Let's post something. Anything!
I can do this.
The "journey to recovery" has been very interesting so far. I get out of my pressure cooker, and get out of my head, stop the drama and I can start to grow, expand, become. What am I becoming? Not sure yet. I guess that's the fun part!
It's helpful to try to remember what I liked as a child, what my hopes and dreams were.
I used to dream of being in the circus. When my mother took wide-eyed little me to see Circus Vargas, I saw those ladies in spangly outfits swinging from rings and felt the heart-stirring of recognition.
That was my favorite fantasy from then on, as I played on my rope swing.
The first thing my daddy did, at every place we moved, was hitch up another rope swing for me.
When I was married and lived out in the woods, one of the loggers who came out was kind enough to climb two big trees and string up the highest swing I'd ever had, using steel cable from the back of his pickup. He put on an old manila rope that was nice and thick and easy to hang on to, and said, "Now don't trust this for very long! Be sure to get a different one. I was going to toss it because I don't trust it any more."
So I swung on it happily for like three winters until it broke at the high point and dumped me flat on my back. I remember lying on the ground stunned while the kids watched me. "Mommy, there's blood coming out your ear..."
My earring had scratched the side of my face :-)
When I moved to the apartment last year, I had to find ways to get exercise in the city. It is kinda cool to live a few blocks, or a couple miles, away from nearly everywhere I need to go. Money being what it is, I have a perfect excuse to walk. I've gotten better at walking.
Then I discovered the nearby elementary school had those nice kind of rings with a thick coating.
Why not walk over there every day it's not raining and try to get my grip back again?
At first I could hang on for only a few seconds before my wimpy hands hurt, and if I ignored it my palms would bleed.
They've started to get better :-)
I guess we go through phases. First we play on the
playground. Then we're too old for kid stuff any more. Then we grow up
and might like to play, but can't anyway, and are ashamed to be seen trying and failing. Then we get really old and don't give a
fig who's watching, and try patiently until we can again.