Congratulations-It’s A Girl

A busy Saturday afternoon filled with laundry, household chores, and kids was interrupted by a ringing phone.  I had no idea that answering the phone that day would bring such unexpected news.

“Hello”

“Hello, is this Cathy Atchley?”

“Yes it is.  Who is this?”

“Um, My name is Jill and I am a friend of your mother’s.  I am in town visiting and wondered if she was living back in Charleston by some chance?”  My mother hadn’t lived in Charleston since I was a very young child.  I was confused by the question and wondered why a friend of my mother’s would think such a thing.

I explained that my mother was still living in Nevada.  The young woman on the other end of the phone asked a few more puzzling questions and then asked for my mother’s phone number.    I explained that my mother’s job took her to different sites during the week.  Phone service was often limited.  I offered to take her information and pass it on to my mother the next time we spoke. She gave me her address and phone in Chicago, Ill.  Again, I was confused.

“Thank you for your time.  Oh, may I ask you on more question?  What was your maiden name?  I paused for a moment.  That’s an odd question.  I answered without questioning why.

“Hard question to answer,” I laughed.  “My name was Altman but before that I was Keaton.  I was adopted by my grandparents when I was 4 years old.”     There was a long silence and then a rather hushed goodbye.

I told my husband this was the strangest phone call I have ever had.  It made no sense.  My mother has been married several times and I wondered if perhaps it was one of her ex husbands trying to track her down.  I imagined other scenarios as well when the phone rang again.

“Hello.”

“Hi, This is Jill.  I wanted to tell you the REAL reason I called.”

I paused and said, “Well, I didn’t believe the reason you gave me on the first call.”

“Claudia Sheldon is your mother, right She used to be Keaton?”

“Yes, that’s right.”  I still had no idea what was coming.

“Well, Claudia is my mother.”  I wasn’t sure I heard correctly.  She must be talking about someone else.  I  have one brother and my mother’s “female” problems prevented her from having more children.  Surely I would know if I had a sister.

“I’m sorry.  Did you say Claudia is your mother?  Are you sure?  I don’t understand.”

Jill told me the story of her birth and adoption.  The dates and times  fit.  I had  a new sister.   We talked  for about an hour.  We decided to stay in touch.   A call later that night with my mother confirmed Jill’s story. I already had a wide array of half and step siblings so Jill was added to the mix. Since that time we have built a friendship and claim each other as sisters.

Bag Lady

I was 15 when I got my first purse.  It had a long strap that allowed it to hang at my waist.  It looked like something a hippie, flower child would have.  My grandmother bought for my trip to California.  A small wallet held my new driver’s license, a card with emergency numbers and $10.00 emergency money.  My passage into womanhood had begun.

As a young wife beginning my working career, I made the switch to more grown up and conservative purse.  It held a wallet along with a brush, lipstick and my checkbook.  As I added children to my life, my purse became much larger. Style was not important.  Cheap vinyl and many pockets were all that mattered.  It held the basics and crackers, a small bag of Cheerios, Kleenex, band aids, and an assortment of small toys.    I always had paper and pen to entertain the kids.  The onset of panic attacks in my life added a bottle of Valium to the mix.

As my life became complicated and I slipped into addiction, my choice of purses changed as well.  I needed much larger bags now.  Style wasn’t as important as functionality.  The wallet held the usual items as well as rolling papers. Mini bottles of booze along with cigarettes and a lighter were required items.  Breathe mints, eye drops, bottles of pills, and spare deodorant were needed items.  Organization was lost and things were thrown into the bag without thought.

After sobriety, life changed along with my purse.  I still preferred larger bags with lots of pockets.  Over time, I became more courageous and chose vibrant colors and designs.   Now the more essential items were my meeting schedules, antacids, and candy.  My wallet once again contained money, a checkbook, pictures, and credit cards.

Today I carry a smaller satchel type bag.  I have a huge wallet that holds all the basics along with 20 key cards for discounts stores.   The wallet comes with a detachable strap so I can carry it alone.  A pill box is a necessary addition.  One of the most important things in a purse is an outside pouch for my cell phone.   Inside the purse is a phone charger, extra hidden car keys car, a small notebook to capture ideas for writing and a variety of pens.  Since I am a college student now, I also carry a huge backpack/book bag .

I wonder what my purses will be like in the coming years.  I am getting older and I am sure the changes in my life will bring changes in my purse and the treasures inside.  I imagine I will always own a purse even if I don’t get out much.   It holds so many things that are important in my life.   They say that to dream about a purse represents secrets, desires and thoughts that are being closely held and guarded.  It symbolizes your identity and sense of self.   You know, I think that might just be true.

There’s No Need To Hide

I saw the headlines, “Pastor Rick Warren Asks for Prayer Following Son’s Suicide.”  I read the articles detailing the struggles of the 27 year old son who had battled depression most of his life.  I was grateful to see that Pastor Warren expressed such love and understanding of the tremendous battle this young man fought and finally lost. I read nothing of blame nor lack of faith.  Sadly, it is a common theme.  You can overcome depression or any other form of mental illness simply by prayer, self will, and choosing to be strong.  Some will go so far as to say that mental illness is the work of Satan taking over because your faith was not strong enough to fight.

I kept my own mental illness a secret for a very long time.  It was an example I learned at a young age.  We didn’t talk about my great grandmother’s “problem.”  They sent her to a state mental hospital and lied to everyone.  My grandmother felt that mental illness was a weakness.  Prayer and just the right amount of church services and tithing could fix it.    We never talked about my grandfather’s alcoholism to anyone.  Our Pastor was the only one that knew.  He came once a year to “talk” to my grandfather and pray for him.  He only did it because my grandmother insisted.  When I showed signs of depression and anxiety disorders as a child my grandmother became angry.  I learned quickly to hide and lie.  I found ways to cope that had to be unlearned as an adult.

I am grateful to two amazing therapists who helped me learn to manage my life and my illness. They both helped me find my way back to my faith.   I am grateful for the medications that keep me in balance.  I am grateful for friends and family that allow me to share my world with them.  I have bad days just like everyone else. No one in my circle of family and friends comes running in to ask if I am taking my meds or if I need to see my psychiatrist.  The amazing thing is that they would do that if they truly were concerned.  I talk about these things because there is no need to be ashamed.  Yet, many people still talk in hushed tones about mental illness.

I read a blog post today and I wanted to share a  part of it here.  Here is the link if you want to read it in full.  What Christians Need to Know  About Mental Health by Ann Voskamp

“There are some who take communion and anti-depressants and there are those  who think both are a crutch.

Come in close — I’d rather walk tall with a crutch than crawl around insisting like a proud and bloody fool that I didn’t need one.

I once heard a pastor tell the whole congregation that he had lived next to the loonie bin and I looked at the floor when everyone laughed and they didn’t know how I loved my mama. I looked to the floor when they laughed, when I wanted them to stand up and reach through the pain of the flames and say:

Our Bible says Jesus said, “It is not those who are healthy who need a doctor, but those who are sick.” Jesus came for the sick, not for the smug. Jesus came as doctor and He makes miracles happen through medicine and when the church isn’t for the suffering, then the Church isn’t for Christ.

I wanted them to say it all together, like one Body, for us to say it all together to each other because there’s not one of us who hasn’t lost something, who doesn’t fear something, who doesn’t ache with something. I wanted us to turn to the hurting, to each other, and promise it till we’re hoarse:

We won’t give you some cliche –  but something to cling to — and that will mean our hands.

We won’t give you some platitudes — but someplace for your pain — and that will mean our time.

We won’t give you some excuses — but we’ll be some example — and that will mean bending down and washing your wounds. Wounds that we don’t understand, wounds that keep festering, that don’t heal, that down right stink — wounds that can never make us turn away.

Because we are the Body of the Wounded Healer and we are the people who believe the impossible — that wounds can be openings to the beauty in us.

We’re the people who say: there’s no shame saying that your heart and head are broken because there’s a Doctor in the house. It’s the wisest and the bravest who cry for help when lost.

There’s no stigma in saying you’re sick because there’s a wounded Healer who uses nails to buy freedom and crosses to resurrect hope and medicine to make miracles.

There’s no guilt in mental illness because depression is a kind of cancer that attacks the mind. You don’t shame cancer, you treat cancer. You don’t treat those with hurting insides as less than. You get them the most treatment.

I wanted the brave to speak Truth and Love:

Shame is a bully and Grace is a shield.  You are safe here.

To write it on walls and arms and wounds:

No Shame.
No Fear.
No Hiding.
Always safe for the suffering here.

You can be different and you can struggle and you can wrestle and you can hurt and we will be here. Because a fallen world keeps falling apart and even though we the Body can’t make things turn out — we can turn up. Just keep turning up, showing up, looking up.”

Life On Life’s Terms

“Being sober isn’t just about not using. Being sober is about the joy a life of clarity and living by spiritual principles can bring. There is nothing greater than that. Forget drugs….. Forget everything. We are living to experience the undiluted amazement of life on life’s terms.”  Tweak by by Nic Sheff

I finished reading the book “Tweak” by Nic Sheff.    It was intense to say the least.    It is the story of his life of addiction and recovery.  There were times it was very difficult to read because I “felt” his pain.   I understood his struggles with recovery.  It doesn’t matter what the drug of choice, addiction destroys you from the inside out.  It takes your spirit hostage first and then attacks your mind.  It leaves you with a body that has been taken over by the alien force-addiction.

I am quickly approaching my 26^th sober anniversary/birthday.  In recovery, we celebrate our “belly button” birthday as well as celebrating our sober birthday.   I haven’t celebrated the past few years.  I acknowledged it and even wrote about in my blog.   Please understand that I am truly grateful for my sobriety and all it has meant to my life.  I just haven’t celebrated.

A certain sadness comes this time each year.  Birthday and anniversaries bring reminders of the past.  I think about my life before recovery.  We keep the memory “green” to remind us who we used to be.  The promises from the Big Book say, “We will not regret the past nor wish to shut the door on it.”   We share our stories to keep the memories alive for ourselves and to share with others.  We share not only the story of our addiction but also the story of hope and faith through recovery.

I am also reminded of the people who are no longer here to celebrate my journey.   Before Jan died, she was such a big part of my recovery and celebrating each year.  Her memorial service was held just a couple of days before my anniversary and the two seemed intertwined.   I think about my “Papa” Paul who died just last May.   Stan, Tommy, Mikey, Rachel, JoJo, and more all died sober.   I can’t begin to list those who died because they couldn’t stay clean and sober.

I miss the people who have been through so much with me in this journey and now live so far away.  Donna has been with me for 25 of those years.   Cathy has been there for 22 years.  One is in Vermont and the other in Nevada.   Peggy, Juana, Jack, Dee, Ann, Mary, Jess, Mark and more are all scattered across the country.  I know they will be with me in spirit but I want to hug them, laugh with them, see their eyes…..

I know someone is going to quote the Big Book page 449 so let me do it first.

Acceptance is the answer to ALL of my problems today. When I am disturbed, it is because I find some person, place, thing or situation- some fact of my life- unacceptable to me, and I can find no serenity until I accept that person, place, thing, or situation as being exactly the way it is supposed to be at this moment. Nothing, absolutely nothing, happens in God’s world by mistake. Until I could accept my alcoholism, I could not stay sober; unless I accept my life completely on life’s terms, I cannot be happy. I need to concentrate not so much on what needs to be changed in the world as on what needs to be changed in me and in my attitudes.

I write this knowing full well that I need an attitude adjustment.   I decided to write this and share it in spite of that because this is where I am today.   I know what I need to do to get that attitude adjustment.  I need to focus on acceptance.  I need to make a gratitude list.  I need to reach out and do something for someone else.    Thanks for letting me share my thoughts today.  Here is one last quote from Nic’s book:

“And though I have done many shameful things, I am not ashamed of who I am. I am not ashamed of who I am because I know who I am. I have tried to rip myself open and expose everything inside – accepting my weaknesses and strengths – not trying to be anyone else. ‘Cause that never works, does it? So my challenge is to be authentic. And I believe I am today. I believe I am.”   ― Nic Sheff, Tweak

Running On Empty

The other day my friend sent me a picture of her gas gauge with bars showing she had no miles left until empty. We laughed and talked about knowing better.   This morning the gentle dinging sound as I started my car reminded me that I needed gas. I should have stopped last night but it was rainy and I was tired. I looked at my gauge and the needle was teetering close to the little line that says, “you will be sorry if you don’t fill this car up NOW.” Yes, I have run out of gas before and it is not a pleasant experience. Once again, I was running on empty.

I tend to do the same thing in other areas of life.  I stay up too late when I have to get up early.  I don’t eat healthy, nutritious food.  I don’t exercise enough…or I just don’t exercise. I don’t play and have fun.  I isolate and don’t talk about things that concern me.  I spend too much time being negative and worrying.   I don’t take  to journal or write.  I forget about quiet time to meditate and pray.  Eventually my light comes on and I see the signs very clearly.  I am running on empty.

It is time to fill up my tank.  The car is an easy fix.  I just pull into the gas station and fill it up.  Of course, with gas prices these days, it isn’t as easy as it used to be.  Filling up my personal tank can be a challenge, too.  I am working part time and going to college almost full time.  Writing papers, studying, and preparing for class all take a lot of time.  I have to pay bills and do time consuming things like laundry and cleaning.  There are also all the day to day activities that get in the way.

I am exactly like my car.  I have to fill my tank.  I can wait until I am almost on empty and push to see how much  farther  I can go before I breakdown  on the side of the road or I can do the smart thing and refill at any time along the way.   I imagine I am still going to push it from time to time, but I am going to try to do better.  I still have a roadside assistance plan for my car…. just in case.

Keep It Simple

Scott Peck wrote in the Road Less Traveled, “Life is difficult. This is a great truth, one of the greatest truths. It is a great truth because once we truly see this truth, we transcend it. Once we truly know that life is difficult – once we truly understand and accept it – then life is no longer difficult. Because once it is accepted, the fact that life is difficult no longer matters.”

Life is filled with complicated questions.  “Why?” is the one that comes to mind most often.   I wonder if knowing why something happened would really make it easier.  If I knew why my friend died, would it hurt any less?  Would I  miss her any less?  If I knew why parents and grandparents were the kind of people who would hurt a kid, would it really matter?   Why did I become a drunk? Does it really matter why I gained weight ?   Why did I get sober when others  can’t? Why did I  survive so many obstacles and come out in tact and with my faith when other didn’t ?  I don’t have answers for all those  “why” questions.    “Why”  often seems like searching for a treasure box only to find it empty.

I wonder if my time would be better spent accepting that life is filled with mystery and things we will never understand.  Maybe my friend was right after all.  Whenever something happened that just didn’t make sense she would ask,  “what is the lesson you are supposed to learn from this?”  As much as I loved her, I often wanted to throw something at her when she would ask this.   Here is what I usually seem to learn in those times:  Take the next step, do the next right thing,  love the people in your life, and trust in God (whatever you may call God).

 

It’s Just Like Riding A Bike

I don’t remember learning to ride a bike, but I do know how to ride one. I remember spending a lot of time circling our neighborhood with my friend as a kid. It was a special kind of feeling so be so free flying around on two wheels. I remember the joy in helping my children and grandchildren learn to ride. I watched them experience that first sense of freedom. Throughout my life I have owned bikes from time to time. It is true, you know-you never forgot how to ride a bike. In fact, there is a well-known cliché that says, “It’s just like riding a bike.”

This morning I walked into the office building where I worked until last September. It had been a huge part of my life for a very long time. I am going to be working there again part time. I saw a few old faces as I entered the building. One of the women and I joked about the elevator that seems to have a mind of its own. I made my way to my office area and walked in to a truly familiar setting. Honestly, I have been a little nervous about coming back. I wondered if I would remember everything. I made my way to the desk and logged into the appropriate software for the different systems. I sat back and was ready to go. The Executive Director walked by and said, “It’s so good to see you here again. Sorry I have to run but I have a meeting. Love you.” I laughed as I replied, “Nice to see nothing has changed.” Another coworker arrived and we began chatting about some clients and ways  of dealing with them. We talked about old times and caught up for a bit. There were only a couple of technical things I needed help remembering. It felt good to be back.  It’s just like riding a bike.

In January, I became a freshman at the College of Charleston. I am a bit older than most of the students; actually I am bit older than many of the professors. I haven’t been in a college classroom in over forty years. I took some classes at a technical school years ago, but that was nothing like this. I have had to remember how to read schedules, find classrooms, take notes, study, do homework, write papers, and more. I wondered if I would remember everything. So far I am doing pretty well. I am making much better grades than I did in high school.  It’s just like riding a bike.

In September last year, I became single again. I have had to learn to live single. I am very fortunate to be able to live with my daughter, son-in-law, and grandson so I am not truly alone. There is an old country song, “Sleeping Single in a Double Bed,” and that is a change. I have to think about things like work, car repairs, paying bills, taxes, retirement, and health insurance by myself. I buy groceries for one and I cook for one, that is if I ever cook.  I spend a lot of time with friends and we eat together often.  I wondered if I would remember everything I needed to live single. I am adjusting and finding my way. It’s just like riding a bike.

March is the month of two significant losses in my life. Today is the anniversary of my “other” mother, Mamma Pearl’s death and earlier this month was the anniversary of the death of my best friend. As I look at my life changes I know more will come. I know that close friends and family might move away and some may die. I know there will financial challenges, physical problems, issues with aging, and life challenges. I have faced them all before. I have had some huge obstacles to overcome, but I did. I have a God, friends, and family who never give up on me. I wonder if I can remember everything that has helped me get here when those times come. I think I will. After all, it’s just like riding a bike.