Can You "Just Say No"?

A friend sent me the following list during a recent exchange.  It was so revealing, I thought it needed sharing.




Here are some ways to tell if you have an addiction to a substance, a behavior, a process, a thought pattern, a habit:

                       

                        1. Do you "use" in times of stress?

                        2. Do you justify your use, saying you'll use “just until…”

                        3. Do you get angry if people tell you not to use, or that you need to control your use?

                        4. Do you use to avoid feeling a certain way?

                        5. Do you have health consequences due to your use, but you still can't stop using?

                        6. Do you have a hard time saying no if someone offers it?

                        7. Do you have the inability to stop once you've started?

                        8. Do you crave it?

                        9. Does it affect your home, family and relationships?

                        10. Do you use it to feel a certain way? To change your brain state?

            


If I answer, “yes” to all ten questions, is that a problem?

A Glimpse of Normal

On the Feast of the Epiphany, I began treatment with a new healer.  By the end of last year, after slogging from doctor to doctor to doctor for my bleeding and other health issues, I was incredibly frustrated, exhausted, and desperate.  The dysfunctional bleeding finally stopped on Christmas Eve after my having bled for about 70 of the previous 95 days. After lots of testing, not very much listening, and quite a bit of passing responsibility to other practitioners, the best the medical profession could diagnose me with was pre-menopausal hormone disruption and being “as good as diabetic”.  Neither of which could begin to account fully for my last four and a half years of chronic fatigue, pain, and cognitive dysfunction.  I was grasping at straws, including paying good money for some online, unlicensed and barely legal naturopath who suggested about ten different diagnoses and told me that if I’d lose a hundred pounds (going to a fat farm if necessary), all my health problems would get better.  Note:  I do NOT carry a hundred pounds of excess weight on my body!

Over the holidays, which were horrible and mostly spent in bed, I stopped in at a nearby gluten-free store and found a single business card for a guy who practices acupuncture, applied kinesiology, and NAET.  I thought, “what the hell, I’ve been to everyone else, maybe this guy will think more like I do; he certainly has the credentials for Weird.”  He works out of his living room, sets up his schedule from his cell phone, and was willing to let me grill him on his philosophy of healing for twenty minutes before even making an appointment!  My kind of practitioner.  My first visit was on the Epiphany, which I thought apropos for beginning new directions in healing wisdom.

He let me talk for an hour and a half, telling my story, letting me say for myself what was wrong with me.  That in itself was worth his fee!  I came home feeling very much like I’d hired a team player rather than submitted myself to yet another person’s expert opinions.  That first visit I got nothing more than a formula of Bach flower remedies from the healer and I myself changed the delivery system of my homeopathic remedy but for the first time in over six months I didn’t have to spend most of my waking hours in bed (or desperately wishing I were). 

I was able to do all our grocery shopping by myself, a full restocking of the kitchen since my husband has been trying to keep things running for the last several months, not his forte.  I hadn’t been able to shop unaccompanied in years.  Before I had quit altogether, I’d had to take a kid and use the motorized wheelchair carts and now suddenly I had the physical stamina and mental clarity to plan and execute a shopping trip to three stores, put it all away, and then start cooking up a storm.  I cooked for that whole first weekend!  I hadn’t so much as made a complete meal for myself in months, much less whole family dinners and prep-ahead meals for the freezer. 

I lost another fifteen pounds in addition to the twenty I’d already lost by going mostly grain-free and low-carb.  My clothes are falling off me, I have to wear my wedding ring on another finger, I even had to go back to an old pair of glasses because the prescription for my visual acuity changed.  I was able to take my daughter to an open house at the technical school she hopes to attend and the same day go with my other daughter to her music competition, unthinkable even a few weeks before.  I attended swim meets, went to a movie with the family, and I’ve even gone clothes shopping for my ever-taller teens.  I felt normal, healthy, and capable of living the life I expected of myself for the first time in five years. 

And then the honeymoon ended.  The healer and I have begun a course of treatments designed to realign that nexus between the physiological autonomic nervous system and the spirit/psyche, to cause it to function harmoniously as one whole rather than acrimoniously as two separate aspects of Being.  The treatments reset unconscious beliefs that cause adverse physiological or psychological reactions.  The treatments themselves are innocuous—some holding of tiny vials of liquid, some thumping along the spine, and a little acupuncture—but the changes that occur afterwards are enormous.  The healing is deep and requires a lot of forebearance as issues come to consciousness to be released.  I am again tired and quickly fatigue, often lose my temper, and am forgetful or foggy.  But it is the tiredness of healing rather than the weariness of disease. 

That brief interlude of glorious health, that glimpse of normal, was a splash of grace.  Having experienced that two weeks, I can eagerly accept the challenge now of this healing work.  It was a foretaste of vibrancy that was sorely needed after these long years of increasing despondency and resignation, a reminder of what I can be, the impetus I needed to do the work remaining, allowing these treatments to dig deeply into the foundations of my Being and to rebuild my whole self from the very inmost soul-depths.

Another Ash Wednesday

Another Ash Wednesday.  Another Lent. Another season in the liturgical year to contemplate “what does it all mean” and “how do I live like it means anything at all?”  No matter what Jesus’s followers thought he was all about—and the Gospels record their opinions as all over the map—the events of that fateful Passover had to have taken them by surprise.  Whatever their expectations for the Jesus movement, his execution for criminal sedition was a big game-changer.  Who could have foreseen such an event? (Arguably Jesus, but if so, he didn’t seem to go about making it very clear to even his closest followers.) And having seen their leader die ignominiously, what were they to make of it?  In order to go on with their own lives, how were they to integrate his death into their own personal histories as a meaningful event? 

Eventually, the various atonement doctrines, revisionist messianic prophecies, and the deification of Jesus by the increasingly political church provided catechistic answers to these hard questions.  Ultimately, though, we each have to answer that question of meaning for ourselves just as the original followers grappled with it in the first century.  Each of us must find our own meaning in life regardless of what answers are served up to us by church or culture. 

Lent is a six-week period designed to reflect on what meaning we will give our lives. Two years ago, I began The Chronicles as a Lenten exercise, expecting 40-Days-to-a-Renewed-You.  What I got was a continuing odyssey in spiritual death and resurrection.  I thought that February of 2010 that I was nearly recovered from my then two-and-a-half year struggle with dysautonomia/adrenal dysfunction.  Little did I know I was only beginning a whole new adventure in chronic disease and spiritual health!  Like the first disciples, who could have foreseen how often in the last two years I would beg that this cup should pass from me, how many times I cried out from the depths of my soul for the God who had forsaken me, how close I would come to sighing simply, “it is finished.”

This sojourn in my personal Abyss has been more malevolent than I ever expected, the skeletons in my closet became demons that nearly destroyed my soul.  Not for lack of willingness on my part did they fail; more times than I can count, I pleaded just to die and to let the inner struggle cease.  But God kept waking me up to one more dawn; weep though I did at yet another day of hauling my weary, aching, broken self out of bed.  Grace is a terrible thing.

Lent has come around again. Why am I still here?  What is my purpose in continuing to breathe, to think, to move?  In the last few weeks I have been slowly resurrecting from the ashes of my old dead self, why do I live?  Grace transforms, whether we will or no.  What has grace wrought?  Like those devastated survivors of that crucial crucifixion, I look around me and begin to pick up the pieces of myself that I find and discover that they fit together differently that before.  I am not the same person who went into this grave, who is this new person Grace has borne?

Jesus’s followers began their fateful journey, leaving every part of the lives they knew in Galilee, traveling to another country for a religious celebration, only to find that everything on which they had staked they hopes and dreams was staked instead to a cross as a common criminal. Their lives, their plans, lay destroyed at the foot of the cross that scattered them to the winds.  Grace transformed those shattered people into a force that changed (for good as well as evil) the course of history.  What will Grace make of me? 

Lent. Six weeks to nurture the new healing, the tender green spirit that has sprung new roots into the Ground of my Being.  Forty days to reach for the light, to burrow into the ground.  Who will emerge from the seed of the resurrection?

Still in the Blogosphere

Haven't been posting much, or at all, for the last several months as my health issues became so acute and I couldn't concentrate long enough to write a whole blog post.  I have kept up with my Facebook Page, though, so please do follow me there.  The Christian Heretic is a public page so you don't have to have an account with Facebook to see my posts (I think) and it should be find-able with google.  Or click on the Facebook thingy at the top of this page.

I am, in fact, doing much better in just about every measure of health possible and hope to get back to regular posting soon.  (Of course, I always hope to get back to writing soon and never seem to actually do it...hmm, maybe some work to be done there.)

The virgin birth, a rejected book, and the courage to be Jesus

A book so heretical the publisher tore up the author's contract! Help him self-publish. The world needs more encouraging heretics.

The virgin birth, a rejected book, and the courage to be Jesus

First Meal I Made All By Myself (well, in several months, anyway!)

Tortilla Soup

Makes about 1 gallon, I’m guessing?  Eight to ten big bowls of it.

I started with four frozen, boneless, skinless chicken breasts arranged in a large soup pot over a couple tablespoons of olive oil.  As the frozen chicken thawed and cooked in the covered pot, it created it’s own poaching/steaming liquid.  On top of the chicken pieces, I liberally sprinkled the following:

The contents of two bags of YOGI Aztec Sweet Chili Tea

3 pinches of chipotle pepper shreds (Archer Farms, from Target)

Dash of dried oregano

½ teaspoon whole black peppercorn, very coarsely crushed

Several pinches crushed red pepper flakes (Archer Farms)

Pinch of dry onion powder (homemade from Just Dried Onions)

Pinch of roasted garlic powder (homemade from Just Dried Roasted Garlic)

Zest of a small lemon

Juice of the lemon

Dusting of cinnamon

¼ cup chopped sun-dried tomatoes (the julienned ones from Costco)

2 tablespoons of the liquid from the thawed roasted Hatch chilies a neighbor brought me from Albuquerque

Sea salt

When the chicken was cooked through and shreddable, I removed it to cutting board and added to the pot:

1 carrot, peeled and sliced into rounds

2 ribs of celery, sliced

4 cloves of garlic, smashed and chopped coarsely

1 medium onion, diced

1 tomatillo, diced

1 zucchini, peeled and diced

One 15-ounce can of diced, fire-roasted tomatoes (Muir Glen)

Cover and simmer together until tender but not mushy.  Shred the chicken.  Return the chicken to the pot and add 2 quarts of chicken stock (Pacific organic, free-range Chicken Broth).  Heat through and serve.  Or bring to boil, turn off the heat without uncovering pot, and let sit for 30 minutes to several hours to let the flavors really meld without overcooking (this option not recommended for the ptomaine-phobic, but I swear I’ve never given anyone food poisoning).

Garnish at the table with:

Chopped cilantro

Diced avocado

Sour cream

Roasted corn

Mashed roasted Hatch chilies

Corn tortilla strips, fried in oil

Or add it all into the soup pot before serving if everyone can/will eat them!

God: You've Misunderstood the Criteria for Getting In

It is that you dared to live.

How End Times Teachings Is Terrorism and Child Abuse

Link to part two--I don't know why it won't embed!

Big Lies I Believe

Fundamental beliefs (aka Big Lies) held in common by people who suffer from chronic illness:

1.     I have to be strong. (Strong enough to handle anything, regardless of whether the weight is unbearable by anyone.)

2.     It is not right for me to be angry. (I have no right to anger, my anger is not justified, or even that anger is a sin akin to murder.)

3.     If I’m angry, I will not be loveable. (Love and acceptance are earned by our character or our behaviors—which are inseparable.)

4.     I’m responsible for the whole world. (Leading to hyper-controlling behaviors, being the Fixer, a compulsion to “save the world.”)

5.     I can handle anything. (It is easier just to do it myself than get other people to do it, if you want it done “right” you have to do it yourself, needing to be perfectly competent in all areas of life—perfect mom, perfectly decorated and kept house, perfect garden, perfect on the job, in the bedroom, in the ministry—being good enough is never acceptable in anything.)

6.     I’m not wanted—I’m not lovable. (Regardless of others’ intentions, I perceive that I am unwanted/unloved.)

7.     I don’t exist unless I do something.  I must justify my existence.  (My only worth lies in my utility.  I cannot fathom being valuable simple for Being.)

8.     I have to be very ill to deserve being taken care of.  (I should be able to buck up, mind-over-matter, just get on with things, no matte what.)

A major contributor to the genesis of many diseases… is an overload of stress induced by unconscious beliefs.  If we would heal, it is essential to being the painfully incremental task of reversing the biology of belief we adopted very early in life.  Whatever external treatment is administered, the healing agent lies within.  The internal milieu must be changed.  To find health, and to know it fully, necessitates a quest, a journey to the center of our own biology of belief.  That means rethinking and recognizing—re-cognizing: literally, to “know again”—in our lives.

…The key to healing is the individual’s active, free and informed choice.  … Liberation from oppressive and stressful external circumstances is essential, but that is only possible if we first liberate ourselves from the tyranny of our ingrained biology of belief.

From When the Body Says No by Gabor Mate, MD (the parenthetical remarks are my own)

Forgiveness

Yesterday's procedure went as well as could be expected, I guess.  They didn't find anything immediately scary and the biopsy won't have results for two weeks.  I feel like a tiny little angry Mack truck ran up my insides and caromed wildly around in there.  So, another day of lying in bed, popping pain remedies. 

An interesting thing happened during the test.  I expected pain, and it hurt a lot, but I totally didn't expect to feel like some hidden emotional trauma had been triggered in the poking around in my body.  Maybe you know that emotional memories are held in every cell in our bodies: the more pathological the cell tissue, the more intense the emotional charge of the memory.  From the first moment the tools of the test entered my body, before the current physical pain even registered, I was bawling.  I was obviously (to me, anyway) being reminded of emotions that were hidden away in my body.  I was overwhelmed with a grievous rage.

A couple new cysts were found of a type that mind-body experts associate with constantly replaying old "movies" of hurts one can't let go of.  As if there were, say, some insults that I am hideously angry about, can't let go of, and can barely admit even to myself. Perhaps the deeply mired issues represented by the fact that none of my family responded with so much as an "I'm glad you're not dead" to my several messages about my health crises and my Halloween trip to the ER.   Both of my siblings and their spouses roundly ignored my emails but betook themselves to comment on some of my frivolous Facebook posts.  I wrote to them to ask why they bothered to FB with me if they were going to ignore the big scary stuff.  My brother hasn't answered; my sister said in response to my questioning whether she had even received the emails, "oh, yeah, I got those," without a single explanation of why she had ignored them.  I am so deeply offended, I can't even articulate it.

Clearly, I have some deep psycho-spiritual work to do--undoubtedly around this same as-yet-unforgivable collection of bitter and angry baggage about my family.  It is more than a little depressing to realize.  I have done sooo much work distentangling my psyche from my past yet my body is telling me I have so much more to do.