It’s Just an Illusion

Constance and I worked for two days this week via Face Time. It was the next best thing to her being here in my sunroom, where we usually write. Here’s a snippet, from yesterday’s efforts, of the many pearls of wisdom I collected over the years from my counselor, Pat.
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Pat explained that we’re attached to the illusions we’ve created for ourselves and our families; how we’re supposed to look to the outside world. Thank God I didn’t have to face the Pinterest boards of adorable families in their clever houses–back then. Whether it’s a Fall football tailgate, linen napkins (monogrammed) or a blue blazer, these outward symbols of shiny-happy-familyhood are imprinted in our DNA.

We look around us for signs that we’re on track. In our culture, kindergarten starts at five or six, college at eighteen and marriage hits somewhere in the late twenties. These milestones fall under our cultural consensus. We’re in tacit agreement about this timeline, how and when a young life is supposed to unfold. But when addiction enters the picture, all bets are off.

I saw very early that Sam wasn’t going to hit the marks on our cultural timeline; but I spent years trying to keep him on track. In time, I felt shame that he wasn’t walking in lockstep with his peers. And wondered if the other parents had noticed.

But after a while, my arms got tired of holding up this whopping illusion. The burden got heavier and heavier and finally, I just let it crash to the ground. Exhaling, I relaxed my torso and let the blood rush back into my extremities as I stood solidly in my own truth.

As painful as it might be, ‘doing your work’, as Pat calls the emotional chore of facing your reality, means challenging the illusions that you’ve held, for so long, in a white-knuckled grip.

The ‘work’ is to confront your own reality with the most awareness and availability you can muster, on any given day.  Some days, you’ll be more clear-eyed than others.

“So you wake up and you drift back to sleep. And you wake up again and you yawn and stretch, but then you fall back into a deeper sleep. It’s a process, Lynda. Two steps forward, then take a nap. Reckoning with your own truth takes time.”

“Why is that?”

“Because if you woke up all at once, it would just kill you.”

Sunny Day Revision

What a difference a day makes!
The weather report and our attention to detail has improved.
Below is an excerpt from our book, revised from the rainy day version.

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I launched into a rant that came from Lord-knows-where and Pat, God bless her , didn’t flinch.

“You know that automatic ball machine on the tennis court?”

Pat nodded.

That’s  how my life feels right now! And the balls keep firing from the chute. And I’ve got lobs, and drop shots coming at me, and they’re smacking  me in the head. And the freaking things keep coming,  Pat.”

I was wild-eyed.

“And dammit,” welling with tears, voice wavering, “I’m wearing  flip-flops and all I’ve got is this warped Christ Evert racquet I’ve had since eighth grade.

I paused. Then the flood gates opened. I looked down, sobbing in front of this poised, put-together woman and stared at her perfect ballet flats, catching my breath.

Pat studied me for a moment, then said softly, “Lynda, look at me.”

Mopping my cheeks with the back of my hand, I reluctantly met her gaze.

She placed her palm over her heart, in a gesture that signaled acceptance. Right then, I thanked God – and Amelia for scribbling her name on a napkin.

Like a patient guide, setting out over terrain she’d covered many, many times before, Pat took my hand and led me back to the trailhead that day. For now, she held the compass and I would have followed her anywhere. In the weeks to come, Pat’s office would become the safest place I knew.

Probably because Pat was in it.

Rainy Day Writing

Yesterday’s deluge was the perfect white noise  for hunkering down on my porch and getting into the writing zone. After a long day on both of our computers, Constance and I gave the keyboards a rest and re-read some of the work we’re doing on the book. She laughed (out loud) at this tennis court scene, so I’m sharing. We’ve all  been on the other side of that net.

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You know that automatic ball machine on the tennis court? That’s how my life felt. And the yellow balls keep firing from the chute, blinding and blistering. And some are lobs, and some drop shots, and some smack me in the head. And they keep coming. And dammit, I’m wearing flip-flops and all I’ve got is the wooden Chris Evert racquet I had in eighth grade.

Pat took a deep breath, like a patient guide setting out on a long journey over terrain she’d covered many times before. With nowhere else to turn, I’d surrendered to her. Even though I couldn’t read her map yet, I would have followed her anywhere. And in the weeks to come, Pat’s office would become the safest place I knew.

Probably because Pat was in it.

Onsite Workshops, Living Centered Program

I had the glass waiting room all to myself. But not for long. As weary travelers drifted through the door into my space, I checked them out, one by one, trying to figure out who might be booked on my shuttle. Three women, filing in separately, wheeled their bags into various corners and sat quietly, not exchanging glances. I would spend the next six days with all three, bringing our lives back to center.

From the Nashville airport, I wasn’t bee-lining for the Grand Ole Opry, but to a Living Centered Program called Onsite Workshops, in Cumberland Furnace, Tennessee. I was both relieved to have two hours before relinquishing my phone and computer for the week, and flat-out anxious about unplugging.

I spotted the Onsite shuttle pulling up to the curb. That was the cue to reveal myself. Gathering my belongings, I made my way to the van, along with the three female suspects. Handing Shamu (what my husband calls my bulky, more-appropriate-for-a-college-student, roller duffle) to the driver, I took a back row seat, wiggling in between a tall, handsome man and a petite woman with the face of an angel.

After exchanging pleasantries, I pulled my phone out –  nervous – and checked texts and emails. As we drove an hour through the rolling countryside, I felt the weight of apprehension. At last, the shuttle crunched up the long driveway to a stately Victorian house, greeted by a four dog welcoming committee. With sweaty fingers, I sent my husband a quick text that I’d arrived safely and would call him in a week.

“The Living Centered Program is Onsite’s core program. It’s designed to help you bring your life back to center. Often life events, relationships, trauma, distorted or compulsive behaviors in yourself and those you love, depression, anxiety, codependency or the stresses of daily living can keep you from the peace and balance you desire. LCP has, at its foundation, an experiential group process supplemented by education and action for change. The first days of the program focus on the importance of knowing yourself, how you have become blocked from being all you can be, how you may avoid looking at yourself and how the sum of your past experiences may be affecting you today.”

After dinner, Bill Lokey, Onsite’s Clinical Director welcomed us. “This week is about you. You’re here to do individual work in a group setting. This is not about measured results. Its about our leaders sharing a broader perspective and giving you more tools to do your  work. What each of you takes away is going to be very different. We’re here to walk the walk with you because we’ve all done it ourselves. While some of you may be dealing with overwhelming life issues, others have come to get in touch with your own hearts. Onsite isn’t a faith based program, but many who attend are seeking a higher level of spirituality. Its truly open to anyone who wishes to grow.”

Every day, every meditation, every lecture, every small group session, every delicious meal, every action-packed evening activity were filled with ah ha moments. Some participants say that six days at Onsite is the equivalent of 8-12 months of therapy. It’s difficult to quantify enlightenment, but that sounds about right to me.

My week at Onsite was, without question, transformative. Our group of forty strong had traveled a great distance since opening night. We came with vastly different stories but at the end of the day, we realized our basic human needs: to be heard, to be held, to be comforted, to feel safe, to be validated and to be loved.

I was ready to get back to my life. My new friends would go back there with me in my heart.

Trust the Process.

www.onsiteworkshops.com