On Being Held

Just Be Held
written by Mark Hall of Casting Crowns

Hold it all together
Everybody needs you strong
But life hits you out of nowhere
And barely leaves you holding on

And when you're tired of fighting
Chained by your control
There's freedom in surrender
Lay it down and let it go

So when you're on your knees and answers seem so far away
You're not alone, stop holding on and just be held
Your world's not falling apart, it's falling into place
I'm on the throne, stop holding on and just be held
Just be held, just be held

---------

I am not easily held. When I'm upset or when I'm crying, my instinct says to run. I learned early on that tears and anger were best kept to myself, and that whatever resolution was to come had to come from me. 

I have been mulling over the concept of surrender for years. It is the word that has come to me in times of meditation or prayer, the word that points to what needs to happen in order for me to get past ... oh, to get past everything. There's another Casting Crowns song that asks "Just how close can I get, Lord, to my surrender?" That's me. How close can I get without actually surrendering? 

If, however, I view surrender from the vantage point of finally allowing myself to be held, then things seem different. Surrender becomes not a free fall, but a catch. 

I've been practicing this with my husband. There have been numerous occasions to cry recently - migraines being the top culprit - and each time I have gotten closer and closer to allowing him to hold me. Two days ago I came home from work with a blistering headache and I was tired of pushing through the pain. I have lived with headaches for most of my adult life but I didn't want to be brave or be a fighter anymore. I laid my head against his shoulder and cried as he held me. I didn't want to be anywhere else in the world at that moment.

I stopped holding on to the notion that I had to go through that alone. I stopped holding on to my idea that I am strong and capable and that no one can comfort me. I allowed myself to be held and it was wonderful.

I imagine now how wonderful it would feel to allow myself to be held in the arms of God.

Friends

I was shown a series of photos today of an impromptu get together at a local bar. Two became four, which then became a half dozen or more gathered together, responding to texts or phone calls.  "Come on out" I imagine someone saying.  "We're having a great time."

My phone was silent.

I have long struggled with feelings of exclusion, of not feeling like I am fun enough for someone to want to call me at the end of the day to say "come on out".  I can't even rationalize the non-invitation with the thought that some of them know that I am not drinking. Truth be told, if I were drinking I would not have been included in that round of texts and phone calls.  

I have declined after work excursions to have a drink for a long time.  In the past I have not trusted myself to have one or two and stop there.  I have not wanted to go and not drink, and I have not wanted to go and drink too much, so I have opted not to go.  After awhile the invitations stopped, and even though I understand it somehow I still feel sad when I am not included.

This is hard for me because I desperately want to be okay with it.  I want to be okay with not being invited. Yes, even though I would not have gone, I would have liked to have been invited.  I would have liked for someone to say "You should be here too."

Barring that, I would have liked not to have known that the get together happened.

I know I am being unreasonable. 

This is where I need to turn to God and answer his invitation to me.  He always calls, he always wants me to be around.  

I'm not there yet, but I look forward to the day when that will heal the ache in my heart. 

Courage

"The miracle isn't that I finished.  The miracle is that I had the courage to start." ~ John Bingham

"Again." ~ Ginny Reese

Courage isn't the absence of fear.  It is the ability to proceed in spite of the fear.  I'm certainly not the first person to say that, but I think it bears repeating, mostly because I need to hear it.

For the past couple of weeks I have been pretty much debilitated by fear, although that is not how I was experiencing it.  I thought that I had come to an acceptance of my life and what is and is not possible for me.  I even said to a friend of mine "What's wrong with just being happy?"  If you had asked me what "being happy" meant I would have said something about going to work and coming home, doing some chores, some cooking, snuggling up on the couch and reading a book or watching tv.  Nothing taxed me, nothing challenged me, I was just living my life.  That's happiness, right?  Millions of people do that every day, day in, day out, until the day they don't do anything any more.

Sure, I have my Year of No Alcohol going on, and my 365 Walks with Ginny blog to do every day, and, okay, I have joined a writer's group too.  That's good, right?  I have a loving husband and an intelligent funny daughter to hang out with, and a brand new relationship with God that has me looking at stuff from a new angle.  That's a nice happy life.

Except it's not enough.  It is not all I want.  I want to run.

My body has taken a beating these past two years.  It started with a stress fracture in my foot and ended up with a herniated disc in my back.  I've gained weight - possibly I've mentioned that once or twice or six times already - and I feel terrible.  Uncomfortable.  Sitting on my couch these past few weeks I had almost convinced myself that my athletic days were behind me.  And what's wrong with that?  Nothing.  Absolutely nothing.  Lots of people live happy fulfilling lives without getting beaten up in a gym or pounding out miles on a trail.  I wanted to be one of those people.  I am fifty years old, for heaven's sake. Isn't it time to settle down?

Part of that is fear talking.  I am afraid that I won't get back in shape.  I am afraid that  my body will just say "thanks for playing, but no".  I am afraid that I have abused it so much with my trips up and down the scale that it won't respond anymore.  I am afraid of failing.

Part of it is also being fifty.  I thought that it wasn't bothering me, but the last couple of weeks it has been on my mind a lot.  As I contemplated a life in this body, the one I have today, I felt old.  I felt like my best days were behind me.  I have these aches and pains, which will turn into other worse aches and pains, and then before you know it I will be my Dad, who needs a walker to move from one place to the next and who can't take five steps with that walker without labored breathing.

I felt the pull of a downhill slide.  Depression was setting in.

Three nights ago I was in the hot tub when God spoke to me again.  I'm not sure if he likes hanging out there or if that is the only place I am actually listening for him.  For whatever reason I was thinking about It's a Wonderful Life and the scene at the end where George is praying.  He says to God "I want to live again".  I thought the same thing.  What I have been doing isn't living, it's going through the motions.  After all of the doctors and all of the procedures, I'm still not without pain and I'm not sure I ever will be.  I felt like I will be like this forever.  

"I want to live again" I said to God.  "I want to have hope."

"You are my hope" was the immediate reply.

I am?

A friend of mine once gave me a Christmas ornament on which she had painted the Chinese symbol for courage.  She said that when she thought of me that was the word that came to mind.  

If I can do this, if I can come back from the injuries and the weight gain, then maybe others will think that they can too.  

If I have courage, maybe others will have hope. I am going back to my trainer this week, and taking another run at the mountain. 

The miracle is that I have the courage to start ... again.

Bread Cast Upon the Water

My hope when I started this journey, or at least one of them, was that instead of turning to alcohol when I am stressed or tired or angry or joyful I would turn to God.  Unless God is a bowl of pasta or a plate of cookies, I have missed the mark on that.

It's only getting worse. I believed that when I quit my nightly glasses of wine I would feel better but I actually feel worse. It's not in a detox kind of way, or at least I don't think so.  I think that I have a gluten intolerance and that I feel worse because I have been eating more processed carbs.  The simple solution is to stop eating them but I am really resisting.

Part of my issue is that I'm being a baby. I have given up alcohol.  Why isn't that enough?  Why do I have to do more?  I eat carbs because I like the way they taste, and I like the burst of serotonin they give me. I know there are other things that are tasty.  I know that there are other ways of getting serotonin. I know.

I know.

Sigh.

It doesn't make sense that I do things that are detrimental to my health yet I don't want to make this commitment. Giving up alcohol seems like a breeze compared to giving up processed carbs.  I actually feel sad about it.  I haven't done it yet and I'm already grieving the loss of bread and pasta and my daughter's fresh baked cookies.

Do I need to commit to giving up all processed carbs in order to feel better?  I guess I am going to find out.

I am going to give up bread and pasta and Chocolate Krinkles for a month.

I'd wonder what would be like, but I already know it is going to be a struggle.



Okay, here I go. I'll commit to one month of no processed carbs - no bread, no pasta, no Chocolate Krinkles.

I'd wonder what that will be like, but I already know this is going to be difficult.

The Honeymoon is Over

Not drinking has been hard.  Sure, it's only been five days since my last post, but they have been five very long days.  And the next 330 days are looming ahead of me.  They're taunting me.

Instead of it being easy and having no meaning, now it is difficult and has no meaning. 

That's it.  That's the blog for today.  I've written and erased a dozen other paragraphs, but they all come down to these two facts: 

I don't want to do this anymore.

and 

I'm not giving up.

Meaning

I've been thinking recently that not drinking alcohol for a year is a pretty meaningless thing to do.

 

If I were struggling with it then it would be important.  If it were something I couldn't do, it would mean more than everything that I can do.  As it is, so far, it is just this thing I'm doing because I said I would do it.

 

One of the things I've learned in the past couple of weeks is that not doing something isn't very interesting.  So I decided to do is another blog 365 Walks by Ginny as a dual commitment to walk daily and to practice taking photos.  Also, my husband, daughter, and I have begun a year long "Make it, take it" game, where every day one of us has to put up either 3 miles or 45 minutes on the treadmill.  The next person in line has until 6 p.m. the following day to do the same.  If they miss the deadline, a half a mile for every 24 hour period they delay is added to their distance.  I don't want to hear the verbal abuse that the person who misses a day will surely be subjected to, so it's a great way to get me back into running.

 

Not drinking has little meaning.  Spending time outdoors, engaging in an activity with my family - those things have meaning to me.  

Weight

Here I am 26 days into my adventure and, despite the fact that my alcohol calorie intake has been nil, I have not lost a single pound.

I'd be lying if I didn't admit to the fact that assumed weight loss played into my decision not to drink for a year.  I've had a long and varied history of weight loss and regain, but with this last regain following an injury in early 2012, I haven't bounced back.  Or rather, I haven't yo-ed back down the scale.  I am at exactly the same weight today as I was on January 1 of 2013.  I know that because at the beginning of last year I bought myself a calendar and, assuming a weight loss of a pound a week, charted out where I would be today.  But after 365 days of up and down, then a little more down, I was sidelined once again and ended the year right where I started.  

The body wants what it is used to, and since I haven't been giving it sugar in the form of wine it wanted chocolate.  And pasta.  And bread.  I have been lenient with myself up until now but I do believe it is time to reign that in.