I was asked a question about my post last week by a good friend - given what I was moving away from, he was curious to know, what does recovery and living in sobriety give me and move me towards?
I met him when he was a supporting coach on a very good NLP course I went on. He was very good at reflecting back to me and really allowed me to uncover some difficult learnings. I very quickly learnt that a lot of my approaches are 'away froms' rather than 'towards', more moving backwards rather than forwards. It's almost as if I am afraid to look at where I'm going in case I don't get there or maybe it's easier to blame someone else if I can't see where I'm going. Either way, I have been working on becoming a 'towards' person, it would seem not very successfully! As a general rule, we do better on focusing what we want to happen rather than what we don't. Many of us have been told this as parents and may be more successful with our children than ourselves, using the words 'be careful' rather than 'don't break it' or 'don't fall off'. So, let me answer the question, what does recovery and living in sobriety give me and move me towards?
Honesty, people who are truly honest with each other, improving the way that they deal with other people. Learning to be honest about themselves, living an honest life. Talking honestly about their lives to now, sharing their insecurities, their mistakes, their fears. And moving on, finding a better life. A life without those fears, without insecurities, without any more mistakes. Of course, it's not all perfect, a lot of people go through some incredibly significant traumas. What recovery through AA gives is an amazing support group, a group who are all too aware of how difficult it is living any life sober never mind dealing with extra shit. The most inspirational people are those who, when they describe their past life, you can't see them in it, they seem too far removed from the person they're describing. That's when I'm reminded how it really works, that it can transform me too, that I can become warm, generous and loving, in a truly genuine and not forced way, and that one day I too can become lovable. And that, Mike, gives me hope. Hope, in a way that I didn't understand existed,
certainly not for someone like me. It fills me with warmth. From head to toe, inside and out, glowing. Fully protected without the need for a wall of glass or stone, no need for a shield or sword, no suit of armour, no masks. To walk out into the world without all that weighing me down, to hop, skip and jump into the day. That's what I'm moving towards and I feel like a really lucky girl.
Ok, so still a strong smattering, so we go again.....
Honesty, people who are truly honest with each other, improving the way that they deal with other people. Learning to be honest about themselves, living an honest life. Talking honestly about their lives to now, sharing their insecurities, their mistakes, their fears. And moving on, finding a better life. A life of calm, security and sensitivity. Of course, it's not all perfect, a lot of people go through some incredibly significant traumas. What recovery through AA gives is an amazing support group, a group who are all too aware of how difficult it is living any life sober never mind dealing with extra shit. The most inspirational people are those who, when they describe their past life, you can't see them in it, they seem too far removed from the person they're describing. That's when I'm reminded how it really works, that it transforms me too, that I am warm, generous and loving, in a truly genuine way, and that I too am lovable. And that, Mike, gives me hope. Hope, in a way that I didn't understand existed, certainly not for someone like me. It fills me with warmth. From head to toe, inside and out, glowing. Feeling the sun on my face, the air on my skin, the sand beneath my feet and
in between my toes. To walk freely out into the world, to hop, skip and jump into the day. That's what I'm moving towards and I am a really lucky girl.
Yes, that is better, we are making progress.
Wednesday, 3 December 2014
Monday, 1 December 2014
Week 36
Last week I watched the latest release in the Hunger Games series. It was one of the last films that Philip Seymour Hoffman made before he died of a drug overdose. For me, the death of an addict has particular significance. With the still sober addict, it is a moment to celebrate their survival from this disease but for the addict in relapse, a terrifying reflection on the power that it has. It was made all the more poignant by the fact that Woody Harrelson was in the film playing a known alcoholic living in a prohibition state. I often wonder if society provides alcoholism with an acceptable face. The 'heavy drinker' is a well used term, someone who likes a drink (or many) but, to all intense and purposes, isn't believed to be an alcoholic. They are well known for long evenings at the bar, hangover fed mornings and wasted weekends. Jokes are told of their latest antics, their smart retorts and even, the accepted gaps in memory. Not knowing how they got home, where they left their phone, wallet, handbag; all told with smiles on faces. They get sponsored through a dry October, friends and colleagues admiring them for their resilience. They may be 'just' a heavy drinker but they may be an alcoholic in hiding, living on a knife-edge. Their every waking moment looking forward to that first drink when they arrive home, when their day will wash over them, the woes will disappear, the turmoil in their head will calm and clear. It's accepted as the norm, they think of it as the norm, they only know others who also consider it the norm.
The mental obsession doesn't have to be all day, it can time itself to kick. In my later stages, I went to the supermarket every day on the way home to get a bottle of wine if there wasn't one waiting for me. Often I would pick up something else, not to make it look better but just because I was there. I have a lot of friends who would share their buying across various supermarkets and off licences, aware that they might attract dubious attention. It never occurred to me that anyone would question why I would be there, it's not as if it was a bottle of vodka every day. Woody's character carries a drink everywhere, strangely seems to be surviving prohibition very well, just waiting for it to be over. An addict in relapse is a very different beast. To have known recovery, to have lived in sobriety and to have lost it, absolutely terrifies me. The idea of returning to a world that I now understand on a completely different level fills me with absolute dread and fear. Fortunately, this doesn't have to be my journey and I can work on a different one. The death of a famous addict brings the message into the media that there are ways of getting sober and gives recovery programmes a chance to be heard with the hope that this can save the life of others. Through the sharing of experience, strength and hope, this is our way.
The mental obsession doesn't have to be all day, it can time itself to kick. In my later stages, I went to the supermarket every day on the way home to get a bottle of wine if there wasn't one waiting for me. Often I would pick up something else, not to make it look better but just because I was there. I have a lot of friends who would share their buying across various supermarkets and off licences, aware that they might attract dubious attention. It never occurred to me that anyone would question why I would be there, it's not as if it was a bottle of vodka every day. Woody's character carries a drink everywhere, strangely seems to be surviving prohibition very well, just waiting for it to be over. An addict in relapse is a very different beast. To have known recovery, to have lived in sobriety and to have lost it, absolutely terrifies me. The idea of returning to a world that I now understand on a completely different level fills me with absolute dread and fear. Fortunately, this doesn't have to be my journey and I can work on a different one. The death of a famous addict brings the message into the media that there are ways of getting sober and gives recovery programmes a chance to be heard with the hope that this can save the life of others. Through the sharing of experience, strength and hope, this is our way.
Sunday, 16 November 2014
Week 35
Exercise week this week:
Exercise 16 - find a gap (that bit is easy, as you know) and write three sentences including a metaphor....
In my attempt to keep my writing flowing sometimes this forced structure is quite hard. So, I'll choose a gap moment, write three sentences and keep my fingers crossed that one of them includes a metaphor. I'll probably have to look that up.
The pains were now starting to come in waves, each one drowning her as it flowed through and over body. The time between contractions was reducing rapidly and Frankie knew this was definitely time. Finally, the birthing pool was ready and she climbed into it, submerging her throbbing stomach beneath the water.
Not sure if that works entirely from a metaphor perspective but hey ho. Very pertinent timing though as tomorrow sees the anniversary of my becoming a parent just 14 years ago. I always find it a very emotional day and am really intrigued by how my acupuncture session will go. It's been a busy couple of weeks at work and the weekend has provided a much needed respite. A friend helped me clear out some stuff from the attic last week and yesterday I took 28 boxes of children's clothes to a charity shop. Yes, I did mean to write 28. I had hoped to have child no 3 but it became quite clear that we didn't have the financial, physical or emotional capacity for a third and, while I had settled with that a while ago, I hadn't followed it through. I did venture into a couple of the boxes but the majority of them went out of the house untouched. It kicked off a wide variety of emotions, some good and some not so. It was lovely to be reminded of times past, yet it was also difficult to be reminded of the hopes that would never be. I'm very happy with the two children that I have, they are both amazing and I know that a third would have made it all very difficult. Whilst I am disappointed, I also know that I am truly grateful for what I have and for where I am. Anything else would have created a very different present and today is just right for me.
Exercise 16 - find a gap (that bit is easy, as you know) and write three sentences including a metaphor....
In my attempt to keep my writing flowing sometimes this forced structure is quite hard. So, I'll choose a gap moment, write three sentences and keep my fingers crossed that one of them includes a metaphor. I'll probably have to look that up.
The pains were now starting to come in waves, each one drowning her as it flowed through and over body. The time between contractions was reducing rapidly and Frankie knew this was definitely time. Finally, the birthing pool was ready and she climbed into it, submerging her throbbing stomach beneath the water.
Not sure if that works entirely from a metaphor perspective but hey ho. Very pertinent timing though as tomorrow sees the anniversary of my becoming a parent just 14 years ago. I always find it a very emotional day and am really intrigued by how my acupuncture session will go. It's been a busy couple of weeks at work and the weekend has provided a much needed respite. A friend helped me clear out some stuff from the attic last week and yesterday I took 28 boxes of children's clothes to a charity shop. Yes, I did mean to write 28. I had hoped to have child no 3 but it became quite clear that we didn't have the financial, physical or emotional capacity for a third and, while I had settled with that a while ago, I hadn't followed it through. I did venture into a couple of the boxes but the majority of them went out of the house untouched. It kicked off a wide variety of emotions, some good and some not so. It was lovely to be reminded of times past, yet it was also difficult to be reminded of the hopes that would never be. I'm very happy with the two children that I have, they are both amazing and I know that a third would have made it all very difficult. Whilst I am disappointed, I also know that I am truly grateful for what I have and for where I am. Anything else would have created a very different present and today is just right for me.
Monday, 10 November 2014
Week 34
Frankie:
I guess it's not what it set out to be, you and me, is it? We talked about an idyll, how the countryside would be beautiful, how it would inspire my writing. The ideal family life, just perfect for bringing up children. Fresh air, open fields, a supportive community. How can it inspire me when I'm so bloody tired and so damned lonely. I love Finn, I do, but it's relentless. He's in everything I do. I'm feeding him, watching him, playing with him, sleeping with him, chasing him, reading to him. I fall asleep next to his bed and when I wake up he's staring at me, awake already. There's no break, no time to write, no me time. It's fine for you; your work, your vocation, all fitting in really nicely. Off early in the morning, leaving behind your 'sleeping beauties', the occasional text during the day asking how 'we' are when really you just mean Finn and then home at night, rushing up the stairs to catch him before he drops off. It's not fair, he doesn't need you to wake him up when I've spent two hours taking him through a bedtime routine. He needs structure, it might seem like a regime to you but he needs to sleep and this would work if you would leave it to me. I know you want to be an active parent, to be involved, but that needs to be on his terms not yours. I know we said that we didn't want to change, that we wanted to be different to our own parents but we have changed, we had to. To be honest, I think it would be wrong if we hadn't. I do still love you but I don't know where 'we-two' have gone. Oh yes, there's definitely 'we-three', so much so it's suffocating. The perfect family. Everywhere we go, on our best behaviour, looking the part, the local vet with his wife and son. The county shows, the country fairs, out on parade, meeting Farmer This and Mrs That. And your friends Mac, not mine. There might be a community but it's a closed door to me and Finn. Yes, they were different at the beginning but it soon dried up. I had nothing in common with any of them; the perfect mothers; the career wives; the WI crowd; forced conversations about the weather and keeping home. I tried to make it work, we had dinner parties, people came round, we entertained but there were no invites back, did you notice that? I've never been so stilted, so lacking in inspiration. There's nowhere to escape it, in the city I could lose myself, be something else. I had friends, here I have nothing.
It's not right Mac, not for me.
Mac:
I guess it's not what it set out to be, you and me, is it? I thought it would be great, that you'd love it up here. The fresh air, the hills, the open spaces. What a wonderful place to bring up a family, our family. I saw us in a rambling home, kids running through the halls, friends gathering in the kitchen. Frankie, where did all that go? When did we decide only to have Finn. He is great but I thought we'd have more, I thought you wanted more. We talked about children, not a child. We talked about working alongside each other, my vet practice providing the base for you, for you to write. Why have you stopped writing, stopped sharing it with me? You don't like my friends, their wives. You've no patience to get to know anyone. If they're not right for you at first meeting then that's it, no second chance. How can you hope to make friends like that? I don't understand why you don't want to spend time with people, Frankie, why Finn doesn't have friends of his own. I have to work really hard to provide this house, this home, this life that you take for granted. Do you have any idea how knackered I am, early mornings long days. Weekends at shows and fairs, being the face of the practice, supporting the community so that it keeps supporting us. Yes, I do love it and yes, it is what I always wanted, but at what cost? I never see him during the week, you've rushed him off to bed before I get home, no thought for my time with him. And then there's the drinking. Whatever time of day I get home, there you are glass of wine in hand, the bottle 'only just' opened. The dinner parties ruined by your ranting, your rudeness, your inability to keep your food down. We had to stop having them, going to them, I had to manage my reputation. I still love you Frankie, but I'm not sure that I like what you have become.
It's not working Frankie, not for me.
I guess it's not what it set out to be, you and me, is it? We talked about an idyll, how the countryside would be beautiful, how it would inspire my writing. The ideal family life, just perfect for bringing up children. Fresh air, open fields, a supportive community. How can it inspire me when I'm so bloody tired and so damned lonely. I love Finn, I do, but it's relentless. He's in everything I do. I'm feeding him, watching him, playing with him, sleeping with him, chasing him, reading to him. I fall asleep next to his bed and when I wake up he's staring at me, awake already. There's no break, no time to write, no me time. It's fine for you; your work, your vocation, all fitting in really nicely. Off early in the morning, leaving behind your 'sleeping beauties', the occasional text during the day asking how 'we' are when really you just mean Finn and then home at night, rushing up the stairs to catch him before he drops off. It's not fair, he doesn't need you to wake him up when I've spent two hours taking him through a bedtime routine. He needs structure, it might seem like a regime to you but he needs to sleep and this would work if you would leave it to me. I know you want to be an active parent, to be involved, but that needs to be on his terms not yours. I know we said that we didn't want to change, that we wanted to be different to our own parents but we have changed, we had to. To be honest, I think it would be wrong if we hadn't. I do still love you but I don't know where 'we-two' have gone. Oh yes, there's definitely 'we-three', so much so it's suffocating. The perfect family. Everywhere we go, on our best behaviour, looking the part, the local vet with his wife and son. The county shows, the country fairs, out on parade, meeting Farmer This and Mrs That. And your friends Mac, not mine. There might be a community but it's a closed door to me and Finn. Yes, they were different at the beginning but it soon dried up. I had nothing in common with any of them; the perfect mothers; the career wives; the WI crowd; forced conversations about the weather and keeping home. I tried to make it work, we had dinner parties, people came round, we entertained but there were no invites back, did you notice that? I've never been so stilted, so lacking in inspiration. There's nowhere to escape it, in the city I could lose myself, be something else. I had friends, here I have nothing.
It's not right Mac, not for me.
Mac:
I guess it's not what it set out to be, you and me, is it? I thought it would be great, that you'd love it up here. The fresh air, the hills, the open spaces. What a wonderful place to bring up a family, our family. I saw us in a rambling home, kids running through the halls, friends gathering in the kitchen. Frankie, where did all that go? When did we decide only to have Finn. He is great but I thought we'd have more, I thought you wanted more. We talked about children, not a child. We talked about working alongside each other, my vet practice providing the base for you, for you to write. Why have you stopped writing, stopped sharing it with me? You don't like my friends, their wives. You've no patience to get to know anyone. If they're not right for you at first meeting then that's it, no second chance. How can you hope to make friends like that? I don't understand why you don't want to spend time with people, Frankie, why Finn doesn't have friends of his own. I have to work really hard to provide this house, this home, this life that you take for granted. Do you have any idea how knackered I am, early mornings long days. Weekends at shows and fairs, being the face of the practice, supporting the community so that it keeps supporting us. Yes, I do love it and yes, it is what I always wanted, but at what cost? I never see him during the week, you've rushed him off to bed before I get home, no thought for my time with him. And then there's the drinking. Whatever time of day I get home, there you are glass of wine in hand, the bottle 'only just' opened. The dinner parties ruined by your ranting, your rudeness, your inability to keep your food down. We had to stop having them, going to them, I had to manage my reputation. I still love you Frankie, but I'm not sure that I like what you have become.
It's not working Frankie, not for me.
Monday, 3 November 2014
Week 33
Busy week, from the balmy Pembrokeshire shores to the hustle and bustle of London at half term. Two days at the seaside has reinvigorated me, blown away some rusty cobwebs and warmed up my soul. Standing at the edge of the shore, feeling the wind coming off the sea, waves washing over my wellies, simply blissful. I could stay there for hours, fortunately I haven't as I would have been washed away but I do love it. The emotional balancing that takes place is amazing. I often wonder how much I could manage without, to be able to do that everyday, whether it would be sustainable or whether I need more. Even following it with two days in London hasn't lost it, although having just been for acupuncture, it is possibly difficult to tell. I was blessed with a warm and sunny afternoon so had the roof down on the car, music surrounding me and a fantastic drive so feel very indulged this afternoon. Am trying out a new cafe too sitting at a fantastic table and bench, might have found the perfect writing spot, will need to come and test out the latte another day and see just how good it is.
Watched some great films whilst away, Maleficent and The Help. Both were wonderfully inspiring in very different ways. A fabulous retelling of Snow White from the point of view of the wicked witch, I love seeing the opposite perspective of a story and how it completely challenges your initial understanding, maybe I should write my own reaction to last week's post in a Frankie/Mac style. The Help was just brilliant, great to watch what could be described as a 'chick-flick' with my daughter that wasn't about the girl/boy relationship. I do love a good moral tale, especially with the opportunity for good to triumph over evil. I've always been an advocate of the underdog, especially when I considered myself to be one too.
Yes, there should be an exercise this week and I am supposed to be rewriting a section without any adjectives or adverbs. However, after writing the above a few days ago I am a bit out of kilter so will be leaving it for now or this will never get posted. Whoops.....
Watched some great films whilst away, Maleficent and The Help. Both were wonderfully inspiring in very different ways. A fabulous retelling of Snow White from the point of view of the wicked witch, I love seeing the opposite perspective of a story and how it completely challenges your initial understanding, maybe I should write my own reaction to last week's post in a Frankie/Mac style. The Help was just brilliant, great to watch what could be described as a 'chick-flick' with my daughter that wasn't about the girl/boy relationship. I do love a good moral tale, especially with the opportunity for good to triumph over evil. I've always been an advocate of the underdog, especially when I considered myself to be one too.
Yes, there should be an exercise this week and I am supposed to be rewriting a section without any adjectives or adverbs. However, after writing the above a few days ago I am a bit out of kilter so will be leaving it for now or this will never get posted. Whoops.....
Tuesday, 21 October 2014
Week 32
I guess it's not what it set out to be, you and me, is it? I've changed, at first not because I wanted to but because I had to. I was in a really bad place, lost, alone, confused. I didn't know how to do it anymore, any of it. Perhaps I should have told you, should have shared, my concerns, my worries, my inner fears, but I couldn't. I couldn't admit my hopelessness, my failure, my inability to cope. I couldn't put all that at your door. I was supposed to be the strong one, the one who did the managing, there for you to lean on, for you to depend on, to be your rock in the storm. How could I let you down? I thought we'd been through the rough, the storms, tested our relationship, found our strength together. What little did I know.
Our marriage started on the back foot, coming home with a honeymoon pregnancy that knocked me out completely, sleeping for hours if not days. My need for control disabling you, not trusting that you could support, could help. Parenthood hit us hard, the sleepless nights, the constant feeding. I had such high expectations of what sort of mother I would be, the father that you would be. It was never going to be achievable but at what cost. What followed completely knocked us off our stride. My parents moving away, your mother having a stroke, buying our first home, my dad's cancer and then, after months of weekly visits, losing your wonderful mum just as our son turned one. I'm not sure we ever recovered from that. I tried to do the right things but was always so focused on the goals, the material elements that would measure success. Maybe with one child we could have bounced back but one was not enough for me so we had another. And this one was different, the daughter I thought I would never have. She blew me away. I had no idea what to do, to be honest I still don't.
We used to solve all our problems over a beer, or two. Over dinner in the pub, we would come together with a bottle of wine. Then, with two children, no time nor money for dinners in the pub, we lost our way. I stopped telling you how it was for me, stopped asking how it was for you. I made judgments, decisions, imposed solutions to what I thought were our problems, but were only mine. I took our lives down a very difficult path and then when we got lost, tried to find the way out on my own. I'm not sure if my drinking got worse, I've never asked you. It's not as if it was great to start with, we had arguments over it for sure. You would come and pick me up, probably because you knew I wouldn't make it home left to my own devices. I would be a mess, if I was there at all. Like many of my friends, you seemed to accept it, just as I did until the day it changed. You didn't think I was an alcoholic either. At first. And that, I did on my own too. Going off to meetings, spending time with new people. Disappearing into an evening, off for a day. Leaving you alone, again.
There are many who would have left by now, who would have upped sticks and gone to a better place. Many who would have left while I was still drinking, while I was shouting abuse, while I was belittling you, undermining you. Maybe you wish you had. I'm glad you didn't.
But what now? We are two ships that pass in the night, parenting in parallel. We share a house but not a home. We disagree over most things, butting up against each other. I know that you do not feel you can let go of the past, the times we've spent in counselling have made that clear to me. It may not be obvious to you but I am trying to be better. I want to change, to improve, to become a better person, to be someone worth loving. I need to know if you want that too. I need to talk to you, to know what you want for your future, for our future. This time, I want to do the right thing, the loving thing. But, as I have learnt, I can't do that on my own and it now depends on whether you want to come too. I'm standing in the ring, no gloves, no fists, I'm waving a white flag, call a truce and see if there's peace to be made. I wonder what the terms of the agreement will be.
Sent with love.
Our marriage started on the back foot, coming home with a honeymoon pregnancy that knocked me out completely, sleeping for hours if not days. My need for control disabling you, not trusting that you could support, could help. Parenthood hit us hard, the sleepless nights, the constant feeding. I had such high expectations of what sort of mother I would be, the father that you would be. It was never going to be achievable but at what cost. What followed completely knocked us off our stride. My parents moving away, your mother having a stroke, buying our first home, my dad's cancer and then, after months of weekly visits, losing your wonderful mum just as our son turned one. I'm not sure we ever recovered from that. I tried to do the right things but was always so focused on the goals, the material elements that would measure success. Maybe with one child we could have bounced back but one was not enough for me so we had another. And this one was different, the daughter I thought I would never have. She blew me away. I had no idea what to do, to be honest I still don't.
We used to solve all our problems over a beer, or two. Over dinner in the pub, we would come together with a bottle of wine. Then, with two children, no time nor money for dinners in the pub, we lost our way. I stopped telling you how it was for me, stopped asking how it was for you. I made judgments, decisions, imposed solutions to what I thought were our problems, but were only mine. I took our lives down a very difficult path and then when we got lost, tried to find the way out on my own. I'm not sure if my drinking got worse, I've never asked you. It's not as if it was great to start with, we had arguments over it for sure. You would come and pick me up, probably because you knew I wouldn't make it home left to my own devices. I would be a mess, if I was there at all. Like many of my friends, you seemed to accept it, just as I did until the day it changed. You didn't think I was an alcoholic either. At first. And that, I did on my own too. Going off to meetings, spending time with new people. Disappearing into an evening, off for a day. Leaving you alone, again.
There are many who would have left by now, who would have upped sticks and gone to a better place. Many who would have left while I was still drinking, while I was shouting abuse, while I was belittling you, undermining you. Maybe you wish you had. I'm glad you didn't.
But what now? We are two ships that pass in the night, parenting in parallel. We share a house but not a home. We disagree over most things, butting up against each other. I know that you do not feel you can let go of the past, the times we've spent in counselling have made that clear to me. It may not be obvious to you but I am trying to be better. I want to change, to improve, to become a better person, to be someone worth loving. I need to know if you want that too. I need to talk to you, to know what you want for your future, for our future. This time, I want to do the right thing, the loving thing. But, as I have learnt, I can't do that on my own and it now depends on whether you want to come too. I'm standing in the ring, no gloves, no fists, I'm waving a white flag, call a truce and see if there's peace to be made. I wonder what the terms of the agreement will be.
Sent with love.
Monday, 20 October 2014
Week 31
Straight into the exercise this week, was lovely to hear a friend describe my posting gaps as a drought. Please do prod me if at any time you feel I've been absent too long, nods to Mike and Matt who are doing that already.
Exercise 16.....
Go back to the material you spread across the floor and pick a gap. Write a description of what the weather is doing at the time in a way that might be relevant to the scene.... (Possibly more difficult to do when it's not printed and suggests that she may have been expecting more material than I have, but onward)
This one is quite difficult, I haven't found out what time of year Frankie is having her 'day' in and don't want that decision driven by today's fabulous winds. I also don't have a gap between writings as I only have the beginning. So, I'll start and see where the weather appears......
Frankie looked through the window, watching the trees leaning in the wind. Finn was running through the leaves having a ball, he loved this time of year. He would happily spend hours making piles of leaves, sorting them into colours or shapes depending on his mood, and then running through all of them, giggling hysterically and throwing himself onto the ground. Frankie loved it too. The changing colours of the countryside. She loved how some trees would take the lead and start to change while others clung onto the green of summer. It was if they were striding off towards winter, bravely defiant, not worried about the loss of their clothing, while the others couldn't bear to go, wanted to stay where they were, fearful of what lay ahead. The bushes along the lanes would join in, telling her which fields were colder, which felt the winds and where she would find shelter from them too. The wind was up today, odd gusts taking Finn's piles away from him while others would bring extra bounty. The arboretum was one of their favourite haunts, time and space for the two of them, to walk the dog, to clear her head. Coffee and cake with no boundaries that would need effort to contain Finn. The rain was beginning to join in now, an occasional shower passing over, the only sign of it the drops appearing on the glass in front of her.
Acupuncture was great today. I feel re-energised, much like last week, ready for whatever's coming. It has to be said it's making me a bit feisty, almost poky at times. No longer taking what's thrown at me but starting to throw some of it back. Possibly not so great for those nearest and dearest who do the most throwing and, therefore, receiving. Hopefully for me it's an initial only point. A first step into the ring of life, where previously I've been sat on the edge not knowing how to join in. I have to come in now on the terms that I created before I can change the rules. Step up to the plate and then learn how to drop my fists, how to say 'enough is enough', how to be peacemaker. My acupuncture described it as lying on the track letting the trains roll over me not even aware that they were there. Now I have developed an awareness of them, I need to learn how to roll away and then I can get up. Maybe even climb onto the platform and leave the station. He suggested that I could buy a ticket which I thought was a bit rash, especially for those souls still lying down out there. We had a great discussion about the amount of energy it took to maintain anger in the body as well as the amount of energy to then contain it, which is apparently more than the same again. It's fabulous to know that I'm finally processing mine, letting it go from its years of being boxed up in a very small, very well hidden box. I am completely grateful for where it has brought me but its time is over, I'm ready to let it go and move on. It has managed my life for long enough, there needs to be change.
Exercise 16.....
Go back to the material you spread across the floor and pick a gap. Write a description of what the weather is doing at the time in a way that might be relevant to the scene.... (Possibly more difficult to do when it's not printed and suggests that she may have been expecting more material than I have, but onward)
This one is quite difficult, I haven't found out what time of year Frankie is having her 'day' in and don't want that decision driven by today's fabulous winds. I also don't have a gap between writings as I only have the beginning. So, I'll start and see where the weather appears......
Frankie looked through the window, watching the trees leaning in the wind. Finn was running through the leaves having a ball, he loved this time of year. He would happily spend hours making piles of leaves, sorting them into colours or shapes depending on his mood, and then running through all of them, giggling hysterically and throwing himself onto the ground. Frankie loved it too. The changing colours of the countryside. She loved how some trees would take the lead and start to change while others clung onto the green of summer. It was if they were striding off towards winter, bravely defiant, not worried about the loss of their clothing, while the others couldn't bear to go, wanted to stay where they were, fearful of what lay ahead. The bushes along the lanes would join in, telling her which fields were colder, which felt the winds and where she would find shelter from them too. The wind was up today, odd gusts taking Finn's piles away from him while others would bring extra bounty. The arboretum was one of their favourite haunts, time and space for the two of them, to walk the dog, to clear her head. Coffee and cake with no boundaries that would need effort to contain Finn. The rain was beginning to join in now, an occasional shower passing over, the only sign of it the drops appearing on the glass in front of her.
Acupuncture was great today. I feel re-energised, much like last week, ready for whatever's coming. It has to be said it's making me a bit feisty, almost poky at times. No longer taking what's thrown at me but starting to throw some of it back. Possibly not so great for those nearest and dearest who do the most throwing and, therefore, receiving. Hopefully for me it's an initial only point. A first step into the ring of life, where previously I've been sat on the edge not knowing how to join in. I have to come in now on the terms that I created before I can change the rules. Step up to the plate and then learn how to drop my fists, how to say 'enough is enough', how to be peacemaker. My acupuncture described it as lying on the track letting the trains roll over me not even aware that they were there. Now I have developed an awareness of them, I need to learn how to roll away and then I can get up. Maybe even climb onto the platform and leave the station. He suggested that I could buy a ticket which I thought was a bit rash, especially for those souls still lying down out there. We had a great discussion about the amount of energy it took to maintain anger in the body as well as the amount of energy to then contain it, which is apparently more than the same again. It's fabulous to know that I'm finally processing mine, letting it go from its years of being boxed up in a very small, very well hidden box. I am completely grateful for where it has brought me but its time is over, I'm ready to let it go and move on. It has managed my life for long enough, there needs to be change.
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