time with that concept.
For those interested, I was just turned on to a new smartphone app: Everything AA. I don't know who runs it (out of the UK I believe) but it has the Big Book, 12x12, a day counter, pamphlets, etc etc. I don't rely on my phone a lot, but it is nice to have a ready reference. And another new-to-me site: Chronic Pain Anonymous (chronicpainanonymous.org) with online meetings and other resources.
Glorious autumn here, while you in the southern hemisphere are welcoming spring. Another trip around the sun, doing my darnedest to stay in the moment (easier to do with lovely crisp mornings and sunny afternoons, though I am very happy to finally see rain today). And, sending hopes for safety to all in Hurricane Ian's path.
How does "name it, claim it, tame it" play out in your emotional life? What does "acceptance" mean to you, and where is that concept hardest to implement? How do you take care of your physical health while not turning that into self-condemnation? In what areas of your life have you considering additional support, whether that's another 12-Step fellowship, therapy, or maybe a hiking group or book club?
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Fall is a great time to start a small group discussion, or work with a sponsor or sponsee with the Now What? workbook. See the Feb 4 post for a sample or contact me at shadowsandveins@gmail.com for more info. (Order off the web version of this page, or, available at Portland Area Intergroup. Also carried at the TMar table at September conferences)