Everything will make the most sense not making any sense at all.
You will be going about your routine,
and suddenly nonsense doesn’t really matter.
May there still be good nonsense.
You are good nonsense.
Silly and quirky.
An essential part of being you.
Hold onto it as if all happiness in life depends on it.
Those folks that sing in your head saying you’re too much this and too much that.
Those are NOT, I repeat, those are NOT your folks.
People who don’t love your enthusiasm and authenticity,
No room for that here.
Zen them away.
But always show up.
Never stop showing up.
Don’t let them silence your soul.
We all have bones.
That’s the easy part.
For some that’s not so easy.
Walking, talking, cocky insecurity.
Loud like a Tuba.
Drowning you out.
Let them down easy.
Go before I drop a house on you?
Easy like that?
Okay, maybe not that easy.
I get it.
You can be respectful.
You both enter.
If one must leave,
let it be them.
Quit walking away.
Some of the best breakthroughs
take a breakdown.
Today YOU stay.
Let them go.
Be true to you.
Hug them if you feel like it.
Wish a kind farewell.
But you stay put.
Embrace the seconds that surround you.
You were born to be this you.
People pretending this is make believe.
Like they have endless chances.
You know this.
You made it.
Pursue your purpose.
Love a fairy tale.
Be a true story.
Live your life.
Live your life fully.
You can’t save pretenders.
No one can.
Radiate your realness.
Glow your aura.
It lights the dark for the right people.
Dance to all things with love.
You don’t have to whisper anymore.
We are all loud here.
The ones that matter most,
will never mind.
They will love you.
The you-est YOU,
the one and only,
2020 Smith, Lynn R.
You can be loud here.
Photo credits go to my sons beautiful wife.
https://www.facebook.com/Kaitlynn.Trundle This girl has brought my world so much sunshine when she married one of my sonshine’s. I plan to share more about my family during this journey. My son and daughter-in- law both have heart warming stories and I know each one of them can share and make a difference to someone who can relate. Even if you can’t it will touch your hearts.
My daughter passed 29 years’ ago, at the age of 6 weeks. I tortured myself trying to move through those emotions. I have just recently discovered the pain of losing her is never going away. It is always in the back of my mind. Somedays it is brought to the front by a baby being born or a child’s cry and several other little things most people bypass. When that happens now, I can let it be there without beating myself up. Writing helps keep me grounded and allows me to express my emotions. 29 years’ sounds like a long time ago, but in the mind of a parent, 29 years’ ago is every morning.
If you are trying to decide if this is a blog for you, I’ll tell you that it is not filled with romantic flights around the world. No trips to paris, or snorkeling in the Cayman Islands.
I would have to have a passport for that. Right now I am still paying on back child support and that fact disqualifies me for a passport until that balance falls below $2000.00. Close but still a few cents away.
The consequences from emotional wreckage linger years later, and I didn’t find that out until I was planning a romantic honeymoon with my now husband.
Those are some topics I plan to share and talk about in my blog, and within a book or two.
Post it note 📝 ~ STUMBLE AND LET YOUR TRUTH DO THE WALKING ~ LRS
Within all the words I put onto these pages, I hope you find a message, or something resonates within you that you can apply to your life.
Chances are you are reading this because you’ve googled story’s about recovery, or you asked for reference to a good self help book with similarities to you or someone you love.
I know this much, everyone likes a good come back story; but for that to exist, and for you to appreciate it, you have to know the guts of it all.
No matter how deep you’re in it, you deserve peace of mind.
This is for those of you that can’t see your way out and are afraid of telling your truth. Don’t get me wrong it’s okay not to; but after all these years I would die in vain if I kept my faith and my story to myself.
Crystal clear and sparkling like a diamond on the outside; but full of bitterness, rage and sorrow in my soul.
This is written to offer you hope. Hope that if you are having or have had some difficulties throughout your life then just maybe you will be enlightened and find a bit of peace by something I have chosen to share from my personal journey.
It’s a fact that we all experience some sort of turbulence and it can feel like it’s never going to quit bouncing us around.
We get lost, and feel alone. We see no end in sight. Pain that aches as the sun rises and sets.
I plan to give the not so pretty details in my book. I’ll explain one of my biggest tragedies because I want you to understand I know what it’s like to live inside of a tragic experience.
Reliving it and seeing it every time you close your eyes.
PTSD diagnosis mixed with an ‘ism’ or even two.
Often both go hand in hand.
It’s a mental battlefield and one we tend to minimize.
For myself anyhow, I generally saw your tragedy as worse than mine no matter what it was so that no eyes were able to stay on my pain and I didn’t have to feel me at all.
It may have been gorier or graphic, on a 1 to 10 scale; but it was a tragedy none the less. I would tell you about mine, and that it happened; but I’d also tell you I had overcame it. Then we wouldn’t have to talk about it anymore. I could stuff it back down in its hell hole. I was a great stuffer. I would beat myself up so bad if I caught myself crying over it years later. Besides you don’t know how to ask me questions about it. I get it.
I read something once recently about Toxic Positive. That resonates with me. I’m so guilty of being toxic positive. However; it happens. Somedays it has to. I’ll explain more about that in another post or you can google it now. It’s a tricky one. One I truly believe can keep you teetering and white knuckling your way through life.
I found myself with no positivity. No light. No Faith. A darkness that led me to a new teacher.
I found her. A counselor who not only listened to me; but held my hand as our sessions ran longer than scheduled. I said to her words I thought all those years but that I would never let come out of my mouth. She took me inside and helped me unload the world from my shoulders.
You will read about it one day in a book I am writing.
She Died and Went to Heaven. I Lived and Went to Hell. By Lynn Rilean Smith.
I had to say the words out loud to my therapist. 29 years later. She had a way to get those words from my mind, body and soul, to a very trembling voice.
I had to say them, in order to have a breakthrough, and reach a better understanding that nothing would make that experience go away, and that it was never going to make sense. Grasping that was hard.
I had to gently lay it to rest to be able to continue to build a more peaceful me ( mother me, wife me, friend and sister me ); but first I had to look at it in a way that I was always trying to bury.
That counselor took my entire life, in less than a year, and proved to me; when the student is ready the teacher will show up. That saying use to annoy me. Now I’m stuck to it like glue.
She was there to show me I could learn to face life without losing myself in the shuffling replay.
I had to do the things she suggested in order to make progress though, and that felt, simply put, yukky.
I’m telling you my story in hopes you can one day share yours. I hope you will open yourself to trust in someone again and even more so trust in you again and possibly therapy.
The Zac Williams song sings loudly in my head as I type this. Fear is a liar.
I hope you can feel some sort of connection to someone else when your world feels empty, and a consequence catches up to you.
I believe by sharing our stories we are offering support for others that may be struggling, and in need of some understanding and love.
Not coming to judge, criticize or kick us when we feel down.
This is me giving you a hug, offering you encouragement and telling you that you are not alone.
It’s okay to break, and still be strong, beautiful and brave.
So much truth in that.
Post it note 📝 ~ A box of beaten down, battered and broken barbie dolls are being rebuilt, cleaned up and made wiser.
I’m writing this morning to not only share my thoughts but to share what I know first hand works for myself and many others. All it takes is a little work on your part. Consider it a brain exercise. Not for the weak minded. Must be willing to think. Up for the challenge?
This use to hang in every home I ever entered. This made no sense to me as a kid. I saw it as boring art, some form of complicated poetry and (no offense) an old person thing.
Me, now being the old person who has fallen in love with the meaning. I know why it was so important. Think about it. Everyone had a Grandma with the serenity prayer on something.
Knowing my great grandmother I bet it saved her from killing my Dad, uncles and all of us little barefooted mini gypsies that ran around her small home.
Today I keep it at the forefront in order to keep peace. It offers me balance and the ability to pick my battles wiser. Today I have fewer battles but if I do the serenity prayer gets me through them.
I have no desire to succumb to petty words or go to bat with an argumentative ego. It is a waste of time and energy. Maybe if I was 20 again, ( guaranteed then ) but I am half way through and not promised anything so you can bet your ass I’m leaning on the bright side. You can have your right. I’m gonna sit here and enjoy the sun.
He said and she said will prove to fault almost always. Bringing no good. Often skewed and twisted in knots. Insert ( check yourself before you wreck yourself ) here. ￼
A perception, view and opinion.
We will always be different.
Different can be beautiful.
Different is in the arts.
Different is in the lyrics.
Different is in you and me.
Different doesn’t have to be a DICK unless it’s a Richard.
Even then DICK doesn’t have to be a DICK at all.
Different is okay ya’ll.
Being a jerk is not.
What did one crayon say to the other in the jumbo pack?
“We are family, get up everybody and sing.”
In a perfect world right?
Someone will always be there to draw a line in the sand.
Pick your poison carefully.
Aim for peace.
That’s what my bones tell me.
You can have your sides.
If there’s a stairway to heaven; your side has nothing to do with my ability to climb and vice versa.
We love entertainment. We live for a rush. We love a good laugh and need a good cry now and then.
We are most definitely giving comedians plenty of material to make bank.
None of us enjoy this train wreck now called the world we are living in.
We just sit on our soap boxes and point.
Lacking in wisdom. Lacking in common-sense.
No one smarter than the other but pretending to be.
Words a young child should not have to ever say to a parent. I remember when he wrote that. I felt so small and ashamed. How could I ever have behaved in such a way that my oldest son had to take care of me? Him worried where I was sleeping at or if I was alive or dead? Him barely even a teenager and me a grown woman. I think his dad and grandparents did a great job protecting him and his brother from the alcoholic “her” inside of me. Unfortunately not fool proof and I did a lot more harm than good. Have you ever met a her like me? We are good hiders until we’re not. Not, for me isn’t far out of reach after my day one and like many before me it took another round and a blow to the head to convince me I most definitely do not have what it takes to drink with impunity.
If you know me you would likely say I am energetic and appear to have it together. Those closest to me know how quickly I can go from put together to violent or barely breathing from too much alcohol consumption. I get it. We all drink a little too much on occasion. The likes of you that never drink or the alcoholic gene bug skipped you then please understand you are true heroes to me. I admire your abilities.
If I could go back in time and change one thing; it would be to have listened to my family after my dad died from alcohol poisoning.
What did C.C. do? Like always, C.C. drank. C.C. was smarter. C.C. wouldn’t ever be as bad or as heavy a drinker as her dad and will not let it kill her or get her arrested and she damn sure will not let it ever be more important than her children. Alcoholism is a sneaky old bastard like that. It comes in many forms. They were all right and I most definitely did not prove them wrong. C.C. in fact did not need to drink.
A silent killer of all things good, to someone like me.
Who is C.C. ? She is me. The childhood nickname given to me from my family. It started with curtains and a crib. Of-course other people took advantage of it and C.C. was used to humiliate me often growing up. My sister shared a teaser too. I hated people and my sense of humor was not impressed with the ridiculous inappropriate names they labeled C.C. standing for. When you are a kid though you have to accept a lot of things you do not like. Smile and carry on. That is how I saw things for sometime before I started developing what I like to call the beginning of my resentments list. I was a kid. Innocent, pure, likable, gullible and often wearing a FAKE smile. Not with my Grandmother though. I felt happy with my Grandmother. Some think it’s because she spoiled me. I know it is because she genuinely loved me. I got the kind of love from her that built the heart I have today. I could talk to her about wetting the bed, if dad didn’t come home or if my step mom was ripping my hair out after my bath.
I will share many things in this blog from where I come from to where I am and all my thoughts and feelings in-between. I will vent, I will cry, I will curse and I will grow from this.
I do not expect anyone to agree or to accept what is written in these blog entries. What I share does not come with a PHD. It is solely BTI. ( Been Through It )
I do hope that by sharing my experience it can help shed insight as the alcoholic and as the adult child of an alcoholic. Shit, who am I kidding the adult child of a family addicted to all kinds of crap. It is what it is. This blog is not the book but it will shed light on it.
This blog is my practice page, writing and sharing page, my experience and possibly build a following to take with me in the future page.
If it fails, well I tried. Nothing more. That IS a lie. I’m going to be so frustrated if I don’t figure this out. I might throw a hissy fit and say a few choice words. I will not quit though. I WILL NOT STOP UNTIL THE LESSON IS LEARNED. Even if the lesson is to hire someone else to do it for me. Soon maybe, but not yet. I love a challenge and to learn new things so where better to start than my future?
I will bring topics about loss of a child, a parent and some shameless similarities. If you watched the showtime original you will know what I’m referencing. If not I can sum it up and simplify it by saying Dysfunction Junction.
I will share most about topics I am familiar with. Feelings I had to have explained to me after years of self sabotaging behaviors. Topics of alcohol, death and death by alcohol. I’ll talk of recovery and what it means to me and how it has changed my life. There will be a lot of that.
Judges love a good come back story. Today all my sons have a mother they walk proudly beside and never hesitate to reach out for. I had to go through all that tough love from them to be able to sit here and write this today. Honestly, tough is not a painful enough word to describe the experience on any of our parts I am certain.
Not sure of my direction yet. A memoir is about a specific incident that altered a life change. We all know memoirs are often full of some painful and ugly truths and we anticipate a happy ending. You will receive all of that no matter the route I choose. I will be making big decisions and changes often during this process and I intend to have at least one book in hand within 2 years. The writing part is easy, it is the rest I am spending the most time on now.
I hope you take this ride with me and watch it all unfold.
A seed can grow beneath the toughest of surfaces and still bloom with exuberance ~ LRS
I’m still awake because sleeping it off is impossible. Wait. Have I been sleeping? I’m shivering and I hurt from head to toe. My eyes stay closed because I don’t want to believe it. I can’t lift my head. Shit. Jail.
I’m back in a cage. I feel it. I hear it. I smell it. “Dear God, what did I do now?”
I let enough of one eye open that I could see it. The big silver drain in the center of the floor. I wasn’t sick enough yet to use it or if I had I don’t recall. The smell is horrible. Rotten. The cement is stained sour. I can hear male voices. So vulgar. A new girl is in the drunk tank. Me. I’m the new girl.
Think Lynn. Think.
This was round 3. I knew what to do. I just had to have some time to figure out what to do next. Piece as much of the puzzle together as I can and worry about the rest once I get out of this vomit vault.
The only thing I knew I had done was drink. Why is my arm bandaged? Why do my wrists hurt? Short term memory is non existent. Nothing like sobering up in a drunk tank to lead you on a mental scavenger hunt.
The one thing that is even bigger than the pain is the craving. My shakes will go away as soon as I get some Tvarscki. My mind, body and soul will bounce back and I won’t feel like a big cry baby. I will be brave again; if I am being quite frank, I drink enough that I usually don’t feel a thing. It all goes out the window. Right now that is all I can think about. My goal is to get out of here and go get drunk. No time for mushy emotions and replays of the past.
Yet I lay there and think as I hear the plastic tray slide under the door. It’s bad enough I’m surrounded by puke now they want me to eat it? Part of the process. I’m not that hungry yet. I’ll be out of here soon and you can shove that tray of crap back up the ass you got it from. To think, I’m in jail. I’m the one who did something illegal and I’m the one laying here thinking they are the bad guys. The lies I wrote in my brain only to become a bigger problem I’d be facing later.
Long term memory is stronger than the short as I feel tears caving in my dehydrated cheeks. My family. My son’s. My sister and my Mother and few close friends. I can feel the pain I have caused them. I feel embarrassed; not for myself as much as how my behavior reflects on them, but not enough to stop. I do not want to feel this way. It is ugly and it hurts. Every bone in my body is begging me to figure out bail so I can get to the liquor store.
Not really the end, but a taste of a chapter you will read in my book. My goal is to share the good, the bad, and the ugly side of being drunk like me. I know some people can connect and thankfully some won’t. I am aware of the impunity drinker and that I am not made of that. The fact I am clear headed and able to share this with you today is proof that with perseverance and honesty the impossible is most definitely “ I’m possible.” That is what I want you to take away from anything I share and do today as I make progress into living my best life. The doom and gloom will always be there if you look for it but more importantly than that is the peace.