I’m getting stuck in my head a lot lately.
I came across a Bible verse this week that I’ve kept close at hand: If I keep my eyes on God, I won’t trip over my own feet.
I’ve had good moments. My lunch with the pastor was fantastic. I had two phone interviews. I walked. I did things that were life-giving, and yet I’m feeling a bit lost. I walked out of church this morning, after Sunday School and before worship. And I had at least one occasion this week where I felt I needed to reach out to a CoDA friend who tried to be responsive, but could not. Out-of-town guests, and such.
I feel that for all the progress I’ve made, I’m still tripping over my own feet.
There were moments when I felt marginalized again and when I pushed back, he pushed back harder. And I grew silent.
And then there is his daughter who for three weeks in a row now has asked him to buy her something. A Bible. Shoes. Pants. And he does. Without fail. Every time. And I find myself feeling jealous. And then I remind myself that jealousy is a killer. And I feel shameful for it.
He will not be coming to my CoDA meeting this week, and that’s ok. He wants a break from it, and I need some freedom to talk about him, about us, to the group.
I need to refocus on me. Without fear of being boring or unattractive or emotional. Or guilty. Or responsible for his emotions–or lack thereof. I am me. He is he.
I want a massage. And ice cream. And to dream bigger.
I need to journal daily again. I need to keep searching for the “why.”
I recently heard a quote that said something like: Growth occurs when you don’t need another person to change. I cannot change other people. I can only change myself. And I’m not convinced that I need changing.
There’s nothing wrong with being a divorcee, a long-distance mom, a jigsaw puzzle addict, an avid reader, a purveyor of the local ice cream shop, a curly-haired woman one day, a straight-haired woman the next, someone who is a little bit all over the place, but when she’s happy, she radiates.
I joke that I’m secretly a 96-year old for my hobbies and interests. And most of the time, I’m ok with that. But sometimes, it feels boring. Sometimes, it feels as if I’m already old. Sometimes, I feel as if I’ll be single forever if my relationship fails. Sometimes, I feel like I deserve to be unhappy, alone, and watch the world pass me by.
And I guess that is part of the self-sabotage I’ve learned. It’s the powerlessness I’ve become accustomed to. It’s the victimization I sign up for. The triangle rearing its ugly head. Again.
I’m so afraid I’m on the brink of collapse, of devastation, of loss that I fail to see the miracle that is me getting here. The miracle that is how I became self-reliant. How I faced great fears and achieved something more than I ever expected after my divorce.
How the voice inside screamed, “I’m going to die, I’m going to die, I’m going to die!” And yet I did not.
This feeling I wrestle with now is anxiety, uneasiness. And for some reason, the visual that runs through my head is that of being in a cocoon. It feels like a wrestling of old and new. It feels like a soulful uncluttering of the emotional storage room of past pains.
Or maybe it’s just being tired. Or maybe, it’s just eating too much dairy. Or maybe it’s just tripping over my own feet.