herlucidlife

Going through step four with my sponsor. Sharing my fearless and moral inventory with her is special. Freeing because she genuinely loves me for me, wanting nothing but the best for me. Rolling out of bed in the late morning, Mila zooming around the apartment playing while slowly waking me out of my stupor. Feet touching the warm carpet, zombie-like trying not to trip over my cat as I walk to the kitchen. Warm little furry body rubbing against my legs, tail wrapped around my calf, meowing for her food. I pick her up and rub her little head, placing a soft kiss on her forehead, held in my arms as I walk to the window to gaze at the sun. Wrestling away having had enough cuddles she waddles to the kitchen waiting for her food to be placed on a feeding mate. Pouring a glass of water for her and I. 

The sound of food being slurped into her mouth grows distant as I walk to the sofa to prepare my notebook for a zoom call with my sponsor. Hours of sharing my life, voice growing tired from talking so much. Sharing my story with her has grown my love for her because she’s really the only person that knows some of the things I’ve written. We’ve gone past vulnerable into the territory of raw. The program says the relationship with our sponsor is the first healthy relationship we form in our lives, especially as a clean person. I came into recovery not knowing who I was. I was very good at putting on a mask, keeping things secret or what I would call “private.” I numbed so many emotions, stunted emotional growth. I’m learning to be fully human with my sponsor by my side. God saw and knows everything. He knows the reason I do things, usually the reason is unhealthy. 

I’ve always felt my responses were trauma based yet they were really broken based. I thought I was doing so well when really I was drowning. I thought I was thriving when I was barely surviving. I knew exactly who to be based on the audience I was around. Yet letting my sponsor into my life in a deep way I see I do not have to hide anything from anyone because people will accept what I give or they won’t and will remove themselves. Yet I never accepted myself. I wanted others to do the heavy lifting because I didn’t know how to. I never stopped to really care for myself, I just kept going while the holes kept getting bigger and deeper until I couldn’t ignore them anymore. So much so that daily life was unbearable and I recognized nothing about myself. 

Reading my life to her, the line of damage began at birth, even the times that seemed okay were wrapped in someone else’s security. I am almost thirty-one years old, learning who I am. Exactly where I need to be, God’s love is so heavy to me. He sees what I tried to ignore and so much more. With every word He’s showing me why He loves me, my brokenness qualifies me for the love of God. I’ve earned the love of God by being so desperately human that I can not breath without His hand on my lungs. God says I deserve His love because death would inhale me so quickly my head would spin backwards. I always thought I didn’t deserve God’s love and that I wasn’t worthy of His love but that’s wrong. I deserve every ounce of love because the pain of being human has qualified me. There are things that I’ve done and still do that drove the nails into Jesus’ hands. The dred of this human existence has made me worthy of God’s love because I can not do it without Him.