Being Me, Being You

Eight years ago today (December 8, 2012), I was ordained to the Sacred Order of the Priesthood. It was a

long time coming.

I heard the call in 1997, but, I dragged my feet, and found every excuse not to open the door (I mean I couldn't open the door without the fear that one of the four children under 5 or one of the dogs would go running out!). And, to be perfectly honest, I thought God had lost God's ever-loving mind. (Well since it's God I should probably say all-inclusive ever-loving mind...)

Eventually, I did begin to actually consider it and to more intentionally engage with the discernment process (you can blame one of the children for that door opening when he opened his BIG MOUTH to our village vicar), I found even more reasons why this should never happen. Mostly I thought there was no freaking way I was good enough, holy enough, contemplative enough--just enough. Oh, and I found really good evidence to support my hypothesis. But then...

I was sitting in the kitchen of The Old Barn in Kelsall England and reading the story of David and Goliath. Something jumped out at me. Did you know that Saul strapped his armor on David before David was to go fight Goliath and DAVID TOOK IT OFF!!! Yep, you read that right. He would rather go fight Goliath without armor with only a slingshot because wait for it, "I cannot walk with these; for I am not used to them." (1 Samuel 17:39) y'all this was David---like THE David. David fought Goliath being HIMSELF. At that moment I heard God say, "I'm not asking you to fill someone else's shoes. I'm asking you to be you. So put on those high heels and let's go!" (This is God so I guess she knew what he was getting into!)

I'd like to say that was the last time God had to remind me to just be me, but it wasn't. While in seminary I was an intern at a parish where there were two amazing scholarly preachers. I tried everything possible to be like them. I researched; I used a thesaurus; I prayed--it just wasn't going to happen.

The good news is they were also both humble and helpful. Each took the time to tell me to "Just STOP!" Each took the time to tell me to be me. One said, "The church doesn't need another preacher like me, it has me. The preacher needs you."

And then....

My beloved Grandmother, Gangan, was dying. I was yet to be ordained. As she was dying I crawled into the bed with her, and her last words to me were, "If you become a dowdy priest, I will haunt you."

So that's how I became a too loud, sometimes irreverant, high heel, short skirt, bright color wearing priest--or as I've been dubbed "The Patron Saint of Hot Messes" but it's also how I learned something else.

We are each created to be our own people. God created each one of us to be unique. God broke the mold on each one of us. There is not a prototype for humanity--no prototype for being a teacher, a doctor, a lawyer, a parent, a priest--and the list goes on... Yes--have mentors; yes, learn from others, but be you. The world needs you just as you are.

Hurt Pride and The Grinch

Yep, it's true. I got my feelings hurt--really hurt. And my pride--maybe that was worse. SOOO....I did what any slightly neurotic, trying to be a mature adult would do.

I took a bath. And now it's going to sound almost like If You Give A Mouse A Cookie.

I took a bath and read another sappy Christmas kindle unlimited novel. While I was reading about how everything works out within a matter of days for these traumatized women, I thought about how I could be "traumatized" by what happened and it might keep me from continuing to help others. That made me think about The Grinch. which made me decide I needed to rewatch How the Grinch Stole Christmas, but probably not the way we watched it in college--or maybe I should. Who knows? (Can you say Hooville?) 

Thinking about wanting to watch the show made me think AGAIN about how I got scammed and that I could a) turn into the grinch--pre his heart getting big or b) hope the person that scammed me could turn into the grinch post his heart getting big or c) I could just move on.

I went with c. (sort of)

So I got out of the bath and put on my big girl panties which translates to I put on my monogrammed leggings. Then I went downstairs and refilled the treat baskets for the delivery people. As I was refilling the basket I thought about how people have said, "What if just neighborhood people (they probably meant those pesky children that I adore) walk up and take some of the treats?" What if they do? Why do I care? If they're that hungry and/or thirsty, have at it. Which made me think AGAIN about the people who went to so much effort to get money from me. That was a lot of work--I hope it was worth it. Really I do.

Then I thought there is a very real possibility the people who broke into our cars last summer or people who have been going around our neighborhood breaking into cars might also be fortifying themselves with the treats I have set out. I remembered one time our cars got broken into the people brought everything back. So I thought about The Grinch again which made me think about the holidays. Thinking about holidays reminded me I still had sweet potatoes leftover from Thanksgiving.

Into the kitchen I went to make the sweet potatoes streusel my son loves. And you know what I did? I doubled the streusel part AND I didn't cook it in one of my advent dishes. Nope! I got out the mack daddy Christmas dish. Take that!!

Now I'm working on finding the perfect warm outfit to wear to go find an outside bar to watch college football with my husband, that is after I finish ordering Christmas gifts for the child assigned to our family. I'm going to be okay. The world is going to be okay (thankfully I'm not in charge of that). I'm going to keep giving when I can. The rest I'll leave up to God--I do believe God is in charge and the world will be reconciled.

Don't mean to be impatient God, but definitely would not mind you stepping up your timeline....

It's My Children's Fault I'm the Way I Am

I can be too much for people. I know it; I get it; I've said it here before. And, I'm probably not going to change it. Why? Because changing it almost killed my soul.

I've been told about my too big personality quite a few times starting early in life. But what no one told me was how to temper it. What I never learned was when to dial it back (some will say I still haven't learned that!) And I didn't learn that it was okay for not everyone to like me and I didn't have to change who I was--

Towards the end of 7th grade, a friend took me aside and told me, "People are really not liking you anymore because you are conceited. We don't want to be friends with you anymore." An example she gave was when another friend was correcting my spelling/vocabulary test and I said, "It's okay if I get one wrong, I know I got the bonus." I didn't challenge the conversation. I assumed I indeed was a flawed person that didn't deserve to have friends. 

What no one knew then was while I might have come across as conceited, I was really a very scared insecure little girl (not unlike many 7th grade girls). A very scared insecure little girl that just lost almost all her friends. (I've also just got to say, I feel for that young girl too. I mean she definitely drew the short straw on being the one who had to have that conversation!)

Now whether this is true or not, I believed being popular was very important to my mother. So I didn't tell her about what happened. I didn't want her to know I was now sitting by myself in the cafeteria and was no longer invited to the big slumber parties. I wonder if I had if she would have helped me figure it out? I'll never know. Instead, I wound up in the hospital with an eating disorder which we also did not talk about--to a 7th-grade girl that was further proof there was something very wrong with me. I drew myself in, watched people more intently, and tried to figure out how to fit in.

We moved right before my 10th-grade year. After saying I wanted to go down early and try out for cheerleading, I changed my mind. My mother had worked hard to find someone to help me. I was not honest with my mother that I was terrified and sad and lonely. So I just said, "I don't want to and I'm not." She told me she was embarrassed and disappointed in me. 

Before we get all morose let's be honest. There are probably many many young teenage girls who felt the same way. Most of us really were faking it until we made it. We were all trying on identities and figuring out who we were. Some of us left that insecurity back in high school or college--for some of us it took a few more years....

{Let me also have a little aside her to say there were some people I was completely my goofy over the top self with right from the beginning--maybe not always in public--for the most part Chris knew who he was marrying! And he helped me over and over to be who I am called to be--and yes, sometimes it even gets to be too much for him. Progress not perfection, right?}

Here's where I'm going with this sad depressing story---I could draw out my life and easily mark key incidents where I just accepted others views of me as not good enough and there are also key incidents when I let go of some insecurity and really started living into the loud, over the top, has no filter, slightly inappropriate person God created. Maybe someday I will share that timeline...probably not. (See?!?!?! I do have a filter!!!)

I've been talking on video a lot about parenting. I've made a lot of mistakes. And I've had some wins. I hope the mommy that spent hours worrying about what they were going to wear and whether we belonged to the "right" things is not the mommy they most remember. I suspect they remember parts of that. I KNOW they remember and are still at times horrified and even irritated (okay flat out pissed off) at some of my antics. Sometimes I will dial it back at their request (and because it's the right thing to do), but sometimes I don't. What I hope is that even when they are madder than a wet hen on a hot summer day, they see a person who is true to her values and herself. A person who doesn't let others define her or tell her she's not good enough.  I hope they no longer see the woman who became a pretzel trying to twist and turn into being who she believed (or was told) others wanted her to be.

The truth is I learned that from them.

A public thank you--maybe it'll save me a dollar or two in therapy...

Let's Talk about It

If we can talk about cancer and diabetes and all other diseases, why can't we talk about addiction and eating disorders? I think we can and should, and so I do. I know, just like I know I'm not for everyone, this openness is not for everyone. And that is okay. It doesn't make either of us better or worse. It just makes us different. But we are all beloved children of God worthy of dignity and respect no matter what. We have that in common, so I'll respect how you live your scars and wounds and treat you with all the dignity you deserve, please do the same for me.

I do, however, want to say this, and please know I mean it with every fiber of my being. To anyone I may have offended by the seemingly nonchalant way I talk about and/or write about eating disorders and addiction, I wholeheartedly apologize. Really I do. The last thing in the world I want to do is cause anyone who lives in either of these worlds any pain. Those of us who have residency here have enough of that.

I also don't want or need anyone's pity. Cause, see here's the thing, all your pity does is make you feel better about yourself. It makes you feel safe. Your pity builds walls up around you that give you a sense of security--security that you will never face what I and many others have faced. You desperately want those walls to hold strong. Most days I want that for you too, some days I don't. 

So keep your pity to yourself. I don't want it. I don't need it. Empathy, compassion, grace--I'll take an extra heaping of those. 

Here's my truth...

I started struggling with an eating disorder when I was in junior high school. There are days and weeks, occasionally a few months when I don't even think about it, and then something happens and it rears its ugly head. I have people to turn to, people who love me, people who understand, and people who hold me accountable. It's a war I continue to fight. I win lots of battles, and some I don't. The biggest battle I have won and the one I refuse to refight is the one that is about secrecy and shame, and so I write and talk about it. 

We have addiction in our family. Again, there are days I don't think about it and there are days I can't stop thinking about it. There are times I feel light and free and there are times I am consumed with fear and what-ifs. There are still roads I can't drive down, songs I can't listen to, and smells I can't stomach. Those are the wounds scabbing over--some turn to scars, others bleed again. Talking and writing about it helps soothe the ache and bandaids the festering wounds so they can join the others that have already become scars. 

The other thing that helps--remembering that I am not alone, remembering that all those who struggle or love someone who struggles are not alone. We are not alone and we as people are created in the image of God just like everyone else. These addictions (I do believe eating disorders are types of addictions) try to tell us we're not. They try to tell us we're not worthy, we're not enough, we're flawed beyond redemption. And they try to tell us those we love who struggle are not worthy and we are weak and naive to continue to engage and to believe it will ever be different. So I talk and I write because I will challenge every day for the rest of my life these untruths. We are not weak and naive; we are warriors--strong and brave.

I have cried and will cry again. I know that. But I will also laugh, and if laughing sometimes helps me get through the hard times, then it's what I'll do. And while I know not everyone appreciates my approach, it is how I choose to live. The years of secrecy and shame tried to kill my soul. This is the way I make sure it survives. This is the way I let it sing.

Godparents and Politics

We weren't perfect parents. We made lots of mistakes. We still make mistakes I don't have time to list them all...refer to my children if you have hours of time. But I will say one thing we did perfectly was choosing our children's Godparents. (and thankfully they said yes!)

The process, I'll admit, wasn't perfect. I have another close friend who was hurt she was never asked (we have since moved on with explanation and ultimately understanding). There were other people we could have chosen, but we chose the ones we chose, and I have never, not once, regretted any of the choices.

We had simple criteria.

• We had to agree with one another 100%
• They could not be family (of course they became family or were already family, but they couldn't be "traditional" family)
• They had to be people of faith
• They had to be a person we would want our children to turn to if they ever felt like they couldn't come to us, so we needed to trust them completely. We needed to trust their view of the world and their moral compass. 
• They had to say yes.

Not only have all these people stepped up over and over and over throughout the years, but they have also brought their families into our family. We have continued to love each other, laugh with one another. They have prayed for us and for our children. They have witnessed their Godchildren soar, and they have seen them struggle, and they have NEVER stopped loving and praying for them. They have never given up on them or us. I am a better person because of all of them. Our children are better people. I would not change a single choice. I will love these people for the rest of my life. I trust them, and I know they are all people who care not only about our family but about all people. They are people I am proud to know, and I will NEVER say a false word against any of them for any reason. Now, wait for it.....

WE DID NOT ALL VOTE THE SAME IN THIS ELECTION! Please note, we did not consider political affiliation at all. (Refer back to simple criteria) And it's not because we didn't know...

This election did not change ONE ANSWER to any of the criteria we used to choose Godparents. This election and our choice of Godparents is a reminder to me that God is bigger than politics. God is in people and people are in politics, but the goodness of people--the divine image in each of us--that's where we connect and it is that connection we need to move forward. 

*Let me also note--not a one is misogynistic, homophobic, or racist. In fact, all strive to be a voice for the marginalized.

It's Time to Break the Rules

I'm a rule follower to a fault. How can that be you ask? (and I'm sure it's because you're wondering how being a rule follower can be anything but perfect and NOT because you doubt my self-proclamation). For a slightly inappropriate  example, watch this video. 

But seriously, even my Bishop told me I sometimes should stop and maybe question. (I'm wondering if a) he remembers telling me that and b) he regrets telling me!) 

Anyway, I grew up in the deep south where there was an unwritten rule--unwritten but not unspoken and definitely taught to us from the time we were knee-high to a grasshopper. You do NOT under any circumstances talk about money, religion, or politics outside of the family. In fact, sometimes you don't talk about it inside the family or with certain family members. (In our family you also didn't talk about sex, but that is a waaaaay different blog post and one I may need some time before I can tackle...time or bourbon or both.)

Yesterday I saw on a high school friend's FaceBook post. "I have never known the political affiliation of as many friends as I do now." That made me take a pause--it's exactly right. And I'd be lying if I didn't say some people's politics have surprised me. I'll be totally honest (and trust me some of this over the years has also been judgemental) I have also over the years been surprised at what some of my long time friends have posted about religion. 

Sometimes, too often I'm sad to say, some of these comments about politics and/or religion have led to, let's put on my southern lady mouth and say fiesty back and forths. (Bless their hearts) Other times, they have led to fruitful conversations--conversations grounded in love for one another, in relationship with one another. Conversations that don't end with everyone holding hands and singing kum bah ya, but conversations that end with more understanding and continued love.

I wonder, no I don't wonder, I believe it's time to throw those "polite" rules out and let's be real with one another. Why has it taken this horrible divisive name-calling (on both sides) election for me to know what really matters to people I love dearly? There are things I cannot and will not EVER understand and that is-- anything that goes against respecting the dignity of every human being, but what I'm learning is that what separates me from those I love who vote differently than me is not our common core belief that all are equal and all are beloved children of God. We all agree with that.

I firmly believe marriage equality not only passed in the Supreme Court but also at The Episcopal Church General Convention because we TALKED to one another about eegads sexuality and faith. We talked about what it means to be created in the image of God. We had hard conversations. Many people changed their minds, and I believe it is because we were brave and broke the "rules" and because we were in relationship with one another. 

I have been distraught over the politics in this nation. I have been angry. I have cried. I have wanted to run away. The results of this election--the almost 50/50 split, however, do not tell me we are so far apart, so divided that we are in danger of breaking, but it does tell me while both sides have "believed" (and for the record maybe we need a better way to distinguish each other than the saying other "side") they are the majority, we now know there is no decided majority.  Knowing people who have voted on both sides confirms that for me. I think what we can best learn from this election is its time to really talk to each other, to find common ground, to agree on core values, to challenge one another, but above all to love. This election has shown me I can't swing a cat in a room full of family and friends and not hit people who are on "the other side." (that dumb word again). And I think we need both sides. I don't think either side has all the answers or can fix all the problems. I think for us to be united we have to bring ALL of us together with all our differences. 

I think it's time to break the rules...let's talk.

*Let me be VERY clear. This does not mean I will accept racist, homophobic, misogynist, white supremacist behavior. But I do believe there are more of us on both sides who agree on that than we know. Our polite voices are being drowned out. Let's unite our voices from both sides and make a difference.

Toddlers to Teens to Young Adults to Elections

If you had told me 10 years ago I would enjoy--don't pass out when you read this---even love empty nest, I would have laughed in your face. (Thank you for not now laughing in mine...)

I loved being Mama to four children. I loved being able to stay home with them. I loved the years of color-coded, chaotic, crazy calendars. (and clearly, I love alliteration) I really did. And I remember thinking at times, I never want this stage to end. But then the next stage was also fun and the next and the next. That doesn't keep me from missing certain stages and getting teary-eyed when I look back at pictures. 

There are definitely some stages I would be okay with not repeating...

As I've been sitting here for coming up on three days watching election results, I've been thinking a lot about the stages of the children growing up and what I've learned. 

This is an aside which comes into play--I am also glad we moved a lot. (well for this reason I'm glad, but moving is not for the faint of heart--read on!)

When the children were very little and just getting borned as they used to call it, their best friends were the children of our best friends. We had and have the most amazing group of friends we did EVERYTHING with in Athens. My sister told me at the time it was not normal. The wives were besties, the husbands didn't call each other besties--was besties even a term then? I guess you'd say they were bros, and our children interacted like a litter of puppies. Sometimes I wonder if they got confused about who birthed who? And then we all moved away--well almost all of us.

We've stayed friends, but the all getting back together at the same time? That doesn't happen often if at all and definitely not with the whole families. Social media keeps the children "connected" but they don't really know each other. Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if we had all stayed and egads our children decided they didn't want to be best friends? (I know I know people deal with this all the time.)

Lucky for me we got to move 4 more times so I got to repeat, and I also got to see up close and personal the change from me choosing their friends to them having the audacity to choose their own.

Moving to Louisville was our hardest move for many reasons. A big one was they no longer needed or wanted me to go on playdates with them. For the record, they also don't like me saying playdates anymore either.

Y'all are wondering how this all comes together aren't you? Well, hold on here it goes. The other day after a dinner with some of the children and a few (boy/girl) friends, I thought about how much I am enjoying this time. I am enjoying the conversations we are having--even the heated ones. I am enjoying listening to and sometimes agreeing with their perspectives. I am enjoying being challenged and affirmed. And I am enjoying the people they have brought into our lives that they chose and that have different backgrounds, different life stories, different perspectives, and different ideas. (I still think we'd make great in-laws with the Balls. Can I get an amen Gillian?)

One of the things I like about FaceBook (besides the ability to be an over-poster) is to look back at memories. Recently I've been looking at the many people who have come into and some stayed and some passed through our lives. Over the years the children's "groups" have both stayed the same and changed. People have come into our lives that immediately fit like a glove and others whom we have grown to love as we have spent time together. '

Watching the polls come in has been surprising. I'm not sure anyone (well I'm sure there's someone) realized how almost exactly split down the middle our country is. That means, there are people in the world and in our lives, many people in fact, who think differently than we do, who hold different priorities. Is now the time to cut those people out of our lives? (Yes, sometimes that is necessary--but all 50% of the other side?) Or, is now the time to stop choosing to be only with people we can easily be besties and bros with? 

Now here's the deep dark truth. There have been times I have seriously questioned the choice of friends some of my children have made. There I said it. I'll also confess, and they will agree, I wasn't always subtle about my opinion. Sometimes I was right, many times I was wrong. Here's the other not so fun to admit truth. I'll bet there are parents out there who seriously questioned their children being friends with mine. Don't tell my children, but I think I'm a better person because I let go (read my fingers were pried one by one from a death grip) of choosing their people. My world expanded, my tolerance and inclusivity grew exponentially. 

So maybe that's what we need to do in our country. Stop acting like the parents of toddlers who try to keep our worlds very safe and confined and instead trust that we have something to learn from others. Maybe now is the time to listen to one another and try to understand. Maybe now is the time to stop thinking about the "good ole' days" when we loved everything and knew we were right about everything. We didn't; we weren't; and really, we have no choice. If we are going to move forward in this country we are going to have to move into this next stage of our country. Or we can all keep playing tug of war and refuse to give up any of our grip. It's 50/50 y'all; if we don't try with each other, no one will "win",  we'll just get tired and our arms will hurt. 

Granted my arms need some toning, but I'd rather expand my heart. My children taught me I could do that.

 

The Danger of Saying "I'm Sorry"

My Ob/Gyn started talking about my need for a hysterectomy back in 2005. And let's be clear,

it's not the same one who operated on me last week--two countries, two states, and two cities later, I'd seen several...but really it goes even further back.

I had 4 c-sections. The doctor, let me change that, the amazing doctor (okay she might also be a friend) who delivered 3 of them told me at the time, "I'm using the same incision site for less scarring on the outside but it could down the road cause scar tissues issues if you need other abdominal surgery." Y'all I was 31--down the road? I couldn't think past down the hall where I had four children four and under sleeping...I'm sure in my best Scarlett O'Hara voice I thought, "I'll think about that tomorrow." 

In as short of a statement as this incredibly wordy person can make, let me just say this. Over the years, every doctor I talked to repeated the same information. I was not a candidate for a vaginal hysterectomy and the possibility of having to be completely opened was very real AND there was a lot of scar tissue that would make the surgery more complicated. I knew all that along with the length of time recovery would take because of the above which is a big part of the reason it took 15 years for me to say yes. Truthfully, I said yes now because the consequences of not saying yes were far worse--low iron, exhaustion, yadda yadda yadda. And let me say this, my doctor now and the nurse practitioner spent LOTS of time talking to me prior to the surgery--in the office, on the phone, and even at our local favorite "cheers." I guess the shorter way to say it was I went into this surgery with eyes wide open--obviously, they were closed during the actual surgery.

Surgery happened--it was laparoscopic and difficult, but it was over. Or so I thought. The first few hours after surgery was relatively pain-free--thank you for pain meds and the catheter--and then they took it out.

I don't need to nor do I want to re-live the next 24 hours. Let me just say within 3 or 4 hours I knew something wasn't right no matter how many times the nursing staff told me pain was normal after surgery. (I've been asked several times exactly what I said around 1 am for which I felt the need to apologize with flowers and homebaked goods--I said (read shrieked), "Jesus Christ, you've got to do something and do it right now. Stop standing there and move.")

Mid-day Thursday my doctor came in, sat down next to me, listened to me, and took action. She knows me. She knows my high level of pain. She knows I try not to complain. She made calls and put in orders and we quickly knew most likely my bladder had been damaged. (*If you're interested in the details, they are at the end.) Back into surgery I went, and this time my abdomen had to be opened completely.

The next day my doctor returned to my room, again sat down next to me, and said, "I am so sorry.  I really didn't want you to have to be opened completely. I am so sorry this has increased your recovery time and your pain. I am so sorry you have to go through this." She meant it, I knew she meant it--there may have been some shiny tear-filled eyes. At that moment there was the recognition that things didn't go the way either of us wanted and there was compassion, empathy, and humanity. She knows me; she knows I have young adult children at home; she knows I love my vocation and don't want to take time off; she knows I'm not good at asking for help. She connected with who I am, and it was a beautiful moment. I shared it with some others--I'm struggling with that decision now....

I'm not going to be dramatic (now there's a change) and say I have been inundated with calls, emails, and texts suggesting I should consider a lawsuit, but there have been enough--let me be clear there have been too many.** I knew at the time, and I know now. My doctor was not apologizing because she made a mistake. She was apologizing because another human being was suffering and she wished it wasn't so. In that moment we were both fully human in our vocations and as middle-aged women.

It is not uncommon to hear people say, "Doctors think they are gods and they would never admit to making mistakes or say they're sorry." Maybe that's true in some cases or even many cases, but after this experience, I have to say I don't blame them. I really wonder why any of us risk saying we're sorry about anything. I've been thinking about this for the past 48 hours and thinking about instances where my own apologies or apologies made by others have been used against them. It has become dangerous to express compassion using some words and that danger diminishes our ability to connect as human beings. 

And for that, I am deeply sorry.

*My bladder was attached to my uterus. During c-sections, the bladder is removed from the abdominal cavity (Chris and I both remember Ruth telling us it was sitting on the table next to me), and when it is returned, it often adheres to the uterus. During surgery to remove the uterus it is possible to nick the bladder. My doctor checked thoroughly for that and didn't see anything. There could have been a nick in the back she couldn't see OR it could be the wall of the bladder was so thin that once the uterus had been removed and the bladder filled up the wall was too thin to hold it and tore. Either way, the abdominal cavity then filled which caused the excruciating pain (a liter was siphoned off). I knew this was a risk, and it was a risk I was willing to take. The definition of "risk" is "a situation involving exposure to danger." I just didn't know the greater risk came because someone dared to express compassion.

** I do not deny there are times there is medical malpractice that needs to be addressed. I am not saying lawsuits are not at times necessary. I do not deny there are times doctors unintentionally make life-altering mistakes and there must be compensation. But I do not believe a doctor's words of compassion should be used against them. If we want to say doctors need to stop acting like gods and show their humanity, we have to give them the room to do so.

Being Brave Without My Pearls

I broke my string of pearls....

For my whole life, or what feels like it's my whole life, I've wanted to be a writer. I really want to publish a book. I long to see my name on its cover. It's actually why I started blogging to begin with. I told the children one day I was going to write a book about our lives, and they were THRILLED! No seriously, they were. This was probably 10 years or more ago and at that time they thought me chronicling and sharing every last detail of their lives was super cool. So I started a blog to start recording things. Not this one, This One--Growing Up Doyle.

Back in those days, the children frequently asked, when is your book going to be published? None of us knew anything about the publishing business--probably a good thing because I would have never voiced my dream--chalk it up to that whole "what if I tell people and then I can't do it" part of me. Well right now that part of me is screaming at the cocky person I was 10 years ago thinking I could write a book! Anyway...

Over time I started this blog and began sharing my dream with a few people (and now the whole freaking world or at least the 60 something people who will read this). Some people who aren't related to me so don't have to encourage me while silently laughing, even have told me I should write a book. One person, who is actually in the publishing business, even gave me the title for my book--Running with Pearls.  A couple of weeks ago I decided to be brave.

I started working with a coach/spiritual director. One of the first things she said to me was, "You know you're not really a writer. You're more compelling when you speak." Okay, I'm lying she didn't say that. But it's what I heard...

What about my dream to be a writer? What about the really cool title a really cool publisher gave my book? 

Well, what my really cool coach/spiritual director actually said that I could hear after I silenced the stupid whiny teenager part of my self, was in response to me saying I wanted to be a writer and a speaker--I meant speaking about my non-existent book, and she said, "I think you ought to start doing some short videos now and getting them out there." I figured why not? (Plus I'm paying her and she told me to, so there is that....)

And then my 20-year-old daughter told me she liked it when I put a video inside a blog, and you know when you're 20-year-old says anything positive to you or about you, you act on it! So I have started sticking videos in like the one at the top of this page. Okay, that's also not entirely true--but truly young adults living at home during Covid is not for the faint of heart! And she would agree--I mean she covered up the I love my mom bumper sticker!!

So now I'm doing all these other things and I have no idea who I really am. Here's another thing--I have no idea if what I'm doing matters to anyone but me. I have no idea whether people are laughing at or with me, and I have no idea where this is going. But here's something I do know, or I'm trying to know.

We are more than one thing. We can do more than one thing. We might even be good at more than one thing. Or we figure something else out.

When my pearls broke I was upset and still am--well not upset enough to already have them at the jewelers--but upset. Wearing pearls is who I am. I never take them off even though I want to be like my really cool friend Andrea who takes hers off every night (see video for explanation)--well I also want to be like her anyway because I'm telling you that woman has her shit together! (Truth, most of the time she has her shit together and does amazing things, but because I get to be her friend, I know it's not always perfect.) But I am not Andrea who lovingly takes her pearls off each night; I am that lady who wears pearls even when I'm running--even when I'm running on the beach with my dog who also wears her pearls--which also broke last night.

But the real lesson in all this is I don't know. I don't know if I'm a writer, or a speaker, or both. I don't know if I'll ever be published or asked to speak anywhere. But I'll never know if I don't try, and I do know whether it reaches anyone else, or means anything to anyone else, it brings me joy--and joy seems to be lacking in huge quantities in the world right now.

I also know this--we all have lots of identities. Important identities--I am a wife, mother, priest, daughter, sister, aunt, cousin, and friend. But our most important identity is the identity we all share, and that is we are all beloved children of God created in God's image. And that's enough. 

PS--I just got a text from another really cool friend (she may actually be the coolest--at least my children think so) that said "Thank you for your recent posts and thank you for helping me to take a break." That made me smile.

Choices, Compassion, and Clothes

Y'all, I just can't stop thinking about that roasted chicken, (in case you need to read) probably because of some of the "suggestions" given to me. To be clear, I am open to suggestions. In fact, I love them even if I don't agree with them. They give me more to think about, and goodness knows I need more to think about--especially things I can't control...(well maybe my therapist needs that so she can stay in business).

So one of the comments I heard revolved around the idea of choices. The most extreme was that people who are homeless are probably that way because of the choices they made. Well, first of all, let's agree to say unhoused (or at least that's what I'm going to say), and secondly, there actually are people who are unhoused because THEY CHOOSE TO BE! So if that's the choice you're referring to, I wholeheartedly agree. Something tells me, however, it's not....

I could argue this one particular scenario until the cows come home, but I won't because a) I would get so angry I would want to tear your arm off and beat you to death with the bloody stump and b) I'd rather generalize this whole thing so that, please refer to a).

I agree with this. We all make choices AND we all face consequences (or should face consequences) for those choices--both good and bad consequences. What I don't get with all this thinking and reflecting I'm doing is why some choices and their consequences seem to be unforgivable and are not met with any sort of compassion?

Play along with me here--let's say I'm speeding, have an accident and one of my children in the car is killed. I made the choice to speed; one of my children was killed, but I can almost 100% guarantee you no one would show up and say or even write on my Facebook wall, "Well, you made the choice to speed so that's just the consequence of your choice." (If you did either of those things, well then you're meaner than a snake, and should probably stop reading now.) 

Now let's return to the unhoused again for a minute and the supposed choices they make that result in being unhoused. It could be true for some people they squandered all their money on gambling or drugs or bad investments or whatever else. They made choices and the consequence of the choice is they lost a place to live, often instead of compassion, there is judgment and scorn (and no roasted chicken).

Let's look at a final example, what if I was speeding, had an accident, one of my children was killed and the way I coped was by numbing my mind with alcohol and drugs, and then either I lost my house or my husband kicked me out? 

It seems to me if we are to have true compassion--the kind of compassion God asks us to have--it shouldn't be dependent on someone else's choices. It seems like we should be able to have compassion for others as human beings even if we disagree with the choices they make. People already have to live with the consequences of their choices, they don't need us to pile on.

On a less serious note--I have to live with the consequence of having some Godawful pictures out there because of my choice in attire....

Bullying Reindeer

So yesterday I started working on Advent--yes, I know it's October, but in the church world I'm actually behind. I have no idea why, but the song Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer kept going through my head until my mind came to a screeching halt!

Y'all--listen to (or in the case here read) the words. And I'm going to highlight (if I can figure out how) the difficult words.

You know Dasher and Dancer and Prancer and Vixen
Comet and Cupid and Donner and Blitzen
But do you recall
The most famous reindeer of all?

Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer
Had a very shiny nose
And if you ever saw it
You would even say it glows

All of the other reindeer
Used to laugh and call him names
They never let poor Rudolph
Join in any reindeer games

Then one foggy Christmas Eve
Santa came to say
"Rudolph, with your nose so bright
Won't you guide my sleigh tonight?"

Then how the reindeer loved him
As they shouted out with glee
"Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer
You'll go down in history"

Now just think about it...all those mean reindeer bullies left Rudolph out UNTIL HE SAVED THEIR JOBS! What kind of message is it sending? You are only worthy and included and liked IF you do something for others IF you produce. 

Or maybe another way to look at it is Rudolph learned to live into who he was through the encouragement of Santa--but it still doesn't let those other bullying reindeer off the hook.

So we sing this at Christmas when we also celebrate the birth of Jesus--God's greatest gift to us which we don't deserve in the slightest. It's a gift God has given us just because. We don't have to prove we are worthy; we don't have to justify who we are; we are loved and worthy of dignity and respect just because.

So no, I don't want to ban the song. It's a song y'all, not a reason to get our panties in a wad. BUT it's also a good opportunity for formation. It's a good opportunity for us to consider what culture teaches us and what God teaches us. It's a good opportunity for us to reflect on how we behave and why. 

Theological reflection anyone?

 

Remembering Hope

Yesterday I was walking and listening to the podcast Unlocking It. Brene Brown and Presiding

Bishop Curry were talking about his latest book (which I just ordered). One of the things they talked about was the importance of community and the pain of not being able to be together for in-person worship. Brown gave these three reasons for why she goes to church (and I am not quoting them exactly just as I remember them so please no one report me). She said she goes to church to sing with strangers, pass the peace with people she'd rather punch in the throat (sounds like a Caroline saying right there), and kneel at the altar to break bread with people she'd never have dinner with. It was like a gut punch...

I miss being in in-person worship with every fiber of my being and for all those reasons--except for me singing with strangers is because I love to sing and I'm terrible at singing, but in-person worship allows me to sing and have it drowned out by beauty. I miss passing the peace, and I miss sharing Eucharist. I know, I know--I do get to receive Eucharist each week and share it with one or two other people. I am not denying that, and I recognize it is a privilege not everyone has. My heart broke when I heard someone say, "It's sad I have to go to a funeral to receive communion." It is sad and unfair and frustrating and so many other emotions. But I was called to preach the Gospel and to administer the sacraments, it is part of who I am. It is in my heart, body, and soul. 

I kept walking increasing my pace as though I could outwalk my pain. The pain comes from not only not being able to administer the sacraments to all but also with the exhaustion of trying to preach hope week after week after week after week. 

Please hear me, I do have hope--and on my good days, it holds me tightly. But sometimes, well sometimes, I hear one more heartbreaking story of trauma and loss and pain and suffering, and it's JUST. SO. DAMN. HARD! 

During the fall of 2016, I was 7 or 8 months into being priest-in-charge at St.Thomas. I had already fallen in love with the parish, but one of the things that sealed the deal was during the month of October. Every week there were two people who would kneel next to one another at the altar to receive. One wore a Trump button and one wore a Clinton. Y'all it was every week. And then these two sat together at coffee hour, shared stories from their decades-old friendship, and every week I left marveling and basking in this visible display of the Kingdom of God. And every week my hope in the in-breaking of the Kingdom was restored. 

Four years later I know those weren't the only two on different political sides who knelt and will kneel again next to one another (they were just the most obvious--you know those great big buttons). I ache to see that visible manifestation of unity. I need to see it. I need to be reminded.

Well butter my butt and call me a biscuit! THIS IS WHY!!!!! This is why we tell the stories from the Bible over and over. This is why we tell our own stories over and over. They become connected, and they remind us. They remind us during the dark times when we can't see the light that we've seen it before even when there was darkness. They remind us that we are not alone--there are generations of people who have struggled and have gotten through. They give us the knot to hold onto when we want to let go and fall into the abyss of despair. 

It hasn't changed my ache to have a full church--to sing at the top of my lungs (okay I promise I really won't do that), to pass the peace even with Kentucky fans, and to administer the sacrament to those with whom I agree and to those with whom I don't. But it reminds me the Church is more than just a gathering of people in a building one day a week. It is people in life, daily life, who share their stories and hold each other through waves of life--the hard times and the good times. It is people who hold each other accountable, encourage one another, love one another, forgive one another, and let all of that ooze out into the world. It is a people of hope.

I just needed to remember so I could re-member. 

I Wish I'd Bought the Damn Chicken

On a good Sunday, this high energy, extroverted, extra priest is exhausted following worship. Add in a global pandemic and low iron levels, and well, it's not pretty.

Last Sunday after the service ended, I was sitting at my desk, getting my credit card receipts together (my treasurer is ruthless) when I was called to the parking lot. "There's a woman and her son out here asking for some help." I put on my mask and dragged myself outside, and I'll be honest, I was really hoping this was going to be quick and easy--like 30 seconds quick and easy so I could finish up and go home to sleep.

I asked her how I could help. She told me they had been living in her car for 2 weeks after she lost her job due to the pandemic. She said she'd just gotten a job at Wendy's and had found a room in a basement she could rent but she needed to put down $100 and she only had $40. I explained I couldn't give her $60 in cash (in addition to its not good practice from a discretionary account, I didn't have $60 in cash even in my own wallet), but I could give her my card and the landlord person could call me and we could figure out how I could pay the amount. I was telling her this at the same time as I was wondering how someone who had been living in her car for 2 weeks looked as good as she did--hair and make up clean and perfect.

I went back inside to get one of my cards glancing in the mirror and confirming the woman outside looked far better than me....

As I handed her my card she told me she couldn't even get to the house where she could move in because she didn't have any gas and it was 30 minutes away. That problem I could solve! I told her to follow me to the gas station one block away and I would fill her car up. I headed to my car and heard her mutter, "But you won't give me $60." I wanted to turn around and correct her--I was going to pay the $60 there was just a process that had to happen, but honestly, I didn't have the energy and I was still having visions of my bed. I just wanted to get this done.

She followed me--I wasn't sure if she was going to. She pulled in and I walked over to pay for her gas. I really really really wanted to just put my credit card in, get in my car, return to sort my receipts, and head home. But I'm a rule follower and I knew I had to wait for the receipt. I hoped her gas tank wasn't huge so it would fill quickly. 

I have no idea how big her gas tank is because at less than 3 gallons and $5.31 in the car was full. My thoughts were not pure. A part of me wanted to double back and question her statement about not having any gas, but a) I didn't have the energy and b) as irritated as I was, I didn't want to be overtly unkind. I got the receipt and turned to go. "We're really hungry," she said. I took a deep breath and turned around, "Come back to the church. We have a Little Library we've turned into a food pantry. You are welcome to all that is in there." (I also knew it had just been restocked so it was indeed full.) "Well," she said, "What I really want is a roast chicken."

I honestly don't remember what I said, but I got back in my car and drove back to church. She did not.

Here's what I know and don't know today. I recognize she really just wanted the money. I don't know whether it truly was for a deposit for a room to rent (I never heard from anyone). I know her car wasn't really empty, but at least it was now completely full. I suspect she and her son were hungry (he looked to be about 13 or 14 years old and boys that age are always hungry). I don't know if she had taken anything from the Little Library at that time or in the days since. I know I was tired, judgemental, and annoyed. I know Kroger is directly across the street from the church. I know a roasted chicken costs $4.99. I know I didn't offer to go over there and buy her a roasted chicken. I know I could have.

Today I am left with this. Any food she took from the Little Library would feed them and fill their stomachs at least for that day, but a roasted chicken very well could have fed them and filled their souls for the days to come. Maybe she would have walked away with her roasted chicken annoyed she didn't get $60 in cash, but she and her son would have known there was someone who believed they mattered enough to take the time and to respond. 

Maybe she wouldn't have been grateful. Maybe she would try to con someone else (if that's what she was doing). Maybe the whole thing was a scheme. But maybe a seed would have been planted--a seed that could grow into her son and her knowing they were beloved children of God worthy of dignity and respect no matter what. 

I really wish I'd bought that damn roasted chicken.

Leave Room for the Holy Spirit (and not just at dances)

Last Sunday after church I came home and sent a text to one of my best friends and a clergy

colleague. "Preaching is getting harder and harder to preach hope."

I love preaching. My call to ordination came with these words which popped into my head as I crossed over Broad Street in Athens, Georgia July 1997. "Make faith matter to people's ordinary everyday lives." But right now, right now, like so many other people, I'm tired. I'm tired, and I feel like I say the same thing over and over, and I can't remember what I said, and....let me back up a minute.

Two weeks ago I went in for a routine appointment. My lab work came back with extremely low iron levels. I've been anemic before, but this was different. I did a little research (love me some web MD!) and discovered in addition to exhaustion low

iron causes brittle nails (my nails were breaking daily), hair falling out (clogged sink anyone?), cold hands and feet (well that's nothing new), heart palpitations (which are keeping me from sleeping despite the exhaustion), feeling anxious (ding ding we have a winner!), and get ready, confusion (the gold medal).  Surgery has been scheduled but in the meantime...

Back to the preaching---I don't preach with a script or any notes (which doesn't mean I don't spend hours on it). By the time I deliver a sermon I have "rehearsed" it many many times in my head. Truth is there are some mornings I go for a run or iron before service and the Holy Spirit decides some of it needs to change. I respect that, and 99% of the time give into her. But last Sunday....

I was preaching. Preaching during this time is hard any time--I hate not seeing people. I'm an extrovert and get energy from people, seeing faces. I like seeing expressions on people's faces even if it's boredom, disagreement, or in the case of my children making the "cut" sign. This week, I couldn't remember what I had said when I started the sermon, and by the time I sat down, I had no idea what I'd said throughout. I was 100% sure it was disjointed and all over the board. I was both embarrassed and exhausted, and thus my text to my friend.

It's been a few days. I actually heard from a few people who said it resonated with them--I have no clue what that was because I can't remember it and I'm still too intimidated to listen to the recording. (Okay y'all, seriously! How messed up is that?!!?!? I'm intimidated by myself....Becky?) Today during yet another zoom call we prayed a prayer written by Bishop Ken Untener but often credited to Oscar Romero. These words resonated with me, "It may be incomplete, but it is a beginning, a step along the way, an opportunity for the Lord's grace to enter in and do the rest. We may never see the end results, but that is the difference between the master builder and the worker. We are the workers, not master builders; ministers, not messiahs." Basically, step aside, do your best, and leave room for the Holy Spirit.

What are you trying desperately to control? Where do you believe you are at best, mediocre? These are hard times, give yourself a break, trust, and leave room for the Holy Spirit. Maybe today was a mediocre day for you. That's okay. You are a beloved child of God, and you're enough--the Holy Spirit will fill in the rest.

 

The Playlist

So I have a friend….Jimmy Van Bergen or JVB or if you meet him as an adult Jim Van

Bergen. (But I didn’t meet him as an adult so I’m sticking with the first two options…) Anyway, he’s pretty amazing. We’ve known each other since 3^rd grade, and who knew back then as he told stupid joke after stupid joke (that I laughed at) that one day he would be living in New York and be an Emmy award-winning sound designer and producer and I would still get to be his friend? Well, the answer is not me.

To me, he is the goofy redhead, with a sister my sister's age, who sang like an angel, and knew me through the most awkward eras of my life—and despite me not always being kind, or aware, or self-confident, even though there were days I'm as certain as I am I have four children I walked right by him without speaking, he liked me, and still does. Nowadays he is a go to for me when I need reassurance, or a calm, smart, compassionate voice.

Last night he created this Spotify playlist he entitled, “Just Very Katherine.” (Listen Here) He has started creating these playlists for friends. He chooses songs that reflect, that describe,  a person’s life, interests, and personality. He chooses songs he believes tell the person’s story. It's almost like he can see into a person's heart, mind, and soul. Well, this time he didn’t make me cry with his singing, he made me cry with his song choices that tell the story of how he sees me. The adjectives he used in its description are “bubbly, fun, introspective, wicked sense of humor and thoughtful.” We went back and forth a couple of times about the negative ways I see myself and some regrets from my past. I told him I knew I had been a horrible person in highschool. His words as he concluded my list, “By the way, you were never a horrible person. We weren’t our best selves in high school, but the framework was there.

This morning as I listen to the playlist (well, morning into the afternoon since it’s over 5 hours long!) I am thinking about how God sees us all and whether we believe it or argue instead reminding God over and over why we're not enough. Do we listen to the voices in the world who choose to focus on our areas of struggle or do we listen to the voices that rejoice in our growth and transformation? JVB, I’m sure, remembers some of those parts of me that weren’t my best self, but that’s not what he chose to focus on, those aren’t the words he used to be my descriptors. 

Do you argue with God reminding God of the parts of you that are less than ideal? Do you re-live times in your life you’re not proud of, think about mistakes you’ve made, and hide your face in shame? Or, do you remember Psalm 139:14 which acknowledges you are fearfully and wonderfully made because God made you and God made you in God’s image? I know I spend a lot of time doing the former, but today JVB reminded me even when we’re not our best selves, God’s framework remains. God's angels are singing about the glory of God and each and every one of us is part of that glory. God's angels are singing about us.

Thank you JVB, and hey, look, you’re shoes untied!!!! (third-grade joke)

PS I really wish I had a recording of JVB singing "Stairway to Heaven" in the 8th grade. 

If You Have to Ask the Question, "Was it me?" the Answer is Probably "yes"

Just about every time I write about our family’s journey with addiction I get a few calls, texts, or emails. I’m pretty sure I have never used anyone’s name specifically so usually,

the question is some version of this. "I hope I'm not the one/ones who hurt you, left you, judged you." or "Am I one of the ones who gave you unconditional support?" Okay, that's a lie--I've never gotten the second question, but I often get the first.

Today I have the courage given to me by one of the bravest people I know to answer that question in two parts. First, I've got to tilt my head the way she does, lower my voice, and virtually pat your hand as I say, "How do you expect me to answer that?" And secondly, "the most honest answer is, if you're asking the question you probably are." 

This is not the time for a mic drop....

This week I learned something else from another brave friend, or rather I would like to say her courage and then grace hit me upside the head like I am a beaten redheaded stepchild. This is quite frankly not true, because in the long-used phrase "beaten like a redheaded stepchild" the redheaded stepchild is a child treated worse than others, and actually this person treated me not worse than others but rather with grace--but I digress. The point is, her grace and bravery sloshed together with the wisdom of my other friend from above is letting me say this.

Yes, if you're asking you probably were/are one of those people, BUT, it's okay. Truly it is.

Is your head spinning around like the song, you spin me right round baby right round like a record baby right round right round? I am dead serious though, if you are one of those people, it's genuinely okay, and here's why.

Our family was going through something and literally building the ship while we were sailing it. It was chaotic and scary for us. I'm sure watching it wasn't pleasant either. What I realize now is there could be lots of reasons you "disappeared" or "semi-disappeared."

• The dark world of addiction is intense, maybe you just didn't have the bandwidth to go there with me because you were protecting yourself and your family and not using up your bandwidth on ours. I respect that.
• Maybe it hit too close to home for you. I understand.
• Maybe you didn't know what to say or do and then the longer you remained silent, the harder it was. I totally get that.
• Maybe you thought bringing it up would make it harder for me. The truth is some days it probably would have.
• Maybe I shut you out first. A very real possibility.
• Maybe I acted like I didn't need or want help. See above
• Maybe you thought our home, our "lifestyle", or what was currently happening was unsafe emotionally, physically, or mentally, to the point you had to back away. I always support people protecting themselves and those they love.
• Maybe our friendship was built on something else--being at our children's games, volunteer activities, or anything else, and when that no longer became my focus, through no fault of either of us we drifted apart. That doesn't mean our friendship wasn't real or genuine. It's just the commonalities that held us together no longer exist, but there were some fun days. Thank you for the memories.
• Maybe our friendship had just reached the end of its time. That happens. Thank you for the friendship we had. I am grateful you shared yourself with me.

And here are some other possibilities

• Maybe you did want to distance yourself for fear you or your child would be implicated.
• Maybe you did judge the decisions we made.

Those are okay too. Here's the gosh honest to God unvarnished truth--I've done the same thing in other circumstances.

Here's something else that's okay. Our family's journey for better or worse moved us down a path we never expected nor ever wanted to walk. That walked changed our lives, changed our priorities, changed our relationships. If we're no longer "friends" or no longer friends in the way we once were, and you are trying to fix it. Stop, and give yourself a break. We can't go back. Know there are very few, actually, there are zero friendships, I have had in my life that I fully regret. In every one, I have learned and grown and loved and been loved. I take a part of each of them with me. If our friendship is continuing, you already know I'm different than I was 5 years ago. Call it trauma, call it therapy, call it growth.

So, yeah, if you are asking the question "was I one of them" the answer is probably yes. But, you don't need to apologize or defend yourself or fix it. We all do the best we can. Grace and peace to us all.

PS--in the interest of complete transparency, if you are someone who gossiped about us and spread false information--well I'm still working on that grace and forgiveness, but I know God already has it covered, so grace and peace to you too.

Triggered--How Dare You!?!?!

My whole body responded last night, and I felt my mind shut down and then explode.

Today it's worse. I feel sick to my stomach and heartbroken for so many, myself included, who heard what came across to me, as an attack last night. My hands are shaking as I'm trying to type.

I don't want to rehash the whole thing. You can read about it here. (Biden's Son's Story) Here's the gist--in a debate or let's call it a job interview, a man's son's addiction was "outed" for all the world to hear presumably (or how I heard it) to question the man's parenting ability and thus his ability to hold the job. For many of us hearing those statements, the job, whatever it may be in our own lives, and our ability to do it is no longer the focus. Instead, we hear yet again, "If only you'd been a better parent. You are a failure. You are not enough."

News alert--we've already asked ourselves the question of what we could have done "better" over and over and over. Sometimes we understand we did our best and addiction is a disease, and sometimes we see something or hear something that puts us right back into that place of believing the "if I'd only...." We've already spent hours and hours believing we were failures, and with the help of others have slowly crawled out of that hole. Thank you for trying to push us back down. 

For those of us with children in recovery, sometimes we are laughing and smiling and so relieved our child is healthy and let's just name it alive, and sometimes we close the bathroom door, turn on the shower, and shake and sob because we are terrified (often for no good reason) our child is using again. We don't need to be reminded of those long dark days, months, and sometimes years--they are permanent parts of our bodies. They are permanent scars on our hearts. But thank you for announcing to the world there are people who also will never forget and will use it against us over and over. Thank you for making it okay for people to use our pain against us. Thank you for making sure we continue to be demonized and judged. 

And as for our children in recovery or even still in addiction? HOW DARE YOU!?!?!? How dare you

continue to bring up their past--often embellished (that's my priestly way of saying f***ing lies)? How dare you say their names in public places using them to hurt us? How dare you insinuate addiction deserves to be punished for the rest of their lives or that it means people are weak or less than? How dare you out a family's private pain for your benefit? How dare you?!?!?! Go after me; go after my qualifications, but keep your f***ing mouth shut about my child.

I cannot speak for those in recovery from a first-person perspective. I can say I know it is hard freaking work. I don't know if last night people in recovery were triggered as I was. My guess is some were, and my heart hurts for them. I want you to know although I may not know your names, I'm carrying them in my heart. I want you to know you are amazing and strong and loved. Hold your head high, keep fighting your fight, you are braver and stronger than anyone I know--and definitely braver and stronger than anyone who uses your story to make themselves look better. 

Yes, I was triggered last night by one person, but he is not the only one who does this to families who have dealt with or are dealing with addiction. Last night I was triggered, and now I'm mad. Really, really, really mad.