Sasha, I have read many of your threads. Your strength and your determination to protect yourself and your child are nothing short of heroic. I'm astonished every time I read of some new way that your XAH's life continues to affect yours, even though he's gone now.
So many of those who helped me do the heavy lifting in the earlier days don't post here any more, and I understand that. I post much less than I used to, too. However, I see a steady stream of others flowing in to take their places, and I have mixed feelings about that. I'm grateful that there's a place for these folks to go, just as I was and remain very grateful for SR myself. I'm also sad that there seems to be no end to the number of people stumbling through the doors here, desperate for wisdom, insight, a path to some kind of peace.
The biggest thing that SR has given me is the lighthouse I mentioned earlier, the sense of an anchor point, firm ground under my feet. I grew up in an extremely dysfunctional household (not alcoholic, but with many of the same characteristics) and learned at an early age that there wasn't much I could trust or count on, as did my siblings. This led me to spend so many years looking for an outside source of safety, security, acceptance and love. It was only after starting here at SR that I began to learn how to give
myself those things. It was only after coming here that I learned that I am not a part of anyone else; I am my own separate person and it's not only OK but
necessary for me to think for myself, take care of myself, do what is best for me--and that others have that same opportunity/responsibility for themselves.
Clearly it's not all rainbows and unicorns. There are things to think about now that weren't a concern before, things like what dogs I can responsibly have as my companions--they need to be small enough (50 lbs or less) that if an emergency arose, I could get them into the car by myself. It's more stressful being the only income in the household (although since being on my own, I've come to see that we were essentially living on my income while he spent most of his on his addictions). And there are those days where I’m just tired, sad and frustrated, and I’d like nothing more than to have someone rub my shoulders and tell me they’ll make dinner and walk the dogs while I soak in a hot tub.
But then there’s the peace. Ah, the peace. No one is going to have a snit b/c the kitchen drawers were not all shut tight. I’m not going to be annoyed by trying to talk to someone who doesn’t remember the earlier portion of the conversation and tells me that’s b/c “it wasn’t important enough to commit to memory.” In short, I’m not living w/someone who shows me, every day and in every way, how unimportant and unworthy I am, which is how I grew up and then (knowingly or unknowingly) continued for myself until I was in my mid-50’s.
Any of us who are here have been scarred by life with an alcoholic. There’s no way you can live that life and not be marked by it. But the scars show that you survived, that the wound healed. I did survive, not only life w/an alcoholic but many other things. You will survive, too. I do believe that as long as we keep reaching out for help, as long as we keep trying, as long as we are willing to listen for the answers, we will find a way. Keep taking that one single step forward. The quote below is about writing, but I've seen it applied to recovery and to life in general, and in that context, it's one of my favorites:
