6 months and #metoo

Six months of sobriety.

Thank you very much!  Thank you! (Big bow) Thank you everyone. (Another big bow)  Now… if you’ll just excuse me.  I have somewhere I need to be.  Where?

Actually, anywhere but here.

Sitting here, trying to get myself to write is tortuous.

While I’m truly grateful and glad to be sober, I have been feeling emotionally unsettled and upended.  Heavy.  Lead weight heavy.  And my mind is making up all sorts of excuses for the feelings.  Trying to keep me distracted.  Keep me from going deeper.

Familiar feelings I’ve never been able to name.   And they’re in my way.  They get in my way of fully connecting with another human.  I’m turned inward.  It takes an immense effort to look at the face and eyes of the person I’m in conversation with and I find my eyes and mind flitting about- up, down, left and right.

 I don’t want to be “seen” by the other.

Now that I’m home there are a multitude of tasks and chores needing to get done but I can’t quite gather the direction either in mind or body to accomplish any of them.

So I walk out the door.

I keep walking.  Walking and searching.  Trying to observe without the usual judgement.  Sobriety has given me the ability to be kind with myself.

I realize I’m trying to make friends with me.  The wee one inside of me.

The hashtag me too.

I know I’m far from alone here.  It seems as if every woman has a #metoo story to tell.  Some even have a few.  More than a few.

I’ve done much inner work and healing around these issues but still…. those ghostlines remain.  They are calling to me for attention.  Not to drag me back but to serve in pushing me forward.  To call them out; not drink them away.

Where I thought I had made peace, I’ll make a stronger peace.  Where I thought I had forgiven, I’ll forgive again.

And He will turn this heart of stone to one of flesh.

Sustaining my sobriety depends on it.


Author: Elizabeth

Happy, joyous & free. Thanks be to God.

11 thoughts on “6 months and #metoo”

  1. Happy 6 Months, Elizabeth!
    I reread your ghostlines post.
    I know our childhood comes to me at times, too.
    The good thing is that now I am able to articulate it, and work on letting it go.
    I am so glad you are learning to treat yourself with kindness.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. I reread ghostliness as well. It seems like your six months of sobriety is a victory over those ghosts. They haven’t quite been able to hold you down as in the past.
    I do understand that heavy feeling that comes from nowhere and blindsides you. I wish I knew what to do, other than wait it out. Walking has been the best thing for my sanity. In times of real stress, I have to walk out in nature somewhere to lift my mind. Nothing else seems to work as well.
    I’ve got the anti-writing thing going on as well. And I’ve been resisting making real relationships so that I have more time to write. It’s just an excuse, of course.
    So, from this rambling post about your post, I wanted to say that you are never far from my mind, whether I’m here in the blogosphere or not. And I’m inspired by your honesty, even though you’ve been moving mountains.
    And I just glanced into my bookshelf and happened upon a title that seems like a message to you:
    Rise sister rise. 💕

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Oh Liz. I’m so touched by your strength. To speak your truth and walk through–not around–your pain. I’m sorry you’ve been through that. And I’m glad you are fighting and walking and trudging toward the light. God bless you!

    Liked by 1 person

  4. Chills everywhere. Tingles… I can’t believe what I just read right now. After your comment on my post, and in the middle of what I was just privately writing… and then to click your “ghostlines” post and read that… it’s uncanny. Anyway… I see what you mean about us being like sisters in some ways. I love your writing by the way… I love how you hint at something and yet, anonymously, don’t quite reveal it all, because it’s not necessary even to do so… we can all relate at this level, and this level is kind and compassionate. I will take these words away into my heart, and it will turn from stone and fear:

    “Where I thought I had made peace, I’ll make a stronger peace. Where I thought I had forgiven, I’ll forgive again. / And He will turn this heart of stone to one of flesh. / Sustaining my sobriety depends on it.”

    Thank you, again, Elizabeth ❤️

    Liked by 1 person

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