I don't think I'm ruining the old saying if I change it to "Where there's Life, there's Strength".
I've always felt like a weed growing in a crack in the sidewalk. Mow it, chop it, pull most of it out, but it keeps coming back.
I actually had the nickname "weed" twice in my life. The first time it wasn't so nice. Weed was the back half of a putdown which shall remain unsaid, but the people using it couldn't say the full word in front of Grups. The second time was my Soph year at college. For a while I had the habit of saying that word every single time I saw, heard about, read about, smelled, or thought about a certain smokable substance.
Now, I like the idea of weed. Unstoppable, always coming back, having just as much right to grow as any other. A little weed, Strong like Bull.
But this isn't about that kind of strength. If it was I would talk about how when I was finally grown up, a Grup myself, I decided that I should be at least strong enough to climb my way out of a ravine or crevasse if the need should arise. This meant I had to be able to lift my own body weight. It took me a good long time to get there, but when I was done, I had PECS! I still follow that rule today, and it has helped me to keep my weight the same for the past 20 years.
Ok, maybe that's just because I'm at heart, a lazy, lazy boy, and don't want to have to lift any more weight than I do now. You talk about procrastination? I used to joke that the upside was I always had something to do. Ha Ha, but let me tell you, I have multiple lists of the stuff I haven't gotten to. Sometimes, I put off making or updating the lists.
I think this all displays some weakness in my character. I mean no insult to my character, rather I mean some deficiency in the cerbellum, or DNA, that's it, it's genetic. My dad had this habit, you see, and I have it too. Any time we do a job around the house, it never gets 100% finished. There's always a screw not put back (him, not me - I'm obsessive about not losing them), a last piece of molding not installed or painted, or maybe one nail missing. That could be a good title for my AutoBio, "One Nail Missing".
But Mom, Yikes! When stuff has to get done, it's done. Now. "Did you call the bank yet, Donald?" No, you just asked me 10 minutes ago. "How long does it take to dial the phone, Donald?" So from Mom, I developed the pre-emptive strike. I would check the garbage pail every ten minutes when she was preparing dinner, and empty it when it got full, before I was asked.
OK, so the genetics are mixed. All I know is years later, I got so lazy, I had stacks of newspapers in this living room, and the oldest ones were TWO YEARS OLD.
I felt pretty weak about this - back to my character again - character defect? Then I decided it was a reaction to the discipline I had in years past. Makes sense to do a perfect 180 degree turnaround. Or maybe it's a cry for help. Nah, not that, cause nobody comes over here and see the mess. Whatever.
I ragged on myself for a while, assuring me that I was useless and worthless and really disgusting, but I really hurt my feelings and made it worse for a while. I finally apologized to myself, then I forgave myself, and then I set out to change.
Before I can accomplish something, I need to plan it out in as much detail as I can. I need an outline. I need the program, Jack. So I write it out. Then I condense it. Then I condense it more, until I get to the essence.
"Take out the trash. All of it; the physical and the mental." This became the second of the seven steps on my outline for living. It's right up there near the top because it's so important.
In order to have the strength to deal with might happen today, I've got to have every thing else taken care of that I can, so I have no distractions, no urgent OLD BIDNESS to add to my stress. I feel stronger and less frazzled mentally when the physical details of my life are in order as much as possible.
And this storm right now, the Blizzard of '06, well there's been some pretty high winds. They got me to thinking about strength another way.
The mighty Oak is snapped by the wind, but the Willows dance and dance.
For me this has something to do with vulnerability and the seeming paradox that you have to be a damn strong person to let yourself be vulnerable (weak?) enough to do all sorts of things that ARE Recovery & Healing.
Saying it out loud for the first time. Saying it in a group. Meeting other Survivors. Telling the people WE are important to.
All these things require vulnerability. Great vulnerability. Getting to the first retreat I went to required almost infinite vulnerability. Every ten minutes, until I passed the halfway point, I would tell myself, "Just drive ten more minutes. You can always turn around."
I had decided the night before that I wasn't going. There was no way I wanted a bunch of men to look at me and know what had happened to me. It wasn't possible. I didn't have the strength for something like that.
Somehow I pushed through the weakness and fear so in a way, the fear of being vulnerable, of thinking that vulnerable made me weak and in danger, was the source of the strength. By that time in my journey, I knew I was not weak. I knew I was not damaged, or guilty, or a freak.
I felt that staying home would be really, really weak, so I took my baby steps and I got there.
That infinite weakness made me strong. Which brings me back to the Oak and the Willow.
They built warships out of Oak, once upon a time, and they made baskets and light furniture from Willow.
But leave them in the ground and see who comes out ahead in hurricane force winds. I guess I'm veering off into some Zen thinking.
Resisting reality is the source of all misery. Something like that.
When I found my inner children, the first thing I noticed was what a mess their environment was, internal and external. I mean Board of Health type of mess. I tried to persuade, cajole, convince them that they really, really needed to clean up the mess, and I felt very very strongly about this.
Well I convinced the 12 year old, he's pretty intelligent and logical, and the 9 year old was all like, "OK, OK", on the outside, but didn't do a thing. The 3 year old was impossible, but easier to keep an eye on and divert his attention when it drifted and went the wrong way.
But then the 13 year old balks because the nine year old isn't doing anything, let alone his share and it's not fair, and chaos is back.
Around this time I started to think of military school for the 13 year old, and I briefly regretted that I was not in the military, where at the least, I would have learned the self-discipline and habits that would get this room cleaned up 1,2,3.
Well, long story short, the 13 year old ended up at Donald's Academy, the nine year old snapped to it when I said "you'll be old enough for the Academy in two years", and as for the three year old, well I built him a huge, safe play-yard, stocked with rides and games and toys, and lots of paper and paints.
They've grown up just fine. And that took a lot of strength from all of us.
Resisting reality may not be the source of all misery, but it takes up a lot of energy and strength. Resisting covers a lot of ground. It can be denial, or rejection, or trying to make something true that isn't true - you know, faking it.
My biggest resistance was thinking I couldn't change or fix something unless I knew EXACTLY how it got broken. Not just a reason, but a GOOD REASON, a specific detailed reason with footnotes and citations.
So my point being, I don't do this anymore. For me it was a big part of Victim mode, which was really a huge step up from Denial mode, but just like denial, I outgrew Victim and became a Survivor.
But when I became a Survivor, I held on to the things which felt good and empowered me when I was a Victim. And that's OK, but by and by, they disappear, filed in the bookshelf of your heart and soul, written in tears and pain.
Can strength be infinite? Yes, I'm sure of it.
