 I love writing this little blog. I do. It’s a safe forum that allows me to speak my truth. I can share my hopes, dreams and successes; failures, frustrations and fuckups; and random, silly anecdotes about my first-world life.
I am not ashamed of anything I’ve said or done in my lifetime, so there’s no ego involved when I write. I have made peace with all my decisions, and I have no regrets. I’ve been schooled on some amazing lessons I couldn’t have learned without wading through a lot of shit. I hope that sharing some of those lessons will keep others from making the same mistakes. Thanks to 12-step recovery, I’ve also learned that other people’s shit does not stick to me. If people I love make bad choices, that’s on them. I’m not going to waste time agonizing over those choices or being humiliated on their behalf. But, because this blog is public and attached to my professional website, I hesitate to go too far off the chain with intimate details. I’m reticent to post anything too raw or controversial because I don’t want to alienate my clients, family or friends.
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 On my journey down the long and winding trail of self-discovery during the past five years, I’ve often heard the maxim, “You are only as a sick as your secrets.”
The sentiment behind such an exceptionally wise statement is this: if you’re living a life of deception on any level, you can’t possibly be a spiritually and emotionally healthy human being. And in my experience, unhealthy means real fucking unhappy, too. Fortunately, on my path to becoming a better person, I have been afforded many opportunities to unburden myself of all the major secrets that have kept me sick, through sharing them with my higher power (the ol’ HP) and others I trust who are on a similar journey. And what a gift that has been! I’ve tried very hard to live a good and honest life since my spiritual awakening, but I know I can always get better and be better. On that note, this week I’m joining a group of women who also want to be better in a study group of sorts. We’ll be reading, writing and sharing about a different core principle each week for the next 12 weeks. This week, the principle we’re discussing is honesty, so I’m spending some time delving a little deeper into what it means in my life today.  There was a time not too long ago when I took pride in my amateur detective skills. I was always sticking my nose where it didn’t belong, and I usually came away with some dirt. I was a modern version of Gladys Kravitz from “Bewitched.”
Yes, I was that annoying guest who spent a little extra time in your bathroom, opening cabinets and drawers, trying to find some evidence (of what, I have no idea) lurking under your sink. And God forbid you left me alone in your house for any length of time. In my world, every nook and cranny were fair game. So, yeah. I was an entitled asshole. I mean, srsly. I don’t know why exactly I possessed such a nosy nature. I wasn’t trying to learn your seedy secrets so I could expose your dark side. My motivation was never malevolent.  It was almost exactly a year ago this week that the shizz finally hit the fan in my marriage after a long, painful build. I look back on that time in my life now and wonder how I survived it in one piece. My best guess is that it was a mixture of unwavering love and support from family and friends, my own tenacity and a healthy dose of grace. Whatever the recipe, I am so grateful to be where I am today.
I don’t want to disparage my ex unnecessarily, but there were moments last year when I felt like I was cast as the tortured lead in a trailer park soap opera. It would be an understatement to say that this little suburban white girl was not at all prepared for that particular brand of crazy.  There was a time in the not-so-distant past that I groused through my daily existence as a glass-half-empty cynic who wore sarcasm as a suit of armor.
If you casually asked me how I was doing, I assumed you really wanted to know and launched into a long list of grievances about how life was kicking me in the pants. I bitched and complained on an endless litany of topics. From bad hair days to the sorry state of world events, I had it all covered. I didn’t notice the grimace on your face, nor did I question why you made a beeline for the door as soon as I paused to take a breath. I was too self-absorbed to concern myself with how spreading my ire might affect other people.  I have teased my mother for years about how susceptible she was to self-improvement trends back in the ’80s.
While I was trying to survive middle and high school, she was tearing through what seemed like an endless string of books and cassette tapes on codependency, relationships, parenting, exercise, health and wellness … you name it. A few paperbacks are still prominent on her bathroom bookshelf all these years later, and I can’t help but roll my eyes when I see them. |
About Amy HiggsA former newspaper columnist, Amy takes her random, slice-of-life stories to the web. After 12 years, she's still just saying. Archives
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