I have a taboo subject: it’s drinking to control pain levels. As someone who has chronic pain and who also grew up with an alcoholic father, I understand drinking to control pain levels. My dad says that he has chronic pain that his back hurts and he has reason to say that drinking calms that some. I don’t think that gives him carte blanche to have been drunk for majority of my life or to blow off a chance to spend quality time with his grandchild. Part of me gets it, part of me understands, part of me feels that fuzzy bliss, that lack of pain that ability to float through…. the other part is still so angry at him for allowing himself to miss the happy, the joyful, the hard parts that come with being part of someone’s life that are so worth it. do I want my pain levels ? no. do I want my life? yes. do I wish there was a way to have this fuzzy blissful feeling all the time ? you bet your sweet ass. would I trade it to be numb? not on your fucking life. I had a long conversation with a friend today about what my pain levels mean the nerve damage in my back feels most of the time like a spiders crawling on me or what you would equate to a foot being a sleep, not a nice feeling but it’s a lot better than pain… just what used to be and we all have our varying degrees of what we can tolerate what is our base level of one out of 10 and we also have our base level of what we are willing to give up in comparison to what we are willing to strive for I hope you continue to view what you’re willing to strive for instead of what you’re willing to give up.
I sat and sobbed recently. So hard that the tears flowed and the sobs made noise. My dog was the one who came to kiss me. To tell me I’d be ok to try again tomorrow. A house full of family and the animal was the only one so could protect & love me. I will forever be thankful for his white furry face .
There’s this place in a marriage where you accept what you did. I can’t call it settling because that’s unkind. My husband loves me deeply. He does a fuck Ton he really doesn’t want to do because he loves me. He doesn’t look at other girls. But for fucks sake does he hold my hand? Does he care for me like i need? Hell no. I am not “happy” he doesn’t hug me, snuggle me, dote on me. But he loves me. Just in that god damn way i have no control of. I can rationally see it but it still leaves an ache in me so deep it breaks me
There’s a woman at the gym that i cross paths with often. And by often i mean pretty much daily. Our daughters are similar in age. We both nursed until they were 2. She is so dedicated, constantly training. We talk in passing about her workouts, and in a non professional sense- i just listen usually because she has methods she likes to stick to. But she came to me a few months ago burnt the fuck out. Life & training had her down, and she wasn’t getting the results she wanted. I listened. And i said, you are someone else inspiration, take a break or make a change if you need it, but don’t you spend your time comparing yourself to someone else’s results. We parted ways and went back to our normal exchanges. Yesterday, as we swam with our girls out of coincidence, she made a point to thank me for my words. Because it helped remind her to keep going.
Confidence is something we build from the inside. It’s not in a high heel or a new lipstick or perfect arms. It’s in you. Your light shining through. No one else’s. We are all so different and it needs to be embraced, not fought.