Link

Hello all,
I'm adding the link to this page to add some information about the necessity of experiencing and knowing our emotions if we are to truly live authentic, fulfilled lives. I find that there is some very good material about obsessive behaviors; that familiar desperation that an I as an addict have experienced when trying to fill the unidentifiable void.
I hope you enjoy the information and I'd love to hear your thoughts and reactions either here or on my Facebook Group Page .
Janov's reflections on the Human Condition: January 2011
http://www.facebook.com/home.php?sk=group_159359624115714&ap=1
Peace,
Jenny






© 2011 Nanakoosa’s Place, authored by Jennifer Hazard

Getting to know you...(Me)

I hope anyone has had time to look over and consider the practices for familiarizing ourselves with our emotions. It's not something that can be done in a finite amount of time, and I don't know if we ever reach the "finish line'. Rather it's an ongoing process, just like developing any other relationship. I believe it is well worth the effort, essential really, if we are to truly become the best and brightest we can be. In this process, we become an inspiration, source of support and a good friend to others. It's amazing how once we stop trying to live up to the standards of others and refuse to allow them to dictate how we should feel, think and act, we begin to attract people into our lives who respect and love us for who we are. After all if we don't know ourselves, if we become social chameleons, how can we expect anyone to get close? It's ironic that we wear these masks; we take on these roles that don't fit all because we want other people to like us. Somehow we got the idea, the fear, that if people knew who we really are, they would run screaming in the other direction. And why do we have this idea? Because we are not so sure WE like ourselves, therefore why would anyone else?

After becoming more familiar and hopefully comfortable with our feelings, we can start to take stock of what things elicit certain feelings. Part of that is looking at what makes us happy. It may be the simplest thing, like seeing a snowflake up close, tending to a garden. It may be that we have favorite books, movies or music that speaks to something deep inside in a way no one else can. Sometimes it helps to remember your childhood dreams, fantasies and favorite activities. By rediscovering the things that capture our interest and that bring us joy, we begin to remember who we are.

Anyone who has been through a controlling relationship, drug/alcohol abuse or has endured deep depression knows the loneliness and grief at losing one’s self. It's like having had a friend once and now she's gone. 

The good news is, a true friendship always holds a spark that with proper tending can be rekindled to a flame that will guide us out of the darkness.

Rekindle that flame. Indulge yourself in something that brings you joy. You may be surprised at what a good friend you make.

Peace,

Nana

© 2010 Nanakoosa’s Place, authored by Jennifer Hazard

Messages from a Younger Me

 Long before the invention of the Internet and blogging, I had always been a dedicated journal keeper. I think I began at about age 8 and have continued for most of my life, maybe taking occasional breaks here and there. Part of me always felt a little "different" and overly self conscious and I found it difficult to share my innermost thoughts, fears and desires with even my closest friends. So, as is the case for many an angsty teenage girl, my journal became my friend, my confidant, and the Treasure Chest that contained the jewels, the secrets, the broken pieces and the love letters that were the Real Me.

As I got older and my life became more and more a series of circumstances I never would have imagined myself to be a part of, I recognized the importance of recording those events, having the intuitive sense that someone, someday, may find a jewel contained within the rubble.  Then finally as I clawed my way out of the mess my life had become, I found journaling to be therapeutic and illuminating. In my journals I opened the doors that contained my own mysteries, riddles that I didn't even know existed and discovered vulnerabilities and strengths I had kept hidden even from myself.

Since relocating recently, I've had the opportunity to sort through my belongings, including those things that get stashed away because they contain sentimental items and family treasures. I have one large plastic tote that contains the oldest, most special treasures; letters from my grandmother who passed on over a decade ago, ribbons from horseback competitions in my middle school years, my kids first t-shirts, all sorts of memorabilia...and, my old journals.

Ever since going through AODA treatment 10 years ago I have established a yearly tradition of re-reading the last few years journals on my birthday. It's a celebration of all the events that have led me to where I am today. It's also an opportunity to identify  and reflect upon, patterns, cycles, habits, growth and change. Until this week, however, I have not reached back more than a few years into my past. I have snuck a few peeks, but I always felt like I was holding something of great power and potential danger; the incantations of secrets and lies I had conjured up to delude myself. I was afraid to reveal, even to myself alone in a safe space, the Enchantment that kept me so deliriously rooted in my self destructive lifestyle.

What drew my attention this time was a small notebook, not even a school type notebook, but a notepad really, the kind we used before there were post it notes. On the cover were some doodles I had made, a skinny waitress, an androgynous punk looking character and various small animals. There were a few dates and a long forgotten phone number. Not certain what it was, although I vaguely remembered seeing it over the years, I began to browse through the yellowing dog eared pages. I realized I was holding the oldest journal I still have in my possession. It was from 1980 when my later to be husband and I had just left our hometown to return to my roots in New England. But it was not that simple. I remembered the basic story of course, it was a pretty major event in my life, completely relocating, but I had clearly forgotten some of the more intimate details. You see this was the beginning of a relationship that was to continue for 8 years and produce my oldest child. This was the relationship that was fueled by obsession, jealousy, manipulation, illusion and violence. The glue that kept those vices securely in place, that sealed the lock to the cell of my own personal prison was alcohol, and later, narcotics.

I had left my Midwestern home, or at least it had been for the past 7 years, to go "on the run" with the man I believed to be my "soul mate". I believed, at the time, he was being followed by the DEA because of his involvement with certain people. I believed this to be true because it was what he told me. He said he had to get out of town, went into hiding, dyed his hair and convinced me to sell almost everything I owned to raise money to get out of town.

I had known him for 3 months.

Reading my words from so long ago was eerie...I felt as though a  ghost, a wisp of my former self was reaching out to me through the years, trying to explain and justify what had happened. And on the other side, the "Adult Me" listening patiently wanting to say things like "Oh sweetie, it's not supposed to be like that"

So now, Jenny from 30 years ago, young, naive, romantic, giving her all for the sake of "love" is reminding the Jenny of today, cautious, experienced, self protective, of exactly what feelings, beliefs, needs and illusions started this crazy journey through our adult life. A life that took so many unforeseen twists and turns and eventually led me to where I am today, creating a life where I can reach out on a daily basis to women, young and old, who have lived, or are living, driven by the same illusions that were my blueprint back  1980.

Stepping into that life renews my understanding and empathy and bring it to a deeper level than the unreliability of selective memory will allow.

This in itself is a testament to the value of Journaling.

© 2010 Nanakoosa’s Place, authored by Jennifer Hazard

Geographical Relocation

It has taken months of vacillating, debating and false starts but I finally decided it was time to change residence. My former flat had, through numerous recent circumstances, gradually drifted out of that region known as "my price range" like a rogue balloon.  I cast back and forth between enduring the stress of moving vs. the stress of having basically no money and finally decided to resume my search for a smaller, more affordable apartment.  After finding a few affordable, but unattractive prospects and/or being denied because of pets or credit history,  I finally stumbled across an upper flat only 3 blocks from my former duplex.

Everything seemed to fall into place perfectly, which my former AODA counselor used to say was a sign that you were on the right path. I was able to qualify for funding from a local Advocacy agency to help with the moving costs,  I hired movers for the first time in my life and on November 2,  I moved into my new digs.
It's a cute place, it has character, a huge kitchen,  a sizable balcony/upper porch and lots of closet space. Like many of the houses in my neighborhood it's probably between 80-100 years old and was very likely a single family home that was converted into a flat sometime around the 1940's, which is partially what gives it it's unique character and floor plan, (and tiny bedrooms!)
Now, my sole purpose for moving was to save money, which I will eventually (the movers cost twice what they'd estimated) but it also was an important step for me to make this decision and go with it while in the midst of treatment for Hep C which leaves me with sporadic motivation and low (if any) energy.  I knew I would be doing a lot of the work alone and I knew it would, frankly, knock me on my ass for a few days. I also knew it needed to be done and it was up to me to make it happen.
In addiction "Geographical Relocation" is a trick that people frequently use on themselves and their loved ones to create a sense of false hope for interpersonal change. "Once we get out of this neighborhood with all our history/ with all the bars/ with all our "using friends"/ (fill in any appropriate external force of control that is preventing change) "things will change".  Of course as we all know, we take our problems with us because our problems don't live in the house, or the bar or in our friends, but within us.  Naturally, with my History, I've dragged myself, my family and all my personal belongings down that Yellow Brick Road many times, and learned the same lesson that Dorothy ultimately learned; "Over the Rainbow" is within us all, we only need to look inside to find it.
After moving, not surprisingly I was exhausted. Not just moving exhausted but being on toxic treatment and overdoing it exhausted. Enter, stage left, sick grandchildren and next thing I know I am sick as a proverbial dog. After two days of not keeping any food down and basically sleeping the entire time, I came back to the real world long enough to realize I had a counseling session scheduled with my therapist that day. I gave him a call to let him know I wouldn't be there and why. His response was "oh no everything was supposed to be okay after you moved"
Hmmm, really?
Did I give the impression that I believed that? Did I imply I was falling for the old "Geographical Relocation" self scam? I'm  pretty sure I did not, and yet his response irritated me at the time.  I wasn't sure if he was being facetious or....what. I responded by telling him that I was simply sick with a bug, no deeper meaning attached, and things will be fine.
Funny how once we've travelled the Yellow Brick Road, learned our lesson and moved on, we still carry the stigma of our old ways, even if only in our own minds.

© 2010 Nanakoosa’s Place, authored by Jennifer Hazard

A stranger in a strange land...

"I had crossed the line, I was free; but there was no one to welcome me to the land of freedom. I was a stranger in a strange land." ~ Harriet Tubman. One of my reasons for creating this blog, and my website http://www.nanakoosasplace.com/ was my realization that as a survivor, and a survivor of multiple challenges, I never really felt "normal". Even after receiving degrees in Social Work and Counseling I chose to work in small grassroots nonprofit agencies rather than for profit or government agencies. I knew I'd never "pass" in that world; nor would I want to. I would feel like an alien, a misfit and I'd probably end up getting fired. I did in fact get fired from my last job and I know it was partially due to my inability to conform to corporate like standards and expectations. No one was right no one was wrong, it just wasn't a good fit with the changes the agency was making. When I saw this quote by Harriet Tubman, I was initially transformed to the memory of reading her biography as a child. I imagined how lonely and terrified she must feel even while feeling the joy and gratitude of freedom. While her struggles and accomplishments were monumental compared to one woman's struggle with addiction, abuse and depression, I think there is a common phenomenon that occurs whenever we find freedom, from whatever it is that has had us caged. fortunately for many women leaving a violent home, recovering from addiction or embarking on another healing process there is support ready and available. This is especially true in the early stages. But as I had mentioned in an earlier post, "Crashing the Party of Normal Society", many of the systems in place are focused on getting the individual through those initial early crisis stages. It is often when the dust settles and we have stabilized that we realize that we too are strangers in a strange land. at this point we are faced with a choice. Either we allow ourselves to revive our victim role and accept some sense of defeat, that we will never be "normal" or we cherish the experiences and wounds that make us unique resilient individuals and begin to celebrate our individuality. After all most of were somewhat non-conformist to begin with, right? That may have been part of what got some of us into trouble in the first place. I say let us learn to embrace those qualities of non-conformity, of clever survival tactics of resiliency as we create our new reality. there are enough of us "strangers' out there that we need not be alone. There are others who understand. There are other women on the same path, the same journey to freedom and healing. Let's learn to recognize each other, and to support one another throughout the entire process of healing and liberation. If you read this post and feel it applies to you, take from it what you will and I always welcome feedback. If you feel you know someone else who may benefit from reading this please pass it on. If you find a stranger on the road who has a common story to tell, take the time to listen and support her. We need not be alone. peace and blessings, Nanakoosa copyright 2010 Jennifer Hazard/ Nanakoosa's Place.